Page 36 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

“It has come to my attention,” she went on, looking at the floor, at his familiar feet, “that there are quite a few secrets between us. And I”—she swallowed thickly—“I would like to put them all out on the table.”

“Why now?”

Jory squeezed her eyes shut tightly, refusing to cry.

“I want to be honest. You deserve my honesty. And I deserve yours. At the very least I think we can give each other that.”

He took a prowling step closer. “And I have something you want.” His voice was still hard and defensive. But she was too tired to fight.

“You do. But tonight, the only thing I want is the truth.”

“An exchange? You’ll tell me your secrets in exchange for a worthless animal hide?”

“It isn’t worthless,” she snarled through her teeth, her vehemence almost startling. She sucked in a breath, collecting herself. “Look. I’ll tell you everything. But I want the same promise from you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Long enough for Jory to study the tight set of his shoulders, his clenched fists. She’d never once feared those fists, and she didn’t fear them now. He was like a lion, brutal and powerful, but he’d always beenherlion, eating out of the palm of her hand and rubbing his shaggy head against her palm even as blood dripped from his jaws.

That image felt eerie as it shuddered through her brain, as she pictured blood dripping from his fangs as he pressed his groaning face against her throat now.

“Would ye prefer to go upstairs for this? I can offer you some tea. Or perhaps a whiskey?” he asked, his manners far more refined than they’d been when she’d been his.Before, she corrected. Because for all his defensiveness tonight, she had the distinct impression that she wasstillhis, that she only had to beckon to him and he’d conquer the entire world to lay it at her feet.

But this room, for all that it was small and sparse and windowless, reminded her of the cottage. It was the same size, with a big bed in the corner. They hadn’t had a sofa or a desk. They hadn’t had suitcases or tablets or watches. But they’d had a worn wooden table and two chairs, a rocker that he’d built her from driftwood, a hearth, seashells hanging from the rafters and catching the warm light of the fire.

“Can we stay here instead?” she whispered.

“It’s a bedroom. I dinnae want to make you uncomfortable,” he said gruffly.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” she replied. The truth was that this room strangely felt more comforting and familiar than any space she’d created for herself in a long time. Maybe it was the size. More likely it was him.

Callum cleared his throat and gestured to the couch. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Sure,” Jory replied but stopped herself as a thought crossed her mind. She couldn’t sit next to him on the couch, stiff and distant like strangers while she told him the whole story.

“Actually,” she said hesitantly, kicking herself for the question she was about to ask, “I have an odd request.”

He waited, his arms crossed over his chest, as if it would protect him from what she was going to ask.

“I don’t want you to see my face when I cry, which I will, but I don’t really want to cry alone.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue. “And I’m so mad at you that I could scream. I might scream. But… can we… lie down? And you could… hold me?”

He sucked in a breath that she knew was an affectation but appreciated so much anyway, a reminder of what he would have done before, of what his instinct was still to do now. It was so veryhumanof him.

She expected him to refuse her. She should have known better.

Without a word, Callum crossed to the bed and flipped back the quilt. He climbed in and scooted to the far side, next to the wall, holding the quilt open and looking at her expectantly. Jory unzipped her coat and draped it on the desk chair over his. She unlaced her boots and placed them against the wall next to his. And then she went to the bed and slid in beside him, turning away from him onto her side.

Callum dropped the quilt, and she gripped it in her fists, pulling it up to her chin. He was so close behind her. She felt his body and his bulk, even if she didn’t feel his heat.

This was a terrible plan. Jory was about to climb out the way she’d come when Callum’s big arm wrapped around her, pulling her back against his chest. He slipped his other arm under her neck, cushioning it, the way he’d always done.

She didn’t feel the thudding of his heart at her back or the steady rise and fall of his chest pressing against her shoulders. His skin was cool, but she marveled at how it felt almost soothing, like a damp cloth on a feverish forehead or a toe dipped in a stream on a hot day. His arms were solid and strong, and his body cradled hers as if they’d been made to fit together, all of their angles lining up perfectly.

He pressed the bridge of his nose and forehead against the back of her head, and she felt him breathe in. Tears sprang to her eyes at the familiarity of it all.

“I dinnae ken how it’s possible,” he whispered.

“What?” she asked, her lips feeling thick from her unshed tears.

“You smell exactly the same. I’ve searched for this smell for a thousand years.” He breathed in deeply again.