Journal Jots – Blog

“Like the air that I breathe,” she whispered,

so softly he almost missed it. “No,” she said carefully,

chin elevated and eyes bright, “He is the air that I breathe, Patrick.

The reason I live each day with hope despite trial or tribulation.

The strength in my bones when I’m too weak to go on.

The very Presence in my heart that brings

peace and joy to my soul.”

—Marceline Murphy,

A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story

 by Julie Lessman

Yep, it’s Friday the 13^th, but I gotta tell you—this is my lucky day! Because if you’re reading this Friday morning, I am off-road biking with the love of my life. And you want to know why? Because I finished my edits on Marcy and Patrick’s prequel last night, so WHOO-HOO!!

And it that isn’t enough to sparkle my day, my sweet hubby threw together a quick composite for my agent of what we’d like to see the cover look like (and yes, I included it down below!!), and it motivated me SO much that I kept the doc open on my computer the whole time I did edits. It’s GORGEOUS, and I hope it gets you as excited about this book as it has me!! PLEASE NOTE: This is ONLY an idea of what I am thinking of for the cover, NOT the final cover, and I don’t even know if the final cover will end up looking anything like this, but I love the idea of it anyway.  Although I wasn’t able to use my daughter’s face for this comp because she’s out of town two weeks studying for the bar, the picture on this cover looks just like her! So if we go with this comp for a cover, I’d like to reshoot it with my daughter in an 1895-ish hairstyle and make the snow globe (which is prominent in the story) more colorful and the “light in the window” more defined.

Anyway, since I just finished the edits, I thought it would be appropriate to include an excerpt between Marcy and Patrick who are only friends, mind you, since Sam is courting Marcy. Unfortunately (because you KNOW how much I love kissing scenes), there is only one kiss between Marcy and Patrick throughout this entire book (until the very end, that is), and that kiss ends with a slap. Sigh. But … it’s a slow-growth kind of love that ends with a bang-up finish, so I hope you’ll enjoy Marcy and Patrick’s beginnings as much as I do!

  This is a scene where Patrick is walking Marcy and her best friend Julie home (Sam’s sister), and I’ve included the pictures of the models I envision for a young Marcy and Patrick to help you picture them too.

I hope you enjoy it and happy weekend!

Hugs,

Julie

 

A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story

By Julie Lessman

 

One Woman. Two Men.

One stirs her pulse and the other her faith.

But who will win her heart?

“Well, here we are—home, sweet, home.” Julie stifled a yawn before she gave Marcy a hug, hands latched to her arms as she studied her in the moonlight. “You sure you don’t want to spend the night, Marce? Mother promised French toast.”

Marcy shook her head, the wisps of gold silk fluttering on her neck drawing Patrick’s gaze. “No, Jewels, better not. I promised Mother I’d help sew new curtains, bright and early.” Her full lips curved in a beautiful smile that triggered Patrick’s pulse. “If you and I spend half the night talking, I’m pretty sure there will be very little ‘bright’ or ‘early.”

Julie laughed. “All right, but I can’t say Sam won’t be disappointed.”

Sam. Patrick averted his eyes to stare at the sidewalk, Julie’s remark causing a twinge in his gut. His best friend and Marcy’s beau.

Marcy laughed. “Not if it means more French toast for him,” she teased. “Good-night, Jewels—I’ll be over later in the day to study, okay?”

“Sounds good, Marce. G’night, Patrick.”

“Good night, Julie,” Patrick said, waiting until she entered her house before continuing on. They walked in silence, Patrick suddenly nervous with a woman for the first time in his life. His tongue felt so thick, it was several moments before he managed to eke out a comment. “Sounds like you and Sam have really hit it off,” he said quietly.

She hugged her arms to her waist, as if the subject made her uncomfortable, but her soft tone told him all he needed to know, causing his heart to sink in his chest. “We get along well,” she said carefully, “despite the unlikely match.” A nervous chuckle toppled from her lips. “But then, like you, I’ve been part of the family since I was five, so it’s a comfortable fit.”

A comfortable fit. Patrick swallowed hard, his response stuck in his throat at the image that conjured—Sam kissing Marcy, their bodies so close, the very thought seared the walls of his mind.

