He sank to the bed. His mind was less foggy; still, he was not completely sure of a good part of what had happened, in particular why he’d been standing naked, arguing with Amber. He winced when the door slammed behind her. He sighed. Pixie was Amber. That much he was sure of. Their meeting on deck was engraved in his mind clearly, in sharp contrast to the murky uncertainty of the present. He closed his eyes, trying to sort the jumble of images swimming to the surface. And now, God, now even snatches of the past days started to come into focus. Too late. He groaned. He remembered the burning fever. The pain of being touched. He would have died without her selfless care. Amber had agreed to marry him for Meara’s sake when he’d been so sure he would die. She’d tried to give him hope, but she’d finally agreed to the marriage. Only after warning him she’d be unsuitable as his countess, however. That meant she’d been willing to protect his child. As far as he was concerned, that proved she would make a wonderful countess because she’d make Meara a wonderful mother.
What do You think about His Californian Countess (2010)?
