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"It's not." He brought her inside and set her on the couch. "I'll go check."

Her mood had shifted. Gone was the unabandoned bliss she felt, now replaced with fear. Sin returned, locking the door behind himself. "Aye, I told you it was just the wind. It toppled over an old bench." He poured them both a whiskey then added more coal to the fire. Taking the wet blanket from her, he handed her a dry one, then he sat down and pulled her onto his lap, covering them both. "What has you so scared, Charlotte?"

"Nothing." His skin was surprisingly warm, and she nestled back against him.

"Something has. You were scared at the pub and you are now. Why do you think someone is following us?" he questioned.

"I don't."

"Charlotte, I've told you before, lass, I can't keep us safe unless you tell me the truth. What happened at the pub?" His question had turned into a demand.

"Amy told me someone has been looking for me."

She felt him stiffen under the shelter of the quilt, though he continued to softly stroke her arm.

"You already knew," she guessed, his silence calling him out.

"Jock said as much." He shifted her slightly, so they looked at each other. "I don't want you to be afraid. I will protect you. Honestly, I doubt it has to do with the print. Most likely, it is one of Sokolov's men keeping tabs."

Now it was she who tensed. Hearing Sokolov's name made her realize she hadn't truly escaped him. His voice still whispered in her ear, 'I can give and take away. Pain and pleasure, they're both the same.' He lived in her, lived in the crest on her stomach. Sin stared down at her. "Tell me what's bothering you, or I'll find a way to get the truth out of you."

His belt lay discarded on the floor. He wouldn't dare, she thought, though, then again,maybe he would. He seemed to enjoy it the last time.

"It's Michael. He's the one asking around about me," she said quickly.

"How do you know?"

"He was the one who called out my name at the gallery. I recognized his voice."

"Jesus, why wouldn't you tell me?"

"I don't know, I panicked."

He pulled her in tighter. "Are you afraid of him, lass?"

"No, I mean, I don't know." She stumbled on her thoughts, never really having understood her feelings toward him herself. "I didn't think he would come."

"Why were you a virgin, Charlotte?" he asked. "He was your fiancé. Surely, you were intimate."

She felt her cheeks turn hot. "I told you he didn't stir anything in me. I didn't want my first time to be with him, so I kept putting him off. I thought he would leave me, but he didn't. He was angry at first, but then I think he grew to like the idea that we wait until marriage."

"So why not tell me he was here?"

"I think I was afraid if he found me, I might go with him. With everything I've been through, maybe the idea of something familiar would lure me."

"And would you," he grasped her hand, "go with him?"

"No, not now. I have nothing to go back to, and I think I'm just starting to figure out who I am."

He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it. "Was he ever physical with you?"

"I told you he was a boy, not a man. He didn't hold his liquor well, and he could get angry."

"So that's a yes." His voice deepened, reminding her what he did for a living. And while he was now a lover and had shown her a glimpse of her inner being and more truthful self, it didn't change the fact that he was still a killer.

"No, but the potential was always there," she said, choosing her words carefully.

"You don't need to worry—"