Wounded Hearts

“Claire?” The bedroom door slammed the moment Danny hit the top stair. He knocked. “Let me in, please.” He heard clear noises of a suitcase being dragged to the bed and opened. “Please?” He knocked again.

They never made promises to each other, yet he knew. His insides twisted and wrenched, telling him he broke them anyway.

He jiggled the knob and found it locked. “Claire, I shouldn’t have let it go that far, but I promise you, I didn’t know she’d kiss me.”

The room went quiet, and he pressed his ear against the door. On the other side, she stifled a loud sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Claire, please let me in. Let me see you.”

“You could have told me.” There was a distinct quake in her voice. “You could have told me you were tired of me, Daniel. You promised me you’d tell me if I bothered you.”

“I’m not tired of you.” He pressed his forehead against the door and rubbed his palms up and down it. “I could never tire of you.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong. Could you tell me that, please?”

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong. This was all me, Claire. It had nothing to do with you.”

“Lies.” She swung open the door, and he stumbled back. Mascara smudged and dripped down her cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared off. “I don’t want to hear it’s not you, it’s me. I had that line for fifteen years. Fifteen years of, ‘Not tonight, Claire, I’m too tired.’ And ‘I gave you a child, why can’t that be enough?’” She hugged herself. “Do you know how many, ‘You were so lucky to have him,’ comments I got at Brandon’s funeral? Yeah, I was lucky. Lucky enough to marry a man that loved my family name more than he wanted to touch me.” She hiccuped a cry and covered her mouth.

All the air emptied from his lungs at once. “Your husband didn’t touch you? How is that possible? Was he gay?”

She yelled out and slammed the door, forgetting to lock it. He cursed himself and slowly turned the knob, walking in on the mess he created. “I’m sorry. I had no right to ask that.”

“Get out.” She smeared fingers under her eyes.

“I didn’t want those women to touch me, Claire. Or kiss me.”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Please, I saw everything. You couldn’t keep your eyes off them.”

“You misread that.”

“Just admit it. The kick to the face, remember? Kick my face, don’t stab me in the back.”

“Claire.” He took a cautious step forward. “I’m not saying you misread it because it didn’t happen. I’m saying that my reason for it wasn’t what you think. I only wanted to look at you.” He took another step.

“Don’t say that to me.” She threw her hands out. “And don’t come any closer. I-I need to think.”

He stopped and let his arms fall to his sides, squeezing and releasing his fingers to keep from reaching for her.

She hugged her cloak tight around her. “Can you answer me one question? Just one and don’t give me lies.”

He risked another step. “Anything.”

“Is it my clothes? I-I know they’re different. Or maybe it’s my hair.” She touched it. “I mean, I know I have those weird tics while I’m writing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Is that why you preferred those women over me?”

The vulnerability on her face broke him, driving him forward. “No, Claire. I didn’t—I don’t prefer them over you. Tonight was an act. A stupid, careless act that I never once thought about how it’d make you feel.” He gripped his hair again to keep from touching her. “You were and are the best-looking woman that has ever stepped foot in my bar. And your writing habits are my favorite pastime to watch. Especially when you chew your pencil. I would choose you over them every time.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Her bottom lip rebelled out of control again. “Why could they touch you and not me?”

He forgot all about not getting too close and stumbled forward, stopping directly in front of her. “That wasn’t an act? You really wanted to touch me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. You could be with anyone, Claire. You can literally travel the world and have any man you want. Why would you want me?”

She reared back and a deep crease knitted her brow. “Have I ever given you a reason to think I wanted to be with someone else?”

He had nothing to say to that because he knew she didn’t—this was all him.

“Haven’t I told you, you’re generous and kind and thoughtful? No one, not even my own family, ever believed in me the way you do. Or helped and encouraged me to be myself. Trust me, Daniel, you can’t find that just anywhere. And my goodness.” She dropped her eyes over him. “Have you ever seen yourself? Or seen how silly you make me with that ... ” She reached toward the head of his tattooed dragon and stopped, pulling back.

His stomach dropped, and he inched closer, hoping she’d reach out again. “I had no idea.”

