Page 56 of Big Bad Wolfe

Instead, he twitched her undergarment back into place before his unsteady hand carefully smoothed down the skirt of her dress. He eased back, pulled up one strap of her bodice, then the other, covering her breasts.

“Zane?” She looked up at him. “No,wait. Don’t—”

His jaw was set in granite, his face taut with strain. Tormented brown eyes briefly met hers before thick black lashes shuttered them. Shut her out.

He leaned down and brushed a heartbreakingly tender kiss on her cheek. “Jillian.” The whisper in her ear was raw, graveled. “Now if anyone asks us about consummating our marriage, you don’t have to—technically—lie.”

Then he pivoted and bolted down the trail.

* * *

Zane didn’t stop running until his lungs gave out. Stumbling into a sheltered cove beside the lake, he dropped onto a fallen log and bent over, wheezing.

Goddammit, Wolfe. You’ve fucked up six ways of sundown now.

He’d meant to take one longed-for taste of Jillian’s sweet essence.

One kiss.

But he’d totally lost control. The knots in his gut writhed like snakes.

Heneverlost control. Especially during sex.

And he’d gone at her like a wild animal.

Between her finding out about his vasectomy and then the wham-bam-no-thank-you-ma’am, any remaining illusions the lady might’ve carried about him had just plunged to a fiery death. She was looking for a gentleman. And the way she felt about kids, she probably wanted at least half a dozen.

Stoneheart had murdered those dreams for Zane before they could fully form. And Brent’s abject failure as a husband and father had cemented Zane’s vow never to perpetuate the family curse. A vow he believed so necessary, that the day after the debacle with Deb he’d made an appointment with a urologist. Talk about calling off the race after the horses had already left the gate. His mouth twisted in a grimace. Too little, too late.

He sat up, scrubbing trembling hands over his sweaty face. When Jillian had surrendered herself completely to him, trusted him enough to climax in his arms, begged him to make love to her, daggers of emotion had plunged dead-center into his heart.

The pain and terror had stopped him cold. Stopped him from shoving up her dress, sitting her on that fence and ramming himself into her. Taking her in a greedy frenzy.

But he’d wanted to.God,he’d wanted to, more than his next breath.

Wanted to pour himself into her. Mark her, possess her.

Make her his.

Because …Jesus… He swallowed a surge of bile. He was afraid he was in love with her.

His stomach roiled and his teeth clenched against the urge to puke.

No.He couldn’t love her.He wouldn’t.Love hurt.

Love destroyed.

If he loved her, he would eventually destroy her.

Breathe.

The sky arched above him, diamond stars piercing familiar patterns in the deep purple-blue. The same passion-darkened color as Jillian’s irises after she’d come, screaming into his mouth.

His still hard dick twitched, intensifying the ache in his balls, and he swallowed. It wasonly sex.The explosion between them had been all about lust. Had nothing to do with love.

He stared out at the vast black mirror of the dappled lake … for how long he had no idea.

Finally he got up and strode forward. He slogged into the mountain-fed water, the frigid burn filling his shoes, lapping at his ankles, then his knees, and stealing his breath.

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