Lock the door.
Trying to recall the nights with Killian at her farmhouse, Susannah realized that she'd been in such turmoil herself that, except for that one night, she had no idea if he generally slept, had terrible nightmares or experienced insomnia. Making a small sound of frustration, she set the tortoiseshell brush on the dresser. No. No, she had to leave the door open. If she locked it, it was a symbol that she really didn't trust him—or herself. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she slipped between the cool sheets. Getting comfortable, she lay there, her hands behind her head, for a long, long time—waiting. Just waiting.
Lock the door.
Killian moved like a ghost through his own house. All the lights were out, but the moon provided just enough light to see. He was sweaty and tired, having walked miles along the beach in order to purge himself of the awful roiling emotions that were flaying him alive. The forced hike had taken the edge off him, but he hadn't dealt at all with his feelings.
Susannah.
Killian stood frozen in the hallway and finally faced the full realization: He loved her. His hand shook as he touched his forehead. When? Making a sound of disgust, he thought that from the moment he'd seen Susannah his heart had become a traitor to him. Yes, he'd made love to women in his life, but never had he wanted truly to love them. With Susannah, he wanted to give. He wanted to see that velvet languor in her eyes, and the soft curve of her lips as he pleasured her, loved her so thoroughly that they fused into melting oneness.
His nerves raw, more exhausted than he could recall ever having been, Killian forced himself to go to his room for a cold shower. But as he passed Susannah's room, he stopped. His eyes narrowed on the doorknob. Had she done as he ordered and locked her door against him? Sweat stood out on his tense features as his hand slowly moved forward. For an instant, his fingers hovered. A part of him wanted her to have the door locked. He didn't want to hurt her— didn't want to take from her without giving something back. But how could he give, when he didn't even know how to give to himself after all those years?
His mouth tightening, Killian's hand flowed around the doorknob. He twisted it gently. It was unlocked! He stood there, filled with terror and hope, filled with such hunger and longing that he couldn't move. Susannah trusted him. She trusted him to do the right thing for both of them. Just as quietly, he eased the doorknob back to its original position.
Her heart beating wildly, Susannah sensed Killian's presence outside her room. She lay there gripping the sheet, her eyes wide, as she watched the doorknob slowly turn, trying to prepare herself emotionally. If he entered her room, she wasn't sure what she'd do. Her heart whispered to her to love him, to hold him, to allow him to spend himself within her. Loving was healing, and Susannah knew that instinctively. Her head warned her sharply that he'd use her up and eventually destroy her emotionally, just as he'd been destroyed himself over the years.
The seconds ticked by, and Susannah watched the doorknob twist back into place. Killian knew now that she was accessible, that she would be here for him, for whatever he needed from her. The thought was as frightening as it was exhilarating. On one level, Susannah felt as if she were dealing with a wild, unmanageable animal that would just as soon hurt her as stay with her. That was the wounded side of Sean. The other side, the man who possessed such poignant sensitivity and awareness of her as a woman, was very different. Somewhere in the careening thoughts that clashed with her overwrought feelings, Susannah was counting on that other part of Sean to surface. But would it? And in time?
When the door didn't open, she drew in a shaky breath of air and gradually relaxed. At least Killian had come home. She'd worried about where he'd gone, and indeed whether he'd return. Forcing her eyes closed, Susannah felt some of the tension drain from her arms and legs. Sleep. She had to get some sleep. Tomorrow morning would be another uphill battle with Sean. But the night was young, her mind warned her. What were Killian's sleeping habits? Was he like a beast on the prowl, haunted by ghosts of the past, unable to sleep at night? Susannah wished she knew.
Sometime later, her eyelids grew heavy, her heart settled down, and she snuggled into the pillow. Almost immediately, she began to dream of Sean, and their conversation at the table—and the look of pain he carried in his eyes.
* * *
Susannah jerked awake. Her lips parting, she twisted her head from one side to the other. Had she been dreaming? Had she heard a scream? Or perhaps more the sound of an animal crying out than a human scream? Fumbling sleepily, she threw off the sheet and the bedspread. Dream or reality? She had to find out. What time was it? Stumbling to her feet, Susannah bumped into the dresser.
