The Rogue

by Lindsay McKenna

  Susannah didn't resist. She could tell that Killian was carefully monitoring the amount of strength he applied to her arm. She entered his home. A dusky- rose carpet flowed throughout the living room and hall area, which was decorated with simple, spare, carefully placed furniture. The walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Killian must be a voracious reader.

  There were so many impressions she wanted to absorb, to investigate. Each one would give her another clue to Killian. But she didn't have that kind of time. Every word, every gesture, counted. She turned as he closed the door with finality. The grimness in his face made her feel cold. Alone.

  "How did you find me?"

  "I flew to Washington and talked with Morgan. He told me where you lived." Susannah saw his eyes flare with disbelief.

  Killian took a step back, because if he didn't he was going to sweep Susannah uncompromisingly into his arms. And then he was going to take her to his bedroom and make wild, hungry love with her until they were so exhausted that they couldn't move.

  Killian looked down at her vulnerable features. There was real hope in Susannah's eyes, a kind of hope he'd never be able to claim as his own. She was dressed in a summery print blouse—pink peonies against a white background—and white slacks, with sandals outlining her feet. Her lovely sable hair was trapped in a chignon, and Killian had to stop himself from reaching forward to release that captive mass of silk into his hands. His mouth had grown dry, and his heart was beating dangerously hard in his chest.

  "All right, what's going on?"

  "You and me." Susannah felt her fear almost overwhelming her, but she dared not be weak now. She saw a slight thawing in Killian's narrowed eyes, a slight softening of his thinned mouth. "What made you think," Susannah said in a low, strangled voice, "that you could walk out on me just like that? We made love with each other, Sean. I thought—I thought we meant something to each other." She forced herself to hold his hardening gaze. "You ran without ever giving me the opportunity to sit down and talk to you. I'm here to complete unfinished business." Her voice grew hoarse. "One way or another."

  Killian stood stunned. It took him a long time to find his voice. "I told you—I didn't mean to hurt you," he rasped. "I thought leaving the way I did would hurt you less."

  Susannah's eyes went round, and anger gave her the backbone she needed. "Hurt me less?" Susannah forced herself to walk into the living room. She dropped her purse and her one piece of luggage on the carpet. Turning, she rounded on Killian. "I don't call running out on me less hurtful!"

  Nervously Killian shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm sorry, Susannah. For everything."

  "For loving me?"

  Killian dropped his gaze and stared at the floor. He heard the ache in her husky tone; her voice was like a lover's caress. He was glad to see her, glad that she was here. "No," he admitted. He raised his chin and forced himself to meet her large, tear-filled eyes. "But I am sorry for the hurt I've caused you."

  "You walk around in your silence and don't communicate worth a darn. I'm not a mind reader. Do you know how awful I felt after you left? Do you know that I blamed myself? I asked myself what I did wrong. Was it something I said? Did?" Grimly, her eyes flashing, she said, "I don't have a lot of worldly ways like you. I know I'm a country woman, but I don't question the way of my heart, Sean. You had no right to leave the way you did. It wasn't fair to me, and it wasn't fair to you, either."

  Pain knifed through him and he moved into the living room with her. He halted a foot away from her, aching to put his hands on her shoulders, but not daring to. "I was to blame, not you."

  To her amazement, Susannah saw Killian thawing. Perhaps Laura was right: He needed a woman to be stronger than him so that he could feel safe enough to open up. Had he never had a woman of strength to lean on? If not, it was no wonder he remained closed, protecting his vulnerability. The discovery was as sweet as it was bold—and frightening. Susannah was just coming out of her own trauma. Did she have enough strength for the both of them? She simply didn't know, but the glimmer in Killian's eyes, the way his mouth unconsciously hinted at the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide and protect, made her decide to try anyway.

  "I hope you've got a guest bedroom."

  He blinked.

  Susannah drilled him with a fiery look. "Sean, I happen to feel that we meant a lot to each other when you were in Kentucky. And after we made love, you ran. I don't know your reasons for running, and that's what I'm here to find out. I intend to stay here, no matter how miserable you make it for me, until we get to the bottom of this—together."

