“That’s not true.”

“It is. It’s as true as you bringing death to the people you love. It feels true, which is sometimes the only part that counts. But that doesn’t mean it’s actually the truth in any way to the rest of the world. It’s not like we have some dark super-power. It just means you and I are a little fucked up, as you said. It’s one of the deeper things we have in common.”

He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Maybe what she was saying was right. Maybe. He couldn’t take it all in. “I don’t know, Summer Grace.”

She reached for him and pulled at his arms until she could cup his hands in her small ones, surrounding his in her warmth. “Shit happens, Jamie. All the damn time. Life happens, and just as often, death. And in case you’ve never looked at pregnancy statistics, most end in miscarriage. A lot of them are so early the woman doesn’t even know she’s pregnant, but it happens all the time. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s not. And certainly not yours. Not that baby or Brandon or Ian. Your brother had an accident. An accident. And my brother—that was caused by someone else’s stupidity. By the stupidity of the driver who hit him. None of that could possibly be your fault. What did you do, Jamie? Go to a Voodoo priestess and have her make some bad gris-gris? Sit in a corner and wish them dead? Come on.” She blew out a breath. “And I guess . . . I guess I didn’t do any of that to make my family fall apart, either.”

“When you say it, it makes sense.” But even as he said the words he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea. “I’ve been carrying this around for a long damn time, though. It may take a while for me to change my thinking habits.”

“It may take us both a while. But you can’t let fear rule you, Jamie—if I did I would never have let you take me out of that cemetery. And I would have missed out.”

She stood and moved closer, until she could run her hand over the stubble on his head. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips so he could kiss her palm. “You are damn smart sometimes, sugar. I mean that.”

She smiled and batted her long lashes. “I always knew I got all the brilliance in the family.”

“No doubt.” He pulled her down into his lap and buried his face in her damp hair. Christ, she smelled good, which helped him to get his brain in order again, for some reason. “We are so alike, aren’t we? I’ve known you for most of my life, but I’m only just realizing it. We’re a matched set.”

“Are we?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, working it out even as he spoke. “We both keep the hard stuff inside. You do it by being sassy and stubborn. I do it by being nice—or so Allie tells me—and stubborn, or by being an asshole and stubborn—or so Mick tells me. But in the end it’s the same thing.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes I hate that you know me so well.” She grabbed his jaw in both of her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “And sometimes,” she said, her voice going soft, “sometimes I sort of . . . love it.”

Her eyes were shining. With emotion. With something else. And he understood how deeply he loved her. How much he had all this time. It still scared the crap out of him. But right now that didn’t matter. Not one damn bit.

He stood, setting her on her feet

“Jamie?”

He silenced her with a kiss, pressing his lips hard against hers, needing the contact. Needing her. He stuffed the damn fear down and sank into her lips, her small frame tight in his arms. He sank into the contrast of delicacy and unbelievable strength that was her. He couldn’t stand for there to be the boundary of their clothes separating them one moment longer. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

*   *   *

SUMMER CLOSED HER eyes as Jamie laid her down on the bed and undressed her. Silently. Gently. There was something commanding even about his tenderness, and when she let her eyes flutter open to look up at him and saw the expression on his face in the quiet light of the rising sun, her heart nearly burst from her chest. Everything they’d talked about—his fears and his doubts and his determination to get over it—seemed to be swamping him with emotion. She wanted to think some of that emotion was for her as well. She knew it was, but she almost didn’t dare think it. Because in this moment she loved him more intensely, more thoroughly, than she ever knew she could, and it felt like the biggest risk she’d ever taken in her life.

One by one he pulled off her shoes, then her damp black dress, her bra, pausing with his fingertips under the edge of her panties to look down at her, to lock his gaze with hers. Her heart tumbled in her chest once more, and she had to swallow hard to even breathe as he slipped her black thong down over her thighs. Her body was melting already, but it was some simmering, languid sensation that was completely unfamiliar—something that had to do with the expression in his green eyes as much as it did his touch.

When he had her naked he straightened and undressed himself slowly, still watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth loose. She recognized that he’d dropped some of the conscious control, and she had some idea of what it meant for him to get to that vulnerable place with her. With anyone.

His shirt came off, and her body softened all over, and she admired his beautifully pierced nipples, the tattoo, memento mortalitatem tuam, running up his ribs—symbols of the raw edge that was such a part of who he was. She understood the meaning so much more now. He licked his lips, the damp point of his tongue moistening his beautiful mouth. She wanted him so badly it hurt, but she couldn’t move—all she could do was watch. Wait for him.

Jamie.

He toed his boots off, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down over his lean hips. He was naked underneath, and his cock was swollen with need—the same need her entire system was suffused with, drowning her in liquid desire. Jamie knelt on the bed, first one knee, then the other, straddling her. He reached down and stroked her cheek, her jaw, lingering at her lower lip, which had begun to tremble for some reason she couldn’t understand—not in any language, any words she was familiar with. And desire was some untamed animal that churned and snarled as she waited for him to take her—to take what was his.

“Summer Grace,” he whispered. He shook his head, his face momentarily crumbling before he pulled himself back together a bit. She thought she might cry. “Jesus, sweetheart. So much time to make up for.”

What was he trying to tell her? She couldn’t think straight.

“Jamie . . .”

He pressed his fingertips to her lips. “No more talking now. Just kiss me.”

He pulled her up into his arms and covered her mouth with his, his lips impossibly soft. He kissed her, pulled back, kissed her again and again until she was dizzy. Her arms went around his neck and he pressed his lips to hers over and over, sweet, almost chaste kisses that touched her on some deep level, making her sigh. She was a confused amalgam of need and fear and love—and sorrow for the time they’d lost, for the time they may never have.

No.

Unacceptable.

She pulled a breath into her lungs, pulled in his unique, familiar scent. The Jamie she’d always known.

Yes.

Finally he laid her back on the bed and slid his body over hers, holding himself up on his elbows, touching her cheeks, her mouth, her hair. His brows were drawn in concentration, and she’d never felt more the center of anyone’s attention. It was as if he’d found something important in her face. It was an overwhelming idea, but one she could understand as she looked up at him. She loved this face—his face—because it was his. Because it was beautiful to her.

She loved him. With every cell in her being. Exquisitely. Painfully. Undeniably.