Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (99 page)

She should be grateful for everyone’s silence. The hum and roll of the train should soothe her. She hoped conversation would offer a distraction but, in truth, it might make her reaction to Grant more obvious and awkward. She blamed his attention being on her. Her breathing grew labored at certain points. Like when she remembered the shock of him standing outside that cabin door, naked above the waist, muscles bulging, the look in his eyes making her wonder if he wanted to devour her whole.

Devour her. The idea sent a new tremble up her belly.

Is that the way he was watching her now? She couldn’t look.

Leigh had never handled a man’s body. She had little experience in what happened between a man and a woman, no matter how thoroughly her mother answered her many, many questions over the years, in hopes of helping Leigh know real love.

All her mother’s information certainly hadn’t helped her know her feelings for Henry were not love. How could she have truly loved him when he had never made her want what Grant did? The vivid, physical things her mind conjured shocked her at times. But her shock only heightened her physical reactions, it seemed.

Not that she loved Grant Connel. The man wouldn’t let anyone love him. Considering everything, Grant must blame himself. No wonder his nature was guarded. No. This wasn’t love. This was lust. She wanted him badly. The way she should have wanted Henry. She saw now what her mother had been after when she’d asked Leigh whether she was sure about going to Europe.

Leigh wanted him in one of those ways her mother would have called being in the bones. Undeniable. Pure, physical need that has nothing to do with the head or her heart. Only her body. His body. Again, the memory of him in her hand, throbbing, filled her mind. Big, solid flesh. He’d almost shut his eyes against what her hand did to him. But he hadn’t.

Instead, he had let her see it.

Nick cleared his throat, making her look up. Leigh’s cheeks flushed. Did he realize what she’d been thinking about?

Had he asked her a question? “I’m sorry, what?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Do you like to gamble?”

Leigh didn’t trust the twinkle in his eye. “Not really.” She shouldn’t ask. Curiosity won her over. “Why?”

He rewarded her with a wide grin. The heart-stopping kind. Instead of stopping her heart, though, the smile made her glance at Grant. As if Grant would roll his eyes or smile, sending her heart into triple time, but letting her know everything was okay. Nick was just a tease. Grant kept his eyes on Nick instead, his expression unreadable and his fork held midair.

Beatrice darted a glance between the two men. The tension around her tightened. Out of habit, Leigh looked for Jacob. As per usual these days, he was nowhere to be found. Could he possibly not be attached to the wolf, or to Grant, after all?

If he hadn’t been skulking around Grant all this time, where had he been? Come to think of it, she’d never actually confirmed that was where he’d been. Had she? She couldn’t recall ever asking.

No, that couldn’t be. Could it? Her forehead pinched with sudden worry. What was Jacob up to? He couldn’t stray far. They’d often been limited by the fact during readings. The further Jacob was for any spiritual energies epicenter, the more difficult it was to pull a spirit through.

“
No reason in particular,” Nick said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and effectively bringing Leigh’s attention back to the meal. “I just thought I might interest you in placing a wager.” The tension in the room shifted and relaxed. “But if you’re not the gambling kind....”

Nick was up to something. “Depends on the odds, I suppose,” Leigh said. Grant’s eyes shifted downward, away from Leigh’s, so she took Nick’s bait. “And on the bet,” Leigh said, interested in where Nick might be taking this. Duchy’s collar jingled under the table. “What do you have in mind?”

“
A kissing game.”

“
Nick,” Beatrice gasped.

Grant’s gaze narrowed. Smoke practically came out of his ears and flared nostrils. “Careful, Levitt.”

“
Careful? Of what exactly? Miss Hamilton asked a question. I answered.”

“
What are we wagering on?” Leigh asked, thoroughly enjoying the glitter in his eyes and the way his statements caused Beatrice to flush and Grant to squirm. Nick also gave her a searching look. What was he up to?

“
Oh, the usual type of bet. A little who-can-get-to-the-finish-line-first scenario.”