  Dread flared through Killian. No woman had ever challenged him like this. "You don't know what you're saying," he warned.

  "Like heck I don't! Give me some credit, Sean. I work with special children. I've got to have a lot of insight into them to reach them, to touch them, so that they'll stop retreating."

  Killian took another step away, terror warring with his need of Susannah. "You're biting off too much. You don't know what you're getting into," he snapped.

  Tilting her chin, Susannah rasped, "Oh, yes I do."

  "Now look," he said in a low, gravelly voice, "I don't want to hurt you, Susannah. If you stay here, it'll happen. Don't put yourself on the firing line for me. I'm not worth it."

  Tears stung her eyes, but Susannah forced them back. Killian would read her tears as a sign of weakness. "You're wrong. You're a good man, Sean. You've been hurt, and you're hiding. I'm here to show you that you don't need to keep running. You're allowed to laugh, you know. And to cry. How long has it been since you've done either?"

  Killian lunged forward blindly and gripped her by the arm. "Dammit," he rasped off-key, "get the hell out of here while you still can, Susannah! I'm a monster! A monster!" He savagely poked a finger at his belly. "It's in here, this thing, this hell that I carry. It comes out and controls me, and it will hurt whoever is around. You've got to understand that!"

  She held his blazing gaze, seeing the horror of his past reflected in his eyes, hearing the anguish in his tone. "No," she said. "I'm not afraid of you," she rattled, "or that so-called monster inside of you. For the first time in your life, Sean, you're going to be honest, not only with yourself, but with someone else—me."

  Killian took a step back, as if she'd slapped him. He stared down at her as the tension swirled around them like a raging storm. Frightened as never before, he backed away. In place of the panic came anger. He ground out, "If you stay, you stay at your own risk. Do you understand that?"

  "I do."

  He glared at her. "You're naive and idealistic. I'll hurt you in ways you never thought possible! I won't mean to, but it'll happen, Susannah." He stood there, suddenly feeling very old and broken. His voice grew hoarse. "I don't want to, but I will. God help me, I don't want to hurt you, Susannah."

  Swallowing hard, a lump forming in her throat, she nodded. "I know," she replied softly, "I know. . . ."

  "This is hopeless," Killian whispered, looking out one of the series of plate-glass windows that faced the flower gardens and the ocean. "I'm hopeless."

  Grimly Susannah fought the desire to take Killian into her arms. Intuitively she understood that it would weaken her position with him. He was wary and defensive enough to strike out verbally and hurt her for fear of getting hurt again. As she picked up her luggage, Susannah realized that her love for Sean was the gateway not only to trust, but also to a wealth of yet- untapped affection that lay deep within her.

  "You're not hopeless," Susannah told him gently. "Now, if you'll show me where the guest bedroom is, I'll get settled in."

  Killian gaped at her. His mouth opened, then closed. "First door on the right down the hall," he muttered, then spun on his heel and left.

  Her hands shaking, Susannah put her week's worth of clothes away in the closet and the dresser. Her heart wouldn't steady, but a clean feeling, something akin to a sense of victory, soared within her. She took several deep breaths to calm h
erself after having established a beachhead in the initial confrontation. Killian's desperation told her, she hoped, how much he was, indeed, still tied to her. Perhaps Morgan and Laura were right, and Killian did love her after all. That was the only thing that could possibly pull them through this storm together. Any less powerful emotion would surely destroy her, and continue to wound Killian.

  Straightening up from her task, Susannah took in the simple, spare room. A delicate white Irish lace spread covered the double bed. The carpet was pale lavender, and the walls cream-colored. A vibrant Van Gogh print of sunflowers hung above the bed. The maple dresser was surely an antique, but Susannah didn't know from what era. The window, framed by lavender drapes and ivory sheers, overlooked a breathtaking view of the ocean.

  "Well, Susannah, keep going," she warned herself. As much as she wanted to hide in the bedroom, she knew it wasn't the answer. No, she had to establish herself as a force in Killian's isolated world, and make herself part of it—whether he wanted her to or not. And in her heart she sensed that he did want her. The risk to her heart was great. But her love for Kil- lian was strong enough to let her take that risk. He was always risking his life for others; well, it was time someone took a risk for him.

