Free Indigo Sky by Gail Ingis

part of her tingled with longing for that elusive quality in a relationship, the union of two souls. Rork moved an empty cup back and forth. Her eyes fixed on his long fingers, and she wondered what it would be like to feel them on her body. Her innate sense of right and wrong rejected the licentious thought.
    “I was drunk and not rational. Still, that doesn’t excuse my inappropriate behavior. I’m so sorry I offended you and would be grateful if you could put this all behind us.”
    “Why is my forgiveness important to you?”
    “Why, indeed? To be honest, I don’t know.” He smiled. “I want your acceptance and approval, I guess. Besides, we’ll be traveling companions for several weeks. I fear meals will be rather tedious if you refuse to forgive me.” He ineffectually smoothed a sharp crease in the tablecloth. “I don’t like the way Hank treats you,” he blurted.
    “I don’t think that’s your concern.”
    He nodded, eyes fixed on the crease. “I know. But the tension of the misunderstanding between us doesn’t help one’s digestion.”
    Pity welled up in her for his obvious discomfort. “It’s not exactly a misunderstanding.”
    “No, absolutely not, but I hate that my reprehensible behavior is a source of discontent between us.” He glanced at her, his eyes compassionate. “I am allowed to dislike what he does. You’re a fine and gentle lady who doesn’t deserve to be treated disrespectfully.”
    “Thank you,” she whispered and smiled. “Maybe not so gentle.”
    “Maybe, but I don’t know you—yet.” His eyes twinkled. “There’s great release in forgiveness.”
    She laughed. “We will indeed be spending a good deal of time together in the coming weeks, and I also don’t wish to quarrel with you.”
    “Then it is settled.” He flashed a charming smile and held out his hand. “Truce?”
    “Truce.” His smile did strange things to her stomach. She placed her hand in his, and butterflies fluttered in her belly. He gave her hand a light squeeze, increasing her confusion—wanton emotions she ought not to feel.
    Rork chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. “I cannot describe my relief.” He sat back and gazed at her, mentally caressing her profile. A delicate flush crept into her cheeks. His eyes moved to the landscape beyond as they sped by. Smoke billowed from the engine and wafted between tall oaks and maples. Black ash speckled the windows. I want her . He knew it was an impossible dream.
    “I should go,” she said quietly.
    He all but drowned in the liquid depths of her eyes. Lord, that I was at liberty to change the sadness in her eyes to happiness .
    She smiled. “I need you to move, Mr. Millburn.”
    Her smile alone had the power to throw his mind into disarray. He stared at a small dimple playing next to her lips. Such a kissable mouth .
    “Mr. Millburn.”
    He forced his addled senses to obey. “My apologies.” He moved and stood, offering his hand. Her gloved hand seemed fragile engulfed in his. An overwhelming desire to protect her swept through him as he helped her up. “I’ll see you to your compartment.”
    “Thank you.”
    He followed her from the dining car, admiring her slender waist and the gentle sway of her hips as she negotiated the narrow passage.
    Outside her compartment, she turned and smiled up at him. “I’m glad we reached a truce.”
    Truce ? But he wanted more—he wanted her. He clamped his lips to avoid saying something that could sabotage their tenuous friendship. Still, he would rather have a truce than her rigid anger.
    The train lurched as it swept around a bend, throwing her against his chest. Instinctively, his arms enfolded her. Their eyes met. He closed his eyes, savoring her perfume winding erotically through his head, and he savored the sensation of her body pressed hard against his. The train lurched again. He tightened his hold, and she gasped. He opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. She ran her tongue across