by Brant, Kylie
“Meal one is chicken noodle soup with rice and mushrooms added.” Raine made a face, and he shook his fork at her. “Don’t knock it, it’s pretty good. Then meal two is hamburgers and French fries. Meal three is a steak and potato and meal four consists of kitchen-sink stir fry.”
“Don’t tell me,” she said, “you throw everything in except—”
“The kitchen sink.” He nodded. “Right.”
“Everything but peas,” she noted, nodding at his plate.
“You caught me,” he said without apology. “Even now that I have choices, I’m not finicky. There’s not much I won’t eat, and haven’t. But I draw the line at peas.”
Finicky would hardly describe his appetite, she mused. He’d eaten everything else she’d put in front of him. “What do you mean, now that you have choices? Has that been a recent change?”
He mentally cursed his verbal blunder. That was exactly why he hated these assignments. He didn’t know how to make the kind of casual dinner conversation that would keep his clients happy, and he damn well didn’t want to talk about himself. Four years out of the field had dulled his senses. He would never have made a slip like that before, or he wouldn’t have lived to get out of the field. But it wasn’t as if it mattered anymore. The only thing that bothered him was how quickly old habits were slipping away from him. He needed that vacation even worse than he’d thought. Wiping his mouth deliberately with his napkin, he said finally, “I was in the military.”
She cocked her head, startled. She couldn’t picture his hair in the short-cropped style still favored by most branches of the service, but his answer made sense when she considered his discipline and bearing. He must have been a commissioned officer, and that would explain the tone of voice he used, the one that commanded instant respect. Still, she was having difficulty reconciling the idea of this man taking orders from anyone. No matter how far he had risen in the ranks, he’d still had to answer to superiors. She shook her head unconsciously. It didn’t make sense.
His eyes caught the movement. “What? You don’t believe I was in the Army?”
“I don’t think it was just the Army, no,” she admitted, her gaze steady. “There had to have been something more to draw you to a life like that. I have a hard time imagining you joining up for the chance to jump when someone else demanded it. You’re disciplined, but not a follower.” She didn’t notice the stillness that crossed his features at her words. “There had to have been something . . .” She stopped then, her eyes widening. “Rangers?” she asked in a whisper, but it wasn’t really a question. The danger would have lured him; living on the edge would have sustained him. It would also explain how he acquired that still watchfulness of his, that solitary manner. The lone life would have forced him to rely only on himself. No wonder he bit out commands in that terse voice of his. He was used to ordering lives to suit himself, as means to an end.
“They must have recruited you right out of high school,” she said in a quiet voice. “Or was it on a college campus?”
He stacked their plates economically, walking away from her into the kitchen. She followed him to the doorway, and then leaned against the doorjamb. He set the dishes in the sink with a clatter and went to the refrigerator, opening it and extracting a long- necked bottle of beer. He offered her one and she shook her head. He must have had one of his crew stock her refrigerator, she realized for the first time. She rarely thought to buy beer, never having acquired a taste for it. Usually there were some strays in there, leftovers from a guest. He’d taken his bottle from a six-pack.
He still hadn’t answered, and she realized suddenly that he had no intention of doing so. He walked deliberately toward her, but she didn’t move. Stopping inches from her, he stared into her face. His mouth was set in a firm straight line, and his eyes were hooded. The masculine stubble on his chin was at eye level, and for an instant she experienced an overwhelming urge to mach up and touch it, to scrape it with her fingernail. How would that roughness feel against her skin? she wondered a little dizzily. Dragged across her cheeks, or her lips? Or lower?
She caught her breath at the uncharacteristic thought. She’d never been attracted to tough-as-nails, emotionless men, not that she could ever remember meeting one before. To be truthful, she’d really never been overly attracted to any man. Safety had always been the number-one quality she looked for in a date. She’d faced that fact squarely years ago. She’d tested her wings—there was no other phrase for it—on two men in her life. They’d been little more than boys, really. But this was no boy in front of her, nor was he safe. She didn’t know why, then, standing this close to a man who emanated danger and hands-off, would make her throat clutch.
“May I?” His words were rusty.
Her gaze traveled fascinatedly, watching his mouth form those words, to his eyes, back to his mouth. Had he read her mind, captured her errant thought and determined to make it his own? Then he moved and his meaning became clear. She shifted out of his way on legs that suddenly seemed wooden. Mac brushed by her and walked to the patio. Pulling a chair around, he set it down facing the west, apparently with the intent of taking in the sunset.
She took a deep breath and followed him out the door. She sat in a chair near his. Silence prevailed for a time as they watched the sun sink in brilliant splendor. “Simple pleasures,” he murmured after a time. Turning his head lazily to her he added, “I can see why you bought this place. The view is great.”
She nodded, tucking her feet under her on the chair. “The smog isn’t as bad out here. And it’s peaceful without being too isolated. I loved it the moment I saw it. I barely gave the electrician time to complete the work I hired him to do before I moved in.” She looked at him consideringly. “Where do you live?”
