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he was still falling. Every time she looked at him, every time she touched him, aside from the torment she
caused his tortured body, there was a lightness. As if two soul mates had come together at long last.
He scraped his hair back along his skull with both hands and continued to pace.
But she was wrong for him, he argued with himself. She was infuriating, entirely too outspoken,
unconventional, unpredictable. Mad. She would keep his life in constant turmoil.
He could marry Faith. Sweet, serene, sane Faith. His life would be ordered. Calm, organized,
uneventful.
Boring.
As boring as poor Grif's was with Florence.
And he knew now that he didn't love Faith, at least not as he should. He had loved her twelve years
earlier, as a youth loves a girl. But the love he felt for Shaelyn was the love of a man for a woman. A fiery,
tempestuous, volatile love for the same kind of woman.
And she loved him, as well. She'd said as much the night she moved into the cottage. She'd left because
it hurt too much to watch him with Faith.
Oh, how he regretted the pain he caused her.
But he would make it all up to her now. He would tell her in the morning how he felt.
No, by damn. He would tell her now.
He strode across the deck, threw open the door in the bulkhead, then clattered down the steps. He
paused at her door.
It was the middle of the night. How long had she been sleeping?
Long enough.
He raised his fist to knock, but the door flew open before his knuckles ever met wood. Shaelyn
bounced off his chest with an "Ooph!"
"What the . . . ? Alec! I was just coming to find you."
Shaelyn's mane of dark curls sprouted from her head at all angles. Her red-rimmed eyes looked as if
she hadn't slept in days.
Saint's blood, she was beautiful.
She dragged him into the cabin and shut the door. Her ever-burning lamp glowed happily, but Alec
noticed that the bunk looked as if a wrestling match had taken place there. He took a deep breath and
turned to her.
"We need to talk," they both blurted.
"You first," they said in unison.
"No, go ahead."
"Be my guest." They managed yet again to speak at the same time.
Shaelyn gave him a pained smile, dropped into the chair, and wordlessly gestured for him to speak.
Now that he had the floor, he wasn't quite certain how to proceed. How did one go about telling his
wife he loved her? He'd never expected to have that problem. Should he give her a gentle speech
beforehand? Take her in his arms and hold her? Drop to one knee and try to think of something poetic?
"Shaelyn. . ."
She looked up at him with dread in her eyes. He took a deep breath.
"I love you," he exhaled.
Well, that was certainly one way to go about it.
The dread turned to a look of puzzlement, then realization, and then, much to his relief, elation. Before
he even saw her move, she had her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him to the floor when their
bodies met.
She pelted him with kisses on his face, his neck, his nose. When she settled on his mouth, the passion
rocked him, weakening his knees, turning his brain to mush, coiling to burn in a part of him that wanted her
as much as his mind did.
"Oh, Alec. I was so afraid. So afraid," she murmured against his mouth. Suddenly she jerked back.
"Wait a minute. What do you mean by, 'I love you'?"
He stared at her. How could one misinterpret those words?
"I mean I love you and I want you to be my wife. Remain my wife. Blast it, you know what I mean."
She cocked her head. "Regardless of where I'm from?"
"Y-y-yes." He nodded slowly. This was not the topic he wanted to discuss right now. "Regardless." Of
where you say you 're from, he added silently.
She studied his eyes, then ever so gently took his face in her hands and covered his mouth with hers,
her kiss so achingly sweet it rivaled the one before it in the havoc wreaked upon his body.
He pulled her even closer and dragged her down with him, pulling her across his lap as he sat in the
chair before his knees gave out. She snuggled closer, wrapping her arms tighter, her lips never leaving his,
and he wondered if he'd put himself in an even worse position.
She brought her kiss to a slow, reluctant end, then leaned back into his arms and looked at him, a new
worry obviously nagging at her.
"What is it?" He tried to draw her back, but she held him off.
She searched his face, then glanced at her lap before looking back at him. Torment darkened her
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