Free Sullivan's Woman by Nora Roberts Page B

tonight.”
    â€œYes, I thought perhaps that’s why you brought the manuscript back.” She spoke calmly enough, but when he made no response she moaned in frustration. “Please, Colin, I’m no good with torture. I’d confess everything I knew before they stuck the first bamboo shoot under my fingernail. I’m a marshmallow. No, wait!” She held up both hands as he started to speak. She rose and then took a quick turn around the room. “If you hated it, I’ll only be devastated for a short time. I’m certain I’ll learn to function again . . . well, nearly certain. I want you to be frank. I don’t want any platitudes or cushioned letdowns.” She pushed her mane of hair back with both hands, letting her fingers linger on her temples a moment. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t tell me it was interesting. That’s the worst. The absolute worst!”
    â€œAre you finished?” he asked mildly.
    Cassidy blew out a long breath, tugged her hand through her hair and nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
    â€œCome here, Cass.” She obeyed instantly because his voice was quiet and gentle. Their eyes were level, and he took her hands in his. “I haven’t mentioned the book until now because I wanted to read it when I wouldn’t be interrupted. I thought it best not to talk about it until I finished.” His thumbs ran absently over the backs of her hands. “You have something rare, Cass, something elusive. Talent. It’s not something they taught you at Berkeley; it’s something you were born with. Your college years polished it, perhaps, disciplined it, but you provided the raw material.”
    Cassidy released her breath. Astonishing, she thought, that the opinion of a man known barely a week should have such weight. Jeff’s opinion had pleased her; Colin’s had left her speechless.
    â€œI don’t know what to say.” She shook her head helplessly. “That sounds trite, I know, but it’s true.” Her eyes drifted past him to the disorder of papers on her desk. “Sometimes you just want to chuck it all. It just isn’t worth the pain, the struggle.”
    â€œAnd you would choose to be a writer,” Colin said.
    â€œNo, I never had any choice.” She brought her eyes back to his. The violet glowed almost black in the shadowed light. “If anything, it picked me. Did you choose to be an artist, Colin?”
    He studied her a moment, then shook his head. “No.” He turned her hands, palms up, and looked at them with lowered brows. “There are things that come to us whether we ask for them or not. Do you believe in destiny, Cass?”
    She moistened her lips, finding them suddenly dry, then swallowed. “Yes.” The single syllable was little more than a breath.
    â€œOf course, I was certain you did.” He lifted his eyes and locked them on hers. Cassidy’s heartbeat jumped skittishly. “Do you think it’s our destiny to be lovers, Cassidy?” Her mouth opened but no words came out. She shook her head in mute denial. “You’re a poor liar,” he observed; then, cupping her chin in his palm, he moved his lips to hers. In direct contrast to the ease and pleasantness of Jeff’s kiss, this brought a pain that seemed to vibrate in every cell of her body. Defensively Cassidy jerked her head back.
    â€œDon’t!”
    â€œWhy?” he countered, and his voice was soft. “A kiss is a simple thing, a meeting of lips.”
    â€œNo, it’s not simple,” Cassidy protested, feeling herself being pulled to him by his eyes only. “You take more.”
    He kissed one cheek, then the other, barely touching her skin. Cassidy’s eyelids fluttered down. “Only as much as you’ll give me, Cass. That much and no more.” His lips moved over hers, teasing, persuading, until her blood thundered in her brain. His