When Lightning Strikes

She shook her head. "You don't know me, Killian. If you did?" "Then let me."

She frowned. "Let you what?" "Let me know you."

She gasped at the quietly spoken words and stumbled away from him. When there was some distance between them, she stopped. "I-I can't," she said.

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"Lainie

The way he said her name made her want to cry. She wished suddenly that things were different, that she were different. She wanted to take her words back, say she'd try. But she couldn't manage it. Years' worth of false hopes and bitter disappointments kept her silent.

She stood stiffly, stared up at him, unable to say anything.

A gentle rain started to fall. She felt the cool splash of droplets on her upturned face, smelled the fresh scent of the water mingling with the aroma of soap that clung to her skin.

The shower blurred her vision, turned him into a tall, silver-haired smear before her eyes, until she couldn't read the expression on his face anymore, couldn't tell if he was smiling or frowning.

She stepped back and swiped at her eyes. It was gone; the moment of intimacy, of possibility, melted into the rain and was washed away.

Tears, she thought tiredly. It was as if God were up there, crying softly for what she'd become.

Chapter Twenty-two

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Killian and Lainie lay side by side in the little tent, listening to the rain patter the dark fabric, watching the squiggly lines slide down the sloping sides. Outside, the fire was a dim, inconstant glow.

Lainie lay with her eyes wide open, the sleeping bag drawn taut across her chin.

Let me know you.

It was amazing how romantic those words were. She felt as if she'd waited a lifetime to hear them, to believe them. But now that the moment was at hand, she was terrified to open up. She couldn't imagine why he cared about her, and she couldn't help feeling that it was an illusion. Maybe even something out of her book that had no basis in fact, that didn't really exist.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

Her thoughts were far too jumbled and depressing to reveal. She shrugged. "I don't know ... just listening to the rain, I guess."

They lapsed into silence again, amid the thumping splatter of the rain.

"Tell me something about yourself, Lainie," he said after a while.

She tensed. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. What's your favorite color? 283

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What's your birthday? What food do you like? Where'd you grow up? ... Anything."

She answered slowly. "Black. December thirteenth. Anything someone else cooks."

He laughed. "You forgot where you grew up."

She had hoped he wouldn't notice her omission. "That answer's not so easy. There's a long version and a short one. Most people prefer the short."