“How many men do you think I’ve agreed to live with? Besides my husband, that would be zero. Don’t you think, if I really wanted to, I could have left a while ago, no matter what you said?”

“I wondered why you didn’t.”

“I stayed because I wanted to. Because a hurting man on a plane took the time to listen to me and look me in the eye like I was important. You don’t know how special that is unless you’ve never had it.”

“Is there anyone in your life, past or present, that I shouldn’t hate right now?”

She let out a long sigh. “I don’t hate them. Good or bad, they made me who I am.”

Just when he started to hope that they were getting somewhere, she turned and started putting more things into her suitcase.

“I don’t deserve to ask you to stay, but I’m going to anyway.”

“I don’t want to anymore.”

“Claire, I swear to you, I’m not normally like what you saw down there. What I did shocked even Ian.”

“That’s not why.”

He wasn’t certain if she purposefully tortured him, taking her time packing every piece of lace underwear. But it worked. Unfolding and refolding—dear God, thongs?

His shaking hands went back to his hair. “Why then?”

“I know we’ve never put into words what we are to each other, but I thought what we had was special. The cooking lessons and that time you held me when I spilled pasta water. I thought that meant something.”

He opened his mouth to tell her that it absolutely did, but she kept speaking. “All those hours of sharing your music with me and answering my questions. I don’t know.” She rubbed her arms. “I thought it meant more than that.

“I don’t even talk to myself anymore. Not since being here with you. Of course, that means nothing to you, but it means everything to me.” She inhaled a deep breath and calmed her voice again. Returning to packing, her back faced him as she slapped every item into her suitcase with each word. “Last night I was so stupid. I thought you wanted to kiss me.”

His hands sprang out and stopped, vibrating on either side of her.

“To think I’d pretend to fall asleep sometimes, just so I could get you to hold me when you carried me to bed.” She dropped the clothes and hugged herself, turning to face him. “No, I can’t stay, Daniel, because I want something you don’t. I want to lose sleep because I can’t tear away from the sound of your voice. I want to find it hard to breathe because you’re close to me. I-I want,” she sucked in a harsh breath, “I want you, Daniel, more than a friendship. But I see now how foolish ... how stupid I am. You don’t want me. I—”

He collided with her mouth and she gasped, stumbling back. “I want you—God I want you.” Snatching both sides of her face, he held her still, crushing her lips with his.

His kiss invaded—desperate, unhinged—the force of it knocking her back. She clutched his arms to stay upright, but then her knees wobbled, separating their lower halves.

Not one inch. He didn’t want one inch between them. Gripping her hips, he hauled her against him. Feeling her. Tasting her.

Inhaling through his nose, he whispered onto her mouth, “Forgive me.” He slowed the kiss, taking her face more gently in his hands. “I didn’t know.”

He swept his lips across hers once, twice, the third time dragging his mouth so slowly she whimpered, melting into him.

Catching her bottom lip, he sucked it in his mouth, tugging. “I want it all.” He took her top lip. “All of what we have. Everything. Every day. God, this mouth.” He lunged again, this time slipping the tip of his tongue out and found hers waiting.

He went still, savoring the feel of a tentative flick before she glided it across the rim of his bottom lip. A deep-throated growl rumbled out of him as he opened, curled his tongue around hers, and drew it in.

Stroke. Glide. She matched his urgency, and they found a rhythm. Kept pace with each other. The feel and taste of her pulling him steadily off the edge of reason.

She whimpered again, and he opened his eyes to tears streaming down her face. “Claire?” He pulled back, breathing heavily, and thumbed across her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer. Breaths matching his, she lifted to her toes, eyes glued to his mouth. Inch by inch, she came closer until her lips—soft, cautious—melted against his again.

It was such a slow, utterly sensuous invasion of his mouth, he didn’t dare move. Breathe. Only let his eyes slide closed.

Never had he been kissed like this. Slender fingers unfurled around the back of his neck, gently kneading and tugging. Her slow movements suddenly morphed into something more. Something desperate, hungry. Tear-stained lips, tasting of wine, beckoned, coaxed, nipped. Begging him to keep his mouth on hers using quickening short, firm kisses.

He answered.

