“It’s nothing,” Elizabeth insisted. She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Get her coat. I’ll drive her.” Nat spoke to Ryan like she was blind, deaf and dumb. The pent up energy she’d sensed in him seemed to find a release as he walked over and stared down at her with grim lines around his mouth.
“I’m not going.” Elizabeth glared Ryan right back into his seat. Even the thought of an ER room made her stomach pitch. Last time she’d been in the hospital she’d been subjected to a rape kit and she wasn’t going back unless they carried her there unconscious and bleeding. That image hung all too vividly in her head.
Nat leaned close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek. His fingers branded her upper arm, his blue eyes glowed with inner fire. “Yes, you are.”
“No, Mr. President.” Elizabeth shoved his hand away, their gazes colliding like rapiers. “I’m not.”
Sarah intervened, shushing Nat when he started to say more. He moved away and angrily shrugged off his jacket.
That’s right buddy, back off. She hid her smile, but lost all sense of triumph when Sarah continued.
“Then you’ll need someone to watch over you tonight and wake you every hour.” Sarah’s pale-brown eyebrows lifted when she saw Elizabeth was about to argue. “That’s your choice, Eliza. Hospital or a night-nurse.”
Either way, Elizabeth figured she was in for a sleepless night. Great. Fecking great.
Sarah moved away to recheck Cal’s blood pressure.
Yawning hugely, Ryan grinned and stood. “Remind me never to piss off you city girls, Sugar. I like my face just the way it is.”
“So did that redhead, Slick,” Elizabeth quipped, hoping to deflect attention away from herself. “Just what were you doing to her in that car?” If she’d thought to make him blush she failed miserably.
“If you don’t know by now, you never will,” Ryan laughed but his gaze flicked uneasily to his sister.
There was a finite pause that stretched into an obvious silence. Eliza followed the brothers’ stares. Sarah Sullivan scowled like an upset owl.
“What redhead?” Sarah asked slowly.
“Stacy,” Ryan said, standing tall and tucking in his chin.
“Stacy Hopkins?” Sarah asked him, her eyes narrowing like she was drawing a bead.
Ryan nodded.
“You were screwing Stacy Hopkins while Cal and Eliza were being beaten up?”
Elizabeth’s eyes popped. She’d unleashed a wildcat.
Ryan looked guiltily towards Cal. “I wasn’t expecting trouble.”
“No,” Sarah replied, “you never do.”
She raised her hands to her face and Elizabeth thought for one awful moment that she was going to cry. The whole room held its breath.
“Stacy’s not so bad—” Ryan began, but was cut off by Sarah’s sneer.
“She’s a no-good slut who’s always after something that doesn’t belong to her.” Sarah glared at her brother with rage gathering in her eyes.
“She stole your boyfriend back in high school,” Ryan shot back. “Get over it.” He walked over to where his sister sat on the couch. “And I don’t belong to anyone, not anymore.”
Shocked silence echoed around the room for a full ten seconds, until Sarah asked quietly, “What about Tabitha?”
Ryan flinched.
Elizabeth was spellbound. Everybody else might be used to the family dynamics and fireworks, but not her. This was the closest she’d come to seeing a real family operate in years.
Ryan backed off, the anger leaving him as quickly as it had come. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned and glanced her way.
“Sorry—didn’t mean to cause a scene.” He looked battered, emotionally raw.
It wasn’t her business, she reminded herself. It was nothing to do with her. She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders. “No problem.”
Cal made the effort to stand. He clutched his battered ribs, groaning in pain. Sarah turned to help him with a gentle touch.
“You can take a bed upstairs tonight, Caleb Landon.” Sarah ordered, clearly back in control of her temper. “No way you’re working tomorrow, so the least you can do is stay here so I can make sure you’re all right without trudging up to the bunk house every half hour.”
Cal didn’t argue. He disengaged Sarah’s helping hands and hobbled slowly across the room to where Nat and Elizabeth stood side by side. He stuck his hand out and Nat shook it firmly. Then he stepped up to Elizabeth and did the same.
