Deep River Promise, Jackie Ashenden [large ebook reader .TXT] 📗

didn’t realize was just how heavy that load had been, both for her and Connor.

You should tell him. He’d understand.

No, she couldn’t. Damon was an unknown quantity, and with this attraction between them, once she told him one thing, she’d find herself telling him everything. And she couldn’t do that. She’d been burned and burned badly, and there was no trust left in her.

So all she did was nod, concentrating instead on his gaze, so blue and depthless she felt as if she were falling.

The moment lengthened, tension gathering around them the way it had back in her office earlier. The gleam in his eyes intensified, became electric.

“Astrid…” His voice had become even deeper, liquid honey surrounding her.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from him.

He was very close, and he was so very tall, muscular, and powerful. And she didn’t just want to lean into his strength; she wanted to inhale his scent, touch the fabric of his shirt, feel the hardness of the chest beneath it. Distract herself from the ache of guilt and grief in her heart, the feeling she’d let down the one person in the world she shouldn’t have.

Just one touch. That would be enough, wouldn’t it?

She lifted her hand and laid it on his chest.

He went very still, the electric gleam in his eyes flaring. And she thought he might pull her hand away or step back, but he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, he lifted his own hand and laid it over hers, pressing her palm against him.

She could count the number of times she’d touched him, each moment glowing and warm, like pearls in a necklace of glass beads. Shaking his hand when he’d first introduced himself, and then again when he’d made her reciprocate up in the Moose yesterday. And then this morning, his fingers brushing her cheek as he’d pushed that curl back behind her ear…

And now this moment. His big hand enclosing hers, holding it against him, the scent of him around her, sandalwood and spice. His heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt and into her.

“Astrid.” Her name again, his voice huskier now, deep and soft as velvet.

“What?”

“You should stop me.”

“Stop you from what?” She couldn’t look away from him. Couldn’t tear her gaze from the astonishing blue of his eyes.

His other hand lifted, his fingers brushing along the line of her jaw, stroking her skin. Making her shiver. Threading into her hair, cradling the back of her head.

He was so gentle, handling her as if she was precious.

She trembled.

“Stop me from doing this.”

Then he bent his head and his mouth covered hers, and Astrid was lost.

Chapter 9

Damon hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d only wanted to reassure her because he’d recognized the guilt in her eyes when he’d mentioned Connor, and seen the grief too. Knew the fear that had glittered in the misty depths of her gaze as she’d wondered if her son would talk to her. She was worried that she’d irreparably hurt him, and Damon got that. It was familiar. The questions he’d asked himself after Ella had gotten sick—Had he fed her the wrong thing? Let her come into contact with something she shouldn’t? Not given her the vitamins she needed?—were the same things everyone asked themselves when they were responsible for someone else who ended up hurt or sick.

Most people wanted to do right by the people in their care and so did Astrid. It was written all over her face.

Connor hadn’t said why he hadn’t talked to his mom, but Damon could guess—mostly because he’d done the same thing with his own mother. He’d wanted to protect her, hadn’t wanted to worry her.

But he hadn’t thought Astrid would touch him, that her touch would make his breath catch and every part of him sit up and take notice.

He hadn’t thought he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from putting his hand over hers, from pressing her palm to his chest, the feel of it echoing through him, making him feel edgy and raw, the sensations sharp after years of blunted, muted feelings.

He hadn’t thought he wouldn’t be able to keep from reaching out to caress the soft skin of her jaw, watching as her eyes turned from misty gray into pure silver as the passion inside her came out to play. That tense, bristling energy turning into something much more fluid and supple, hot and needy.

She’d looked at him like she was desperate, and it had been a long time since someone had been desperate for him—since he’d let anyone be desperate—and no, he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

Her mouth was soft opening beneath his, and she tasted as sweet and sugary as he’d imagined. And yes, there was a bite to her. But not like citrus. It was more a kick of something alcoholic, heady as summer wine and going straight to his head just as quickly.

He could also taste heat in her, the passion that he’d seen in her gaze. A secret she kept locked away, and yet now, as she pressed against him, a secret that was his too. He didn’t think anyone knew about the fire that burned inside cool and capable Astrid James, and he liked that. Liked it far too much for his own good.

Her fingers spread out on his chest, and her mouth was hungry, as if she hadn’t eaten for days and he was her first taste of food.

This was such a bad idea and he knew it. But the moment she’d set foot in the market, and everyone had looked at her, and she’d stood there looking back, her gaze finding his, her face lighting up.

He’d missed that. Missed having someone so pleased to see him that they glowed. The last person to do that had been his daughter, and since she had gone, there had been no one else.

Because you never let anyone get close enough.

And he shouldn’t be letting this woman get close enough either, but