Crushed against his body, Caitlin could feel the power of his need for her, yet just days ago he had told her to stay away from him. That meant he didn’t want to want her.
But his mouth was devouring hers, and his hand was caressing her breast with urgency. She could conclude only that he wanted her in the same way he would want any reasonably attractive woman and that she meant nothing special to him. She had too much pride to allow any man to make love to her when his entire heart, mind, and soul were not involved. Heartsick, she pushed against him.
He felt her hands against his chest, but her resistance was slow to penetrate his raging need. Once his mouth had touched hers, control had vanished, and now his body was set and ready for just one thing—to make her his. He wanted her with a strength that involved every cell of his body.
When he finally realized something was wrong, he could hardly believe it. With an angry sound, he wrenched his mouth away from hers and brought his head up in one movement. His dark brows drew together in a scowl as he concentrated on reassembling the broken pieces of his willpower, and waiting for the pain that held his body in its grip to subside.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It’s my fault.”
“What?” he asked, totally without comprehension.
“You told me to stay away from you. I should have sent someone else to find you. But I thought She’d thought she would be able to carry on a casual conversation and that if he touched her, she’d be able to hold back all signs of a response. She’d been wrong.
Nico’s mind cleared, and suddenly he saw what had happened. He had hurt her badly that day in the attic, but he’d been so caught up with his own agony, he hadn’t been able to see it.
Initially, he’d known that just by coming to Swan-Sea, he was taking advantage of her. In his world, right edged toward wrong, but the end always justified the means. He’d intended to get into the house, fulfill his promise to his grandmother, and then get out again without fuss or bother.
But the complications of the situation had been apparent from the start. He wasn’t sure if he had been too weak from his wounds to see the complications or if the impact of her green-gold eyes had made him ignore the truth. He also wasn’t sure why he now felt such an overwhelming need to protect her. But whatever the reason, he knew what he had to do.
“Caitlin, nothing is your fault.”
“But—”
He clasped her shoulder. “No, I mean it. Nothing is your fault. You were kind enough to let me stay here when I needed a place to rest and regain my
strength. I'm much better now, and I promise you I’ll leave as soon as I can make other arrangements."
She couldn’t keep the dismay from her voice. “You’re going to leave? But, Nico, is it really safe for you to leave so soon?”
Hell no, he thought, but it would be easier to face the type of danger Rettig and his men offered than risk. And he didn't dare risk the danger of hurting her—one more time. He dropped his hand to his side. “I’m better, Caitlin, and I need to leave.”
“Very well.” Her dignified bearing did not quite disguise the shakiness of her words. “You know what’s best for you. When you’ve made your plans, let me know.”
“I will.”
“Good. Ill se you back at the house.”
Unable to trust himself to speak, he nodded.
And then he was alone in the great iron-and-glass building, the silence and the emptiness engulfing him. Guilt weighed so heavily on him, and he had to sit down.
Sometime later, he heard the sound of someone softly weeping. The sound grew and grew until it rebounded through the conservatory, surrounding him, and he covered his ears.
“Rill? It’s Nico.”
“Hi. How are things?"
“My recovery is going fine."
“Uh-oh, I hear a but coming.”
“But I’ve got to leave here.”
Amarillo’s voice changed from laconic to tense in a split second. “Rettig?”
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that ... . Look, if you don’t want me to come back to Boston yet, make arrangements for me to stay at another safe place until I can.”
"Nico, I thought you were crazy when you told me you were going to try to get into SwanSea, but now that you’re there, it’s turned out to be perfect.”
“I’m glad you’re so satisfied with the situation,” Nico said, irritation making his words razor-edged. "I know the waiting is hard—”
“Hard, Rill? It’s damned impossible.”
“Since when has impossible stopped you? And as long as you’re in a bad mood, I might as well tell you I faxed photos and rap sheets of Retting and his key people to the local police, just in case we’re right.” “Dammit, Rill! I told you from the start I didn’t want the local people in on this.”
“I saw it differently, so save your breath. It’s done. ” Nico let out a fluent string of curses that accomplished nothing, not even making him feel better. “Just get back to me with a place, Rill, and don’t be too long about it, or I’ll strike out on my own. ”
“You do, and I’ll come and kill you myself,” Amarillo said, his tone quite pleasant, quite serious.
Four
Caitlin left the study and shut the door behind her with a vicious tug. A few minutes before, she’d glanced out her study window and seen Nico jog by. Against her will, she'd watched him for a time, noticing the natural athleticism that had emerged with his healing. She remembered wondering what he’d be like when he recovered. Now she knew, and she wished she didn’t.
She had no idea how long It would take him to make other arrangements, but she knew it was just a matter of time before he left. She had only one question: How long before she forgot how close she’d come to surrendering everything to him? Her mind, her body, her heart.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Ramona asked, coming up behind her. “You don’t look like you feel well.”
Caitlin turned to her. Seeing Nico’s white sweater in Ramona’s arms, she pressed a finger to her right temple where the pain of her developing headache seemed to be centered. “Where would you like me to start?” she asked wryly.