His silence must have given her pause because he sensed her tentative glance, and when she spoke, her tone was gentle with just a hint of concern. “So, for me, it’s the best of both worlds, you see. Not only am I able to grow close with a boy for whom I’ve had a school-girl crush since I was eight and spend time with his family I adore but …” Her hand lighted on his arm with a feather touch, halting both him and the breath in his lungs. “I have the added blessing of forging a dear friendship with his best friend as well.”

A friendship. The words inflicted a blow to his hope as effectively as Marcy’s hand had to his cheek the night she’d the whacked him for kissing her on her porch. Forcing a casual air, he flashed a bright smile, determined to pursue the friendship Father Fitz suggested. “Then, a winning scenario for us all, I’d say.”

She grinned, her relief evident in the sparkle of her eyes. “Agreed.” She peeked up with a curious smile. “So, Patrick … how is your college fund coming and just exactly what field of study do you hope to pursue?”

You.

He returned her grin. “Well, by Christmas, I should have the funds needed for the spring semester at Boston College where I hope to study journalism and English literature.”

Her eyebrows rose considerably, suggesting surprise that a rogue would entertain any field of study other than women. “Very impressive,” she said with a wide span of eyes.

He laughed, the surprise in her tone coaxing another flash of teeth. “Yes, hard as it is to believe, Miss Murphy, rogues can actually read and write too.”

She had the grace to blush. “Touché. I seem to be prone to all kinds of misconceptions where you’re concerned, so please forgive me.”

“Don’t fret over it, Marcy,” he said, burying his hands in his pockets. “Till now, my reputation for roguery far exceeded my aptitude for the written word, but that’s about to change come January.”

“Really?” Her voice held an interest and respect he hadn’t heard before, at least not when it came to him. Hands clasped like a little girl, she looked up with such a glow of enthusiasm, it plucked at his heart. “What do you hope to do with your life?”

Marry you, Marceline … on my way to editorship of The Boston Herald. He cleared his throat, tamping down desires that may never be met. “Well, you may not know this, Miss Murphy, but I was editor of the St. Mary’s Gazette two years running, as well as founder and first-year president of the Lantern Club.”

She came to dead stop, the whites of her eyes expanding along with the gape of her mouth. “You? You’re responsible for the Lantern Club?” she whispered, almost in awe. “But how? Why?”

He chuckled. “Well, contrary to my dismal conduct record at St. Mary’s, my grades in literature and English Composition were actually pretty good, which is one of the reasons Father Fitz took me under his wing in the first place.” He slid her a sideways grin. “I was in his office for detention so much, we discovered a mutual love of books and verse. Turns out we shared the same favorites—Mark Twain and Stephen Crane. So when I read that both Twain and Crane were part of a writers group that formed two years ago in New York, I was fascinated. It seems this group of esteemed writers actually shared their work during literary banquets held every Saturday evening where one of the members would read a piece they’d written, which the others would then critique. Only negative criticism was allowed, mind you, and the highest regard a reading could be given was complete silence.” He snatched a gumball from an overhanging limb of a sweet gum tree and launched it down the cobblestone street, watching it skip bricks like a stone across water. “So I suggested to Father Fitz that St. Mary’s do the same, and he agreed.”

She slowed in front of her house, turning toward him with a hand on the gate. “Goodness,” she said with a chuckle, “You couldn’t have shocked me more than if you told me we were going to be a priest.”

A slow grin curled his lips as he ducked his head to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, I can assure you most wholeheartedly, Miss Murphy, that will never happen.”

She laughed and opened the gate. “Thank you for walking me home, Patrick.” She paused to study him with a tilt of her head, her smile ebbing considerably. “I misjudged you terribly,” she whispered, a hint of sadness in her eyes, “Can you ever forgive me?”

He found himself staring, certain he’d never met a more beautiful woman—inside and out. “There’s nothing to forgive, Marcy,” he said quietly. “You weren’t far off in your judgments, I’m ashamed to say, nor with your slap.”  His smile was sheepish as he rubbed the side of his face, his beard rough against his palm. “In fact, I suspect you may have knocked some sense in to me that night on your porch because ever since, I …” He dropped his gaze to the street, unwilling for her to see the longing in his eyes. “Find myself wanting to be a better man.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced up, shocked to see tears glimmering. She gave him a tremulous smile while she quickly swiped at her eyes. “That is possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Patrick O’Connor.” She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, exhaling shaky air. “Thank you.”

