He looked at Clancy. There was innocence in her eyes. How could he think he was even fit to hold her? “The burglaries all have his stamp on them.”
Did he love his father? she wondered. Or hate him? And what was all this doing to him? He had to be in a terrible dilemma. If she’d only known, she could have comforted him.
Even as she thought it, she knew he wouldn’t have allowed it.
“If that’s true, why don’t you bring him in for questioning?” Was it because he wanted to protect him? The thought made her feel closer to him.
He moved his shoulders restlessly. “I have no idea where he is.”
That alone had to be awful, she thought. She tried to imagine how she would feel, not knowing where her parents were. Though they were halfway around the world, they were always there for her emotionally. There was a silent comfort in that. A comfort, she thought, that Mitch had never had.
He spread his hands on his knees, attempting to make light of it. Silently attempting to deny that it hurt to remember.
“He walked out when I was twelve. I saw him a couple of times after that, but basically he’s been out of my life since then. Last I’d heard, he’d gone to the East Coast. Something about needing a change of marks. For the last ten years, I haven’t heard a word.”
Clancy wanted to put her arms around him, to hold him to her. But she knew he’d never let her. He’d mistake it for pity.
Mitch shrugged carelessly. “And then these burglaries in Beverly Hills started cropping up. Neat, clean, in and out.”
She knew he didn’t want it to be his father. How could he? “Aren’t a lot of burglaries that way? I mean, the professional ones?”
She was trying to find excuses for him, he thought. But that was like her. “The burglar takes only money and paintings. The jewelry’s never touched.” His mouth quirked as he looked at the small cluster of diamonds surrounding a blue stone on her right hand. Aquamarine. Her birthstone. “My father always said stones were a waste of energy. They fluctuate too much in value.” Until Mitch swallowed, he hadn’t realized that there was a lump forming in his throat. “And the dogs are all tranquilized with a piece of doctored meat.” There was no use trying to fool himself. “It’s my father.”
She ached for him, for the horrible quandary he faced. “What are you going to do if you catch him?”
His expression was stony. What else could he do? “Arrest him.”
Clancy slipped her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t want her pity, her sympathy. He wanted everything to be the way it had been six weeks ago. He wanted to walk through life and not feel it. “Yeah, so am I.”
She could sense him withdrawing though he didn’t move a muscle. She wasn’t going to let him. The opening had to remain. Clancy searched desperately for a way to make him continue talking. “It must have been so hard for you, growing up with that.”
“I managed.” He shrugged her words away. “I’m here. It was harder on my mother.” He didn’t realize that his voice had taken on a bitter lilt, but Clancy did. “She was as straight as an arrow.” His mouth curved slightly as he remembered. “When I was a kid, I once lifted a candy bar from a store. A taffy bar. I didn’t even like taffy, but it was an impulsive thing. You know, the way every kid does.”
“I didn’t.” There were no candy stores where she had grown up. She had never been allowed to go anywhere alone.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” For a moment, a fond look shimmered in his eyes as he regarded her. “You’re different. Anyway, my old man laughed and called me a chip off the old block. My mother was horrified. I was five years old. She thought I was on my way to hell. She forced me to take it back and confess. She was afraid I’d turn out like him.
“She was always afraid,” Mitch reflected. “She never laughed the way he did.” He could almost see them at the table, his mother pious, telling his father that his soul was going to be damned. His father always trying to tease her out of her mood. “He always seemed to be happy.”
“You loved him.” Clancy saw it there in his face, heard it in his voice. She wondered if he was aware that he did.
Mitch straightened and the memories disappeared. Guilt gnawed at him. “He was a thief. You don’t love a thief.”
But things were never that simple and they both knew it. “You do if he’s your father.”
Mitch shrugged, then rose. He hadn’t wanted to discuss any of this. How had she gotten it out of him? “Interrogation over?”
Clancy reached for his hand. “I wasn’t interrogating, Mitch. I was asking. I wanted to know.” She held on, trying to make him understand. “I want to be in your world, Mitch. I need for you to let me in, not keep me out.”
“My world.” He tried to remove his hand, but her grip was tight. “It’s not a pretty place.”
Why did he insist on thinking she was some fragile little thing, frightened of her own shadow, when he had shown her otherwise? “You’re in it.”
He felt his mouth curving automatically. “Like I said, it’s not a pretty place.”
Feeling his tension lessening, she laced her fingers through his. “It’s very pretty.” She thought of how good he’d been to her and for her. “Like you.”
He laughed at the image that generated. “I’ve never been called pretty before.”
“Good.” She took his other hand in hers. “Then I won’t have to scratch anyone’s eyes out.”
Mitch looked down at her face. He couldn’t help the swelling he felt in his heart. Dangerous feelings, but they wouldn’t be shut away. “Violent little thing, aren’t you?”
The smile traveled from her eyes to her lips. “When it comes to certain things.”
Mitch shook his head, feeling himself weakening all over again. “Oh, God, Clancy, what am I going to do about you?”
She let her eyes skim over his body before looking up at him again. “I have a very good suggestion.”