“
That’s enough, Levitt,” Grant said, standing.

Nick stood as well, and pushed his chair in. Where Grant’s body exuded dominance, Nick’s form was the picture of blitheness. “A bit touchy today, Connel, aren’t we? Wake up on the wrong side of the cave?”

Grant’s fists flexed, and Leigh found herself delighting in his reaction. What sort of twisted reaction was that? Clearly she was angrier with Grant than she’d realized, or she wouldn’t be getting such pleasure out of Nick needling him. If she was that angry, that meant she cared far more than she should.

What happened to her vow of getting home and forgetting men altogether?

“
I’ve had enough,” Beatrice said, and really did look to be right. Her hair, her eyes, and even the way she stood up spelled out defeat. “Leigh, Grant, if you please, I need a moment to speak with Nick privately.”

“
Of course,” Leigh said, her inner humor vanishing.

Grant shot a look at Nick that needed no words. Hurt her, and he’d hurt Nick. Leigh followed Grant out of the private car, toward his. Nick kept Duchy from following. Leigh was grateful for the additional privacy it might offer. Grant plainly used the dog as a way to avoid her. She hated the small step across the narrow gap between trains, and readily took Grant’s hand when he offered it. She wished she hadn’t touched him, but told herself that it was simply a necessary evil, and that he’d let go. He’d open the metal door and keep hold of her until she was safely inside.

Or sweep her to his chest by the waist and ravage her mouth.

By all the stars, being near him made her lose her sensibility. She’d satisfied her curiosity plenty. Any more knowledge, and she’d find herself facing a priest next to Grant and making vows she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to give to any man. Six weeks in Paris proved to her that a woman didn’t need a man to survive or find happiness.

Look at Georgette LePlante, her schemes aside. She was an independent woman living a spectacularly interesting life filled with intellectual conversations, interesting people, and, as the woman often had pointed out, any lover she wanted.

The door shut, and Grant let go.

Immediately, Leigh missed the feel of his large, rough hand in hers enough that her heart ached with it. He faced her, his pale eyes darker, filled with an all-too-familiar passion. A flutter filled her chest. She swallowed, wondering what on earth she could say to penetrate the silence and turn his eyes away.

His gaze enraptured her, though. Too much bare emotion was present to resist looking at him. Too beautiful a color to break free from. Grant moved closer. His brow knitted, hooding his eyes and giving him a look of danger that made the flutter in her chest move lower, tickling down the inside of her belly. Why did he have to look at her like that?

“
Wh...What do you suppose that was all about?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you can’t guess.”

Oh, she could guess. Beatrice wanted Nick, and hated that she wanted Nick. Beatrice wasn’t a woman who took her vows lightly. While Samuel had clearly failed her, he didn’t deserve to be so thoroughly insulted. “He loves her,” she said, only recognizing the truth of her words as she spoke them.

Grant nodded. “But he can’t have her.”

A lump formed in Leigh’s throat. She should tell him about the dream. She’d missed every other chance. She would regret it if she didn’t tell him and find out all she could before they got to San Francisco. “Grant,” she said, still unable to look away.

“
I’m sorry,” he said.

“
For what?” The lump grew. If he apologized for what happened the last time they were alone, she wasn’t certain how she’d react.

“
For so much.” He stepped a little closer. “For doubting you. For being belligerent at every turn.”

“
Not every turn,” she said, wishing he’d stop talking.

“
Let me finish.”

She didn’t want to hear the end. Everything in her rebuffed the idea. Yet, drowning in the depths of his eyes, she nodded anyhow. She knew what Nick was betting now, what he meant in all his insinuations. He wanted to push Beatrice to face her feelings. By challenging Leigh to who wins first, he meant—Who wins the heart of whom they love?

But Leigh did not love Grant.

She wanted him. Her body trembled with it, even now as he stood there doing nothing more than searching her eyes for answers. Or perhaps he was hoping she would instead give him her own answers. His earthy, spicy scent hung in the air between them. Her mind flashed with the memory of his naked chest. That scent enveloped her as he touched her.