“No, Marcy,” he whispered, “It’s I who needs to thank you.”

She shook her head, “But I didn’t do anything, Patrick,” she insisted, nibbling the edge of her lip with a guilty smile. “Except slap you silly.”

A grin creased his lips. “That you did, Marceline, but then I deserved it for losing my Irish temper, which,” he said with a note of levity, “it appears, has met its match.”

She chuckled and held out her hand. “How about I forgive you and you forgive me, and then God can forgive us both, deal?”

He studied her with a squint, ignoring her hand. “You know, Marcy, I see lots of people who profess God, but not many who live it, at least not like you.” He hesitated, trying to understand the quiet depth of faith she seemed to possess. “God is pretty important to you, isn’t he?” he said softly, hardly believing he was pursuing a conversation about God with a woman.

Her hand slowly sank to the side of her skirt where her fingers fiddled with the edge of her pocket, gaze drifting to the ground. “Like the air that I breathe,” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it. When she finally looked up, more tears glistened along with a fierce passion that seemed so out of character for the calm and gentle woman he was privileged to know. “No,” she said carefully, chin elevated and eyes bright, “He is the air that I breathe, Patrick. The reason I live each day with hope despite trial or tribulation. The strength in my bones when I’m too weak to go on. The very Presence in my heart that brings peace and joy to my soul.” A soft smile lighted on her lips as her gaze finally connected with his. “And,” she said quietly, the barest trace of sympathy edging her smile, “something I suspect you might relate to as well—the only One Who has ever truly taken my loneliness away.”

He blinked, blood heating his cheeks at the notion that she could read his mind, see into his soul the ugly truth he worked so hard to hide. He was alone. No matter the women that jockeyed for his attention or the mother or brother that occupied his home or even the best friend who knew him better than anyone else or a kind parish priest. The simple truth was, Patrick O’Connor was a lonely human being. A man searching for love through the affections of a pretty woman … or peace at the bottom of a bottle or mug. A chill shivered his soul. And somehow the woman before him knew it, as surely as he knew it himself.

He coughed to deflect his embarrassment, stepping back to plunge his hands in his pockets once again. “Well, I guess I better let you go—”

He stilled at the touch of her hand, the terrifying gentleness in her eyes. “He’s a force to be reckoned with, Patrick, and you will be too … with Him by your side.” And lifting on tiptoe, she pressed the softest of kisses to his cheek, paralyzing him to the spot. “Good night, dear friend,” she whispered.

He followed her to the door with his eyes, unable to move or breath or blink until he heard the click of the lock, and then he sucked in air like sustenance, never surer that Marceline Murphy was meant to be his. Bowing his head, he beseeched the Almighty right then and there for the very woman who was leading him home—to God and to a life he never dared to imagine.

A force to be reckoned with. He shook his head. Him? Exhaling slowly, he made his way down the cobblestone street. “No, Marceline,” he whispered, the faintest of smiles tipping the edge of his mouth. “That would be you.”

 

Faith had given him a glimpse of something holy and rare,

a passion most pure. And despite the raging desire pumping

through his veins at the moment, he meant to have it as well.  

With—or without—the woman before him.

—Mitch Dennehy, A Passion Redeemed by Julie Lessman

Purity. Regrettably, a rare commodity in today’s world—except for those committed to doing things the right way—God’s way. Yeah, yeah, I know it seems passé to even talk about purity in a world where approximately 70 to 90% of people will live together before marriage, but the truth is that purity before marriage is a key component that God (the Milton Bradley in the game of life) set before us to show us the way to blessing in a relationship or marriage. Because regardless of what the world wants you to think, it was God who created marriage and intimacy in the first place, so He knows exactly how to make it work.

My good friend, Casey Herringshaw, is wrapping up an exceptional series on not settling that I hope each of you will check out on her “Committed to Purity” page.  Last year, I was privileged to be a contributor to her “Purity Before Marriage” series that you will also find at the link above, but I thought it might be beneficial to repost my article here today as well at the end of this post. Ironically, just as I was getting ready to do so, a dear reader friend of mine sent me a letter asking me to pray for a situation that could involve “purity” down the road, so this is for all those young women out there who love God but are struggling in today’s amoral society. I SO feel for you and SO understand where you are coming from. I have been there during one of the most “free love” eras of all time—the 60s and 70s, and I want to offer you some encouragement and proof that the most potent kind of passion you can ever experience is truly “a passion most pure.”

