‘All right. Then let me tell you about him,’ she said as her gaze drifted back to the porch. ‘My son keeps everything inside. He always has. Eve... as a little boy that child would never cry,’ she looked up at the huge weeping willow under which they sat in semi-shade. ‘He was six when he fell out of this tree. Broke his arm in three places. The damned bone was sticking through the skin and he walked calmly into the house and said he thought we needed to go see the doctor.’ As the mother of four. His hand was still on her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. He drew her closer with that one connection until she was flush against him. She expected to feel his lips against hers, prayed for that to end this misery of not knowing and almost jumped when he spoke. ‘You’re mine.’ His voice was deep and there was a husky quality to it that had her eyes flashing open. His lips were a bare inch from hers, his eyes, those beautiful golden orbs, stared down at here. ‘You’re mine,’ he said again.. More

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