Grant didn’t finish. He stood before her, something in his gaze begging her. She refused to love this wounded man. Loving him would hurt. He would be intense and possessive, and the kind of man that if she let herself love him, she might be ruined for any other love in her entire life. Just look at how much he affected her now, after mere weeks. How could her heart ever recover, losing that kind of love? And she certainly would.

Even if it meant in death.

Love like that did not last forever. And the person left behind was shattered.

How many broken patrons had Leigh seen over the years who wept, begged, and screamed for their lost loves, to the point that they would give anything for just one more glimpse? Anything.

No amount of curiosity was worth loving this man. She was strong. She was a survivor. And that meant she knew when to protect herself from real risk.

Henry was nothing like Grant. Henry had been a safe bet. And, apparently, a foolish safe bet. “Please don’t kiss me,” Leigh said.

He shut his eyes and when he opened them, Leigh almost gasped. Had she thought they’d been bare with emotion? That paled by comparison to how he regarded her now. “I never wished to hurt you.”

The heat of his body radiated to her. Leigh backed up, but found herself at the door. Grant wound an arm around her lower back. “Grant,” she gasped. He pulled her closer and maneuvered her to the side. “Please. I can’t.”

He let her go. “The door isn’t a safe place to stand.”

“
Oh.” Warmth spread up her neck. “Sorry,” she said, giving a small laugh. “I thought you were....”

“
Oh, doubt not. I wanted to. I still do. Every inch of your delectable body is calling to me. But I can also appreciate the fact that I have little to offer you.”

His words stabbed at her heart. Leigh winced. “I never said that.”

“
You don’t have to. You don’t even know what darkness I carry with me, and yet I know you must sense it.” He leaned one shoulder next to the door, pain showing in his tight expression. “I wish I could say the past dies unto itself. But it doesn’t. What I’ve caused is unforgivable. I won’t put that weight onto anyone. Especially not onto you. I never want to see you change the way you look at me. But it’s coming. Once we get home, once you truly see what happened to Tristan....” He looked down. “If I can survive that, then I’ll survive anything. But I won’t force whatever I’ll face on you, simply because I can’t stop myself from touching you.”

She should have told him about the dream. “Grant, I need you to know—”

“
I already know, Leigh.”

“
No, I haven’t told you this.” Leigh swallowed, that lump growing again. Would he look at her like that again if she told him the truth? Already, wariness shuttered his eyes, dampening the heat between them.

He stopped leaning and began pacing. “Just say it.”

“
The night at the hotel, the night before we set sail, I had a dream.” She forced herself to keep going. “I didn’t make the connection at first. I have dreams sometimes. Always have. They aren’t necessarily part of connecting to souls.” If he at least paused in his pacing, she might be able to gauge how what she said impacted him. “I think I dreamed of the night Tristan was kidnapped.”

Not even that brought him to a stop. He walked, back and forth, breathing hard, rubbing his neck. “Go on.”

“
Well, I, er, dreamed of a boy in an alley. He was witnessing a man being beaten. He was so scared.” Even now she could feel the boy’s terror, feel how hard he was trying to not cry, to keep it together. His chin jutted up, but trembling, his two little fists clenched. “He thought the man was dead. They kicked him again and again until he didn’t move anymore.”

“
Why didn’t you tell me?” Pace. Pace, turn, pace. “When did you realize it was Tristan?”

“
I couldn’t be sure it was any sort of vision until I was around you more. Then I connected the assaulted man as being you.” This reaction was not what she’d anticipated. In some ways, this was worse. It was as if every stride carved a deep trench between them. He was distancing himself from her, from her words. She wanted to stop his pacing, to force his attention back to her. “On the ship after seeing you change into the wolf, the dream changed. I then dreamed that, the man—you—became a wolf right there in the gutter.”