Holding tightly to her hands, Mitch drew her up to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Her warmth made him feel safe.
“Am I allowed to guess?”
Clancy raised her head until she could see his eyes. “Do you have to? I thought you’d already know.”
“Yeah, I think I do.” Scooping one hand under her legs, he swept her into his arms. It was where she belonged—in his arms. Or so he could pretend. “My bed or yours?”
She made a show of looking at his bed. “Yours.” Mischief danced across her face. “I like a change of scenery once in a while.” Her eyes washed over him, loving him, caressing him. She could grow to love this man very, very much. Or maybe she already had. “As long as it doesn’t change too much.”
He understood. She was telling him he was fine just the way he was. If only that were true. “What you see is what you get.”
He made it sound so simple. “Oh, no, Mitch, you run a lot deeper than that.” She cupped her hand on his cheek. “I think you underestimate yourself. You’re not the average guy you pretend to be. There’s nothing average about you.”
Gently, he laid her on the bed. “You’ve been sheltered.”
“Not that sheltered.” She looked at his face. He was regretting what he’d told her, she realized. She could see it. “Mitch?”
He lay down beside her, slipping his arm beneath her. “Yeah?”
She kissed the outline of his biceps, sending a shiver through him. “It doesn’t matter.”
How could one small woman fog up his brain so much, so quickly? All he could think of was having her. He was acting like a rabbit in heat, he thought, disgusted with himself.
But it didn’t help.
“What doesn’t?”
“About your father.” She whispered the words along his skin. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, it matters.” He turned his body toward her, toward his temporary haven from the storms that were just outside. “But not at this moment.”
All that ma
ttered at this moment was Clancy and the wild rush she created within him.
Clancy impatiently tangled her fingers in the edge of his towel, unknotting it. Fingers outstretched, she moved her palms along his hips. She could feel her stomach tightening as the longing began to flower, to throb within her, more urgent than the last time.
Everything within her cried hurry, hurry, as if she needed to outrun something. As if she were afraid he was going to leave.
He’d opened up a great deal, told her something about himself she’d never known before. He’d shared something with her beyond the physical aspect of lovemaking. The intimacy of that act aroused her almost more than the sight of his body did.
Almost.
She wanted him so much! Wanted him in her, over her, touching her. Wanted him more each time she had him. She was hopelessly hooked, she decided, surrendering to her addiction.
He feasted on her mouth as if he’d never sampled it before, as if, all these years, he’d had only water to drink and she was wine. His mouth over hers, he tugged away her clothing quickly, eagerly, wanting to feel her, wanting to be with her.
This was completely insane and he knew the price would be astronomical when it came time to pay.
When it came time to leave her.
But knowing that didn’t change anything. Mitch couldn’t manage to hold himself in check. Not when she was like this—warm, willing. Eager for him. Eager for the loving they shared. Not when he saw the look in her eyes and knew that it was for him alone.
There had been women before her. Women with names he couldn’t recall and faces he wouldn’t have recognized in the light of day. Women who had meant as little to him as he had to them.
But no one had ever loved him before. No one had ever offered up her heart to him with no demands. With no strings.
It made him twice as ashamed for taking so ruthlessly the love she gave. He should be strong enough to walk away.
But he knew he’d be down on his knees before her, if only she’d let him make love with her one more time.
Over and over again, he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her throat. He had to have her. Now, while his blood burned hot. Now, before the world burst in.
She twisted beneath him, arching her shoulders so that her breasts rubbed against him. The moan was hers. Or maybe his.
It didn’t matter, she thought. They were both one. One before they ever physically joined together.
Her breath caught and seemed to expand within her lungs as she felt Mitch’s mouth singeing her skin, moving along her breasts, her belly. He skimmed lightly, using his tongue and his mouth. Making her crazy. Making her quiver with mounting anticipation. He moved lower, ever lower.
Fire ignited, marking his path, until she didn’t think she could withstand the intensity. And still he continued. Teasing her, making her whimper, making her silently beg.
And then he had her.
His tongue darted into her like lighting flashing across a summer sky. She cried out, stunned. Euphoric. A thousand pinpricks burst in her veins.
Clancy twisted and turned, panting. She was slipping, falling, flying. Seeking an anchor. Her fingers grasped his hair, plunging through it. Holding him to her. Bracing herself against him.
The eruptions kept coming, one flowering into another, Fourth of July fireworks lighting up the blackened sky. He drove her over one peak and then toward another. And another.
“Mitch, I can’t,” she gasped, nearly sobbing out her joy. “I can’t—”
He raised his head, his eyes dark from wanting her. “Yes, you can,” he whispered. The words hummed along her inner thighs.
On his elbows, Mitch rose, sliding the length of his body along hers, igniting her.
She looked up into his face. It was framed in a haze of desire she couldn’t clear from her eyes. There was nothing but him. Only him.
“Make love with me, Mitch.”
She felt so incredibly soft beneath him. He smiled as he looked down into her face. “I thought I was.”
“No, now.” She wanted to feel him, to have him join her before she plummeted over the precipice again. “Please, now. I feel like I’m going to explode.”
