Page 63 of Charmed
Very slowly, she eased out of his arms. “Boone, I think—”
“Don’t tell me I’m rushing things.” He was amazingly calm now that he’d taken the step—the step he realized he’d already taken in his head weeks before. “I don’t care if I’m moving too fast. I need you in my life, Ana.”
“I’m already in your life.” She smiled, trying to keep it light. “I told you that.”
“It was hard enough when I only wanted you, harder still when I started to care. But it’s impossible now that I’m in love with you. I don’t want to live next door to you.” He took a firm grip on her shoulders to keep her still. “I don’t want to have to send my child away so I can spend the night with you. You said you loved me.”
“I do.” She gave in to desperate need and pressed herself against him. “You know I do, more than I thought I could. More than I wanted to. But marriage is—”
“Right.” He stroked a hand down her damp hair. “Right for us. Ana, I told you once I don’t take intimacy lightly, and I wasn’t just talking about sex.” He drew her back, wanting to see her face, wanting her to see his. “I’m talking about what’s inside me every time I look at you. Before I met you, I was content to keep my life the way it was. But that’s no good anymore. I’m not going to keep running through the hedges to be with you. I want you with me, with us.”
“Boone, if it could be so simple.” She turned away, struggling to find the right answer.
“It can be.” He fought against a quick flutter of panic. “When I walked in this morning and saw you in bed, with your arms around Jessie—I can’t tell you what went through me at that moment. I realized that was what Iwanted. For you to be there. Just to be there. To know I could share her with you, because you’d love her. That there could be other children. A future.”
She shut her eyes, because the image was so sweet, so perfect. And she was denying them both a chance to make the image reality, because she was afraid. “If I said yes now, before you understand me, before you know me, it wouldn’t be fair.”
“I do know you.” He swept her around again. “I know you have passion, and compassion, that you’re loyal and generous and openhearted. That you have strong feelings for family, that you like romantic music and apple wine. I know the way your laugh sounds, the way you smell. And I know that I could make you happy, if you’d let me.”
“You do make me happy. It’s because I don’t want to do any less for you that I don’t know what to do.” She broke away to walk off the tension. “I didn’t know this was going to happen so quickly, before I was sure. I swear, if I’d known you were thinking of marriage …”
To be his wife, she thought. Bound to him by handfast. She could think of nothing more precious than that kind of belonging.
She had to tell him, so that he would have the choice of accepting or backing away. “You’ve been much more honest with me than I with you.”
“About?”
“About what you are.” Her eyes closed on a sigh. “I’m a coward. So easily devastated by bad feelings, afraid, pathetically afraid, of pain—physical and emotional. So hatefully vulnerable to what others can be indifferent to.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ana.”
“No, you don’t.” She pressed her lips together. “Can you understand that there are some who are more sensitive than others to strong feelings? Some who have to develop a defense against absorbing too much of the swirl of emotion that goes on around them? Who have to, Boone, because they couldn’t survive otherwise?”
He pushed back his impatience and tried to smile. “Are you getting mystical on me?”
She laughed, pressing a hand to her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it. I need to explain, and don’t know how. If I could—” She started to turn back, determined to tell him everything, and the sketch pad on his desk slid off at the movement. Automatically she bent to pick it up.
Perhaps it was fate that it had fallen faceup, showing a recently completed sketch. An excellent one, Ana thought on a long breath as she studied it. The fierce and wicked lines of the black-caped witch glared up at her. Evil, she thought. He had captured evil perfectly.
“Don’t worry about that.” He started to take it from her, but she shook her head.
“Is this for your story?”
“The Silver Castle, yes. Let’s not change the subject.”
“Not as much as you think,” she murmured. “Indulge me a minute,” she said with a careful smile. “Tell me about the sketch.”
“Damn it, Ana.”
“Please.”
Frustrated, he dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s just what it looks like. The evil witch who put the spell on the princess and the castle. I had to figure there was a spell that kept anyone from getting in or out.”
“So you chose a witch.”
“I know it’s obvious. But the story seemed to call for it. The vindictive, jealous witch, furious with the princess’s goodness and beauty, casts the spell, so the princess stays trapped inside, cut off from love and life and happiness. Then, when true love conquers, the spell’s broken and the witch is vanquished. And they live happily ever after.”
“I suppose witches are, to you, evil and calculating.” Calculating, she remembered. It was one of the words Robert had tossed at her. That, and much, much worse.