GIVEAWAY!!!

July 11-12, 2012: Join me at Seekerville for my July blog, “The Queen of Quirk,” where we’ll talk about giving your characters fun and memorable quirks that will enhance your writing. One comment puts you in the drawing for your choice of any of my books including my October release, A Love Surrendered, Marcy and Patrick’s prequel, A Light in the Window or book 1 of my new “Heart of San Francisco” series Love at Any Cost. Hope to see you there, and here’s the link:

http://seekerville.blogspot.com/

Have a GREAT weekend, and here’s the post that appeared on Casey’s blog on April 7, 2011.

Hugs,

Julie

It grieves me to admit it, but as a “wild child” of the 60s and 70s, purity was the very last thing I was concerned about. But … I am happy to say, the very thing God used to give me the desire of my heart—a man who would cherish me with all of his. In short, the kind of love born of … well, to coin a phrase … “a passion most pure.”

As number twelve of thirteen children in a pretty dysfunctional family, I was starved for love, so let me tell you—the “free love” era of the 60s and 70s sounded real good to me. Only guess what? It wasn’t free. Nope, it cost me a bundle in heartbreak, low self-esteem, depression and a few other things that impacted the rest of my life … and not in a good way.

But, oh, the pull of romance for a little girl who never felt loved! From the age of eight when I first sneaked downstairs to watch forbidden romantic movies while my parents were asleep, to the moment I turned the last page of Gone With the Wind at the age of twelve, I knew I wanted to be loved like that. To have a man think I was beautiful and to be loved, cherished and protected as the most important thing in his life. To be special to someone who was special to me.

It wasn’t until I was 23 years old and gave my heart to Christ that I finally understood that I was “special” to someone. Maybe not to the boyfriend who dumped me or the boys who told me they loved me to coax me into loving them, but to a God who said, “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness,” —Jeremiah 31:3. And oh my, how my life changed on a dime!!

I went from being heartbroken, used and abused in my quest for love to channeling all that passion for romance into loving God, drinking in His love, submerging myself in His Word and basking in the glow of being “special to Someone who was special to me.” I finally understood that the kind of love my heart longed—and the kind of love He longed for me to have—was rooted in Him, in His Word and in application of His precepts.

You see, I like to think of God as Milton Bradley. He made the game of “Life” and wants us to win (reap His blessings), so he gave us the rules to follow (His precepts). In fact, this is the key message in A Passion Most Pure—Deuteronomy 30, choosing life or death, blessing or curse. It’s really quite simple. If you choose life (doing things God’s way), you will be blessed. If you choose death (doing things your own way), you will be cursed. God didn’t set it up like this to “lord” it over us, no pun intended, but so He could bless us with good things simply because He LOVES us!

So many young girls today equate strong sexual feelings with love, so they move in with their boyfriends for a while, may or may not get married and then wonder why the marriage or relationship doesn’t work. Because although sexual attraction is nice, it doesn’t sustain a marriage or a relationship and will eventually fade when the marriage or relationship does. Not only that, but I truly believe young women cut themselves off from God’s blessings in a relationship when they go against God’s precepts (the Deuteronomy 30 principal mentioned above).

I believe this so strongly, in fact, that I drummed it into my kid’s heads from little on. Imagine my joy and shock when my college-age son told me what he said to his roommate, a Christian young man who was sleeping with his Christian girlfriend. “But I thought you loved her?” my son told his friend, and the friend answered, “I do, which is why it’s so hard to stop.” My son’s response? “No, because if you really loved her, you’d want God’s best for her instead of cutting off His blessings by giving in to your own lust.”

Let me tell you—that was a “proud mom” moment, for sure!

Now for anyone who says, “That’s all good and fine for you, Julie, but it’s just too difficult to stay pure in today’s amoral society where everyone is doing it and morality is considered odd. As mentioned above, one of the key Scriptures in A Passion Most Pure is Deuteronomy 30, and Vs. 11 comes right out and says “it’s not too difficult for you or beyond your reach.” Why? Because Vs. 14 says “it is in your mouth and in your heart so you may obey it.” Notice it says “mouth” first, “heart” second. I believe that speaking and praying God’s Word over and over helps to put it in your heart so you can obey it.

