A blessing because it was impossible for a psychic to completely block out an intimate partner, which was a distraction that would make any lover cringe. There was nothing quite so demeaning as being in the middle of sex and to realize your partner was picturing Angelina Jolie.
And a curse because Fane was about as chatty as a rock. His feelings were locked down so tight Serra feared that someday they would explode.
And not in a good way.
Or maybe it would be good, she silently told herself, gliding to a halt directly in front of his half-naked form.
There weren’t many things worse than watching all emotions being stripped away as you approached the man you’d loved for the past two decades.
Especially when she was a seething mass of emotions.
She wanted to grab his beautiful face in her hands and kiss him until he melted into a puddle of goo. No. She wanted to kick him in the nuts for being such a prick. Maybe she’d kick him and then kiss it better.
To make matters worse she was on a lust-driven adrenaline high.
Just standing next to his half-naked body coated in sweat made her heart pump and her mouth dry.
God. She was so fucking pathetic.
Accepting that her companion wasn’t going to break the awkward silence, she tilted her chin up another notch.
Any higher and she was going to be staring at the ceiling.
“Fane,” she purred softly.
His dark gaze remained focused on her face, resisting any temptation to glance at her skimpy vest. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the rare times she’d caught him casting covert glances at her body, she might suspect he hadn’t yet realized she was a woman.
“Serra.”
On the way to the gym she’d practiced what she was going to say. She was going to be cool. Composed. And in complete control.
Instead the fear lodged in the pit of her belly made her strike out like a petulant child.
“You’re leaving?”
He gave a slow dip of his head. “I’m returning to Tibet.”
The fear began to spread through her body, her hands clenching at her sides. “Did you ever intend to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?” she snapped. “On your way out the door?”
“Does it matter?”
Oh yeah. He was definitely getting kicked in the nuts.
“Yes, it damned well matters.”
He remained stoic. Unmoved by her anger. “What do you want from me?”
She lowered her voice. It wasn’t that she gave a shit that they had an audience. Living in Valhalla meant that privacy was a rare commodity. But she had some pride, dammit. She didn’t want them to hear her beg.
“You know what I want.”
Something flared through the dark eyes. Something that sliced through her heart like a dagger.
“It’s impossible,” he rasped. “I’ll always care for you, Serra, but not in the way you need.”