"I want babies. The burden of that responsibility falls on you, I'm afraid. But if you consented to have my babies, I'd put you on a pedestal and make it the most wonderful experience of your life."
He lowered his voice to a compelling, tempting whisper. "I've felt your passion for me, Devon. I've tasted it. I know it's there. Put your arms around my neck. Tell me you need me. Admit you love me."
"Twice you've persuaded me to break my wedding vows. Isn't that enough for you?"
"I want us to exchange our own vows, vows our bodies have already made. Vows you haven't made with Greg or any other man."
"I can't see you again, Lucky."
"Say you love me."
"I can't."
"It's because of the way your mother died, isn't it?" he demanded.
Devon fell back a step. "What?"
; "You turned a deaf ear to her and she died. You take responsibility for her death."
"Yes!" she cried. "Wouldn't you?"
"Was she incapacitated? Bedridden? Homebound? Unable to drive?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Could she have gone to the doctor alone, Devon?" She hedged, and he knew he was on to something. "She laid that guilt on you because her life had been miserable, and in a warped way she wanted yours to be. She probably wanted to die, and going about it as painfully as possible was her way of guaranteeing your attention for the rest of your life. And in the same damn way, you've shackled yourself to Shelby."
"He might be innocent."
"He isn't."
"But if he is—"
"You will have done all you could do to save him from imprisonment." He clamped down on her shoulders. "Devon, you can't take on responsibility for the whole world. No one's asked you to. You can't sacrifice your present happiness because of what happened in the past or what might happen in the future. Let it go. Let them go. Focus on someone who needs you here and now."
He had never begged a woman for anything. It was difficult for him to do so now. It went against his nature as diametrically as snow in the jungle. But, as he had realized, this was one argument he couldn't lose. His life depended on it.
"Don't throw away the best damn thing that has ever happened to either of us. Not for the sake of pride or principle or anything else. Don't. I'm begging you, Devon, please don't." He bracketed her jaw with his hands and tilted her head back. Enunciating each word, he said, "Tell me you love me."
She stared him down, her features tortured and emotional. Slowly her head began moving from side to side, as far each way as his hands would allow. Then, voice tearing, she said, "I can't. Please don't ask me to again."
* * *
Chapter 20
Lucky's black mood didn't improve when he got caught in a traffic jam as he approached the outskirts of Milton Point. He cursed the summer heat, the gloriously setting sun, cruel fate. After sitting broiling in his open convertible for several minutes, he got out and flagged down a cattle truck that was driving past in the opposite lane.
"What's caused this snafu?"
"Helluva wreck ahead of you," the teamster shouted down from the cab of his rig. "Two cars. Ambulances. Highway patrol and local cops. The whole shooting match. You might be here for a while, buddy."
"Not likely," Lucky muttered as he climbed back into his Mustang. He was going to the place, where he would drown out all thoughts and memories of Devon Haines and her senseless, stupid stubbornness if it took ten gallons of Jack Daniel's to do it.
He was eventually able to maneuver the Mustang out of the lane and onto the shoulder of the highway. To the fury of other stranded drivers, he breezed along the outside lane, slowing up only when he came even with the site of the wreck and the emergency vehicles.
He was hoping to crawl past without attracting attention, but his legendary luck had deserted him. One of the officers flagged him down and approached his car. Lucky recognized him as a local sheriff's deputy.