“That bad, huh?”
“It depends on how you see another twenty-four hours without electricity, and that's an optimistic estimate. To top it off. Rowan’s Plumbing has just delivered twenty-five Victorian-style tubs to us.” “Victorian?”
“Boxy with claw feet,” she said succinctly. “What makes me so angry is that there was just no excuse for this mistake. I've spoken directly with the company’s president several times about my design that called for a tub with flowing, curving lines. He assured me it would be no problem and sent me a refinement of my sketch for approval.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ve already called Rowan’s. The Victorian tubs will be picked up tomorrow.”
“When will our tubs be delivered?”
“Good question, but I’m through worrying about it for today. In the meantime, I’m going to change into a swimsuit, then walk down to the cove. I’ve got a little headache I’m going to try to swim away.” “That’s a good idea.” Ramona patted Caitlin’s shoulder. “Swimming always makes you feel better. Oh, as long as you’re going upstairs, would you mind putting Nico’s sweater in his bureau for me? I mended it for him.”
Caitlin hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to run into Nico, but she’d just seen him outside, so . . . She took the sweater. “I’ll be glad to.”
A short time later, Nico wiped his sweat-dampened face with the end of the towel draped around his neck and opened his bedroom door. And he froze.
Caitlin held a 9-mm automatic in her hand, the muzzle pointed toward the ceiling.
Quickly taking in the open bureau drawer and the sweater lying on the floor, he Instantly grasped what had happened.
She stared at him, a look of betrayal on her face. “Why do you have something like this?”
“Put It down, Caitlin. It’s loaded. �
�
“I know that. What I don’t know Is why you brought a loaded weapon into my home.”
Holding her gaze, he walked to her, took the gun from her hand, and replaced it in the drawer.
“You didn’t unload it,” she said.
“No.”
“That means either you’re expecting trouble or you are the trouble. Which is it, Nico?”
He regarded her cautiously. “You’re one tough lady. Many women would have reacted as if they’d found a snake.”
“But it wasn’t a snake. Answer my question.”
Just one more thing that hadn’t gone as planned, he reflected wearily. “Sit down.”
She didn’t move. “Are you about to tell me something I’m going to hate?”
His lips quirked. “I can almost guarantee it.”
With hammering heart, she sank onto the end of the bed and drew the tie of her short terry robe tighter around her waist. “Okay. You told me you weren’t an ax murderer. I have to say. I’m really hoping you didn’t lie about that.”
“I’m a cop.”
It took a moment for what he had said to sink in. “I thought you were a criminal lawyer.”
“A lie of sorts, Caitlin, and a truth of sorts. I do have a law degree, but I’ve never hung out my shingle. In my job, I practice criminal law every day.”
“I see, and are you going to leave it at that, or are you going to flesh out the particulars?”
He saw beneath her calm facade the smoldering anger. He tugged open another drawer and from beneath a pile of underwear pulled out a black leather case. He flipped it open and handed her his badge. “I’m a detective with the Boston Police Department, Caitlin. For months now. I’ve been involved in the investigation of a drug lord. I got too close to him.” She smoothed a finger over the badge. “Someone shot you, didn’t they? And that’s why you were in the hospital. How serious was it?”
He hesitated, choosing his words with care, his habit of playing things close to the vest not easily broken. “It could have been far worse than it was, but it was bad enough.”
“Well, that certainly explains a lot.” Shaken, she slid off the bed to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this at the beginning?” she asked, her nerves beginning to show.
“Training. That and the fact that I never expected to . . . become involved with you."
She tried a laugh and failed. “Involved? Is that what you’d call it?”
Obsession would be closer to the mark, he thought. “I came here because I needed a place to rest and recuperate.” And, he added silently, I needed to search your house. Self-condemnation roughened his voice. “I’m sorry, Caitlin. I never meant to hurt you.”
Her chin lifted. “Hurt? No, Nico. Try mad as hell.” “I know this has been a shock.”
“Definitely.” She turned away from him, her mind in a spin as she attemped to gain some perspective on the matter. So he’d lied to her by omission. What was so terrible? So she was sure there was more he wasn’t telling her. Did that give her the right to yell at him and pound her fists against his chest as she wanted to? She turned back to face him. “This person who shot you—did you catch him?”
"That’s police business, Caitlin.”
She felt as if he’d hit her. “If this person is still out there looking for you, it’s my business too. You’re in my house, and if he comes looking for you—” She saw the odd expression that flitted across his face. “He is out there, isn’t he? You’re still in danger!” Her eyes misted with tears. “Damn you, Nico, you’re still in danger!”
“Trust me, Caitlin. You’ve never been in any jeopardy.”
“Trust you?” Her breath caught on a sob; her chest was tight with a strange new kind of pain. She stared at him, realizing he’d completely misunderstood her concern. His gray workout clothes were soaked through with sweat—under his arms, around his waist, and beneath his throat. His black hair lay in disheveled waves on his head. Dampness burnished his olive skin. I hate him, she thought, brushing moisture from her eyes.
