A Wish For Love (Gates-Cameron 2)

It had sounded suspiciously like a farewell speech.

“Bran?” she asked uncertainly. “Why are you saying this now? You aren’t going away, are you? You’ll stay until Anna returns, won’t you?”

“I have to go now, he said, his expression reluctant. “I’m sorry I can’t stay with you longer tonight. Will you be all right? Should you call someone?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said impatiently, rising to one elbow. “Where are you going? When will you come back?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t explain now, but I’ll try to come back as soon as I can to make sure you’re all right. If I can’t, remember what I said, will you?”

“Yes, but—”

He was already moving away from the bed. She reached out to him, her fingers clutching empty air as he stepped just out of reach. “Bran, wait.”

“I’m sorry, Bailey.” He looked harried now, as though he must hurry. “I have to go.”

Her hand fell. S

wallowing hard, she nodded stiffly against the pillow. “I won’t keep you, then.”

He hesitated, glancing from the open bedroom doorway and then back to her. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.” She had no other choice.

Still he lingered, his gaze locked on her battered face. “I don’t like leaving you like this.”

She started to tell him she understood. She kept silent because she didn’t understand. She had no idea what was suddenly calling him away. Why he couldn’t tell her when he would return—if at all.

He took a step closer to the bed and leaned over her. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “About everything.”

His face was so close to hers that she should have felt the warmth of his breath on her skin. He seemed to be holding it. Her own breath was lodged behind a massive lump in her throat.

He moved closer, paused, then brushed his lips across her bruised forehead, so lightly she felt little more than a shivery tingle where he touched her.

She closed her eyes as her pulse raced in response to the brief caress. When she opened them again, he was gone.

She looked toward the open doorway through which he must have silently made his escape. The cottage was dark beyond that door, quiet. Empty.

“Good night, Bran,” she murmured.

She hoped with all her heart that it wasn’t goodbye.

IAN CURSED the grayness. Cursed the silence. Cursed himself for leaving Bailey confused and vulnerable, hurting from her injuries, still shaken from the aftermath of her nightmare.

Would she awaken again, whimpering and fearful, with no one there to hear her? No one to reassure her?

In her own way, she was as much alone as he was. He ached at the memory of her lying so pale and so uncharacteristically subdued against the pillows. Someone should be with her. Someone to comfort her. Care for her. Guard her.

Someone who could have carried her to her bed and tenderly tucked her in.

His fists clenched at the thought of anyone other than himself doing those things for her. Yet how could he deny her what he could never offer?

It would probably be better for both of them if he never saw her again. If they’d never met at all.

He’d only wanted to help her, to be a friend when she needed one, but it had grown beyond that. Something serious was building between them. Something that had the potential to be very painful for both of them.

What would happen if she learned the truth about him? Would she hate him? Pity him? Fear him?

He didn’t want to face any of those possibilities.