Page 60 of Burning Secrets of a Lady's Pen
She bit back a scream as she felt strong, rough fingers wrap around her wrist, a simple jerk pulling her back behind the curtains and into the wings off of the stage.
All of her rage and despair crawled up the back of her throat as she lifted her hand, fully intent on bashing her abductor over the head before she could become another shrieking statistic. Before her hand could actually even begin to arc through the air, though, she inhaled sharply enough for the familiar citrus and wood scent to overpower her.
“Corin?”
Her eyes focused in the dim lighting only moments after she realized that it was him, her heart hammering in her chest as she stared in shock at the man in front of her.
He looked as awful as she felt, his curls wild on his forehead and dark shadows bruising the underside of his eyes.
His hands were gentle on her, though, his fingers trailing up the exposed skin of her forearm from where he had grabbed her wrist, softly cupping her elbow as he pulled her too close to him. He looked at her like she was his first drink of water, and he had been deprived for days, his eyes drinking her in.
“Oh, Corin,” Imelda whispered the words, her brave front crumbling in the face of his tenderness. She fell into him, her forehead hitting his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I didn’t know he had written to you, too. I’ve spent this whole time trying to figure out how to tell you that Mr. Batten had rejected my novel and what our next move should be, but I just couldn’t—” She cut off suddenly, a choked noise in the back of her throat as she felt Corin’s arms lift to encompass her.
“Mr. Batten rejected your book?”
Imelda stopped mid-breath, lifting her hands to push against Corin’s chest to try and see his face.
Hadn’t he known?
Wasn’t that why he looked so upset?
“I thought you knew?”
“No.” Corin sighed, releasing his hands so that he could cup her face with his palms instead. “But we’ll fix it. I don’t know how. Right now, I’m not sure that I could even attempt to come up with a solution, but I know that it is something that can be fixed.”
Imelda’s breath caught all over again for a different reason, the intensity of his dark gaze drawing her in.
“But—”
“No buts,” Corin argued, his thumbs sweeping across the corners of her jaw and infusing her with a sudden heat. “Do you trust me, Imelda?”
The million-pound question.
Imelda knew that she should say no. He was being so bold and intense, like a fire had been lit within him. The very energy ran from his fingertips into her skin, something igniting within her as well.
“Yes,” she whispered softly. It was hard to admit. With everything that they had been through, with all of the uncertainty and the different stories, she knew that she ought to say no. But she did trust Corin. She was afraid that she always had.
“Then trust me when I tell you that I will find a way to take care of you,” he returned, with a certainty that she couldn’t argue with.
Her already shaky will caved.
God help her, but she did.
“Corin, if you didn’t know about the letter, then why were you so upset? What’s going on?”
Corin’s lips twitched, but it was a ghost of a smile that graced them. His eyes hardened for a moment, a flickering pain behind them that made Imelda ache.
“It doesn’t matter right now.”
“Of course it does! What—”
“It doesn’t matter right now,” Corin repeated more forcefully. He pulled her face closer to his own, his whole body bending so that he could brush the tip of his nose against hers. “I’ve dreamed about you back in my arms since we were in the gardens. God, I haven’t stopped dreaming about you in my arms since Florence.”
His words were lava, flowing over Imelda and erasing everything that had been in their path before.
“I just want this moment with you,” he continued hotly. “Give me that.”
It was indecent. It was dangerous. The sounds of the crowd beyond the curtain were so very loud, the orchestra that had been hired to set up in the pit a faint backdrop to all the laughter and conversation.