“I owe you one.”
He winced as he clapped her on the shoulder and she had to work hard to smother her sympathy. He looked so beat up that every movement must have hurt like hell and if he did have a cracked rib, he’d be out of action for weeks.
Just what the Sullivans needed.
Nat moved to help him up the stairs, but Ryan was already there. Sarah followed them up, clucking like a mother hen. And suddenly, Elizabeth didn’t know how they’d been maneuvered, but she and Nat were alone in the den.
She listened to the others move out of earshot, each squeak of a floorboard and turn of a doorknob marking their progress. When all was silent, Elizabeth wished she was anywhere but alone with this man who made her feel stupid and defensive, and whom she’d kissed to within an inch of embarrassment.
The silence grew tense. Elizabeth glanced up at Nat’s face, unsure of his mood. He’d been angry before, now he was...watching her closely, dark eyes narrowed and thoughtful, his mouth set hard.
Crap.
She raised a weary hand to her forehead—tried not to look pathetic.
There was no way she could fight with Nat Sullivan; she did not have the energy. Normally she was tougher than this, but the brawl had dissipated the edginess she’d felt all day, and now she was sore and exhausted. She’d had enough.
“I’m sorry.” His voice had a rough edge as if he were unsure of the right words. His blond hair fell across his forehead; softened the strong planes of his face and made him look younger. He leaned his tall, rangy frame against the oak mantelpiece, crossed his arms over his wide chest and smiled.
Looked way too good for comfort.
Elizabeth walked over to the couch, collapsed onto the soft cushions and closed her eyes against those sparkling blue gems. Paul Newman had nothing on Nat Sullivan.
“Got a barrel-load of excuses, but none of them make a blind bit of difference. I was way outta line the other day and I’m sorry.”
She heard him walk towards her, felt the sofa give as he sat down next to her. She tried not to shrink away, but couldn’t quite control her tired body. Her mouth twisted into a grim line of self-disgust. The fear was as unstoppable as the tide and she despised herself.
She wanted to tell him to go to hell. To deny the feelings she knew being close to this man would stir up. But she couldn’t. After years of deception, honesty was finally taking the upper hand. She held her tongue, forced herself to open her eyes.
Facing her with questions in his blue eyes, he reached out and traced a finger gently along the edge of her wound.
A shiver followed his touch.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” A week ago Elizabeth would have slapped his hand away, instead she let him touch her—as an experiment.
“You’re a guest here...” He hesitated, seemed to reassess his words, and took her pale hand from where it lay frozen in her lap. Instinct made her want to jerk it away, but she faltered, fascinated by the contact.
She stared at their linked fingers.
His large hand engulfed hers. She forced herself not to run screaming from the room, forced herself not to hang on too tightly. A callused thumb scraped her nerves as he gently rubbed her palm.
It felt like the most intimate act of all, that cradling of fingers.
She looked up and fell headfirst into a deep blue gaze that seized her and wouldn’t let go.
“The other day...I was coming to apologize for what happened in the cabin. For kissing you. Th
en I saw you lying on top of Cal and I saw red, acted like an idiot.” His gaze penetrated and searched her soul for answers, her hand captured in his warm solid grip. “I am sorry.” His eyes shone darkly. “I wanted to pound Cal into the ground.” He gave a short laugh tinged with irony. “Might have saved the poor bastard one hell of a beating.”
“There’s nothing going on between Cal and me.” She pulled her hand away, immediately regretted the lack of contact.
Nat sat looking so handsome, so bloody perfect that she actually wanted to kiss him again. She needed to go, needed to get out of here before she made a fool of herself. Once she’d been tougher than this, but now she couldn’t even force her legs to move.
They sat quietly for a moment, listened to the silence of the room, interrupted only by the blast of the furnace.
“You called me a prick-tease.” Elizabeth muttered, still irritated by that one particular detail.
“Hmm.” Nat grimaced like he’d hoped she’d forgotten. “Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“I didn’t...” Elizabeth stumbled over the clarification, struggling to find the right words. “I’m not,” she finished lamely.
