by LENA DIAZ,
The smell of pizza wafted up from downstairs about an hour later. Shannon didn’t bother going down to have some even though she knew Ian would have ordered enough to share. She didn’t deserve anything from him, not after how she’d acted. Not that she was planning on going on a hunger strike. A girl had to eat. But she’d wait, give him time to go back to his office or wherever he’d gone earlier, so he didn’t have to look at her across the table while he ate.
She’d been so horrible to him.
Everything he’d said was true. He’d never judged her on her past. Not once. He’d never raised his voice to her, even when he was furious as he’d been earlier this evening. And she had no doubt that he was telling her the truth now, about everything. She knew his character. He was right about that. She knew more about him than his own family in many ways, things he’d told her about his past, about why he didn’t have a relationship with his father and barely spoke to his brothers. That if it wasn’t for his mom, whom he loved dearly, he’d never go back home for his infrequent visits. And yet, when she’d been put to the test, instead of believing the best of him—as she should have—she’d proved she was no better than his judgmental father.
She really hated herself right now.
But if she could do it over, and she was honest with herself, she’d have done it the same way. She’d have asked the same questions, said the same things. Because even though she knew in her heart that he was the best person she’d ever met, probably ever would, the difficult lessons of her past continued to rear their ugly heads. The fear that something would happen, that if she and Ian were actually together as a couple one day, he’d destroy all her illusions. He’d hit her, hurt her, turn into the ugly, angry kind of person all of the men in her life had eventually become.
It wasn’t fair, to either of them, that she had this irrational fear. But there it was. And she had no idea how she’d ever move past it. Maybe if Ian ever really took a bullet for her, that would destroy her unreasonable fears. And wasn’t that a horrible thought? The awful scene between them tonight had been fate intervening. Fate was protecting Ian from the kind of life he might have if they were ever really together. Her mama and all her “daddies” had really messed her up. Ian deserved someone who wasn’t damaged goods. He deserved someone supportive, someone who realized how wonderful he was and didn’t look at him with doubt, and wonder when the fairy tale would fall apart.
Several hours had passed before she crept down the stairs to stop the growling in her stomach. The house, or at least this part of the massive structure, was dark, lit only by the moonlight in the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that framed the fireplace.
Assuming Ian was asleep in the master bedroom upstairs, she was as quiet as she could be and didn’t turn on any lights. She grabbed a bottle of water and two pieces of pizza from the refrigerator. Whoever had brought the pizza last night must have brought groceries too, because there was fresh milk, eggs and dozens of other items that hadn’t been there earlier.
Not wanting to risk the ding of the microwave waking Ian, she sat at the island to eat her slices cold. When she took her first bite and realized the pizza was pepperoni, bacon, extra sauce and extra cheese, the tears started rolling down her face.
She dropped the pizza to the paper towel that she was using as a plate and covered her mouth to keep her sobs of anguish from being heard.
The lights flickered on overhead. Ian stood near the other end of the massive island, still wearing the jeans and navy-blue T-shirt he’d been wearing earlier. He must have been in his office this whole time. His brows furrowed with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” She laughed without humor and swiped at the tears on her face. “How awful do I have to be to you before you stop being so nice to me? I don’t deserve your concern. You should hate me by now.”
His expression turned sad as he shook his head. “It would be impossible for me to hate you, Shannon.” He crossed to the countertop and grabbed a stack of napkins, then set them down in front of her. “Why are you crying? Is it Maria? I haven’t given up trying to find her. I’ve been working on the investigation all evening. Not that I have much to show for it. But I’m doing everything I can. And my guys tell me they’re still following up on leads, as well.”
She dropped one of the napkins on top of her pizza, her appetite gone. “Maria. Here I am feeling sorry for myself, not even thinking about my friend. And you’ve been up all night working to find her. How can you stand the sight of me?”
He moved to stand beside her bar stool, smiling down at her. “Oh, I don’t know. From where I stand, you look pretty good.”
“I’m serious, Ian.”
“So am I.” He leaned his hip against the island. “And I haven’t been up all night. It’s only a little past nine, Grandma.”
His good-natured teasing had her smiling in spite of herself. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“You can always make me smile, no matter how bleak things look. I don’t deserve to have you for a friend, assuming we’re still friends?” She couldn’t help the desperately hopeful note in her voice.
He cupped her face and pressed a whisper-soft kiss against her lips, then stepped back. “Friends. Always. If you can forgive my rotten disposition earlier. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.”
“Stop it. Please. Just stop. I’m the one who should apologize—”
“Apology accepted, as long as you agree to eat more than a few bites. Here.” He retrieved her pizza from beneath the napkin and put it on a plate. “I’ll nuke it for you. Don’t forget that I know your worst secrets, like that you hate cold pizza.” He shoved it into the microwave.
“You definitely know my worst secrets.”
He set the now-warm pizza slices in front of Shannon and took the bar stool beside her. “I think we’re even on that score. No more secrets between us. No more lies. Friends should be able to trust each other and count on each other. Deal?”
“I don’t deserve you, Ian.”