And for those who call purity prudish? I hope you all agree there’s nothing prudish about my heroine, Faith O’Connor in A Passion Most Pure, just as there was nothing prudish or unrealistic about me as a new Christian in my twenties. We’re talking real women with real desires trusting God’s Word to lead them to His best. Easy? No. Doable? Yes, with God’s grace! Before I was a Christian, I was honest enough to know that doing things my way had never yielded me any happiness, only heartbreak. But, WOW, once I started applying God’s precepts, the blessings started to flow and heartbreak took a hike.

Believe me, I know because I’ve lived it, proved it. Whenever I went out on date, I would set moral boundaries (just like Faith did with Mitch in A Passion Most Pure). I soon discovered when guys realized I meant what I said, most of them didn’t take me out past four dates. This happened once with a guy I particularly liked and had a lot of fun with, so I actually phoned to ask him why he’d stopped calling. He basically told me that yeah, he’d had a great time, too, but that he could “find a girl who would give him a great time and sex as well.” I was stunned, but soon realized that what God’s morality was actually doing for me was keeping the wrong guys away (along with the hurt) and saving me for the right one AND the right time (my honeymoon). In fact, setting moral boundaries was such a part of my single Christian life I actually told my husband on our fourth date I really had enjoyed dating him and wished him well. “What are you talking about?” he asked, and I told him about my four-date experiences. God bless that man because he promptly asked me out for the fifth time, and the rest is beautiful history! This year I am celebrating 34 years of wedded bliss to a man who makes me feel as if I am living my own personal romance novel.

Seven years into my marriage, the realization of what God had done for me came full circle one morning when I was still half asleep and feeling down about a nightmare I had. In the dream, I’d been single and depressed about the fact that no one would ever love me. Trust me, as the only unmarried one in a family of thirteen kids until I was 28 years old, the loneliness and despair in that dream felt more than real! All of a sudden my husband moved in the bed beside me, and the following Scripture drifted in my mind as gently as a whisper from God: “God honors those who honor Him.” I remember lying there with tears in my eyes because once again, God had proven His Word true. And since He is “no respecter of persons,” what He did for me, He can do for you!

 

 

He was a man of missed opportunities.

— In reference to Logan McClare,

Love at any Cost by Julie Lessman

WHOO-HOO … I finally have a cover to show you for book 1 in my new “Heart of San Francisco” series, Love at any Cost! And unlike Mr. Logan McClare, the 2^nd-tier hero to whom our quote today refers, I am not about to miss any opportunity to share it with you along with scene to pique your interest!

Because this series is written a wee bit lighter and a little more humorously than my last two series, my publisher decided to give our heroine, Cassie McClare a sassy pose, which really does fit her pretty well, I think, so I hope you like it too.

But … don’t judge a book by it’s cover because although Love at any Cost has a lot of humor in it, it would never do for a Julie Lessman book not to have its moments of high tension and drama, right?? Of course, right, which is why I decided to also give you a sneak peek at a scene between the older hero in this book, Logan McClare and the widowed heroine, Caitlyn McClare, Logan’s sister-in-law AND the ex-fiance he cheated on twenty-six years ago before she upped and married his brother.

Caitlyn and Logan are my “Marcy and Patrick” of the “Heart of San Francisco” series, meaning my older secondary love story that I hope will provide an ongoing underlying romantic tension throughout all three of the books. I’ll leave you with just a glimpse of the sparks that will fly in the “Heart of San Francisco” series in the following scene. Caitlyn McClare, Chairman of the San Francisco Vigilance Committee has just asked her brother-in-law Logan, who happens to be on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, to support her proposal to clean up the brothels, bars and peep shows on the Barbary Coast. Logan agrees to do so and then gives Cait his heir signet ring that her husband Liam—his brother—wore before it was passed on to Logan after Liam died. And then the sparks fly …

BIG FAVOR: If you have time, PLEASE hop on over to the following Amazon.com link and click on the LIKE button for Love at any Cost. Note: The pic is not up yet on CBD.com or B&N.com, which is why I didn’t list them. Here’s the link, then just arrow back to return to this Journal Jots page!

I “LIKE” LOVE AT ANY COST

Thanks SO much and I hope you enjoy the excerpt! Have a great weekend and stay cool!

