Page 61 of The Dove
That same fear had occurred to her as she’d lain there with a bullet in her shoulder, her world going dark.
“It was fortunate that the hack you and Niall took to the Mint waited just outside,” he continued. “Otherwise, we might never have gotten you here in time.”
She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember how she’d gotten here, but could fathom nothing more than the sway of a carriage and the pain of being jostled. Before that, there had only been Niall’s cravat pressed to the wound to stifle the blood, and Adam … Adam had been stunningly silent while she lay there dying.
“Youcarried me out?”
Still avoiding her gaze, he nodded. “Aye. You … you would have died. And I … I could not let you.”
His words pricked her chest, awakening something she had tried to keep dormant … feelings she knew better than to surrender to. It was foolish of her to let herself long for things she could not have, to see things in him that simply were not there. But, oh, how that feeling grew and swelled the longer she lay there, searching his face, waiting for him to look at her again, to say the words she craved.
When he finally looked up and met her gaze, she was stunned by what she found there. The torment he usually carried in those green and gold depths seemed more acute than ever, radiating at her with … was thatanger? Was heangryat her?
“Why?” he rasped, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “Why, little dove?”
Ah. She understood. He was angry with her for putting herself in danger, for pushing him away and taking that bullet for him.
It took her a moment to answer as she thought back over the events of that night, remembering the moment she’d realized Bertram had pointed that gun squarely at Adam’s chest. She’d seen his intent, knowing he would pull the trigger, knowing the bullet would tear through his heart and kill him. Something within her had reacted on instinct, and she had been unable to stand there and watch him die.
Her heart ached, even now, as she remembered the taste of fear in her mouth, the moment when she’d realized that Bertram would kill him. She found herself surprisingly remorseless in hindsight, no matter how angry he might be with her. She would do it again if faced with the same choice.
“You know why,” she whispered, holding his gaze and willing him to see it, to acknowledge it.
She knew … she’d known for some time, even when she’d actively avoided the truth. He had to know. After all that had happened, she was still his, would always be his.
He shook his head again, nostrils flaring, chest heaving as if he held his breath, waiting … waiting for her to say it.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and swallowed. Damn it, he would force her to say it, to put the words into the atmosphere and make them real.
“Look at me,” he snapped, leaning closer, reaching out to touch her face.
She obeyed, because she always did when he demanded it. Tears stung her eyes, one of them leaking from the corner of her eye and racing back toward her ear.
“Adam …”
“Say it,” he demanded, swiping away another tear, refusing to back down. “Tell me.”
Her chin trembled, but she found her voice, the words coming out on a sob.
“Because … I love you. Because even after you’ve destroyed everything, hurt me, and humiliated me … used me … I could not stand there and let him erase your presence from this world. Frommyworld.”
He stared at her in silence for a long moment, his expression as stony and unreadable as ever, his eyes burning into hers and holding her captive.
“Goddamn it,” he groaned, his hand moving back into her hair and tightening, pulling, making her scalp tingle as he shifted to close the distance between them.
Then, he was kissing her, his lips hard and unrelenting against hers, his tongue tasting, teeth nipping, fingers keeping a possessive hold on her hair.
“You idiot,” he growled against her mouth. “You fool … you cannot …”
“I love you,” she moaned against his mouth, the tears coming in earnest.
She didn’t care if he spurned her, if he flayed her open and dealt the fatal blow, leaving her for dead. Now that she’d said it, it had become truer than ever, and she could no longer deny it … deny herself, or him.
“You can’t,” he insisted, still kissing her, still drowning her in bliss.
“Ido,” she argued, bringing her uninjured hand up to cup his jaw. “I do, Adam.”
“You shouldn’t,” he murmured, kissing her cheek, her forehead, the bridge of her nose.
