He deserved better. Her pride demanded more.
So she waited until she had herself and her voice under control, and then raised her head and said—Lightly, she cautioned herself, lightly—"You were right. That was quick."
There was a heartbeat pause before he asked lazily, "Complaints, already?"
"No. None at all. I have to get back."
"Right."
He sat up with her, supporting her. Without fuss or hurry, he adjusted his own clothes and helped her find her underwear. Struggling to jam on her shoes in near-darkness, Rachel wondered at his lack of awkwardness.
He must have done this many times before.
It was a sobering thought to carry back home along the dark and rutted road. She pressed her hands together in her lap as if she could hold on to that instant of freedom under the stars, that illusory closeness, that moment when her soul flew. By the time they pulled into the driveway, her palms were damp with sweat.
His headlights swept the garage door in great white arcs.
"You want me to come in with you?" he asked quietly.
Like this was a date, and he had to meet her mama.
Rachel imagined Myra looking up from the news, busy eyes bright with interest as she examined Rachel's clothes and Sean's hair. She shivered.
"No. Thanks for the ride," she added politely and then winced. It sounded as if she was thanking him for … for… If he laughed, she would hit him.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then." His voice was bland.
"Tomorrow."
Thoughts of what faced her the following morning swept in on her, more oppressive than the baskets of unfolded laundry and pile of ungraded papers that waited for her in the kitchen. Bilotti's threats, Gowan's instructions, her worries for her children… Hemmed by responsibilities and pressed by fear, she could barely breathe.
She got out of the truck, and she didn't look back.
* * *
Great sex. No strings.
It really ticked him off.
Sean fed another board into the saw, taking satisfaction in the blade's bad-tempered howl. For all his reputation and experience, he didn't go for wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am encounters. Well, not often. And not lately. He really did see the women he liked as individuals, delightful in their differing shapes and ways and personalities. He didn't even go to bed with some of them.
Golden sawdust flew into the air. Sean propelled the board, his movements powered by an unfamiliar blend of virtue and steam. So if Rachel Fuller thought she could give him the best sex of his life and then act as though they had nothing in common and no possible future, she was…
Probably right.
Damn. He lifted the board to set it out of the way, against the wall, and shut off the saw. He had no business taking up with a woman who required stable hours and a steady paycheck from her man, even if she did make his heart beat like a drum. He had no desire to play daddy to her appealing brats, even if Chris did need someone to show him how to fold a pocketknife and Lindsey deserved a safe adult to practice her wiles on. They would only be hurt when he moved on. He would be hurt.
After Trina, he never wanted to be responsible for anyone again. So why the hell had he put them all at risk by getting involved now?
Tugging off his powdered goggles, he scowled toward the house. And saw Agent Gowan's nondescript blue car pulled up at the curb outside.
The feds were here, and Rachel hadn't called him.
The observation lit Sean's uneasy temper like a match to kindling. He was tired of waiting by the phone like a lovesick teenager hoping for an invitation to the prom. Like some girl he was letting down easy. The thought made him wince. Clamping his jaw, he stomped toward the back door. Through the screen he could hear voices, Lee Gowan's and Rachel's. She was speaking in that cool schoolteacher's tone he admired, the one that made him want to put his hands on her just to see if he could ruffle her composure.
"…don't want my children in danger. What if he changes his mind and comes here?"
"Won't happen. Don't worry about it. Sounds to me like Bilotti wants to avoid involving your boarder or anyone else. Your kids are safe enough."
And what about Rachel? Sean wanted to demand. What about her safety?
"But can't you pick him up now?" she asked. "Extortion by wire is a crime, you said."
Agent Gowan cleared his throat. "The prosecuting attorney would really like us to go for the drop at this point, ma'am. To ensure a conviction."
"The only thing I want to ensure is that Bilotti doesn't get anywhere near my children."
"For how long?" Sean, listening at the door, tensed at Gowan's challenging tone. "You want to make sure this guy's locked up for good, Mrs. Fuller."
