Free Unbearable Desire: Lone Pine Pride, Book 4 by Vivi Andrews

himself and anyone who might touch his heart, hiding from commitment with the grand illusory passion, but no more. He didn’t know what he felt for Moira, didn’t know where this would lead, but one thing he was sure of.
    “I want to try.”
    It was all he could offer. He’d been too certain before, with Lucienne. And it had been a false certainty. At least he knew the confusion he’d always felt for Moira was real.
    Moira just looked at him, her eyes dark and wary.
    “You were right. I have been focusing on something I could never have because it was safer than giving myself over to something that might be real—and really break me. I chose pining for Lucienne because if I’d already picked my heartache, I never had to worry about getting hurt.”
    “No. You just hurt me . And anyone else stupid enough to want more from you.”
    “Moira, I’m sorry. So sorry—”
    “Sorry isn’t enough. And neither is trying . It’s too little too late, Hugo.”
    He felt it then, the first squeezing ache in his chest. “Don’t. Please don’t make the same mistake I did.”
    She laughed, a rough brittle sound. “Unrequited devotion? Not likely.”
    “That isn’t what I meant. I walked away from a chance with you for the stupidest, fabricated reasons. Don’t hide from what we could have. After all these years, there’s still something between us. Even after all the stupid shit I did to screw things up, there’s still something there. I know you feel it.” He crossed the room, not touching her, but coming close enough that they were breathing the same air. “Lucienne was an ideal for me, a fantasy, and maybe I’ll always feel something for her, but love isn’t something you throw into a void of hopeless devotion. You showed me that. You loved me when I didn’t know I needed it. Let me try to deserve it now. Let me try to deserve you.”
    So this was what a broken heart felt like. It wasn’t a fracture. It was a burn. The backs of her eyes, the back of her throat, her chest—everything burned. She looked up at Hugo—the big dumb bear—and fire seared through her in crackling waves.
    She could say yes. She could let him try . But it felt like weakness. Felt like a mistake. She couldn’t deny that she had loved him, but…
    “I can’t.” She needed more than an attempt. She’d let her heart run away with her on far less last time, but she was done being that fool.
    “Moira—”
    He reached for her and she dodged past him. She was halfway to the door when something stopped her. Some last shred of hope, perhaps, the one she’d never quite managed to squelch. She turned, facing the bear. “Why me? Why now? Am I just the rebound from your great love?”
    “No. Of course not. Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll do it. What can I do to prove myself to you? I will fight for you, if you just tell me how.”
    “I don’t need you to fight. I want you to choose me, not because it’s me or no one, not because I’m the result of some romantic ultimatum you’ve built up in your head. I’m not a prize. I deserve more than that.” She deserved more than a man who would try to want her.
    She turned and marched out the door—leaving him behind in her own apartment and not caring. She needed to get away from him.
    Moira didn’t often call on her bear. The lazy strength that slumbered in the back of her mind didn’t demand much of her, but it was a constant comfort, one she reached for now. As soon as she hit the path, she shifted form—fur rippling over her limbs as they swelled and stretched with solid strength. Her clothes were tatters and she batted away the shredded remains before loping toward the woods. The trees closed around her and she padded deeper into the comforting dark of the forest. There was a hollow not far from here, she knew it well, knew the earth would enfold her. She could go to ground, curling up and hibernating until it stopped hurting, until she could finally stop kicking herself for