“I have an apartment.” He shrugged. “I’m not there much.” Certainly it wasn’t a home, not the way her house was. It was pretty sterile, now that he thought about it. But he didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about making it any other way, and damned if he was going to hire one of those high-priced decorators with pinstriped suits and ponytails to come in and do it for him. He wasn’t really interested in matching color schemes and draperies, but it would be nice to come home to something more than a refrigerator and a bed. Maybe some pictures on the wall would help. He would want something he liked, something he wasn’t going to get tired of looking at. Hell, maybe he’d even buy some of Raine’s paintings. Though he hadn’t any idea of their worth, he had money saved. And he already knew that he liked the ones he’d seen.
But maybe that wouldn’t be such a wise choice. He was anxious to walk away from this job, and when the time came, he didn’t want any reminders of it, or of her. The knowledge that such reminders would disturb him was irritating but undeniable.
“How long have you been out of the Army?” she asked.
After a brief hesitation he answered her. “Four years.”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” He turned to pin her with a look. “I know the Rangers do special ops work for the Army, but I don’t know much more than that.”
“Drop it, Raine.”
“Is the reason you don’t want to talk about it the same reason you decided to quit?”
“I said drop it.” His voice was clipped.
“Something plagues you at night,” she said softly. “I’ve seen you pacing out here. I couldn’t sleep, either, and I watched you. Was it something you did for the Army, is that it?”
If the woman had one ounce of self-preservation she would be retreating. Right now every sense she had should be screaming a warning to her. Men a hell of a lot bigger had been known to quail before his temper. She was either unaware or unafraid of it. He didn’t know which was more galling.
“What the hell do you know about it?” he snarled.
She met his gaze steadily. He was angry. No, more than that, he was furious. At her. Because she wouldn’t back off and let him remain in that emotional cave he isolated himself in. It should have frigh
tened her, the thought of this man angry. He was dangerous-looking at the best of times. Right now he was lethal. Yet his temper had a curiously calming effect on her. It was a rare sign of emotion from him, and for some reason she wanted to stoke it. Wanted to force him to respond as a man, not as a machine.
“I know how every regret a person has can compound at night until it threatens to choke you. I know that fear uses the daylight to hide and the darkness to prowl in.” Her voice dropped. “And I know that people who can sleep do, and those of us who can’t usually have a reason.”
He rose from his chair so suddenly it clattered behind him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled. “You think your ivory-tower existence has prepared you to talk about regrets? Lady, you don’t know what regret is. Up to now, the biggest fear in your life has been whether you’ll sell well enough for Klassen to keep you as a client. Hell, you don’t have the sense to be scared when there’s a real threat out there. You let Klassen talk you out of reporting those letters at first because you wanted to believe him. You couldn’t even make a decision about it until Winters forced you to!”
She looked away then, but he didn’t relent. He had her on the ropes, and the thought gave him a savage delight. She’d poked and prodded at him like a child tormenting a puppy, and then had the guts to compare the two of them. The little girl from California, the successful artist, had nothing in common with Mac O’Neill.
“I’m saying that a person doesn’t have to be in intelligence to—”
“It’s called covert operations, baby, and most of the time it has damn little to do with intelligence.” His face was savage. “Do you know what that job entails, hmm? It doesn’t involve nine-to-five office hours pushing papers across a desk. It’s carried out in the searing heat of deserts halfway around the world, and in jungles with air so thick you can barely breathe. People don’t matter there, obtaining goals does.”
“And did you attain your goals?” she asked almost soundlessly.
“I did my job.”
The tone was flat, the words bleak. And she knew in that moment she had been right about him. She’d sensed that something rode this man, sensed it as only someone who’d been in that kind of pain herself could have done. And she felt for him, felt all the unspoken despair behind his outburst.
He clenched and unclenched his fists, angry that he’d allowed her to goad him into this admission, feeling as though she’d stripped away protective layers to reveal the ugly black center of his soul. And because he felt exposed, because he was uncomfortable with his own disclosure, he attacked. “What is it with you? You can’t find enough problems in your own sheltered little existence to keep you occupied? Do you need more to get inspiration for your work, is that it? Concentrate on the creep who’s harassing you, that should be trouble enough for anybody. Anybody with the sense to feel caution, that is.”
“There’s a difference between not noticing danger and not allowing it to ruin your life. I’m sure you realized a long time ago that it’s not the threats from without that keep people running, that scare them the most. It’s the ones we carry inside us.”
He stared at her wordlessly, his eyes arrowing into her. Where did she come up with these ideas? From what he knew of her, from her father, she’d had the sheltered upbringing of a society princess. He remembered something Grady had said once, that Simon Michaels protected his wife against anything in her life that might be unpleasant, and he figured the man had done the same for Raine. Certainly his voice when he spoke of her had been full of feeling. He had been concerned enough about her safety to hire Mac.
So what had happened to Raine Michaels along the way that would give her these kinds of insights?
“What is it about you?” he murmured, gazing intently at her.