  Killian stole a look into the kitchen. Susannah had busied herself all afternoon in his spacious modern kitchen. Although he'd hidden out most of the time in the garage, working on a wood-carving project, the fragrant odors coming from the kitchen couldn't be ignored. As upset as he was, the food she was cooking made him hungry. But it was his other hunger for Susannah that he was trying to quell—and he wasn't succeeding.

  "What's for dinner?" he asked with a frown.

  Susannah wiped her hands on the dark green apron she had tied around her waist. "Pot roast with sour- cream gravy and biscuits. Southerners love their biscuits and gravy," she said with pride.

  "Sounds decent. Dessert?" He glanced at her.

  "You really push your luck, don't you?"

  He wanted to smile, but couldn't. "Yeah, I guess I do."

  "I didn't come here to be a slave who cooks you three meals a day and cleans your house," Susannah pointed out as she gestured for him to sit down at the table. "This food is going to cost you."

  "Oh?" Thinking he should leave, Killian sat down. Susannah seemed to belong in the kitchen—her presence was like sunshine. The bleakness of his life seemed to dissolve in her aura.

  Susannah served the meat and placed the pitcher of gravy on the table with a basket of homemade biscuits. Sitting down, she held his inquiring gaze. "My folks and I always used to sit and talk after meals. It was one of the most important things I learned from them—talking."

  With a grimace, Killian offered her the platter of meat first. "I'm not much of one for talking and you know it."

  "So you'll learn to become a better communicator," Susannah said lightly. She felt absolutely tied in knots, and she had to force herself to put food on her plate. Just being this close to Killian, to his powerful physical presence, was making her body betray her head. When his lips curved into that sour smile, Susannah melted inwardly. She remembered how hot, how demanding and sharing, that mouth had been on hers. Never had she wanted to kiss a man so much. But she knew if she bowed to her selfish hunger for him as a man, she'd lose not only the battle, but the war, as well.

  "Okay," he said tentatively, "you want me to talk." He spooned several thick portions of the roast onto his plate, added three biscuits and then some gravy. "About what?"

  "You," Susannah said pointedly.

  "I'm willing to talk about anything else," he warned her heavily.

  With a shrug, Susannah said, "Fine. Start anywhere you want."

  The food was delectable, and Killian found himself wolfing down the thick, juicy meat. Still in wonder over this strong, stubborn side of Susannah that he hadn't seen before, he shook his head.

  "I didn't realize you were this persistent."

  Susannah grinned. "Would it have changed anything?"

  The merest shadow of a smile touched Killian's mouth, and the hesitant, pain-filled attempt sent a sheet of heat through Susannah. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I want to know about you, your past, Sean. I don't think that's too much to ask. It will help me understand you—and, maybe, myself, and how I feel toward you."

  Again her simple honesty cut through him. He ate slowly, not only hearing, but also feeling her words. He saw Susannah's hands tremble ever so slightly. She was nervous, perhaps even more nervous than he was. Still, his heart filled with such joy that she was here that it took the edge off his terror. "So, if I open up, maybe you'll give me some of that dessert you made?"

  Susannah laughed, feeling her first glimmer of hope. She felt Killian testing her, seeing if she was really as strong as he needed her to be. "That coconut chiffon pie is going to go to waste if you don't start talking, Sean Killian."

  Her laughter was like sunlight in his dark world, in that moment, her eyes sparkling, her lush mouth curved, Killian ached to love her, ached to feel her take away his darkness. Hope flickered deep within him, and it left him nonplussed. Never had he experienced this feeling before. Not like this. Giving her an annoyed look, he muttered, "I'd rather talk about my flower gardens, and the roses."

  "Enough about the roses," Susannah said as she stood up and cleared away the dishes. She saw his eyes darken instantly. Tightening her lips, she went to the refrigerator, pulled out the pie and cut two slices.

  "I want you to tell me about your childhood."