"Ouch!" she muttered, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Her hair, in disarray, settled around her face as she glanced at the clock. It was 3:00 a.m. The moonlight had shifted considerably, and the room was darker now than before. Reaching for her robe, Susannah struggled into it.
She stepped out into the hall, but only silence met her sensitive hearing. Killian's room was across the hall. The door was partly open. Her heart starting a slow, hard pounding, Susannah forced herself to move toward it.
Just as she reached it, she heard a muffled crash in another part of the house. Startled, she turned and moved on bare feet down the carpeted hall toward the sound. In the center of the gloom-ridden living room, she halted. Her nerves taut, her breathing suspended, Susannah realized that the sounds were coming from the garage. Killian did woodworking out there. More crashes occurred. Fear snaked through her. She knew he was out there. She had to go to him. She had to confront him. Now Susannah understood what an animal trainer must feel like, facing a wild, untamed animal.
Her mouth dry, her throat constricted and aching, Susannah reached for the doorknob. A flood of light from the garage momentarily blinded her, and she stopped in the doorway, her hand raised to shade her eyes.
Killian whirled around, his breathing raspy and harsh. His eyes narrowed to slits as he picked up the sound of the door leading to the house being opened. He'd prayed that his shrieks wouldn't wake Susannah, but there she stood, looking sleepy yet frightened. Sweat ran down the sides of his face.
"I told you—get the hell out of here!" The words, more plea than threat, tore out of him. "Go! Run!"
Susannah's mouth fell open. Killian's cry careened off the walls of the large woodworking shop. Despite her fear, she noted beautifully carved statues—mostly of children, mothers with children, and flying birds. Some had been knocked off their pedestals and lay strewn across the concrete floor. Were those the crashes she'd heard? Susannah's gaze riveted on Killian. He was naked save for a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms clinging damply to his lower body. His entire torso gleamed in the low light, and his hair was damp and plastered against his skull. More than anything, Susannah saw the malevolent terror in his dark, anguished eyes.
She whispered his name and moved forward.
"No!" Killian pleaded, backing away. "Don't come near me! Damn it, don't!"
Blindly Susannah shook her head, opening her arms to him. "No," she cried softly. "You won't hurt me. You won't. . ." and she moved with a purpose that gave her strength and kept her fear in check.
Stumbling backward, Killian was trapped by the wood cabinets. There was no place to turn, no place to run. He saw blips of Susannah interspersed among the violent scenes that haunted him continuously. In one, he saw the enemy coming at him, knife upraised. Another flashback showed his torturer coming forward with a wire to garrote him. He shook his head, a whimper escaping his tightened lips. He was trying desperately to cling to reality, to the fact that Susannah was here with him. He heard her soft, husky voice. He heard the snarl and curse of his enemies as they leaped toward him.
"No!" He threw his hands out in front of him to stop her. Simultaneously the flashback overwhelmed him. His hands were lethal weapons, honed by years of karate training, thickened by calluses, and he moved into position to protect himself. Breathing hard, he waited for his enemy to come at
him with the knife as he met and held his dark, angry eyes.
Susannah saw the wildness in Killian's eyes, and she reached out to touch his raised hand. His face was frozen into a mask devoid of emotion; his eyes were fathomless, intent and slitted. Fear rose in her, but she knew she had to confront it, make it her friend and reach Killian, reach inside him.
Just as she grazed his hand, he whimpered. Her eyes widened as she saw him shift.
"Sean, no!" She threw out one hand to try to stop him. "No," she choked out again.
Where was he? He heard Susannah's cry. Where? Slowly the flashbacks faded, and Killian realized she was gripping his arm, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.
"No. . ." he rasped, and quickly jerked away from Susannah's touch. "God. . .I'm sorry." Bitterness coated his mouth, and he dragged in a ragged breath. "I could have hurt you. My God, I nearly—"
"It's all right. I'm all right, and so are you," Susannah whispered. Dizziness assailed her. She stood very still. When he reached out to touch her, his hand was trembling. The instant Killian's fingers touched her unbound hair, Susannah wanted to cry. There was such anguish in his eyes as he caressed her hair, as if to make sure she wasn't a part of whatever nightmare had held him in its thrall. Gathering what courage she had left, Susannah lifted her hand and caught his. His skin was sweaty, and the thrum of tension was palpable in his grip.