Hugs,

Julie

“I have something to give you,” he said quietly. Hands still in his pockets, his thumb grazed the ring on his finger, knowing full well what he was giving away. Not his heart as he’d hoped, but a piece of his heritage and the only ring he would apparently be able to put on Caitlyn McClare’s hand. He could almost feel the raised gold outline of the lion and Celtic cross against black onyx, the McClare signet ring passed down from centuries past. It had belonged to his ancestors of old … on down to his grandfather, his father and then Liam, who’d never taken it off till Cait gave it to Logan the day Liam was buried. His father’s will delegated ownership to the McClare heir, but it had pained her to part with it, he knew, from the tender way she’d fingered it with such care. Just as I’m doing now. Pulling his hand from his pocket, he removed the ring, thumb gliding against the smooth onyx one last time before he held it out, determined if he couldn’t love her the way he wanted, he’d love her the only way he could. “I want you to have this,” he whispered. “It belongs to you.”

“No …” She shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes. “I can’t take it—it’s yours.”

Yes, it was. And it claimed a piece of his heart for so many reasons. The connection to his heritage, his father, his brother … and to her. For twenty-six years it had grazed her skin when Liam had held her hand, touched the warmth of her body every night when they slept, and when she’d given it to Logan, it was as if she’d given him a piece of herself. A piece he realized he no longer had a right to. Not if she didn’t care like he did. Not if she wasn’t drawn as he was.

“Take it, Cait,” he whispered. “You lived with it for twenty-six years—it belongs to you more than me.” He took her hand and placed it in her palm, closing his fingers over hers.” And maybe—just maybe—it will give you a touch of Liam, easing your heart like I long to do.”

Her hand trembled to her mouth as tears trickled her face. “Oh, Logan …”

His heart seized when she launched into his arms, clutching him so tightly, it paralyzed him to the spot. Moisture stung and he closed his eyes, resting his head against hers, the scent of lavender invading his senses and taunting his soul. Oh, Cait, I’d give anything to have you love me once more, want me again …

She pulled away and swiped at her eyes, her lips quivering into a smile. “You must think I’m crazy, but I’m just so very grateful …” Peering up, she gently braced his jaw with her palm, eyes shimmering with gratitude. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than right this moment, Logan McClare—thank you!”

His heart seized when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and almost by accident, he turned into her touch, their lips so close he could smell the hint of hot chocolate they’d enjoyed around the fire. They froze in the same split second of time, and his pulse thudded slow and hard as he waited for her to pull away. Only she didn’t, and heat scorched his body.

“Cait,” he whispered, barely believing her lips nearly grazed his. He waited, not willing to push for fear she would bolt, but when her eyelids flickered closed, his fate was sealed. “God help me, I love you,” he rasped, quickly caressing her lips before she could retreat. The moment his mouth took hers, he was a man hopelessly lost, bewitched by her spell. She jolted in his arms as if suddenly realizing her folly, but he refused to relent, his grip at the nape of her neck strong and sure, allowing him a taste of the sweetest lips he’d ever known. A groan trapped in his throat, and he devoured her, delving deeper with a passion stoked by twenty-six years of denial and longing. “God, help me, Cait,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he nuzzled her ear, “I need you in my life.” 

He felt it the moment the winds shifted, pulse skyrocketing when her blanket dropped to the ground and she melded in his arms. His mouth explored with a vengeance, the frenzied beat of her heart throbbing beneath his lips as he grazed the hollow of her throat. He skimmed up to suckle the lobe of her ear, and his heart swelled with joy when a soft moan escaped her lips. Blood pounding in his veins, he wove fingers into her hair to cradle her face. “Marry me, Cait, please!”

Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a glaze of desire so strong, his mouth descended again, dominant and possessive until her lips surrendered to his. “Marry me,” he repeated, his kiss gentling to playful nips meant to coax and tease. “I need you, Cait … and I want you.”

In the ragged space of a heartbeat, she suddenly hurled him away, breasts heaving and eyes wild. “Oh, you’re a devil, Logan McClare,” she whispered, tone quivering with anger, “always lusting after what you can’t have!”

Sleet slithered through his veins. “No, Cait, it’s not true—I want you because I love you.”