Burying his fingers inside her hair, he bumped hairpins. One by one, he removed them, dropping them to the floor and tossed her hat onto the bed. Golden-brown locks tumbled over her shoulders. His fingers raked through them, fisting soft waves as he tugged her in, tipped her head back, and dove deep into her mouth.

God, the sounds she made.

The pads of his fingers stroked down the side of her neck and snagged on the collar of her cloak. He tucked one in, keeping the feel of her soft skin on the top of his finger as he looped around the collar and stopped on a large, black button at her throat. He thumbed it through until it popped. The second button popped—the third, fourth—each time he went faster, frantic even, needing to get this damn thing off so she wouldn’t leave.

He flicked his wrist, sending the cloak flapping through the air, and the bottom of his shirt suddenly pulled away from his torso.

Claire”s fingers clenched around the hem of his shirt as her light-brown eyes met his questioning ones.

“Please?” she whispered with another tug, and he was undone.

He snatched her begging mouth, hooked the back of his collar, and yanked his shirt over his head.

Her breath caught as she drank in the ridges and cuts of his muscular form, pausing and zeroing in on his arms. “It’s so beautiful.”

Gentle fingers touched the head of his dragon and trailed up his flexed arm to his rounded shoulder.

He kept still, eyes closed, taking heavy breaths as she walked around the back of him, fingers tracing over his skin as she went.

“I’ve wanted to touch this since I first saw it.” She moved over the body of the dragon—over the taut muscles between his shoulder blades—and spread her hand, spanning the width of his tattoo.

He softly moaned and rolled his neck, following her hand as she trailed across to his left side, circled his inked shoulder, and glided down to where the tail coiled around his arm.

“Beautiful,” she said. Her heated eyes lifted and settled on his.

He rushed to her mouth again, all tentativeness gone. Hungry fingers skimmed down the ripples of his abs, back up to his chest, and spread out. Gliding, gripping, she caressed and kneaded. It was everything. Her touch was everything.

He skimmed along the hem of her blouse and caught a sliver of soft skin. She arched into him, whispering his name, and he hummed, slipping his fingers underneath. Taking his time, he palmed up her sides, her silk blouse sliding up under his hands, until his thumbs bumped lace-covered underwire.

She sucked in through her nose and he paused, waiting for permission. Hoping for permission. Having had the feel of them in his hands before, this wasn’t enough—could never be enough—but he would wait. He’d only go as far as she wanted him to.

With a gentle push of her chest, she urged him on.

“Yes,” he whispered and added pressure, sliding up soft lace, he circled his thumbs. At the first hint of firmness, he dropped down and took one into his mouth.

“Daniel.” She gripped the back of his head, and he went to the other side. A gentle nip. A small pinch. Giving the same attention before returning to the first. It didn’t matter that they stayed under lace, he savored the feel of them, their shape, her sounds guiding his every move.

Her body suddenly thrust forward, looking for his, and he rushed back up to her mouth and took it.

Soft, firm, soft, firm—his kiss asked and gave as he surged forward and she backward. His body begged to feel more of hers.

They reached the bed and tumbled down together. Dropping an arm, he broke their fall, keeping her attached with the other. The weeks of physical restraint broke away in the form of more tongue strokes and fondling fingers.

This was going too fast, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop. All their emotions, the feel of her, everything compounded. He lowered firmly against her, and she arched up, sliding against his body. That was perfect. She was perfect.

His hands were on buttons again. This time her blouse. This is going too fast. But her mouth—her beautiful, begging mouth.

Her palms trailed up and down his rib cage as he popped the first button with one hand, then the next. Her body rose to meet him, and he stopped unbuttoning, scooping down on the arch of her throat and lost himself again, savoring the taste of her skin—her panting breaths.

He resumed unbuttoning, stopping on the fourth when her shirt opened to reveal a beautiful heart shape above black lace. And there were freckles. Dear God, three irresistible freckles dotting the top of her left breast. Every last argument he had vaporized. He wasn’t going to stop, he decided. So long as she kept asking, he was going to answer. Each freckle received its own kiss.

Long fingers slid up his arms, spreading over his biceps, and squeezed. But when her touch reached the head and tail of his dragon, a thought shuddered through him.

