Jessica Andersen - Magic Unchained

“I can’t.” The two words came out ragged.

“Why?”

He shrugged her off and turned to face her, his expression thunderous. “I just can’t, okay? I promised your father.”

Tired of cricking her neck to look up at him, she climbed up on a nearby bale of hay to meet his glare. The moment their gazes connected, though, something strange happened; dark heat in his eyes stopped looking like anger and started looking way more like what she’d seen from the guys she hung out with, the kind of fire that said, I’m getting hot and bothered and I’m wondering if you’re going to let me do something about it. But where with those other boys it was something like a game, coming from Sven, the look seared her to her toes.

“What promise?” she managed to get out breathlessly.

He hesitated. “I said I would ride out and get a head count on the high pastures, check for signs of any big cats messing with the stock.”

Cara barely heard him over the urgent thudding of her pulse and the sudden knowledge that this was her answer. This was how she could convince him to stay. Guys were all the same when it came to the basics, right? God, she hoped so.

She leaned in even as a small, panicked voice inside her said that this wasn’t just any guy. And as that same voice warned that she should stop, back away, and not make a huge mistake, she caught a startled-looking Sven by the collar with her free hand and locked her mouth to his. And kissed him.

Heat flared through her, made of equal parts excitement and the panicked thought of, Oh, shit, what am I doing?

His lips parted on a muffled sound of surprise and his fingers flexed in her grip, but he didn’t jerk away. If anything, he yielded against her, not all the way, but enough that she let go of his hand to flatten her palm on his chest, right over his heart. It beat with a quick, jumpy rhythm that sent new, surer heat flaring through her body along with a heady triumph that made her feel suddenly powerful. She—tiny little Cara, with her ranch clothes and weirdly striped hair—was hooking up with a college guy. And not just any college guy. This was Sven, and he’d looked at her with heat in his eyes.

Sparks igniting at the thought of him wanting her, she deepened the kiss and slid her tongue against his, wringing a full-body shudder from him. His hands tightened at her hip and upper arm, making her aware that they were almost embracing, with her breasts just grazing his chest and their thighs a breath apart. She moved closer, bringing their bodies fully into contact, and the sparks went to flames. Head spinning, she pressed closer, feeling the solid warmth of his muscles and—

“Shit!” He tore his mouth away and in a split second his hands went from holding her close to pushing her away so he could stare at her. This time there was no mistaking his expression. And horror didn’t look nearly so good on him as desire had. “Jesus, Cara. No. We can’t.”

Flushing with a sudden echo of that same horror, she brazened it out, tipping up her chin to say, “Sure we can. So stay, please, at least for tonight.” She wasn’t sure how much she was offering, only that she needed him to not leave.

“Why? Why is it so important?” His fingers dug in as he searched her face.

But she didn’t know how to answer. She was flushed and freaked, and could only stutter, “I-it just is, okay? Can you do it my way, just once, and stay because I asked you to?” She hadn’t meant to say it that way, hadn’t meant to make him choose. But once it was out there, she couldn’t call it back. She could only wait and hope, knowing that if he really cared for her, even a little, he would—

“I can’t.” The two words sliced through her, as did the regret in his eyes as he let go of her and held his hands out at his sides in surrender, or maybe apology. He might’ve had those hands all over her only a few moments earlier, but now he seemed a zillion miles away. His expression was closed, his jaw set. “I’m sorry, Cara. I just… can’t.”

Catching the bay’s reins, he headed for the door, walking stiffly.

“You’re leaving?” She hated that her voice cracked on the last word, hated that she was all churned up, her emotions running right near the surface of her soul and threatening to overflow. “Just like that?”

“It’s past noon already,” he said without looking back. “I need to get going if I’m going to make the high pastures before dark.” But although that was what he said aloud, the subtext was all too clear: Nice try, but it’s not enough. I’d rather be out there alone than in here with you.

Which was the story of her life, really. Her father didn’t want to spend time with her, so why should Sven? And her mother… A sob caught in her throat, then broke free as a harsh, bubbling sound.

Sven stopped. Man and horse were silhouetted in the wide doorway, with the rolling hills behind them topped by a gorgeous blue sky. It should’ve been a postcard. Then again, if it had been, she would’ve torn it up. She didn’t need this, didn’t need him. Shouldn’t need anybody. It would be so much better that way.

“Christ, Cara… don’t cry.” He took a step back, but then stopped and just stared at her. With the light behind him she couldn’t see his expression, but that was probably for the best. The last thing she wanted was his pity.

“Go.” She waved him off. “Just go, damn it.”

He hesitated… and then turned away, climbed on the rangy bay gelding, and headed for the hills, like always. Only this time he never really came back.

The memory faded, leaving a wistful ache behind. But despite Sven’s apparent belief that their kiss had rocked her world—and not in a good way—it hadn’t really changed anything for her. It had—for her, at least—been just another good-bye, another disappointment.

“It was never about the kiss, Sven.” Her voice sounded rusty, as if she’d been silent far longer than she thought. Sure, maybe she had used the memory of those sparks as a benchmark for other kisses, other men, but her excitement that day had been more about being seventeen and outdoing her friends than it had been about him.

His fingers tightened on hers. “I made you cry.”

“I was seventeen. Lots of things made me cry.” Like being scared about her mom and not having anyone to talk to, lean on.

“That time it was my fault,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have kissed you back, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have taken off like that. You can’t pretend things didn’t change between us after that.”

She pulled her hand away. “That’s because you were never around!” She hadn’t meant to yell it, but suddenly couldn’t dial down the volume. “You missed every birthday, every holiday, every big event. And when Dad wanted to blame someone for you being gone, since he couldn’t blame himself, he blamed me. If you want to make that about the kiss, then go ahead. I don’t care, because I know the truth, which is that you’ve always lived in your own world, and it has nothing to do with geography.” Making herself stop before she said something she’d regret, she blew out a breath. “You don’t get to run away from home and still be part of a family, Sven. It doesn’t work that way.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

She expected a denial or—worse—pity and an argument. Instead, after a too-long pause while his eyes darkened with sorrow, he sighed and said, “Yeah. Shit. I know. I was just hoping…” He shifted, tried to shove his hands in his pockets, didn’t have any, and settled for hitching his thumbs in his waistband, which made his sweats slip precariously. “I guess I was hoping that the kiss was the problem between you and me, because that was something I did, which means I could promise to never do it again. As for the other, hell, yes, I’m sorry, Cara. I’m sorry for not being around enough when your mom was sick, and I’m sorry I didn’t come back for the funeral. Most of all, I’m sorry that I haven’t ever been someone you could count on.”