Fernando was, naturally, nowhere to be seen. She crept toward the tent, preparing herself. She didn’t want to see Liam. She didn’t want to be around him. She wanted to get the hell out of this place, before something worse happened. Before she became… attached.
But when she opened the tent flap and found Liam lying asleep, one arm dangling over the side of the cot and the other draped loosely across his chest, her heart crashed right through the walls of sense and logic. As if it were the first time she’d seen him in the flesh. Or when she’d realized who he really was. The feelings were the same, and overwhelming.
No. Not the same—stronger. She felt a sudden urge to touch him, to make sure he was still alive.
She walked into the tent and stood over the cot. His features were so relaxed in sleep, almost gentle, the deeper lines smoothed out and the sardonic smile relaxed. His lips were slightly parted. She remembered the feel of them, the strength in them, their unapologetic boldness by the lake. The feelings they’d aroused in her.
This was someone who might need someone else, who might feel…
“Liam?” she whispered.
He didn’t stir, didn’t so much as twitch.
“Does this mean I can say something without a sarcastic answer from you? That’s good. Because if what I hope is true, this may be the last time I see you.”
Or touch you.
Slowly she raised her hand, let it hover over his mouth. That was far too great a danger. She shifted her attention to the bandage around his head. No new blood leakage that she could see; the wound must have been superficial.
His hair was sleek and pale brown, streaked with gold, flowing back like a lion’s mane. It was so beautiful, so unlike her own unremarkable straight dark brown hair. He surely wouldn’t feel it if she just let her hand rest there for the briefest of moments.
“I know you aren’t going to miss me,” she said wryly. “I’m just a major annoyance to you—you’ve made that pretty clear. And you’re the worst kind of judgmental chauvinist. But—” She gave in to temptation. Her hand moved of its own accord, stroking back the thick strands of his hair. “I don’t think I’m going to forget you.”
She could have sworn his lips twitched, but his breathing remained deep and steady.
“Just don’t let that go to your already considerable ego, O’Shea. That was what the kiss was about, right? Trying to prove you had one up on me.”
She studied his clean-shaven jaw. There was a ghost of a bruise there, but she didn’t know if she’d given it to him. “I’m not apologizing for the punch. You had it coming. I just hope some woman’s going to come along and teach you the rest of the lesson.”
Yeah. Lucky woman with a job like that. As if he’d let any woman with a brain or a will of her own get near him.
His pulse beat, rich with life, in the warm hollow of his throat. His shirt was half open, revealing the impressive swell of his chest, crisp with curly blond hair. God, but he was so strange and beautiful, like some precious relic too rare to hold…
Her attention snapped back to his neck as her mind registered what she had just seen. A thin strip of leather lay across his collarbones, disappearing into his shirt. He was still wearing the pendant. She was in luck.
“This is it,” she said. “At least I hope it is.” And when I get home, it’ll be something to remind me of an adventure I had once, a long time ago.
With utmost care she peeled the edge of his collar back from his skin and snagged the thong between two fingernails. She felt the weight at the end of it and began to reel it in like a fish on a line.
There was no mistaking the shape and design. It was the very chip of carved stone that Liam’s bones had worn in the tunnel. When it was safely in her hand, she spread the thong into a wide loop and pulled the leather cord, inch by inch, up and over his head. It slipped free of his hair, and she began to relax.