Postcards From New York. Stefanie London

moved away from him, looking like a hurt and wounded animal, and that strange sensation squeezed his chest again. This was getting far too deep for him and he had to put a stop to it right now.

      ‘I never want to talk of this again.’ Anger boiled over inside him, threatening to spill out everywhere, turn him into a copy of the man who’d terrified him as a child, and she’d done that to him.

      Emma looked up at him and he watched her bare shoulders go back as she sat a little taller, her chin lifting in that sexily defiant way of hers. ‘I understand, and we won’t.’

      She understood? How could she understand? He wanted to ask her about her childhood, just what it was in her past that qualified her even to say that, but he couldn’t deal with any more emotion. He needed space, time on his own. He strode from the bedroom as the light of dawn filled the apartment, thankful that she hadn’t attempted to follow or ask anything else.