"It was just a nightmare," she quavered, lifting her head and meeting his tortured eyes.
Killian muttered something under his breath. "You shouldn't have stayed," he rasped. "I might have hurt you. . . ." He gently framed her face and looked deeply into her tear-filled eyes. "I'm so afraid, Susannah."
Whispering his name, Susannah slid her arms around him and brought him against her. She heard a harsh sound escape his mouth as he buried his face against her hair, his arms moving like steel bands around her. The air rushed from her lungs, but she relaxed against him, understanding his need to hold and be held.
"I love you," she whispered, sliding her fingers through his short black hair. "I love you. . . ."
Her words, soft and quavering, flowed through Killian. Without thinking, he lifted his head to seek her mouth. Blindly he sought and found her waiting lips. They tasted sweet, soft and giving as he hungrily took her offering. His breathing was chaotic, and so was hers. Drowning in Susannah's mouth and feeling her hands moving reassuringly across his shoulders took away the terror that had inhabited him. Her moan was of pleasure, not pain.
In those stark, naked moments, Killian stopped taking from her and began to give back. Her mouth blossomed beneath his, warm, sweet and hot. How badly he wanted to love her; his body was aching testimony to his need. Tearing his mouth from hers, he held her languorous gray gaze, which now sparkled with joy.
"It's going to be all right," he promised unsteadily. "Everything's going to be all right. Come on. . . ."
Susannah remained beneath his arm, his protection, as he led her through the silent house. In the living room, he guided her to the couch and sat down with her. Their knees touched, and he held both her hands. "You're the last person in the world I'd ever want to hurt," he rasped.
"I know. . . ."
"Dammit, Susannah, why didn't you run? Why didn't you leave me?"
She slowly looked up, meeting and holding his tear- filled eyes. "B-because I love you, Sean. You don't leave someone you love, who's hurting, to suffer the way you were suffering."
Killian closed his eyes and pulled her against him. The moments of silence blended together, and he felt the hotness of tears brim over and begin to course down his cheeks. His hands tightened around her as he gathered her into his arms. Burying his face in her sable hair, he felt a wrenching sob working its way up and out of his gut. The instant her arms went hesitantly around his shoulders, the sob tore from him. His entire body shook in response.
"Go ahead," Susannah whispered, tears in her eyes. "Cry, Sean. Cry for all the awful things you've seen and had to do to survive. Cry. I'll hold you. I'll just hold you. . . ." And she did, with all the womanly strength she possessed.
Time drew to a halt, and all Susannah could feel were the terrible shudders racking Killian's lean body as he clung to her, nearly squeezing the breath from her. He clung as if he feared that to let go would be to be lost forever. Susannah understood that better than most. She tightened her grip around his damp shoulders, whispering words of encouragement, of love, of care, as his sobs grew louder and harsher, wrenching from him.
Susannah was no longer feeling her own pain, she was experiencing his. She held Killian as if she feared that to release him would mean he would break into a million shattered pieces. His fingers dug convulsively into her back as the sobs continued to rip through him. Her gown grew damp, but she didn't care. His ability to trust her, to give himself over to her and release the glut of anguish he'd carried by himself for so long, was exhilarating.
Gradually Killian's sobs lessened, and so did the convulsions that had torn at him in her arms. Gently Susannah stroked his hair, shoulders and back. His spine was strong, and the muscles on either side of it were lean.
"You're going to be fine," Susannah whispered, pressing a kiss against his temple. "Just fine." She sighed, resting her head against his, suddenly exhausted.
Killian flexed his fingers against Susannah's back. Never had he felt more safe—or loved—than now. Just the soft press of her lips against his temple moved him to tears again. He nuzzled deeply into her hair, pressing small kisses against her neck and jaw.
Words wouldn't come. Each stroke of Susannah's hand took a little more of the pain away. The fragrance of her body, the sweetness of it, enveloped him, and he clung to her small, strong form, absorbing the strength she was feeding him through her touch and voice.