“We’re alike, you and I,” she answered, and the truth of those words struck her violently. For some reason she’d felt it at the beginning—there was something she recognized in Macauley O’Neill. Something that had struck a chord in her. It wasn’t a solely physical attraction, though she was only beginning to recognize that, too, existed. It was some element she hadn’t been able to put her finger on until she’d seen him pacing alone in the moonlight. Now that common thread seemed to wrap around her, coaxing her to draw closer to the man, in spite of every self-protective tendency she’d ever had.
How else could she explain what had happened this afternoon? Over the years, it had been a carefully unspoken rule in her home that no one walked up behind Raine without announcing himself first. No one reached out a hand toward her unless he was standing in her view. And nobody ever put hands on her without her permission.
So what had happened earlier? Had she given Macauley tacit permission to touch her? Where had that acquired reaction gone to? And why had it disappeared under the touch of this man?
The thoughts echoed in her head, disturbing her. Each step she’d taken to regain a normal life had been met before with quiet self- satisfaction. She could go out now and not come home until after dark. She didn’t like to, the discomfort was still there, but she could do it. She could stand in a line with someone behind her, and as long as that person didn’t touch her, no one would be embarrassed. It might still make her sweat, the hairs on the back of her neck might prickle, but she could do that, too. She should be thrilled that she’d finally conquered yet another one of her fears this afternoon, but instead it filled her with confusion. Why should this man be the one to release her from that plague?
She took a step away from him, and then another. For the first time she felt afraid of him. Not physically, no, but emotional fear, that was something else. Why she should feel this close to a relative stranger was a question too complex to answer.
“Whatever similarity you think you see between us is in your imagination,” he said harshly. “You’re being threatened, I’m here to protect you. It’s as simple, as basic as that. Don’t start romanticizing anything about this. Romantic is the last word that should be used to describe someone like me.” He turned on his heel and stalked into the house.
Raine picked up the chair he’d knocked over and leaned against it. She would never have guessed that being threatened by a maniac would help her combat yet another inner fear. Somehow she knew that Macauley would object to being thanked for her self-improvement, but the credit was indeed his. And that meant that he had some strange connection with her. One she was still at a loss to explain.
The next evening Raine and Mac ate in silence. The only time he spoke at all was to answer some question she put to him, and finally she gave up the effort. He seemed determined to maintain a distance from her, and she suspected that meant she’d been closer last night with her probing than he felt comfortable with. Whatever the cause, she respected his withdrawal for what it was. She hadn’t meant to pry, but that was exactly what she’d done.
“Looks like I owe you another apology,” she said tentatively.
He hesitated in his chewing for a fraction of a minute. “What for?”
“I pushed last night, and I didn’t respect your privacy.” She made an expression of self-deprecation. “All the things I hate having done to me. My brothers accuse me of using my sense of honesty as a weapon and beating people over the head with it. I hope I didn’t do any lasting damage.”
He swallowed. And then, unwillingly, his mouth quirked in an almost smile. “I’m still in one piece.”
“Well, good,” she said lightly. “I’d hate to think that you were one more victim to my mad, impetuous quest for pushing people over the edge. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to talk to me anymore.”
Actually, he’d given that idea some thought, and it had its merits. But he should have known that it would be a useless tactic with Raine. Last night she’d gotten him furious enough to strangle her, and tonight she was charming him with self-effacing humor. He wasn’t a man easy to charm, but she did it so easily, so effortlessly. The wry amusement, usually directed at herself,
and the huge eyes, full of whatever emotion she was feeling at the moment, were incredibly beguiling. They would have enchanted a less cautious man, drawn him irresistibly closer. He wondered why it was that he hadn’t been tripping over her admirers. She was attractive enough, although she didn’t seem to give her looks any great thought. She didn’t move with the conscious invitation of a woman aware of her power over men, but she was graceful. Some men would be attracted to that slim, delicate body and offbeat sense of humor. Where were those men? Were they all blind, or stupid?
He stared at her silently for a moment. Right now her eyes reflected her sincerity. They were perfect mirrors for whatever emotion she was feeling at the moment, as easy to read as a child’s. He’d observed fear in them, determination and anger. He’s seen them teasing, warm and friendly. But whatever she was feeling didn’t control her; just the opposite, in fact. He was coming to realize that she was a master at tamping down her most bothersome emotions until she’d conquered them. She had a kind of courage that was difficult to resist, and recognition of that made him edgy. Women like her weren’t for men like him, and the fact that he even had to remind himself of that was proof that the job here was getting to him. She was getting to him.
She raised her eyebrows then and he realized belatedly that he’d been staring. He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” Changing the subject smoothly, he asked, “I’ve been meaning to ask you where you met Greg Winters. How did he come to be your accountant?”
She smiled in remembrance. “He was taking an art class at night at the university. I had been a guest speaker, and he’d asked my opinion of a painting he was doing. A bunch of us ended up going out for coffee, and he and I started talking. He told me what he did and convinced me that I could use an accountant.” She shrugged. “I agreed to let him take a look at my finances. They were really a mess. I mean, I don’t really have the time or the inclination to look into money markets and that kind of thing. It bores me.”
