It was an addiction, that’s all. He’d always been wary of men who claimed they needed anything. But tonight…
Tonight he’d come frighteningly close to saying, I need everything.
* * *
LIA DIDN’T KNOW what was wrong, but Conall’s mood seemed to darken after that day. She couldn’t tell if that had anything to do with the change. He’d seemed relaxed enough afterward, certainly with the boys. When she took his dinner up to him, he was sexy and playful. But when he came to her during the night, she felt his tension. A couple of times, he lost some of the care with which he usually touched her. It was almost as if he was angry, whether at her or something else she didn’t know.
It wasn’t only a bad mood, because it lasted. He still spent time with the boys, but was more abrupt with them. Less inclined to talk to Lia. He came to her bed every night, but didn’t talk at all and silenced her with his mouth when she tried. The cuddle after lovemaking was brief and seemed almost reluctant, as if he longed to be gone. She could feel his muscles taut with the desire to get away.
On day three of his emotional withdrawal, Lia braced herself to talk to him. Not for her sake, she told herself, but for the boys’. She found her moment when he came into the kitchen alone to grab a drink.
“Something’s going on with you,” she said directly. “What’s wrong?”
“Huh?” Conall turned from the refrigerator. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve changed.”
His face was devoid of any expression. “I’m doing a job. It’s past time I paid a little more attention to it.”
“And we’re not part of the job.” Chilled, she began snapping green beans into a bowl, her head bent so she didn’t have to look at him again. Humiliation crept over her. She sounded like an outraged wife. No, not outraged—whiny.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. The boys have been helping me finish up in the barn.” His voice softened. “You should come and see what we’ve done. They feel good about it.”
“Later,” she managed to say. “Or I’ll go out in the morning.”
He stepped close to her, close enough she could feel the heat of his body, and said huskily, “Lia…”
She moved aside, evading his hand, pretending she had to run water into a pan. “Let me get dinner on,” she said, in some approximation of a normal voice.
There was silence. Finally he left, and she heard the front door open and close a moment later.
Of course he came to her room that night, and of course she could no more resist his lips and his touch and his body than ever. But afterward she lay rigid beside him, not relaxing against him as she’d been doing, and he didn’t draw her close, either. Instead, after barely a couple of minutes, he rolled toward her, brushed a gentle kiss on her forehead, murmured, “Sleep tight,” and left as silently as he’d come.
* * *
HE SPENT A GOOD DEAL of the next day up in the attic with Jeff, leaving the boys to their own devices, which meant they followed Lia around and kept saying, “I’m bored.” She offered to kick the soccer ball with them, and Brendan mumbled, “You’re not very good at it.” Finally Lia saddled the horse and pony, something she didn’t do very often, and gave the boys a riding lesson. Afterward they were happy to help her comb out tangled manes and tails and learn to brush in the direction the animal’s hair lay. She showed them how to check hooves for stones and clean out packed mud and manure, and they were all sweaty and horsey smelling by the time they went in, which meant taking turns in the shower.
She told herself she was relieved that tonight was Jeff’s turn to join them for dinner. Brendan took Conall’s meal up to him and came back more quickly than usual, his shoulders hunched. He stayed quiet at the table, Lia watching him covertly.
What a jerk, she fumed. Conall must have been brusque with him. Hurt my feelings, she thought, fine. But not the boys’.
Not until after dinner, when Sorrel disappeared upstairs to spend time on the computer and Walker and Brendan decided to watch TV, did Lia have time to brood.
What had changed? She couldn’t figure it out.
The boys were upstairs getting ready for bed and Lia was rinsing plates and loading the dishwasher when she thought again about the way Conall was all but leaping out of her bed the minute he was done with her these past few nights. With an icy tingle, she remembered thinking, As if he longed to be gone.
Yes, that was it exactly. And it wasn’t only the sex. It was everything. He’d had fun here for a while, but he wasn’t anymore. Conall was ready to wind this operation up and move on to one that was more exciting. One that might give him a real shot of adrenaline.
She had gone completely still, scarcely conscious of the hot water pouring over her hands. The most awful pain tore through her, a brushfire that seared and blackened all of her as it burned. A small sound escaped her, quiet but raw.
She’d been fooling herself all along. He was using them as a diversion. The boys filled his idle afternoon hours, and she met his sexual needs. Full stop.
Lia felt cheap suddenly, no better than Sorrel probably had after some dirty old man had let her out of his car. Angry at herself, too, because she couldn’t even blame Conall. He’d never been anything but honest. He’d wanted to avoid case of terminal boredom while he was here, and she’d offered herself up because…oh, because she was lonely and probably starved for sex or maybe only for tenderness and the illusion that somebody actually loved her.
And because she could love him.
Because I do love him.
In her shame, she wondered if she really knew him at all. She’d speculated once that he was someone different depending on his assignment, but had come to believe that here, he was the real Conall. On no evidence whatsoever.