This is it. If he went all the way with her, there would be no more after this. Couldn’t be any more after this. Hers would be the last hands he’d ever let touch him.

And she was going to break him.

He inhaled sharply and disconnected their mouths, panting.

“What wrong?”

“Nothing.” He dipped down and kissed her.

This time she pulled back, brows pinched together. “Is this too much?”

“No.” Again he went for her mouth.

She placed a hand on his chest, easing him back. “You’re having second thoughts about being with me.”

“Never.”

She went rigid, not believing him, and her touch dropped away.

“Keep them, please.” He snatched her hands and placed them back against his chest. “It’s not you, I promise. It’s just ... ” Not even for a moment did he want her thinking that any of this meant he didn’t want to touch her. So, he trailed two fingers along the opened gap of her shirt, over freckles, while gathering his words.

“Why?” She studied him hard. “Why did you pull away?”

“Why were you crying?”

She shook her head and closed her eyes.

“Claire, look at me.” He hooked a finger under her chin. “You can tell me.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Ask me anyway.”

She swallowed, and a tear rolled out the side of her eye. “You’re kissing me now but wouldn’t even look at me a half hour ago. I-I don’t know which to believe.”

Regret twisted deep in his chest. He wanted to scream. Imploring her eyes, he cupped her face in both hands. “What you see here, right now. What I’m doing with you is where I want to be and what I want to be doing. None of what you saw in me downstairs was what I really wanted.”

“How can I believe that?”

“Ah, Claire.” He dropped down and pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear, whispering, “You can. I’m not lying to you.”

Her body loosened, melting into the kisses he walked down her neck, but then she froze, stiffening again.

Blaring alarms went off in his head. If he couldn’t convince her of the truth, he’d lose her before he ever had her. “I’m not lying.” He kissed the words into her ear again, but she remained stiff.

“Claire, please listen to me.” Cupping her cheeks, he ran his thumbs along her jawline. “Everything you thought was more these past couple of weeks was very, very real. You didn’t imagine it or last night. I did almost kiss you. And I held you the day you made your first meal because I wanted to hold you, and I didn’t want to let go.” He traced her mouth with the pad of his finger. “The morning after you came here? You didn’t dream I touched you. I did touch you—kissed you right here.” His lips skimmed her neck.

“That was real?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t fully awake and stopped when I was, but I didn’t want to.” He held her eyes. “If you only knew how much I didn’t want to.”

She went quiet and as time stretched, everything in him screamed that she’d never believe him. He recaptured her face in both hands. “I carried you to bed all those nights because I wanted to have you close to me. And every night I left you on this bed, I only wanted to lie with you like I am now.”

He remembered something else. “You said you pretended to sleep. You must have felt all the times I touched your face before leaving. And what about the time I let myself touch your mouth? Do you remember that? I traced it with my finger because all I wanted was to kiss you—it’s all I still want to do. That’s the truth, Claire.”

“Then why?” she finally said, and he breathed. “Why did you ignore me tonight?”

“That answer is going to sound like an excuse, but it’s the truth.”

“Kick, Daniel. Don’t stab.”

“Stop saying that. I can’t handle that picture in my head.” He caressed her cheek. “I don’t want to kick or stab, I want to ... ” He nipped her mouth, but she placed a finger in between.

“Tell me.”

He lowered his forehead against hers and let out a sigh. “Today, one month ago, I signed divorce papers.”

“Oh, Daniel.” She grabbed his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He turned and kissed the inside of each palm. “I’m not sorry to be separated from her. But the things she said ... I can’t shake them. I hear them all the time.” He fidgeted with a button on her blouse, and she slipped her hand over his.

“What I did downstairs? When you thought I was ignoring you?” He met her eyes again. “I did that because I thought if I distanced myself, I could stop what I was feeling for you. Not because I thought those women were better or prettier. Far from it.”

He stroked the back of his fingers along her cheek. “God, Claire, I’m such an idiot. I couldn’t possibly stop how I feel about you. But ... ”

She hung on every word, waiting for him to finish. After a few moments of watching him struggle to speak, she whispered, “You’re afraid.”

“Yes.”

“You’re afraid of me?”

“No.” He took her hand, still touching his cheek, and lowered it to where his chest pounded. “I’m afraid of what you could do—here.”

