Page 117 of Big Bad Wolfe

She smiled, her eyes kind. “He was fighting trim and battle wary. Like he expected another attack any moment. But look at him now. He’s a lover, not a fighter.”

Not with him. Aragorn hated his guts. Maybe the behemoth sensed that Zane was a danger to Jillian’s heart. Dread skittered through him, and he shook it off. Jesus, he was getting as fanciful as Jillian.

She cocked her head. “You’re afraid of what you don’t know … how to love and be loved in return. The armor you’ve wrapped around your heart makes it tough for anyone to hurt you. That armor also makes it nearly impossible for you to let anyone in. As a result of what you went through, you have shadowed places. But you’re not selfish or cruel. Shall I tell you what you are?”

He managed to return her smile with a much wobblier version. “Can I stop you?”

She chuckled. “You’re intelligent. Courageous. Dedicated. Generous. Kind. You have bone-deep integrity and innate goodness that won’t be denied. You’re an admirable man, Zane Wolfe.”

Shaken and humbled by her faith in him, he swallowed the huge lump in his throat. Part of him was ready to relinquish his heavy burden and start new. And part of him didn’t know if he could.

He’d thought telling Jillian would free him of the weight.

It hadn’t.

Maybe he was destined to carry it forever.

Trembling, he pulled her into his embrace, clung to her. “I want— I want our marriage to work. I want to be a family.” Now that he knew how rich, how complete life was with Jillian by his side, he couldn’t return to his lonely existence. Functioning but not living. “I’ll fight for it with everything I have.”

She slid her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Together, we can do it.”

He returned her hug, his heart thundering painfully against his ribs. He prayed they could.

Because unless he conquered his past, they didn’t have a future.

Chapter 19

Panic screaming through him woke Zane. Sweaty and panting, he jerked upright in bed. His gaze scrambled around the room, his sleep-deprived brain registering the beachy décor and pale pink sunrise creeping through the curtains.

He was in the guest room. Alone.

He scrubbed a hand over his morning stubble. Had last night been only a dream that’d turned into a nightmare?

His glance snagged on Jillian’s robe tangled in the covers at the foot of the bed, and her sensual patchouli scent drifted to his nostrils from the pillow beside him.

It’d been as real as it gets, Wolfe.

After the talk from hell, they’d walked upstairs and agreed on not taking the chance of Casey discovering them in bed together in the mornings until they were both more certain everything would work out.

Okay, until Zane was more certain. Jillian’s faith was unwavering.

She’d dropped her robe and climbed into bed with him, where they’d made love again. Then she’d insisted on holding him until he fell asleep. She must have not wanted to wake him by attempting to retrieve her robe, and slipped out naked to return to her own room.

Zane threw off the covers and headed for the shower and a shave. He put on jeans, his runners, and a light gray T-shirt then cat-footed downstairs. Hearing Jillian and Casey chatting in the kitchen, he made a covert exit out the front door. Sunlight glinted off lace-edged aquamarine waves, the cloudless sky promising perfect weather for tonight’s gala.

He hurriedly drove to the open-air market and completed his mission.

Carrying his purchase, he prowled up the porch steps and slipped in the front door. Jillian’s gusty off-key singing of “It’s Raining Men,” drew him to the kitchen. Fresh and luscious in her mint ice cream sundress and white sandals, she had her back to him, flipping sausage patties.

He stood in the doorway watching her as she warbled and hip-wiggled to the sink and filled the coffee carafe with water. Love swamped him, weakening his knees.

This was the remarkable woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Casey spotted him from his seat at the table, and Zane put his index finger to his lips and tiptoed up behind Jillian, leaned over her shoulder. “Morning.”

Breaking off mid-song, she jumped, whirled. “Zane!” Sparkling irises flashed him a simmering, intimate greeting. “Sneaking up on me again? I’m going to have to tie a bell around your neck.” Her lips touched his, curved into a naughty smile. “Verygood morning,” she purred.

He awkwardly thrust out the massive beribboned bouquet of rainbow summer flowers. “Considering your green thumb, it’s like bringing whiskey to an Irish pub, but … here.”

---