“No, I figured that out all by myself.” Humor turned his smile into a sexy grin. “I’m a jackass.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth rose to her feet, needing to be honest. “No. It wasn’t your fault. With me kissing you the way I did and then treating you like some kind of...rapist.” She stumbled over the word. Looked quickly away.
Nat stared down at his scuffed boots for a long moment before saying quietly, “Well, I guess you had your reasons.”
Her heart froze. Silence stretched thin as she blinked at him in noiseless horror. He knew. The muscles in her throat constricted and she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t know. She wasn’t branded on the outside like one of his cattle. But the cowboy looked at her like she was as transparent as glass.
NINE
Nat watched her face, noted the dilated pupils and bloodless lips. He clenched his fists. Something had happened to her, but she wasn’t giving away any secrets. Not that he blamed her.
When he’d first gone up to the summer cabin he’d been angry, furious even, reminders of Nina’s betrayal like a knife wound in his chest. But after a day or two of solitude, he’d given a lot of thought to the hot kiss he and Eliza had shared and the way she’d suddenly freaked out when he’d touched her. It didn’t take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure she had some hang-ups about sex.
As a freelance nature photographer Nat had been around more than most. Once, he’d been caught up in a bloody civil war where a dream assignment had quickly deteriorated into a nightmare. He’d been lucky to get out alive. Others hadn’t been so fortunate. Another time, poachers had threatened his life for documenting their ruthless destruction of black rhino. Only his proficiency with a rifle had saved his ass that time.
Those experiences had carved a hole in his soul that had never quite healed. That man could be so evil toward his fellow man had opened his eyes to the dark side of human nature.
The look on Eliza’s face after that kiss had been full of terror and self-loathing. Not teasing. His sexual frustration had clouded his judgment, but eventually, in the quiet of the mountains, he’d acknowledged it and been repelled by his own actions. Then Cal had called him up on the radio. Given him almighty hell for being such a jerk.
Nat didn’t want to get involved with another beautiful woman—didn’t like the way Eliza Reed stirred up those feelings that had lain dormant for the past three years. But despite her prickly armor and her ability to kick-ass, there was something fragile about this woman. She was dangerous—he knew that, but she had a vulnerability that pulled him, sucked him in and left him wanting to know more.
And if that kiss was anything to go by, the attraction went both ways. So, regardless of her suspicious nature, he was going to see where it led.
Eerie catlike eyes watched him, defiant and proud, and ready to flee.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.
Eliza shook her head, dark hair fanning her shoulders where it had come loose from its ponytail. Her narrowed eyes nailed him dead in the eye. “No.”
That drew a smile. Unlike most things tonight, that didn’t surprise him. Eliza Reed was more evasive than a timber wolf, and he had to wonder what the hell she was hiding from.
An abusive husband?
A fist of panic double-punched his gut, both the thought that she might be unavailable, and the thought that someone had lifted a hand against her.
The white sheen of bone showed beneath the skin of her knuckles as she gripped the mantel. Still as a statue and twice as pale, she was as nervous as hell, and he hated it.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asked, hoping to move onto neutral territory. She froze again, telling him a lot more than he wanted to know. Another sensitive subject.
A sigh of defeat vibrated low in his diaphragm and he rubbed his chin. At first he didn’t think she was going to answer, he could see her mentally weighing the odds of opening up.
“Law enforcement,” she said finally, breaking the silence with a giant breath, and putting a tentative hand to her scalp wound. “I used to be in law enforcement.”
“Law enforcement?” He rolled the words on his tongue to see how they fit. Not what he’d expected to hear—not in a million years, but... “That where you learned to shoot?” The pieces snapped together.
“Yes.” Eliza walked over and picked up her jacket off the newel of the stairs. “And now I’m going to bed.”
“Okay. I’m with ya,” he said, rising off the couch.
“No. You’re not.”