"But my children—"
"Why don't you see if you can get them away for the next couple of days? Do you have relatives they could stay with?"
"I'm already staying with my mother, Agent Gowan," Rachel said wearily.
Sean had heard enough. He respected Rachel's determination to safeguard her children, but he was annoyed anyway. With her, for not caring more about herself, with Gowan, for not insisting on her safety, with himself, for not being in a position to do anything about it.
Well, maybe he had no right to protect her, but he could help her protect her children.
"Somewhere else?" Gowan was saying. "Someplace they all could go, maybe?"
"Yeah." Sean pushed open the door. They both looked up in surprise. "My brother Patrick's place. He's forty minutes away. That takes them out of harm's way, but they'd still be close enough for you to keep tabs on them."
"That's settled. then," Gowan said with evident relief. "It is not," Rachel snapped. "I can't let you put your brother's family in danger."
Sean was absurdly proud of her concern, her stubborn spirit. He turned to the agent. "Would they be in danger?"
"I don't see why. As far as we know, Bilotti's acting on his own down here. He can't pick up the drop and search for the children at the same time."
Sean shrugged. "So, we're good to go."
"But the inconvenience," Rachel protested. "Why would your brother do this for us?"
"Because I'm asking him for help."
Her dark eyes were genuinely bewildered. "But … why?"
"Because you won't. Jeez, Rachel, what kind of life have you had, that you can't believe in a little help when it's offered?"
Gowan scowled. "Maybe you folks want to continue this discussion another time."
"Fine." Sean dragged out a chair and straddled it, ignoring Gowan's narrowed eyes. "So, did our buddy Carmine set a time and place yet?"
He waited for Rachel to tell him to get lost. But all she said was, "Sunday. I have to come up with the money by Sunday."
"You'll need to make a decision soon," the federal man said. "Banks are closed tomorrow."
She made a hopeless gesture with one hand. "It hardly matters. I don't have it."
"We can provide you with a decoy bag, Mrs. Fuller. It will look real enough. We'll place the money pack inside that, like a hundred twenties bundled together, to hold your transmitter in case Bilotti gets away from us at the drop. And of course you'll be wired."
"No wire," Sean objected.
"Why not?" Rachel said.
"It's not your decision," Gowan said.
Sean set his jaw. "Look, I've met this bozo. I'm not giving him any excuse to tear off her blouse. No wire."
Gowan looked at Rachel. She moistened her lips. "No wire," she agreed.
Relief spread through Sean.
Gowan nodded reluctantly. "Okay. We'll tap the bag and the car. You'll be able to speak into the car transmitter to keep us apprised of your situation. Once Bilotti calls back with a location, I've got a team of agents I can bring in to apprehend him at the site and block the exit roads."
"What about her? Who's protecting her?"
"Look, I understand your concern. But it's very possible Bilotti won't even try to pick up the money until she's lef
t the scene."
"And if he wants her to hand it over personally?"
"We'll be there. Once we're in position, we'll have two angles on Mrs. Fuller at all times." Gowan's chair scraped the floor as he stood. "We do know what we're doing. There's no reason for her to worry. And there's absolutely no need for anybody to play cowboy. You follow me?"
"Thank you, Lee, that was very clear." Rachel stood, too, and offered him her hand. "I appreciate you coming by."
The agent held on to her a little longer than Sean figured was necessary. "We're monitoring your calls. When Bilotti gets in touch with you, we'll know."
"Thank you."
She walked him to the front door. Sean stayed stubbornly where he was, in possession of Rachel's kitchen. As far as he could tell, the agent was as straight-arrow as they came. A regular Boy Scout. It didn't make Rachel's dependence on him any easier to take.
She came back, smiling mouth and tired eyes in a pale face, looking so beautiful Sean's chest hurt. He wanted to tuck her into bed for a week. He wanted to climb under the covers after her.
She arched her eyebrows. "I get the impression you've just been warned off."
He tipped his chair back on two legs. "By Gowan? Or by you?"
