Page 21 of Cold and Bitter Snow

“I wanted to tell you in person. I can’t go out to dinner with you.”

“What’s wrong?” For an instant, images of wives in faraway lands came to her mind. She looked down at his left hand. But that didn’t tally with what she knew of the man.

“It’s not that,” he said, watching her carefully. His gray eyes were full of sorrow. “I’m just … I’m no good for anyone. I’m messed up. And I … I like you too much to risk getting involved with you.”

“Oh.”

What could one say to that?

He seemed about to say something else.

“Say it,” she encouraged. “Whatever you’re thinking about, say it. We’re too old to play games.”

“You shouldn’t be with someone like me. But I … I want nothing more than to kiss you,” he breathed out. He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and took a step backwards.

So Siena did the only thing she could—she took two steps forward and stood on tiptoes, reaching out to kiss him.

For an instant his lips were stone. She felt him breathe out unsteadily. Then, slowly, his lips opened up—reluctantly, as if he couldn’t help himself.

And then she was lost in a haze of heat and pleasure. His lips were hungry and intense, and she replied in kind, recklessly exploring this wild pleasure. Her knees shook, her senses were on fire. She felt his hand on her back moving her closer, against his hard length, felt the shape of his desire rub against her. Her hand moved up to caress his hard stomach through his sweater.

He let out a strangled gasp—and broke the connection.

The moment he pulled away, it felt like they’d lost something. They stared into each other’s eyes for an instant longer. She finally understood the saying about pupils dilating with desire.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back and turning away from her. His hands went furiously into his pockets, as if to stop himself from reaching out to her. She watched him disappear down the street without looking back.

All thoughts of dinner forgotten, she went back upstairs to her room. She fumbled for her room key and went inside, leaning against the door. Her hand went unconsciously to her mouth. She was more shaken than she wanted to admit. She could still taste his lips—masculine, rich and slightly minty. She couldn’t remember her body ever tingling like this after a single kiss. She wanted to bottle the feeling, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his hard body against hers, that first instant when their tongues met—she wanted to label it in her mind, so as to never forget that a kiss could feel like this.

She was just pulling away from the door when there was a loud knock.

Chapter 7

Conor

Conor got as far as the corner of the skating rink. He’d done the right thing, so why did he feel so awful?

And then, another voice inside spoke up, getting louder and louder with every step.

What are you doing, Conor?

It sounded like his friend Logan’s voice. Which of course it couldn’t be. Logan had died years earlier in a stinking cell in Colombia after enduring unspeakable torture.

Don’t be a fool.

Go back and beg her forgiveness.

It wasn’t Logan, but it might as well have been because that was exactly what Logan would have said if he’d seen him now. Conor felt a moment of shame—Logan was dead because of him. He didn’t deserve to get any pleasure out of life.

When will it get through your thick skull? It wasn’t your fault.

Everybody told him that. The shrink he’d seen when he’d gone back home. His mother. His brother. Even Logan’s widow, Becky, eventually. But it didn’t matter what any of them said—not if he couldn’t forgive himself.

Siena deserves better than what you just did to her.

That last thought gave Conor pause. He stopped walking and stood in the middle of the sidewalk for a moment.

Go back and talk to her.