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And in that unlikely moment, as she held his dagger poised high, ready to strike, Royce Westmoreland thought she was the most magnificent creature he’d ever beheld; a wild, beautiful, enraged angel of retribution, her chest rising and falling with fury as she courageously confronted an enemy who towered over her.
A slow, admiring smile drifted across his face as he said, “What a chameleon you are!” Her eyes snapped with indignation. “Lizard?”
In a fierce, tortured moan, she whispered, “Dear God, how they’ve hurt you—” And before he could imagine what she meant to do, she bent her head, her lips softly touching each scar as if trying to heal it, her arms sliding tightly, protectively, around him, and Royce lost control.
“You wanted to be a heroine to your people,” Royce concluded, smiling at a motivation he could readily understand. She shook her head, the wistful yearning in her soft voice banishing his smile. “Nay. I wanted only to be loved by those whom I love; to be looked upon and not found wanting by those who know me.”
she was the only woman who made love with him, not with the legend he was.