She hesitated. "He's right. There's really no need for you to get involved."
"I am involved. I called him in."
"And now you can let him handle it."
"Is that what you're going to do?"
She blinked at him. "Well, I … I need to take the phone call. Go to the bank, I guess, in case Bilotti is watching the house. They'll expect me to do that."
"Fine. I'll drive you."
"No. I don't want you to get hurt."
His chair crashed down on all four legs. "Then stop shutting me out, damn it. Stop treating me like some stud you picked up for the night and let me go with you."
She looked like he'd just stunned her with a two-by-four. "Is that how you feel? Like a stud?"
He stood. "Forget it."
"Is that some carpenter's term?"
He glared at her.
The amusement in her eyes shimmered into something else, something soft and deep. She stepped up to him, all proud and fine and in his way, and then she took his hands between hers and ducked her head and kissed his fingers. His heart stuttered with surprise.
"I didn't want to make assumptions based on the fact that we—that we slept together. You're not obligated to me. I didn't like to ask."
"Maybe I need you to ask," he said hoarsely. "Maybe I like thinking you feel I'm good for something."
"What I feel… You've been wonderful. Your support has been wonderful. It's just not what I'm used to."
She made his head spin. "Yeah, well, you're not what I'm used to, either," he muttered.
She dropped his hands. "I'm aware of that."
"Hey." He made a grab for her. "I'm not saying there haven't been other women."
"Young, pretty ones."
"Mostly," he admitted, enjoying the flash in her eyes. "But mostly those relationships have been one-sided. With you… It's like working with a good piece of wood, being with you. I want to turn it around, see all the sides, get to know the grain and the stress and the flow of it. I have feelings for you. It's okay for you to lean on me some."
She sighed. "I don't know if I can."
Because she didn't know how, he realized. Who in her life—her vague mother, her irresponsible husband, her vulnerable kids—had ever encouraged her to trust them with her burdens? And who was Sean to swear he wouldn't one day let her down?
"Look, you need somebody," he said stubbornly. "Maybe I'm not all you need, but I'm here."
For now, Rachel thought. And maybe she could convince her heart that "for now" was enough.
"The kids will love it out at Patrick's," he continued persuasively. "My nephew Jack is Chris's age. They've got the room and a trampoline. Kittens in the barn."
It sounded like heaven. Lindsey would love the kittens.
"They could go to a motel," she said.
"Too expensive. And they'd be safer at Patrick's. He's a former marine. Hell, my sister-in-law's a doctor."
Compared to her children's safety, what did the danger to her heart matter?
"What would you tell them?"
"How about the truth?"
"No. I can't. Doug…" She made a helpless gesture.
"I don't think you should fret about loyalty to your late husband at this point, Rachel."
She put up her chin. "It's not just that. I don't want to worry the children."
Reluctant respect gleamed in his eyes. "Fine. Then we'll say you're a friend in a jam."
"When would we go?" she asked.
"Dinner, tomorrow? They could pack overnight bags. Then whatever happens Sunday, you'll know they're taken care of."
"What about Mama?"
"I told you. She's welcome, too. It'll work." His big hands kneaded her shoulders. "We'll make it work."
She wanted desperately to believe him.
But when she brought up the plan to her mother that evening, Myra's face creased with puzzlement.
"Dinner sounds very pleasant. But why on earth would his brother's family invite us to spend the night?"
"Well…" Rachel swished water around in the sink, grateful to have something to occupy her hands. They were washing up after dinner, while the children chased fireflies across the lawn outside. "Sean felt the children might like to stick around the next day. They have kittens."
Myra looked even more bewildered. "Kittens?"
Frustration gnawed at Rachel's control. "Forget the kittens," she snapped. "I think it would be good for the children to go."
Safer.
Sean, lounging at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, spoke up. "It's a longish drive back after dark, Mrs. Jordan. Better for you and the kids to make a weekend out of it."
"But Rachel said you two were coming back here."
