Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  “I can’t. It’s personal. It’s part of the reason I’m here. Reasons that have nothing to do with you – or even with Gregg, really.” He sighed, sure he’d said too much. “You have to trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Cara shook her head. “Why should I trust you, Liam, when I know you don’t give two shits about me?”

  Liam frowned. “What are you talking about? Of course I do. I care about you a lot.”

  “Yeah, sure you do.” There was an angry, hopeless, defeated set to her shoulders. She gazed at the floor as she mumbled, “That’s why you’re kicking me out of bed, right?”

  “Come on, Sunshine, wrap up the pity party, okay?” he said. “You’d have to be in my bed before I could kick you out of it. That hasn’t happened and it’s not going to. Besides, you’re not really gonna try and tell me you’re angry because I’m not using you, are you?”

  She looked at him pityingly. “Everyone uses everyone, Liam. The only time they don’t, is if you don’t have anything they want from you. Just because you’re not having sex with me, that doesn’t mean you’re not using me some other way.”

  “Jeez, how’d you get so cynical? Just because you want something, that doesn’t mean you have a right to it, either, okay? I’m not going to sleep with you tonight.”

  “Because you don’t want me.”

  “Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself again.” He stared at her for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “It’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because you’re under age.”

  “That is such bullshit,” Cara declared angrily. “If you really cared about me, that wouldn’t matter at all.”

  “You’re wrong. It will always matter.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Her voice was soft and wistful, just a little shaky, it messed him up even more than her smile would have done.

  When her eyes searched his, he knew what she was looking for. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to be convinced. But, most of all, she wanted him to want her.

  “C’mere,” he sighed as he pulled her to him, sliding his hand around to cup the back of her neck and lowering his mouth to hers. He closed his eyes and struggled for control when her lips parted beneath his and she kissed him back. He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms, to fall into bed with her, to surrender to the needs that raged inside him. To give her everything she was asking for—and more.

  He couldn’t do that. Instead, he reached blindly for her hand, determined to make his point.

  Cara stiffened a little as his hand closed around her wrist. A tiny whimper broke from her lips, and as he pressed her palm to the front of his pants, she fought to pull free of his grasp. But he wouldn’t release his hold on her. Not yet. First, he needed her to feel the raging hard on she’d inspired. He needed her to know just how much he wanted her, and what being here with her right now was doing to him.

  He could have let her go when her fingers tightened around him, and he probably should have. But it felt so good as she arched against him, as she squeezed him through the denim of his jeans, as her other hand reached up to cup his cheek; that he found himself deepening the kiss, instead. And several more minutes passed before he found the strength to push away from her.

  When he did, she opened her eyes and stared at him, looking dazed and dumbstruck.

  “Now do you believe me?” he rasped, still trying to catch his breath.

  She swallowed hard, her eyes flickered down to the front of his jeans, and then back up to his face. She nodded.

  “And will you get me the email? Please?”

  She hesitated for a moment. Frowning a little. Biting her lip. Finally, she sighed and nodded once again. “Okay, I’ll try.”

  “Good,” He turned and crossed the room to snag her backpack from the floor by the bed. “Now, go on,” he said, motioning at the door as he headed back. “Take your stuff and get out of here.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “B- but, I- I thought–?”

  He shook his head. “No, you didn’t. I told you I’m not gonna sleep with you tonight, and I meant it.”

  He thrust the backpack toward her and she took it, and held it clasped to her chest. Once again her gaze shifted downward, and Liam felt his cock throb in response. If she could do that to him with nothing more than a look, he was in even more trouble than he thought. “Come on,” he growled as he motioned her once again toward the door. “Move. I’m tired. I need a nap.” He needed more than that, a lot more. But a nap was all he was going to allow himself.

  Cara shrugged off the hand he put on her shoulder and refused to budge. She glanced up at him, appealingly, as he opened the door. “But, why, Liam? I don’t understand.”

