No, he had to somehow carefully pick his way through the quicksand and find a way to let her down gently over the remaining months of her stay without anyone else being any the wiser. All he could give her was the protection she deserved...and the love coursing through his body and his heart. Not the words. But he could set her free of the chains of her past, and when he let her go—when he was forced to let her go—she would know exactly who and what she really was: beautiful, desirable and so damned lovable she’d never believe otherwise again.
But when she left, she would take his heart with her. The heart he hadn’t known he still had to lose...until it was lost.
Chapter 10
Mara hummed a joyful little Zakharian folk song from the eighteenth century to herself as she gathered up her books. Another school week was over, but that wasn’t why she was so happy. She was happy because she had the whole weekend ahead of her...with Trace. Tuesday and Wednesday this week had been Alec’s days on duty, and Thursday and Friday had belonged to Liam.
She’d only seen Trace occasionally since Monday—at dinner, walking around the grounds and once in the stables when she went to check on Suleiman. He had scarcely said a word to her, nothing that couldn’t have been overheard by anyone in her household. And when others were around his face wore that professional appearance she knew now was a mask hiding his deeper feelings. But the few times they’d been alone his eyes had been alive with emotion. And the emotion she wanted to believe she saw reflected there was...love.
This weekend—Saturday and Sunday—were Trace’s days to guard her, and she had plans to spend as much time as she could with him. She knew she probably couldn’t convince him to take her back to his cabin, although she would gladly go there if he would. She just wanted to be with him—to listen to his voice, to watch the way he moved with that silent, graceful power, to read what he felt for her in his gorgeous blue eyes. Doing nothing with him was better than doing anything with anyone else.
“You’re happy,” Liam commented casually as Mara slung her computer case over one shoulder, picked up her briefcase with one hand and her purse with the other, and headed for the door of her office. But there was nothing casual about the way Liam’s eyes swept the corridor as he walked out of her office a step ahead of her, his jacket unbuttoned for quick access to his gun. “Starting to feel more at home here?”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him.
“The other day Alec said it seemed as if you weren’t homesick anymore. That true?”
She allowed herself a tiny smile. “Everyone is so nice to me here. My students—most of them try so hard any teacher would be pleased and proud. My fellow professors treat me as if I am truly one of them. You and Alec take such good care of me. And Trace...” Her tiny smile grew.
“Yeah. Alec and I, we noticed.”
Mara shot a quick glance at Liam’s face, wondering exactly what he meant by that statement, but all she read in his expression was the same casual interest. Liam and Alec cannot know, she reassured herself. No one knows except Trace, and he would never tell anyone.
“So how’s the book coming?” Liam asked her as they walked to the faculty parking lot.
She sighed a little. “It would be easier if I could write it in Zakharan,” she told him with a droll smile. “Equations are the same in any language, but the text...the right words will not always come to my mind to convey the exact meaning of what I wish to say.”
She remembered then how she had whispered to Trace in Zakharan last Sunday. She had wanted to tell him everything she was feeling, had wanted to share with him the glory and wonder of knowing he understood all the things she couldn’t bring herself to say about her father, about her growing up years...and he loved her anyway.
And then she’d told him she loved him. Not in English. In Zakharan. She hadn’t been able to hold back—the words had tumbled out despite her best efforts. But at least he hadn’t understood her. At least she hadn’t put that burden on him. When he was ready he would tell her. She knew he loved her as surely as she knew she loved him. She wanted to shout it to the whole world, but...
Mara knew she was old-fashioned compared to American women, but that was the way she’d been raised. In Zakhar a woman did not tell a man she loved him...not until he spoke first. And she wanted those words from Trace. She wanted him to tell her what his eyes had surely told her on Sunday...and every time they’d been alone since. Then and only then would she tell him—in English—that his love was returned.