She was dry-eyed, thank God. Devastated, but too angry to cry. Yes, he was remarkable with the boys and even with Sorrel. He must have a gift for seeing what each person needed then meeting it. The grief-stricken boys. The confused teenage girl. And Lia herself, who tried to make a family out of children who never stayed long enough to really love her.
“I’m pathetic,” she whispered to her reflection in the steamy kitchen window. With jerky movements she turned off the water, dried her hands then got the dishwasher running.
Tired and lonelier than she’d ever been in her life, she went upstairs to tuck the kids in. It was a huge relief to escape outside. She sat for a very long time on the porch steps in the dark.
Finally, when she went to bed she did something she hadn’t in years—she closed her door and hoped Conall got the message.
* * *
CONALL KNEW HE SHOULD have talked to Lia today. He’d been curt with everyone. Grumpy. Of course she’d noticed. What had he expected?
The trouble was, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell her how confused he was, how close to panic. He couldn’t admit to her how vulnerable he felt, or how much that threw him back to a time he hated to remember, when he was a kid and still let himself get hurt.
No, it was better that he hadn’t tried to explain anything to Lia. Whatever he was feeling, he’d get over it. He’d be more careful with her, that’s all. He was usually good at hiding what he felt.
For some damn reason, Henderson was snoring tonight. A couple of times Conall actually stalked across the attic to the bed and heaved his partner to his side to shut him up. Usually he could tune out irrelevant noises, but tonight he was on edge. That panic made him jittery, as if he’d had too much caffeine. Nerves shivering beneath the skin.
Everything would be fine tomorrow. Back to normal. There was no reason he couldn’t enjoy the rest of his time here.
With an effort of will, he calmed down. Felt the tension leach from his muscles. He started thinking about Lia without the anxiety. He began to count down the m
inutes until he could get into bed with her. Right now, kissing her was the reassurance he wanted. What kind of idiot was he to develop a case of the cold sweats because the sex with her was too good? He grunted at the stupidity of that.
Henderson slept later than usual. About every five minutes, Conall debated whether he should wake him up. But Henderson was getting the short end of the stick with this operation, and the least Conall could do was let the poor bastard sleep.
It was 3:43 when Jeff stumbled out of bed, muttered something about pissing, and went downstairs. He didn’t always go down; the guy had a hell of a bladder, but this time he must have gone all the way to the kitchen, because he came back with a glass of juice and a big whopping slice of the carrot cake Lia had baked yesterday.
“Go to bed,” he said around a bite, and Conall went. Jeff moved more like Big Foot than an undercover agent. Lia would be awake for sure.
The hall was so dark he didn’t notice her door until he reached the bathroom and turned on the light. Then he glanced back and saw four closed bedroom doors.
He stood stock-still, suddenly sick to his stomach.
Lia had closed it by accident. She must be awake; pretty soon she’d notice that she was seeing only a faint band of light beneath the door. By the time he came out, she would have opened her door.
Conall brushed his teeth, used the toilet, then hesitated before reaching for the knob. She’d be waiting for him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Maybe more, he told himself, trying to feel cocky instead of shaky.
He opened the door and looked down the hall to see…hers still closed. After a moment he shut off the light and walked toward his bedroom, maybe a little less quietly than usual. Thinking…he didn’t know what. His feet stopped at her door the way they always did. His lips formed her name. It was a long time before he forced himself to continue to his own room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FOR THE FIRST time since he’d arrived, Conall dreaded going downstairs come morning. From day one, he’d thought about Lia the moment he opened his eyes, anticipating his first sight of her, the first sound of her voice. Today… God. What would she say? What could he say?
“I’m sorry” might be a good start.
Annoyed with himself and trying to ignore the unwieldy lump that had taken up residence in his chest, Conall showered and shaved, finally making his way down. The house was quiet—too quiet—and for a minute he had the fear she’d taken the boys and absconded for the day. He couldn’t blame her; hadn’t he slunk around avoiding her yesterday?
Some major-league groveling was clearly called for. Not his specialty, but he could do it.
The lump in his chest lightened momentarily when he heard her talking to someone in the kitchen. Thank God, she hadn’t left.
She was on the phone, he found when he walked in, leaning with one hip against the counter and frowning while she listened. Her glance flicked to him, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“We can do tonight,” she agreed. “Please make her parents understand that Sorrel’s condition for coming is that I be present.” Pause. “Yes, I know it’s unusual, you’ve already said that.” More listening. “Okay, seven o’clock.”
He’d already put water on for coffee and was pouring his cereal when she ended the call.
“Sorrel’s meeting with her parents at last?”
“Yes.” Her gust of breath held exasperation. “They’re upset about the idea of me sitting in on the session. Why, I have no idea. The counselor was going to be there anyway. I swear, it’ll be all I can do not to slap their faces if they start in again trying to get her to admit she accused Uncle Raymond falsely.”
He abruptly fixated on Uncle Raymond. “Is that his name?”
“Yes.” She leveled a sharp look at him. “You’re not thinking—”
“Thinking?” He lifted both eyebrows.
“Oh, shoot him, I don’t care,” she muttered, and automatically went to pour the boiling water through the coffee filter.