“You’re concussed, remember?” Nat walked past her, out of the den and down the hall toward the kitchen. He held the door open while Eliza stood and gaped at him.
She followed him out into the hall, her gaze ripe with exasperation. “I don’t need anyone watching out for me.”
“Yeah, well, Sas said you do and she’s the doc.” Nat walked back to where she stood, casting her in shadow. “I’ll sleep on the pull-out in the other room and wake you every couple of hours.”
Eliza held his gaze for a full ten seconds before giving in. She deflated before his eyes, shrank as the anger left her, and brushed past him into the kitchen.
“Eliza.” Nat called out softly as she walked away from him. “If I’d wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it the first night you were here. Before anybody even knew you’d arrived.”
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned back to face him, her eyes dark bruises that haunted a pale face.
“I won’t hurt you.” He wanted to shout the words but whispered them instead.
She nodded and headed out the door.
***
He caught up with her just outside the kitchen door. Elizabeth forced herself to walk slowly, not to run away as her instincts urged her to do. Nat hadn’t bothered with a jacket. He led her through the cold night wearing only a blue plaid shirt and a pair of old Wranglers. He didn’t seem to notice the cold that made her huddle into the warm depths of her coat, her breath condensing on the inside of her collar.
They reached the steps of the cottage and Nat walked right in, held the door for her before going over to fill the wood stove.
Like he owned the place.
Oh yeah. He did own the place. She stifled a giggle with the fingers of her right hand. Maybe she did have a concussion.
Blue’s tail thumped lazily against the bare wooden floor. Elizabeth closed the door behind her, took off her jacket and stood twisting it in her fingers. The cottage was small but comely, with yellow walls that gave it a cozy feel. The stripped pine and hardwood floor glowed from years of waxing and polishing and she loved the warm rustic charm of the place.
But she hadn’t noticed how small it was until now.
Nat watched her, his eyes moving over her like a laser that missed nothing. The lamps she’d left on cast an amber gl
ow across his features and defined the plains of his face, catching pale highlights in his hair.
Beautiful. Gilded in gold.
Somehow his beauty only made her life seem more hideous.
“What was that fight about?” Elizabeth asked, unsure of how to behave with this man in her cabin. Last time she’d jumped him and her cheeks heated with embarrassment.
Nat carried on watching her, but didn’t reply. She looked at his big hands filling the wood-burner with large logs of split wood and made a last determined effort, wanting to break the spell he cast over her nerves. “Why did those guys beat up Cal?”
Nat closed the burner and dusted his hands on the front of his jeans before moving toward her. Slow steps that made her want to bolt. She held very still, every muscle tensed. He reached out, took the jacket from between her nervous fingers.
“Cal told you he served time, right?”
She nodded as he hung her coat on the back of the door. She twisted the ring on her finger.
“His step-daddy was one mean old son of a bitch, and used to beat the crap out of Cal and his mother every time he tied one on. I saw Cal a couple of times...afterwards.” Nat shook his head. “One day he snapped. He was just a boy, but he hit his step-daddy over the head with a baseball bat and broke the fucker’s skull.”
Elizabeth swallowed as the graphic image formed in her mind. At the age of fourteen, Cal killed a man. At age fourteen, all she’d been worried about was whether she was going to have to share a room at school and what exam subjects to take. There were worse things in life than being an orphan.
Nat’s blue eyes watched her carefully. “One of the guys in the bar was Cal’s younger stepbrother. He’s still a little pissed at Cal for killing his daddy.”
Elizabeth nodded, also understanding the pain of losing a parent to violence. Her own had been innocent victims of the terror campaign that had nearly destroyed Northern Ireland, but she couldn’t sympathize with a bully.
Silence hung heavy in the air between them.
Elizabeth stood and shivered, but not from cold. Life was never simple. Everybody had a story. She twisted the gold signet ring on her pinkie, aware her nervous traits were showing through, unable to control them. Those dark-blue eyes of his watched her with a look that was close to caring; it spun magic around her—scared her with maybes.
Crimes of Passion Page 41
