Snowbound

same person? But who was he angry at? The man who’d

fired the weapon that hurt him? One faction or another

in Iraq? The U.S. government for sending him? Fate?

Himself? Fiona had no idea, because he wouldn’t tell her.

She was actually starting to feel uncomfortable, as if

she should cross her arms and cover herself. She’d told

him some really personal and even embarrassing things

about herself, like the fact that she was childish enough

to be jealous because her mother was dating. But he wasn’t

at all interested in talking about his feelings in the same

way. So there she was, bare, while he hadn’t peeled off a

single article of clothing. At least, that’s what it felt like.

So maybe what they had going was just about sex

to John.

Of course, the sex was awfully good. She’d known

it would be. How could it not, when the mere sight of

him stirred her in unfamiliar ways? And this trip, it was

just exploratory, for both of them. She doubted he was

ready for anything more than, well, a fling with normalcy, anyway. She even tried to tell herself she was okay with that. The way she hurt inside when he evaded

a question or even, one night, said, “Not something I

want to talk about,” and rolled away, that was only

punctured ego, not the bruise it felt like.

What she really, truly, wasn’t prepared for was what

happened on her last night there.

They made love the moment they were alone. She

felt John’s urgency, shared it; tomorrow night, she’d be

home in her town house in Hawes Ferry, miles from

here, not knowing when she would see him again. When

they were sated, if only briefly, he rolled to take his

weight off her and gathered her close.

He nuzzled her hair. She was smiling, her eyelids

growing heavy, when he said suddenly, “Don’t leave

tomorrow. Fiona, stay with me.”

Shocked, she whispered, “What? But school starts

Wednesday…”

“I don’t mean just for another day or two.” He reared

up on one elbow so she could see his face, his eyes

searching hers. “Quit your job. Stay. Marry me.”

She gaped at him. Was he serious?

Fiona had an awful, awful feeling that he was.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JOHN COULDN’T BELIEVE it. He’d asked the woman he

loved to marry him, and the first words out of her mouth

weren’t, “Yes, oh yes!” No, they were a flat and dismayed, “You’re not serious.”

Still raised on one elbow so he could see her lying

beside him in bed, John stiffened. “Why wouldn’t I

be?”

Her eyes shied from his. “We haven’t known each

other that long.”

“We’ve spent more time together than most couples

do over six months of just dating.”

“Well, maybe.” She sounded doubtful. “But you’ve

never said…”

Relieved, he realized he’d forgotten the big words.

“That I love you? I think I fell in love by the second day

you were here back in November.”

Her eyes met his, begging, it seemed to him, and her

voice was suddenly tremulous. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He bent his head to nuzzle her cheek.

“Really. You couldn’t tell?”

Fiona sat up so fast, her shoulder whacked his nose.

“No! No, I can’t… Oh.” She noticed that he was clutch224

ing his nose and his eyes were watering. “John! I’m so

sorry. I didn’t mean…” She dragged in a deep breath.

“But…no. Love means trust. It means sharing. Making

yourself vulnerable to the other person. Have you ever

voluntarily told me one single really personal thing

about yourself?”

Goddamn. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and

prayed the blaze of pain would subside.

“Yes. I said I love you.”

“And I’m questioning whether you do.” She waited,

uncompromising. “What else?”

He sat up straight, too. “I told you how I feel about

this.” He touched his scar.

“No, you didn’t. You expressed the belief that

women found it unattractive. I trust you’re convinced

that I don’t?”

He nodded. “It’s…” He stopped, physically unable