She always made him smile, he thought, gathering her beneath him. She was the sunshine he’d never had in his life.
“Not without me you’re not.”
Was it his imagination? he wondered. Had he parted her legs without thinking, or had she managed to move them by herself?
Now wasn’t the time to question. That was for later. But it was evident that she was healing faster now than she had before.
Very soon this would all be a blurred memory. A wonderful, bittersweet memory.
As if to deny what he knew to be a fact, Mitch sheathed himself in her, his heart pounding. Cupping his hand beneath her buttocks, he held her to him as he plunged deeper.
With sweaty fingertips, he clung to the moment. Ecstasy came with hard, jagged edges and a price tag almost too dear to pay. But it was here now and he knew he had to cling to it before it dissolved.
Desire filled him, thick and heavy in his veins. Her moan sent it rushing faster, gaining speed. Whispering her name against her ear, Mitch began to move, creating a rhythm that was timeless and yet very much their own.
Just before she felt the welcoming shudder seize her, Clancy could have sworn she heard Mitch say something to her. The words echoed in her mind over and over again.
I love you.
Had he said it? Or had she only wished it into existence?
I love you, too, Mitch. I always have.
Her arms tightened as the explosion blotted everything else out.
Chapter Fourteen
At the table, Cynthia straightened the reference material Clancy had asked for. The living room had gone through a transformation since she had spent the week here. The television set was shoved to the side, hugging a corner beside the sliding glass door. At one end of the room, where the dining table had been, was what looked to be an extra-long stationary treadmill. The other side now had a small, horseshoe-shaped desk and the computer that had been sent over a little more than a week ago. Clancy was hooked up to the office now. It was almost like having her back at work.
Cynthia admitted to herself that she’d been apprehensive about dropping by with the material, a little afraid of what she might find. Clancy had sounded fine on the telephone whenever she spoke with her, but that could have just been a pretense.
She was delighted to discover that it wasn’t. This was the old Clancy back in form. “I can’t believe how terrific you look,” Cynthia marveled for what was probably the third time. “You know, I always knew you were a fighter.” Although she had to admit that she’d had her doubts for a while.
Clancy thought of what she had gone through before she had counted herself back among the living. “I wasn’t as sure as you.”
Her watch beeped, reminding Cynthia of the time. It was getting late and she had to be on her way. There were two dozen cupcakes waiting to be made and frosted for tonight’s scout meeting.
She laid a hand on Clancy’s shoulder. “Since we’re being honest, I have to admit that you really had me worried at first.”
Clancy laughed softly. “I had me worried, too.”
Cynthia picked up the reports that Clancy had worked on in the last week. She noted that the files were thick. “Glad you’re back to your old self again.”
Clancy brushed a hand over the wheelchair. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
She had already shown Cynthia the progress she’d made. There’d been tears in both their eyes when she’d stood up unassisted.
Cynthia looked around for indications that Mitch was still there. “Speaking of working on it, how’s the brooding angel coming along?”
The smile on Clancy’s face was intimate and warm. She knew Cynthia thought they belonged together. That made two of them. “Slowly. Very slowly. Some days I think we’re finally on the right track—other days I feel a
s if this is all temporary. That he’s just here until I recover.”
“Then take your time recovering,” Cynthia advised. “Stall.”
She’d actually considered doing that, then thought better of it. “I can’t. It wouldn’t be honest. I owe him that.”
“You owe him happiness,” Cynthia interjected. Clancy was as intelligent as they came, but sometimes, as far as men went, she was just too naive. The fact that she had almost married Stuart proved it. “Sometimes you have to lie to do what’s best for them. Trust me.”
It might work for Cynthia, but Clancy wasn’t the type to play games. In wasn’t in her. Honesty had always been important to her. “All I know is that if it weren’t for Mitch, I probably wouldn’t be here.”
Cynthia read between the lines. Her eyes grew wide as her mouth dropped open. “Clancy!”
There had been that small island of time when she had considered not waking up. But Mitch had put an end to it, just by being in her life, by demanding that she make demands on herself.
Clancy shrugged, carelessly brushing her words aside. “Hey, people do stupid things when they think they’re hopeless.”
Shaken by the revelation, Cynthia closed her fingers over Clancy’s, as if the feel of her flesh could refute her words. She began arguing after the fact. “You weren’t hopeless. There was always hope—always a chance that you’d get better.”
Cynthia was overlooking the very real other side of the coin. “And a chance that I wouldn’t.” Now that Clancy was so far beyond that black moment, she could talk about it dispassionately. “I wasn’t brave enough to try to make up for the lack I felt I had.”
She smiled and squeezed Cynthia’s hand. She was strong again. And she always would be, she thought. “Mitch made me see that the only thing really lacking was my spirit. Once that got into gear, things began working themselves out.”
Clancy glanced down at the wheelchair. Her prognosis was still not an assured thing. But she had even made her peace with that, if that was the way things were to ultimately turn out. “If I never leave this chair, I think I can handle it now.”
Cynthia let out a breath. “Some special guy.” There was a touch of envy in her voice.
Brooding Angel Page 18
