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By the time the cold water reached his waist, he was shivering … and blessedly numb.
So he kept walking forward.
* * *
Drenched and shivering uncontrollably now, Zane hesitated outside the door of his and Jillian’s honeymoon cottage.
His impromptu dip in the lake had partially eased the pain in his balls but hadn’t improved his mood any. Or done a thing for the inexplicable ache in his chest.
He sighed. He’d lost his damned mind. He’d passed the psych evals after every mission for the Bureau with flying colors, but hell, maybe the stress of finding out he had a kid had kicked in some sort of latent PTSD.
What kind of reception was he about to receive from his new bride? Hurt? Rage? Tears? He deserved all of the above, and more.
But please, not tears.
Stoneheart had made his mom cry all too often.
Bracing himself, Zane unlocked the door and gingerly pushed it open.
Low lamps on both sides of the king-sized bed splashed amber puddles across the burgundy comforter and glowed against pine-paneled walls. Quiet New Age music resonated from hidden speakers. A cheerful fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Jillian’s alluring patchouli fragrance scented the warm, moist air, announcing a recent bath in the huge sunken tub in the corner where an open bottle of white wine and a plate with trace evidence of cheese, crackers and fruit perched on the rim.
His gaze swept the deserted room. He swallowed hard. “Jillian?” he asked, unable to keep the hope out of his husky question.
She emerged from behind the burgundy curtains that draped the padded window seat, a half-full glass of wine in one hand, the other adjusting the tied belt on her silken emerald robe. Her composed, inquisitive gaze traveled down his sodden, shivering frame, then back up. “Hi. I was just watching the stars. They’re so clear and bright out here away from the city. Have a nice refreshing swim, did you?”
Bewildered relief tangled inside him. She didn’t appear hurt or angry. And there was no sign of tears. “Ah … yeah. Listen, Jillian—”
“You look like you’re freezing. Why don’t you go take a long, hot shower, and I’ll call room service for some dinner. How does seafood sound?”
Better than eating crow. “Uh … sure. But first, I owe you an apology. I acted like an ass.”
“Yes, you did,” she said evenly.
“And … about … what I said to you, after we— After I—” He cleared his throat. “That was really shitty.”
“But it was the truth, yes?” Full, pink lips quirked at the corners. “We both know I’m the world’s worst prevaricator.” One slender shoulder lifted nonchalantly. “Now Idon’thave to—technically—lie.”
“Did I … did I hurt you?”
“Zane, youwerethere, right? You were the one holding me, kissing me, while you gave me a writhing, bucking, screaming climax.”
He gulped in much-needed oxygen. “Uh … well … I didn’t intend to get so rough.”
“I’m fine. In fact, I feel fantastic. It’s amazing what a mind-jolting orgasm can do for you. You should try it sometime.”
He blinked, as knocked off-balance as if he’d been bashed in the head by a 95 mph fastball. “Are you going to toss all my words back at me?”
Her pert nose crinkled impishly. “As often as possible.”
“Well. Well, ah, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Her soft smile spiked his blood pressure. “Apology accepted.”
He’d never been given mercy and grace, had no idea how to respond.
“Zane, we’ve both had a tough week. Now go grab that shower before you catch pneumonia. We can talk more over dinner.”
“Right.” Tearing his gaze from her too-tempting mouth, he grabbed his bag from the bench at the food of the bed and strode toward the bathroom.