He held her gaze. "Exactly."
"Oo-hh." Myra's cheeks pinked with comprehension. Her eyes darted slyly from Sean to Rachel and back again. Rachel wanted to hide her head in the soapy water and never come up for air. "I see. Well, I suppose it would be nice to get away for a little while…"
"You deliberately implied we were coming back to be alone together," Rachel fumed later, when her mother was safely parked in front of a rerun of Providence.
Sean hung a dish towel over the bar on the stove. Another time it would have made her smile, the domesticated gesture from this untamed male. "Do you know any other reason she would have accepted?"
"But now she'll think we want to have sex!"
He grinned at her. "Don't we?"
Rachel fumbled. Heaven help her, she did. She thought about it all the time. Sean's mouth, Sean's hands, Sean's body on hers. Her knees were red from rubbing on the quilted pad. A tiny string of bruises decorated her hip. And every twinge, every chafe, every ache, reminded her how much she wanted him.
It was ridiculous, she thought the next morning as she tugged on her shorts to cover the marks of Sean's fingers. Adolescent. She was a grown woman with two children. She was waiting for a phone call from an extortionist who had threatened to burn her mother's house down around their ears, and all she could think about was how quickly she could leave her family at a stranger's farm so she could get naked with Sean MacNeill.
Rachel cringed. Oh, dear. Oh, no. She was not going to be like her mother, so dazzled by some romantic prospect that she would neglect her responsibilities to her own children.
So after breakfast, she was very, very attentive to Chris and Lindsey. She held on to her patience when Chris threw a ball that broke a living room lamp. She clung to her sense of humor when Lindsey sulked at being made to go to the MacNeill farm after practically promising Jackie Pittman that they could have a sleep-over that night.
And every time the phone rang, she took deep breaths and pushed away the thought of Carmine Bilotti on the other end of the line.
Fear and sex were making her insane. Maybe she should make a bargain with God. You keep my mother and children safe, she prayed, and I'll never entertain a wicked thought again.
And then Chris broke the lamp, and Sean showed up with a tool belt around his hips and a promise in his eyes, and Rachel almost melted with lust.
Remember your bargain, she ordered herself, and treated him with brisk friendliness. Sean gave her a what-the-hell's-going-on look, which she pretended not to see. Eventually he got the hint, because he carried Chris off for a lecture on responsibility and a short course in rewiring.
Rachel breathed easier. She could manage her libido better when temptation was out of sight. She started slicing tomatoes for sandwiches, feeling almost virtuous.
Lindsey grumbled as she poured two glasses full of milk. "But why do we have to go this weekend?"
"Because we were invited for this weekend," Rachel said. And tomorrow she had to deliver a wired drop bag full of phony money to an unknown location or risk her mother's house burning down, but she wasn't telling her daughter that. "Doesn't it sound like fun?"
"I guess." Lindsey carried the full glasses to the table. One slopped over as she set it down. She bit her lip, her head bent as she stared at the spreading white ring.
Rachel grabbed a sponge. "It's okay, sweetie. Pick up the glass."
Lindsey complied. "Is this because we have to meet his family?" she asked diffidently.
"Whose family?" Rachel asked, mopping the spill.
"Sean's. Is he, like, your boyfriend now or something?"
Or something.
Guilt slammed into Rachel. Forget the Scarlet Letter. Her red face gave her away. She took a deep breath. It was bad enough dealing with her mother's suppositions. There was no way she was explaining her relationship with Sean MacNeill to her innocent, fatherless child.
"Well, he's … I think he's very nice," she said carefully. "Don't you?"
Lindsey turned around from the table. "That is so lame, Mom. Are you guys dating?"
"No." Surely that wasn't a lie? Star-shaking, earth-moving sex in the back of a pickup truck was not a date. Rachel studied her daughter's tight face, trying to figure out what Lindsey needed. "Would you mind? Not that I am seeing anyone, but if I were?"
THE TEMPTATION OF SEAN MCNEILL Page 14