  Moodily he sat back in the chair, unable to tear his gaze from her. "It's not a very happy story" was all he said.

  Susannah gave him a piece of pie and a fork. She sat back down, grimly holding his hooded gaze. "Tell me about it."

  With a sigh, Killian shrugged and picked up the fork. "I was the runt. The kid who was too small for his age. I was always scrapping with older boys who thought they could push my younger sister Meg around. He pointed to his crooked nose. "I had this busted on three different occasions in grade school."

  "Did you have anyone to hold you?"

  Killian flashed her an amused look. "Scrappers didn't fall into their mothers' arms and cry, Susannah."

  "Is your mother alive?"

  He winced inwardly and scowled, paying a Sot of attention to his pie, which he hadn't touched. "Mother died when I was fourteen."

  "What did she die of?" Susannah asked softly.

  Rearing back in the chair, and wiping his hands absently on his jeans, Killian replied, "A robbery."

  She heard the rising pain in Killian's tone, and saw it in the slash of his mouth. "Tell me about it."

  "Not much to tell," he muttered. "When I was thirteen, my parents emigrated to America. They set up a grocery store in the Bronx. A year later, a couple of kids came in to rob them. They took the money and killed my parents," he concluded bluntly. Killian bowed his head, feeling the hot rush of tears in his tightly shut eyes. Then he felt Susannah's hand fall gently on his shoulder. Just that simple gesture of solace nearly broke open the wall of grief he'd carried so long over his parents' harsh and unjust deaths.

  Fighting to keep her own feelings under control, Susannah tried to understand what that experience would do to a fourteen-year-old boy, an immigrant. "You were suddenly left alone," she said unsteadily. "And Meg was younger?"

  "Yes, by a year."

  Susannah could feel the anguish radiating from him. "What did you do?"

  Killian fought the urge to put his hand over hers where it lay on his shoulder. If he did, he'd want to bury his head blindly against her body and sob. The lump in his throat grew. So many unbidden, unexpected feelings sheared through him. Desperate, not understanding how Susannah could so easily pull these emotions out of him and send them boiling to the surface, Killian choked. With a growl, he lunged away from the table, and his chair fell to the tiled floor.

  "You have no right to do this to me. None!" He turned and jerked the chair upright.

  Susann
ah sat very still, working to keep her face neutral. She battled tears, and prayed that Killian couldn't see them in her eyes. His face was pale and tense, and his eyes were haunted.

  "If you're smart," he rasped as he headed toward the garden, "you'll leave right now, Susannah."

  Stubbornly she shook her head. "I'm staying, Sean."

  His fingers gripped the doorknob. "Damn you! Damn you—"

  She closed her eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. "You aren't going to scare me off."

  "Then you'd better lock the door to your bedroom tonight," he growled. "I want you so damned bad I can taste it. I can taste you." He jabbed his finger warningly at her. "You keep this up, and I don't know what will happen. You're not safe here with me. Don't you understand?"

  Susannah turned in her chair. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "You're not even safe with yourself, Sean."

  Wincing, he stalked out of the house. Maybe a walk, a long, brutal walk, would cleanse his agitated soul and his bleeding heart. He loved Susannah, yet he feared he'd hurt her. No woman had ever unstrung him as easily and quickly as she did. He strode through the beauty of his flower gardens, unseeing.

  Chapter Ten

  Susannah got ready for bed. She hadn't heard Killian return, and it was nearly eleven. Her nerves were raw, and she was jangled.

  Lock the door.

  Did she want to? Could she say no if Killian came into her bedroom? Where did running and hiding end? And where did freedom, for both of them, begin? Perhaps it would be born out of the heat of their mutual love. . . . Her hands trembling, Susannah pulled down the bed covers. The room was dark now. Slivers of moonlight pierced the curtains, lending a muted radiance to the room.

  Lock the door.

  Dressed in a simple knee-length cotton gown, Susannah pulled the brush through her hair. Her own emotions were jumbled and skittish. What if Sean walked through that door? She stared hard at the doorknob. She hadn't locked it—yet. Should she? Was she hesitating for herself or for Sean?