Born of Fire

“Nothing. It was stupid.” He reached for the latch, then stopped.

She watched as various emotions crossed his face. He closed his eyes and looked like he was battling the devil himself.

Finally he spoke. “I can’t do this again,” he said in a voice so low she wasn’t sure she’d heard him.

Before she could ask him what he meant, he returned to her side. “I love you, Shahara. You showed me what it was like to talk to someone. Really talk. And now . . . I can’t live without you.”

He knelt before her and took her hand in his.

She stared down at him, awed that a man so strong had humbled himself for her.

“Save me, Shahara,” he whispered. “Save me from the lonely nights that never end.” He reached into his pocket and took out the amber ring she’d seen that night in the hotel. He slid it on her finger and kissed it. “I want you to marry me, Shahara.”

Shocked, she stared at the beautiful ring. “Whose ring is this?”

“Yours.”

That destroyed her mood and the tender feelings he’d stirred. “Oh, please,” she snapped. “I saw you with it the night you were arrested. How many years have you had it?” She narrowed her gaze. “Who did you buy it for?”

He smiled up at her. “I bought it for you, Shahara, because the color reminded me of your eyes. It was in the store where I bought our clothes. I have the receipt if you want to see it.”

She shook her head, her heart pounding. He really did love her. She couldn’t believe it. “No, baby. I trust you.”

“Then say you’ll marry me.”

She smiled as joy swept through her and left her breathless. “I will marry you, Sheridan Digger Wade.”

His dimple flashed. “Call me Syn.”

“As much as I’d like to give in to Syn,” she said, crinkling her nose playfully at him, “I don’t think I can. You’re not even willing to share that name with me. I still don’t know what the C.I. stands for. Besides, Shahara Syn sounds like a disease, or a city.”

His warm laugh thrilled her as he stood up in front of her. “Okay, you want to know what C.I. stands for?”

“If you want me to agree to marry you I do.”

She watched in amazement as a deep red stain crept over his face.

Could it really be that embarrassing?

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at her from under his lashes. “Do you remember, years ago, that little cartoon vorna cub on the back of moglas boxes?”

What did that have to do with anything?

“That cute one who was always getting into trouble?” she asked.

He nodded. “He was named C.I.”

Her mouth dropped open as it dawned on her. A laugh bubbled up and before she could squelch it, it burst through, making his face an even brighter shade of red.

“You’re kidding. You named yourself after a cartoon?”

“I told you it was embarrassing. I was just a stupid kid, and no one wanted to deal with a kid who didn’t have at least a pretense of a real name. I thought it sounded cool.”

She shook her head. “In that case, I will definitely be calling you Sheridan.”

His eyes twinkled. “I don’t think you can do it. You’re too used to calling me Syn.”

“Oh please, Syn, I . . .”

He flashed his dimple at her. “Told you.” Unwilling to let him have this victory, she tried to think of a name to call him. “How about Syn Wade?”

“How about you, Gildagard, kiss me and we go and find a priestess so that I can make an honest woman out of you?”

She stood on her toes and met his lips.

Syn’s arms tightened around her waist as he kissed her senseless. He pulled away from her with a soft moan.

When he spoke, it was with a ragged whisper that set her heart pounding even harder. “How about we find a bed and then a priestess?”

She laughed. “Quit talking, Convict, and give me another kiss.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And this time when his lips met hers, she knew that it would be forever.





EPILOGUE


Two years later


Syn paused as he saw Shahara brushing her hair while she sat on his bed. He still couldn’t believe how lucky he was that he’d taken a chance on her, and it’d paid off in ways he couldn’t imagine.

Thank the gods for Nykyrian. Had his friend not been so harsh with him, he wasn’t sure if he’d have ever come to his senses where she was concerned.

Once again, he owed his life to an assassin.

“You know, I was thinking . . .”

Shahara paused to meet his gaze. “About what?”

“We don’t have to do this tonight. I can tell Kip that I’m not feeling well.”

“Why?”

Because he knew how much it upset her to be around Kiara and Nykyrian’s children when they couldn’t have their own. She didn’t say it, but he always saw the pain in her gaze that she tried so hard to hide.

It was so unfair. He’d never seen a woman more maternal or kinder than her, and yet all she could do was love other people’s babies. He hated that for her.

They’d tried everything, even adoption, both infants and older children, but with his past . . .