  “Because I can’t,” he repeated, nudging her forward. “And I won’t. Not until you’re older. And not until you’re here for the right reasons.”

  “What am I supposed to tell Gregg?” she asked in a voice so low, he could barely hear the words.

  Gregg. At the mention of the bastard’s name, Liam felt his temper fray. “I don’t care what you tell him,” he snapped as he finally succeeded in prodding her through the door. “Tell him anything you want. Tell him I said thanks, but no thanks.”

  He closed the door again quickly, wishing he could shut out the memory of the pain that had flared in her eyes at his words. But it burned, bright and clear in his mind, as he leaned his forehead against the door and waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps retreating down the hallway. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the silence. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  * * *

  If fear were a liquid, then Lauren would surely have drowned in it by now, Gregg thought, as he paused to enjoy the terror that filled her eyes. He studied the strained expression on her face, tabulating each trace of pain that registered there. Was it enough, or not quite?

  Tears would be good. And a quavering note in her voice, one clearly beyond her control, would be priceless. But it was a fine line he was walking here; he needed her audible, after all, and reasonably coherent. Too many tears, too great a panic, would render her worse than useless.

  On the other hand, for the sake of veracity, if nothing else, he should make certain she was genuinely upset. He smiled at her fondly, and watched the fear that gripped her ratchet up another notch.

  Pain was a beautiful thing to behold; sharp, exquisite, raw. But even prettier was a happy little secret buried in the back of someone’s mind, beyond reach or recall. Beyond hope of removal.

  When he was finished with her, when she had done all he asked, he would take her pain away, and lock up the memories. He would seal them up inside her; like treasures in a secret vault. One that only he could access.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dinner was over. The dishes had all been cleared from the table and the leftovers stored in the refrigerator. The day was drawing to a close as Nick found himself once again in the kitchen, listening to the gurgle and hiss of the espresso machine, sipping one last glass of Shiraz from the case Adam had brought, as a birthday present.

  It was a deep, juicy wine. Earthy. Vibrant. With a spicy nose and a finish that was not quite toasty, nor yet licorice, but offered maybe just a hint of caramel. It tasted of Spring and Summer, of cool, damp nights and long, dry days...

  Nick rolled it around on his tongue. It was a good wine. Maybe even a great wine. One destined to win many awards, he was certain. But all the same, it had not escaped his notice that the wine he’d been gifted with was not one of his own personal favorites, but one of Scout’s.

  Adam’s message could not have been more clear: Make no mistake. I’m doing this for her, not you.

  Which suited Nick just fine. The only reason he put up with the arrogant jackass at all was for his wife’s sake, anyway. And they all knew it. Thanks to Scout, he and Adam were family now. God help them both.

  Bouncer, their big, orange tomcat, one of nine cats they’d originally inherited from Scout’s stepmother, hopped up on the counter. Nick
rubbed the cat’s head affectionately. “So, it’s just you and me, now is that it? Alone at last?”

  He was only half joking. Much as he loved spending time with his family and friends, much as he’d loved having Scout practically glued to his side for most of the day, he was beginning to feel restless. Edgy. As the sun sank lower in the sky and the evening fog crept up between the big Bay Laurels at the bottom of the garden, he was starting to get amped up and antsy. It was as though, in some dark corner of his brain, a clock had begun ticking.

  He had no idea what it meant, or why it should suddenly be the case, but somewhere deep in his heart, beyond logic, beyond even the reach of memory, he recognized this feeling. And it wasn’t good.

  Probably it had something to do with the expression Scout had been wearing all day. She’d looked nervous, too. Worried. Preoccupied. But, worst of all, he had the distinct impression that, whatever his wife was feeling, she was trying hard to conceal it. Usually, hiding her emotions would not be a problem for Scout. The fact that she was failing could only mean one thing.

  Whatever was bothering her, whatever was riding them both this evening, was not something small.