He reached for her, and she thrust back, fury welling in her eyes. “You want me because you can’t have me. And once you had me, you would just throw me away again, returning to your old habits of carousing with women all hours of the night.”

“You’re wrong—let me prove it, please. Marry me.”

She shook her head, a scarlet curl quivering against her neck. Her tone trembled with a violence that stunned. “I-don’t-want-you, and I-don’t-need-you, do you hear?”

His anger surged, but he tamped it down with a clamp of his jaw, his words as hard as hers. “Really, Cait? Why don’t you tell that to the woman whose body just responded to mine?”

The lightening force of her slap shifted his jaw clean to the right, the sound of it like a crack of thunder. “How dare you?” she whispered, tears streaming her cheeks. “You forced yourself on me in your usual callous way, and if you ever do so again, it will be the last time you step foot my house, is that clear?” He didn’t answer, and she took a step forward, her jaw engaged once again. “I said, is-that-clear?”

Gritting his teeth, he turned away. He sucked in a harsh breath and released it again, fighting to keep his temper under control, the only control he apparently possessed with the woman before him. Well, she might hold all the cards and he might lose this hand, but he would not lose the game. With a heavy blast of air, he turned—and stopped—all anger fading at what he’d reduced her to. A quivering mass of tears. God, forgive me … He studied her with sorrow in his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, all of his emotion finally spent, “it’s clear.” She started for the door and he stopped her with a gentle hand. “Forgive me, Cait—I never meant to hurt you. Not then, not now.”

She nodded stiffly and started to leave.

“Cait?” She turned at the door. He plunged his hands in his pockets, no longer a man of the world, but a little boy whose heart was on the line. “I love you, and deep down inside, I think you know that, know I would never cheat on you again.” He stared, his eyes naked with the truth for the very first time. “That said, I need to know why? What else are you afraid of?”

She must have sensed his honesty because the hard plain of her face ebbed into a look of such sorrow, it plucked at his heart. Her voice was gentle and low once again, the Caitlyn he was privileged to love. “I love you as family, Logan, but I can never be “in love” with you again.”

The words stabbed. “Why?” he whispered, his voice no more than a croak.

Her bodice quivered with a burdensome sigh. “Because I don’t trust you.”

“Why? I swear to you Cait—I will be faithful.”

“No Logan, you can’t. A man of your habit and ilk can’t be faithful without God.”

“Let me prove it. I can do this.”

“Maybe. But I can’t. I refuse to fall in love with a man who doesn’t share my faith.”

He took a step forward, his eyes intense. “I believe in God, Cait.”

“No, Logan, you believe in yourself first, God after. There’s a difference.”

His jaw sagged in disbelief. “You’re attracted to me and love me, yet you turn me away because my faith isn’t up to snuff?” Fury boiled in his veins, trumping his passion. He chilled her with a look so cold, he saw her shiver. “Even if it means your precious Vigilance Committee?”

The blood leeched from her face. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, her words laced with shock. “Y-you agreed, and it’s the decent thing to do.”

 He moved in, fists clenched and a nerve twitching in his cheek. “No, Cait, the decent thing to do is to forget the past and admit you’re in love with me.”

Her legs faltered before steel appeared to fuse in her spine. “That’s your price, then?”

He stared, his jaw as rigid as his pride. She loved him, she wanted him, but she wouldn’t have him because of God? Outrage like he’d never known singed his very soul. “It is.”

She winced as if she’d been struck, pain contorting her face while she listed against the wrought-iron chaise. Firelight flickered across her beautiful features, illuminating myriad feelings that tore at his heart. Shock, fear, fury, resolve … and sorrow. The same sorrow he saw in himself, reminding him he was a man of missed opportunities. The flames spit and popped behind him, as if portending a fiery future that would ravage both him and the woman he loved.

He watched as the anger slowly siphoned from her body, softening her features, welling her eyes, and he was reminded once again what a rare woman she was. Prone to gentleness rather than anger, giving rather than taking, others rather than self. Despite the fact he would rob of her of something so dear, her eyes bore no retribution or blame, only a sadness that seemed to personify Caitlyn McClare where he was concerned.

“Then it’s too high,” she whispered, the trace of a tear glazing her cheek as she placed his ring on the chaise. She turned away, her voice a broken whisper that prophesied their doom. “Even for my precious Vigilance Committee.”