Susannah had been hurt by his abruptly leaving her life without an explanation, yet now she was strong, when he had never felt weaker. Her fingers trembled against his hair, and he slowly lifted his head. She gave him a tremulous half smile, her eyes huge with compassion and love for him.
Love. He saw it in every nuance of her expression, in her hand as it came to rest against his jaw. How could she love him? When she reached forward, her fingers taking away the last of the tears from his cheeks, he lowered his lashes, ashamed.
"Tears are wonderful," Susannah whispered, a catch in her voice. "Ma always said they were liquid crystals going back to Mother Earth. I always liked that thought. She said they were the path to the heart, and I know it's true." She smiled gently into Killian's ravaged eyes. "You were brave enough to take the biggest step of all, Sean."
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice thick, off-key.
"You had the ability to reach out and trust someone with your feelings."
"Crying is a weakness."
"Who taught you that?"
"Father. Men don't cry."
"And they aren't supposed to feel. Oh, Sean—" Susannah stroked his cheek gently. "Men have hearts, too, you know. Hearts that have a right to feel as deeply and widely as any woman's."
He shakily reached over and touched her cheek. "I was afraid that if my nightmares came back and you were around, I'd hurt you." Hanging his head, unable to meet her compassionate gaze, he said, "When I was in the Foreign Legion, I met an Algerian woman, Salima, who loved me. I loved her, too." He shook his head sadly. "I kept having nightmares out of my violent past with the Legion, and it scared her. Finally, I left her for good. I feared that one night I might lash out and strike her." Miserable, Killian held Susannah's gaze. "After that, I swore never to get involved with a woman. I didn't want to put anyone through the hell I put Salima through. I saw what it did to her, and I swore I'd never do it again. And then you walked into my life. I've never felt such strong emotions for a woman before, Susannah. Those old fears made me leave to protect you from what I might do some night. My God, I couldn't stand it if I hurt you. I nearly did tonight."
She caressed his jaw. "You could have, but you didn't. Some
part of you knew it was me, Sean. That's what stopped you, darling."
He lowered his gaze, his voice cracking. "I—I had a nightmare about Peru, about one of our missions. Wolf and I got caught and tortured by a drug lord, and the rest of our team had to go into the estate and bust us out." He squeezed his eyes shut. "That was last year. It's too fresh—that's why I get these nightmares, the flashbacks. . ."
"And you were having flashbacks after you woke up?" Susannah guessed grimly.
His mouth quirked and he raised his head. "Yes. I was hoping. . ." He drew in a ragged sigh. "I started screaming in my bedroom, and I got up, hoping I hadn't awakened you. I went out to the garage, where I always go when these things hit. It's safer that way. A lot safer. I'm like a wild animal in a cage," Killian added bitterly, unable to meet her lustrous gaze. His hands tightened around hers.
"A wounded animal, but not a wild one," she whispered achingly as she cupped his cheek. Killian's eyes were bleak; there was such sadness reflected in them, and in the line of his mouth. "Wounds can be bound up to heal, Sean."
He managed a soft snort. "At what cost to the healer?"
Susannah stroked his damp, bristly cheek. The dark growth of beard gave his face a dangerous quality. "As long as you're willing to get help, to make the necessary changes, then I can stay with you, if you want."
He turned to her. "Look at you. Look at the price you've already paid."
Susannah nodded. "It was worth the price, Sean. You're worth the effort. Don't you understand that?"
"I don't know what kind of miracle was at work when you reached out for me," he rasped. Killian held up his hands. "I've killed with these, Susannah. And when I mean to defend myself, I do it. The other person doesn't survive."
A chill swept through Susannah as she stared at his lean, callused hands. Swallowing convulsively, she whispered, "Some part of you knew I wasn't your enemy, Sean."
He wanted to say, I love you, that's why, but stopped himself. Just looking at her pale, washed-out features told him that he had no right to put Susannah on the firing line. A terrible need to make love with her, to speak of his love for her courage, her strength, sheared through Killian. He gazed down at her innocent, upturned face.
The Rogue Page 17