  Nick sighed. He swallowed the remainder of his wine and put the glass in the sink. Yeah, this was bad, all right. It was real bad. And it was making him a nervous wreck.

  The cat wasn’t helping matters, either. Bouncer continued to stare at him, tracking his every move, with an expression in his golden eyes not all that different from Scout’s. “Go outside,” Nick ordered, frowning at the feline. “Go on, now. Get.”

  Not surprisingly, the cat ignored his directive, although his tail twitched once, and he lifted one paw and took a lazy couple of swipes along it with his tongue.

  “Fine. Have it your way. Hang around if you like. You’re still not getting any cannoli tonight,” Nick warned as he pulled a tray of the cream-filled pastries out of the refrigerator. He set the tray on the table, along with a plate of chocolate dipped biscotti, Lucy’s predictably perfect Tiramisu, a large bowl of very early strawberries from one of Dan’s greenhouses, and the cherry tart Sinead had baked specially for him.

  “I used Amarena cherries to make it,” she’d said, smiling wickedly as she handed him the pie plate. “Imported from Bologna. I don’t know what those Italians do to them, but the flavor is... exquisite. Out of this world. Enjoy.”

  Nick had nodded, feeling almost dazed by the sweet cherry scent that was rising from the pastry shell. Cherries had always been his favorite fruit, and just the smell of these—dark, intense, almost sinful – was enough to make him drool. “Thank you,” he murmured, as he gave her a hug. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  “Oh, I know you will,” Sinead had replied, laughing softly as she whispered, “it’ll make a great bedtime snack.”

  “Good to know,” he’d said, returning her smile. The woman certainly knew his tastes – and not just in desserts. Not surprising, really, considering they’d been friends for almost forty years. He wasn’t smiling now, however, as he contemplated the weary, tense expression that had been on his old friend’s face for most of the day.

  He was getting a lot of presents for his birthday and a fair amount of attention. But not a lot of cheer.

  Sinead and he might not be blood relatives, but she was family, all the same. And, step-brother or no step-brother, if it turned out to be Adam’s fault Sinead was looking so grim today, if it turned out he was mistreating her in some fashion, Nick would...

  What? What do you think you’re gonna do? he asked himself. But he already knew the answer. He’d do nothing. Because that wasn’t the case.

  Adam Sasso was a pompous, pretentious son of a bitch, but he’d proven himself where Sinead was concerned. Nick might want an excuse to fight him, but he wasn’t going to get one on this count. Despite all his faults, Adam was a huge improvement on most of the bastards Sinead had been involved with over the years. Nick knew that for a fact.

  He also knew he should probably include himself on the list of bastards.

  Throughout most of his youth, he’d had a reputation for being heartless, and it hadn’t been so far from the truth. When Scout left town all those years ago, a big piece of his soul had gone AWOL along with her.

  Still, even back then, he wasn’t the worst bastard Sinead had gotten mixed up with, either. That honor would probably have to go to Gregg Gilchrist. And thinking about Gregg had him checking his watch.

  Shit. It’s getting late. How long could something like this take, anyhow? Nick sighed again, and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he hadn’t just quit smoking yet again. He’d made a lot of calls after his meeting with Liam the previous afternoon. He’d called in favors and requested information. He’d asked questions. He’d even enlisted Chay Johnson’s help, and put the young man to work scouting the area around TLV, searching the surrounding woods for signs of a tunnel exit, or for anything that would indicate any recent activity in the area.

  Chay had been willing, but only marginally interested. His main focus was wildlife, after all. But if Nick’s suspicions proved correct, there very well might be a direct connection between the cult and the mutilated animals they’d been finding. Gregg Gilchrist had not been nicknamed Guts for nothing.

  In short, Nick had done everything he could think of doing… other than calling Ryan in Hawaii, and suggesting he put his honeymoon on hold for a while, and come back to work – and there was nothing he could do now, but wait for the answers.