“Oh, Daniel.” She pulled him down on top of her and rolled them to their sides, holding his head against her chest. He let out another breath when her long legs wrapped around his waist to his back and squeezed him.

They both went quiet. Bodies entwined. He soaked in the sound of her heartbeat, trying to calm his own.

She stirred and began lightly rubbing his back over the scaly body of the dragon and whispered, “We’ll take it as slow as you need. I don’t have any expectations or demands. I just want to be with you.”

He sank into her warmth and closed his eyes, letting her words penetrate.

“It’d be foolish of me to promise that I’ll never do anything that might hurt you,” she continued. “But I can promise I’d never hurt you on purpose.” Her fingers wandered up the back of his neck and stroked through the buzz of his hair to the longer strands. “I could never willfully hurt you.”

He kissed the forearm that brushed against his face while she played with his hair. “Me either, but I did, didn’t I. I hurt you so much.”

She squeezed him again. “I’m alright now.”

“Did I ruin your trust completely because I acted like an ass?”

Her chest lifted into his cheek and fell. “I only need this. You telling me the truth, good or bad, so I can think it through properly.” She continued fondling his hair. “But I’m going to let you know something about me that I’ve never told anyone.”

He went completely still.

“I developed some bad habits as a little girl because I spent too much time alone with my thoughts. I didn’t have anyone to tell me if I wasn’t seeing a situation correctly.” She took another deep breath. “It was your silence that hurt the most, not your actions. I wasn’t able to make sense of it, and I quickly fell back into the bad habit of hating myself.”

His head jerked up, eyes wide and darting all over her face. “I made you hate yourself?”

“Shh.” She pulled him back down again. “I didn’t say that to upset or scare you. I’m better than I used to be, and I never act violently on those thoughts. I just disappear inside myself.”

He squeezed her. Sliding his hand up her back, his fingers began massaging her nape. “That’s why you had your cape on indoors again?”

“I hide best in that cape.”

“I might have to burn it.”

She smiled with a quiet laugh, and he kissed her chest where his cheek had been nuzzling. “I can’t promise that I won’t ever do anything stupid ever again, Claire, but I can promise to talk to you instead of shutting you out. I don’t want to ever make you feel that way again.”

“Licking other women’s wrists better not be part of that stupid.”

He chuckled and felt her silently join him. “That I can promise will never happen. God, that was ... ” He shuddered, and her silent laugh became vocal. “I meant stupid like Ian and I getting drunk and chasing small kids around the island, making them pee themselves.”

Her restrained laughter broke, and he joined in, letting out more emotions. They finished together on a long sigh.

“Claire?” He tightened his hold. “Are you still leaving?”

“That depends.”

“O-On what?”

She kissed the top of his head and whispered, “On whether my Viking is ready to accept a witchy partner for future Viking scares.”

His smile spread and he flipped her to her back, burrowing his face inside the gap of her shirt. She squealed, and he growled, shaking his head back and forth, rubbing his beard against her skin until she couldn’t breathe from laughter.

A knock on the door startled them. “Danny?” Ian called with a smile in his voice. “Officer Murphy is here to see you both.”

“Give us a minute,” Danny said.

They scrambled to right themselves, chuckles between stolen kisses before they swung open the door.

Ian stepped back, taking in the sight of two beaming faces below piles of disheveled hair. “Well, I can see you two were having a miserable time in there.”

They laughed and looked at each other with rosy cheeks.

“She’s staying,” Danny said, unable to deflate his grin.

Ian pretended to be shocked, loud gasp and all, and held out his arms to her. She entered his deep hug as he said, “Does this mean there will be a handsome, wannabe priest in your next novel?”

“One who dispels evil through holy whisky?”

“Oh, my dear M.C.C., you are a woman of great taste.”

She snickered, and Ian glanced at Danny, who let out a deep breath while watching her. He caught Ian’s eye and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, bràthair.” He released her back to him and led them to the stairs. “Wait ’til you hear the good news. They got him.”

They both lurched to a stop. “Got him?”

“Yep. Kenneth Greene was just arrested on charges of harassment and stalking. You’re free now, Claire.”