Her voice betrayed how he’d hurt her. Good God, what a selfish swine he was. “Your place is at my side.”
She drifted toward the filthy window, staring outside, although the glass was so dirty he couldn’t imagine she saw much. “You didn’t think that last night.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “Stop using my temper as an excuse to run away.” He was unaccustomed to apologizing. The words emerged awkwardly. “I’m sorry for my tantrum. You’re the only woman in creation who turns me into a lunatic.”
She didn’t turn. “Surely that’s reason to separate.”
He stepped forward. His voice resonated with urgency. “Damn it, Pen, surely that’s reason for you to stay and finish the job of making me human.”
She bent her head, staring down at where her hands flattened on the grubby windowsill. Her upswept black hair seemed too heavy for her fragile neck.
He wanted to bundle her into his arms and promise to be her knight, the man who would keep the monsters away. But again, that niggle of instinct insisted that if he pushed her, she’d walk out. So far, at least she listened. He was an expert on the impermeable doors against emotion. He didn’t want to give Pen a chance to shut hers.
“You’re human,” she whispered.
“Only with you.”
When she faced him, she looked angry. “Why are you saying these things? You don’t mean them.” Her voice lashed like a whip. “Lying won’t change anything.”
“I’m not lying,” he said helplessly. “I’ve never lied to you.”
“What do you want, Cam?” She folded her arms and her tone was uncompromising. The frailty had vanished. She looked like the fierce goddess who had defied the world on his behalf at Lady Frencham’s.
He hadn’t deserved her praise then, but he’d been damned glad to hear it. The memory fortified his resolve. She’d taken risks for him. He’d take risks for her. She was worth it. She was worth it even if he failed ignominiously.
He rubbed his jaw. “Once I thought I knew.”
“Don’t toy with me.”
She’d dragged him into this, kicking and screaming. If he wanted to dawdle over the last few yards before tumbling over the cliff, he would. “I wanted a wife who acted with dignity and decorum, a wife who couldn’t even spell ‘scandal.’ ”
“You wanted a pretty little doll to decorate your playpen,” she said sourly.
“An exaggeration, but only a slight one.” He linked his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. That cliff edge loomed closer and closer. “Instead I got a difficult, pigheaded termagant.”
“Then you should be glad that she’s leaving.”
He smiled. He liked this tougher version of Pen. “Oh, no.”
“No?” she asked on a rising note. At last she stepped forward.
The instincts that guided him through this impossible maze insisted that if she bridged the distance, he’d win. If he pursued, she’d run.
He was a man who seized what he wanted. Playing the cool game nearly killed him. “Because while she’s undoubtedly endless trouble, not to mention inclined to rebel against her lord and master—”
As he’d expected, that prompted a withering glance. To his relief, she was no longer the distraught, lost creature desperate to escape at all costs.
His tone wouldn’t disgrace one of Genevieve’s scholarly lectures. “—she also turns my nights to fire and makes me feel alive every minute of every day.”
Something happened behind her obsidian eyes. He just wished to God he knew what it was. Her lips firmed. Those soft, pink lips he’d kissed until he was drunk with the taste of her. “So you want me in your bed. That means nothing. You’ve wanted me in your bed since we met in Italy.”
He smiled. “I think it means a great deal. So do you. And if we’re being accurate, I’ve wanted you since my first proposal.”
Shock chased away what little color she’d regained. “I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “It’s true. Hell, it scared the living daylights out of me. I proposed because we were friends and you understood my horror of messy emotions, not because you drove me mad with desire.” She still struggled to respond. “As you did. As you do.”
“Desire isn’t enough.” Beneath the chilly tone, he caught piercing regret.