  Maybe that was why he was feeling so edgy this evening. All day he’d been waiting for the phone to ring. He hoped he heard something soon. He hoped he heard something good.

  He doubted that would be the case.

  For one thing, there was just too much about this scenario that had bad news plastered all over it.

  “What’s the matter tonight, cuz,” Lucy’s voice pierced through the gloomy cloud that had gathered around Nick’s thoughts. “You don’t look like yourself. Something wrong?”

  He smiled at her. “What could be wrong?”

  Lucy’s brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I don’t know. But, have you ever noticed how, whenever someone answers a question with a question like that, it generally means they’re avoiding the subject?”

  Nick nodded at the coffeemaker. “I think the espresso’s done now. Do you think you could start bringing the dessert into the other room for me, while I see if I can’t scrounge up a bottle of Sambucca? I’m pretty sure we have some around here somewhere.”

  “And it’s not just you and Scout who are acting weird, either,” Lucy mused, ignoring his request with her usual single mindedness. “It’s almost everyone. Marsha, Sam, Sinead... ”

  So. It wasn’t just he who felt it, then. Nick began piling tableware onto serving trays, hoping Lucy would take the hint – and the trays – and leave him alone. Maybe he could no longer get away with telling himself it was just imagination, but that still didn’t mean he had to talk about it.

  “Hey, babe, where’d you go?” Dan called to his wife, as he pushed through the kitchen door to join them. “You get lost, or something? I thought you were just gonna find out what the hold up was with dessert?”

  So much for solitude, Nick thought, cutting an annoyed glance at his cousin’s husband. But, on the other hand, anything had to be an improvement on getting grilled by Lucy.

  Or, maybe not, he corrected as Dan’s grin was replaced by a look of concern. “Nick? Everything okay there, bud?”

  “Why shouldn’t it be?” he asked, turning back to rummage in the cabinets once again.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe this one was harassing you again.” Dan’s voice sounded faintly amused.

  Lucy’s, on the other hand, sounded anything but. “Hey! I resent that, Cavanaugh. I do not harass people.”

  Dan chuckled. “Guess I must be thinking of somebody else, then, huh? That’s too bad.”

  “Oh?” Lucy’s voice was soft, but it held a dangerous edge. “And, why
’s that?”

  “Because,” Dan murmured, even softer now, “I was gonna say, you can harass me any time. But, since you say you don’t do that sort of thing... ”

  A suspicious silence settled over the room and Nick resisted the urge to turn around and see what the others were up to; it was hardly necessary. This was Lucy and Dan, after all, and Nick thought it likely they’d still be going at it like rabbits, even on their deathbed.

  When he finally did turn around, after unearthing a bottle of Sambucca and another one of grappa, he found Dan and Lucy oblivious to his presence, happily feeding each other strawberries.

  He shook his head, but he couldn’t help smiling. He guessed some things never changed. His cousin had been married to Dan for eighteen years now – with only a couple of rough spots that he, or anyone else knew about – and they were still as solid as ever.

  It was nice to see something like that, Nick thought as he slipped quietly past them, and out of the kitchen; it gave him a reason to hope. Not that his own marriage wasn’t strong, of course. It was just that he and Scout would never have the kind of history that Lucy and Dan could lay claim to.

  Ironic, considering how long he’d been loving her.

  Still, he considered himself damn lucky to have finally won her back. And, once again, just as he had that morning, he found himself wondering if she knew that.

  Even if she did, it wouldn’t hurt to remind her, he decided. In fact, he would do it right now. He would seek her out, and tell her not to worry so much. He would let her know that he’d always be there, that he’d always protect her. That he would always cherish what they had together.

  And then, he’d apologize for his bad temper, too. He’d tell her it was probably just the fact that today was his birthday, that he was getting old and feeling even older, that had him acting so glum, that made him feel so melancholy.

  But, most of all, he would tell her again that he loved her, and always would.

  He was on his way to do just that, but then, as he was passing through the foyer on his way into the living room, the phone rang.