The Hidden Heart by Sharon Schulze Page B

lips.
    Even as she savored the warmth of his touch, a chill settled within her as his words sank into her consciousness.
    He’d missed her? Missed what—this? She herself, or the passion they’d once shared?
    Although the movement made her feel as if she were wrenching her heart from her breast, Gillian tore her mouth from his and took a step back. Despite the uncertain footing, she managed to reach the shore without further mishap. Her gown streaming water, she trudged onto the grassy bank of the pool and sank to her knees.
    She heard Rannulf sloshing toward her, but concentrated on wringing out her sopping skirts until an icy droplet landed on her head. “Gillian, what’s wrong?”
    Her attention focused on the task with an intensity the well-worn garment didn’t deserve, she ignored him until the drop became a steady stream of cold water pouring over her head.
    â€œYou bastard!” she gasped. Rolling out of the way, she struggled to her feet and looked at him. He lowered his tunic—which he’d removed and held over her as he wrung it out—and grinned unrepentantly. Her teeth chattered. “Haven’t you done enough already?”
    He cast aside the tunic and stalked after her as she retreated toward the trees. “Not nearly enough,” he said low-voiced.
    â€œLet me be!” she shrieked as he snatched her off her feet and back into his arms.
    His lips felt warm against her chilled skin, brushing flame over her cheek, her chin, her eyelids before settling on her mouth. “Rannulf,” she moaned, fighting the temptation to sink once more into the heated morass of his caress.
    Sheer force of will kept her hands down at her sides, fighting the compulsion to touch him in return. But neither could she force herself to move away. He continued to kiss her, easing her down his body to stand on her own while he stroked his callused fingertips along the sensitive flesh of her throat, her nape, until her skin felt burnished with sensations too compelling to bear.
    Finally the gentle assault gave way to his arms about her, holding her snug against the firm strength of his chest. She could feel his warmth through the thin linen of his shirt, hear the racing of his heart beneath her ear slow to its normal pace. When he finally laid his cheek atop her head and held her to him, Gillian lifted her arms and returned his embrace.
    How long they stood thus before he spoke, she could not say, but between Rannulf’s hold and the midday sun, she no longer felt cold.
    â€œI didn’t mean for this to happen,” he murmured into her hair. “But I’ve no will to resist you, it appears.” With a sigh, he slid his arms away and set her free. His expression solemn, he reached out and smoothed her hair back from her face. “I don’t know how I ever thought I could.”
    â€œThere was a time when it seemed you felt no need to.” She caught his gaze and held it captive with her own. “Will you tell me why that changed?”
    His eyes grew darker still, shadow-filled and cold. “I cannot.”
    There was a time he’d kept no secrets from her, or so she’d believed. “Cannot?” she asked, challenge in her voice, her stance. “Or will not?”
    He looked away from the intensity of her questioning gaze. “Does it matter which?” He picked up his wet tunic and shook it out. “The outcome is the same either way,” he said before drawing the rumpled garment over his head, hiding his face, his eyes from her completely.
    When his head emerged from the neckline, his face bore no expression at all. “You’ve come to no harm?”
    â€œWould you care if I had?” she couldn’t resist asking. She bent to wring her sodden skirts once more, not even bothering to watch him further.
    Why bother? ’Twas clear he’d reverted to the man she didn’t recognize...the man who’d refused her