“You okay?” he asked her. He cleared his throat. “I mean…feeling all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be feeling all right?”
“I thought maybe… Since your door was shut last night—”
“That I was sick? Oh.” She laughed. “Having my period, you mean. No, as it happens, I’m not due for almost another week.”
Should he be nervous, it occurred to Conall, because they’d been having sex during her most fertile time of the month with only condoms for protection? They had a pretty significant rate of failure. His heart picked up the pace a little, but— Oh, God. The image that filled his head of her pregnant was erotic and…something else, but not frightening.
And that scared the crap out of him.
“Was I wrong in assuming you were telling me I wasn’t welcome?” he asked, voice even.
Her breasts rose and fell with a quick breath. “No.”
“You going to tell me why?”
Their eyes met, hers wide and wary.
“I realized this morning that I let myself get a little too melodramatic last night while I brooded about our relationship, such as it is, but I’m not sure my conclusion was wrong.” She stayed where she was, a good distance from him at the kitchen table. His cereal was getting soggy, but he didn’t care. “You’ve…changed these past few days,” she continued.
“I’ve been working through some things,” Conall admitted, voice rough.
“You’ve hurt our feelings. The boys’ and mine.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
Lia shrugged. “You did it anyway.” She raised a hand when he started to speak. “No, let me say this. The truth is, you’ve been filling your time with us. And that’s okay, to a point. You’ve been good for the boys. It’ll be hard for them when you leave, but you’ve never pretended. They know your job will take you away eventually. You’ve helped heal them in the meantime. This may be the first time in their lives they’ve really had the chance to relate to a man.”
It was all he could do to sit still when he needed to jump up, pace, pinch the bridge of his nose, clear his throat again. But he only waited.
“I appreciate what you’ve done for them. But me… Well, I never should have slept with you. I’m not made for casual sex. And that’s what this is for you. I’m another convenience here—meals, toilet, shower, sex.”
He shot to his feet, his chair scraping back. “That’s bull—”
Lia shook her head so vehemently he had to stop, still ten feet away from her. “It’s true.” Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her. “I’m not mad. You never even hinted at anything else. We were two consenting adults. But I realized I don’t want to consent anymore.” Her shoulders moved. “That’s all.”
“You’re not a convenience. You were never that.” The words pushed their way out of him. “For God’s sake, it never occurred to me that sex would be provided along with kitchen privileges.” The idea seriously pissed him off. That she’d think for a minute that’s all she was to him. “You have to know that you’ve got me feeling things I didn’t know I could feel.”
She stared at him. Her hands gripped each other, her knuckles white. “What kind of things?”
Conall shook his head. He hadn’t articulated any of this to himself, how could he now to her? Why couldn’t she be patient? Why was she pushing him?
After a minute she gave a small, broken laugh. “Things. Boy, am I flattered.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “If you’ll excuse me, I promised myself I was going to wash the windows today.”
Before he could figure out what to say, she was gone. He heard her voice—talking to the boys, he diagnosed. Conall looked down at his soggy cereal, his appetite gone. He dumped the mess in the sink, turned on the disposal then put the bowl in the dishwasher.
He had no idea why he felt shell-shocked. This op wasn’t never-ending, however it sometimes felt. He’d be packing up and going soon no matter what. Maybe she was right; maybe it was better if they eased out of the relationship instead of going cold turkey. He looked at the coffee and dumped that, too. For the first time he noticed that the sky was overcast. Perfect. Suited his mood.
* * *
CONALL HAD A COUPLE of ideas for unsticking the pause button on Operation Watch The Grass Grow, which made it seem like good timing to call Duncan and ask if they could get together and talk. It wasn’t until Conall pulled into his brother’s driveway that he realized he wasn’t here to secure local police cooperation. He was here because of all these feelings rattling around inside him.
He swore under his breath, set the emergency brake and killed the engine, then sat there for longer than he should have. Was he really contemplating spilling his gut to the brother he hadn’t spoken to for ten-plus years? The brother he’d sworn he hated?
Why hadn’t he gone to Niall instead? They at least were friends of a sort.
He didn’t have to say anything. He could keep this brisk and business-like.
Conall got out when he realized Duncan had opened the door and was waiting, one shoulder propped on the frame. When Conall got close enough, his brother straightened. “I picked up some food at the deli and started making sandwiches.”
Conall nodded. “Thanks.” He’d suggested lunch if Duncan could choose someplace out of the way, and wasn’t surprised at the decisive answer. “My place.”
“Jane at work?” he asked, following his brother through the quiet house. He found himself looking around more this time, liking what he saw. The decor was classy but comfortable, with leather furniture that had a masculine feel, gleaming wood floors, white walls, a river rock fireplace in the living room, bookcases everywhere, and some eye-catching gallery quality wildlife photographs. With books and newspapers lying on end tables and a playpen with a bright mobile in the middle of the living room, it felt like a real home, something the house they’d grown up in never had. He wondered how much represented Duncan’s tastes, how much Jane’s.
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