"How many times were you shot?” she asked coldly. "It doesn’t matter, Caitlin. They didn’t kill me.” “No. But maybe next time ...”
He shook his head with impatience. “I can’t think of things like that.”
“Why not? It seems like a sensible thing to be concerned about.”
He laughed shortly. “Now you wish I’d turned out to be an ax murderer, right?”
“Not quite.” She folded her arms across her breast. “But I am curious as to why someone with a law degree would join the police force.”
“Dammit, Caitlin, why can’t you just accept what I’ve told you? I’m not very good at this sort of thing, explaining or talking about myself, I mean.” “Obviously not,” she said, sarcasm lacing her tone. “You know, I remember thinking not too long ago
that you weren't the kind of man who would enter a profession you didn’t care passionately about. I want to know, Nico. Why are you a detective for the Boston Police Department?”
“It’s not that uncommon for a lawyer to become a policeman.”
“No? I would think it would be more common for a policeman to become a lawyer.”
“What does it matter, Caitlin?”
“It doesn’t. I said I was curious, that’s all."
Damn. Some information about him could be used by his enemies against him and he made it a practice never to reveal the secrets of his soul. But she wasn’t his enemy, he reminded himself. He cared about her, and had been able to give her so little. He’d put her through a lot, and truthfully she wasn’t asking for much.
Staring at the wall across the room, he tried to find words for something he wasn’t sure he’d ever verbalized, even to himself. He started haltingly. “I had a brother. Antonio—Tony. Four years younger. He died when he was nineteen.”
Her sympathy was instant. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. When I was in my first year of law school, he was in his first year of college. He was a great kid, but he was hard on himself. After his death, I learned that he’d always used me as a measure. Unfortunately for him, I was good in school and athletics, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do.” He rolled his shoulders as if he carried something heavy there. “For as long as I could remember, I had this burning in me for the law. Looking at me, Tony must have felt rudderless.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“No. But I could have paid more attention to what was going on with him. Maybe if I had, I could have helped him. As it was, he went away to college, and for the first time in his life, he was away from the family, without our support, feeling as if he had no particular ability.”
“A lot of kids are like that,” she said, wanting to help him.
“Right, but they give themselves time, and eventually they find themselves. Tony was too hard on himself. He didn’t see the promise we all saw in him. He put this terrific pressure on himself to succeed, and he got involved with drugs. Within six months, he burned out like a comet. By the time we realized something was wrong and reached out for him, he was gone. He was found dead one morning in his room in the dorm. Cocaine overdose.”
His bleak tone tore at her heart. “You weren’t to blame, Nico.” She put her hand on his arm.
“So I’ve been told,” he said, instinctively flinching away. A touch of comfort to a man walking a tightrope might affect his balance and send him toppling. He couldn’t chance the fall. Circumstances beyond his control had set his path, and no matter what, he had to take that path, even though it led away from her.
She withdrew her hand, this rejection added its weight to his other rejections.
“At the time, I felt so damned helpless,” he said, continuing on with determination. “I went to the school, looking for a villain, someone I could focus my rage on. What I found enraged me even more. The availability of drugs astounded me, and I discovered that the trails to the people responsible were like a giant cobweb made out of hundreds of ti
ny easily broken threads. Initially I was looking for a neat ending. Something to make it bearable for me and my family. Instead I found a totally hopeless situation where I could do nothing.”
“But you’ve been trying ever since,” she said tonelessly.
“Yes.”
“And you’ll go on trying,” she said, wondering at her sinking heart.
“Yes. I win more than I lose, Caitlin.”
It was the idea of him losing at all that bothered her, she realized. Then it hit her. She loved him.
Stunned, she took a step back. Despair welled in her heart. No. Loving him would be one-sided, hopeless, and agonizingly painful. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t love him!
She saw him looking at her oddly and realized she must have gone pale. “You’re in serious danger, aren’t you?” she managed to say. “You were told to leave Boston for your own safety, weren’t you. ”
“I can’t talk about that, Caitlin, but there’s nothing for you to worry about. Ill be leaving in the morning.”
“In the morning,” she repeated softly. “In the morning. Right.”
“Caitlin—”
“Then just leave,” she said, her vision clouding with a red mist, “and the hell with you. I’ve made a fool of myself over you for the last time, but no more.” She began backing out of the room. “No more.”
“Fool—wait, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you, you self-contained, iron-willed bastard!”
She cut cleanly through the waves, anger, frustration, and heartache making her strokes sharp and powerful. She wanted to forget.
The physical exertion gave her a sensation of freedom. Out here, she was part of a mighty force, and she felt renewed. Here there were no wrong deliveries or paint colors. Here there were no headaches. Here there was no Nico.
Something brushed against her leg. She sliced / through the center of a wave, kicking vigorously, reflecting that battling the Atlantic was infinitely easier than loving a mein who didn’t know how to open up, even when he kissed her passionately and held her as if he had no intention of letting her go.
The water was cool, providing exhilaration, forgetfulness, and peace.
The Legacy Page 7