“We’re even on that score too. I don’t deserve you either. Do we have a deal?”
She smiled and held up her hand. “Pinkie swear.”
He grinned and hooked his finger around hers. “Pinkie swear. And don’t ever tell anyone else that I did that. They’ll take my man card.”
“I’ll keep that information in my back pocket in case I ever need to force you to do my bidding.”
He laughed, and just like that, it was as if all the hurt of the last few hours had never happened. But it had. And she knew that until she could learn to let go of her fears, if that was even possible, that there was no hope of a permanent future between them. Not the kind of future she’d dreamed about at least. Before finding out that he was a special agent for Homeland Security, she’d thought she’d found her perfect partner. She loved his tattoos. He loved hers. He found her belly ring sexy. And his blond-streaked black hair made her blue-tipped hair seem almost conventional.
“Note to self,” he said. “Lose that joke. It fell flat.”
She blinked. “Sorry. I was kind of lost in thought.”
“Something more important than listening to my jokes?”
She smiled and grabbed for the first thing that came to mind. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she was fantasizing about his tattoos and what might have been. “Earlier you said you hate this house. It’s beautiful. And not pretentious like you might expect from something this big. It has a homey feel to it.”
He looked around as if trying to see it through her eyes. “I guess so. Saying I hate it might be an overstatement. I hate the idea of it, of my rebellious folly just to spite my father. It’s a ridiculous waste of money, way too big for one person. And since I’m out of town or out of state most of the time, deep undercover a lot of times, I’m never here. I really should sell it.”
�
��Hmm. Maybe. It would be perfect for a large family. I can see kids sitting around the stone hearth roasting marshmallows in the fireplace. Or catching lightning bugs outside.”
“Shannon Rose Murphy, when did you become so conventional? The next thing I know, you’ll be wanting a white picket fence and to join the PTA.”
She shoved him good-naturedly. “Just because I’m not conventional doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to have a family and a nice house someday—minus the picket fence, of course.”
“Of course.” He tilted his head, studying her. “I can see it. I bet you’d be a great mom. How many kids does future Shannon want?”
She blinked, surprised to feel tears starting in her eyes again.
His smile faded. “Shannon, what—”
She held her hands up to stop him. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I just... The idea of really having kids is...” She drew a shaky breath. “I never knew who my dad was. He could have been any number of men in and out of my mother’s life. And there wasn’t a maternal bone in her body. All I was good for was cleaning our run-down apartment or, later, turning tricks to help put food on the table. I’m damaged goods all the way around. No one would want me to be the mother of their children. I’m sure I’d do something to screw them up for life, just like my mom did to me.” She hopped off the bar stool. “I’ll clean up my mess in here later. I just want to go to bed now. Good night, Ian.”
She’d just reached the stairs when he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he opened his arms. She sobbed and threw herself against him. Then he was lifting her and cradling her in his arms against his chest.
“Ian, stop. Your hurt arm,” she protested between tears as he carried her up the stairs.
“You weigh less than a feather. Don’t worry about my arm.”
She laid her head against him, the feel of his chest beneath her cheek, his arms tight around her so wonderful she quit protesting. He kissed the top of her head and whispered soothing words as he took her into the guest bedroom. A quick dip and he’d raked the covers back. Then he settled her onto the sheets and tucked the covers up around her.
The loss of his touch had her crying again. Being held by him had felt so right, so perfect, as if that was where she belonged.
He gently swept her hair back from her face, his deep blue eyes filled with concern. And something else. His gaze heated as he stared down at her, his fingers growing still in her hair. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and he straightened away from the bed. “I’d better go.”
She grabbed his hand and threaded their fingers together. “You don’t have to. You can stay. I want you to stay.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He tugged his hand free and strode toward the door.
“Ian, wait.” She slid off the bed and stopped in front of him by the balcony outside the guest room. “We’ve kissed too many times for you to tell me that you don’t want me. And I seem to remember you proving to me not long ago that you wanted me very much.” She pressed her hand against his chest, then slid it down.
He swore and grabbed her hand, then drew a ragged breath. “Wanting you isn’t the problem. It’s about doing what’s right.”
“We’re two consenting adults. Unless you’re saving yourself for marriage or something.”
He laughed and pushed her hand away. “It’s a little late for me to save myself.”
“Well, we both know I never got the chance to save myself for marriage.” She grimaced. “Is that it?” She swallowed and took a step back, pressing a hand to her throat. “Oh my gosh. That’s it, isn’t it? It’s because of my past. You say you don’t care, that you don’t judge me. But when it comes to the idea of getting naked with me, you’re disgusted, aren’t you? Because of all those men—”
His eyes flashed with anger, but somehow, she knew the anger wasn’t directed at her. He pulled her against him and cupped her face. “Don’t ever think that. Nothing that happened to you is your fault. And none of it could make me think any less of you in any way. You’re sexy and smart and funny and...” He shook his head. “It’s not about your past. It’s about who we are and what we want.” He pressed his hand over his heart. “What drives me is my passion for law enforcement. But the very idea of that frightens you. I don’t think we could ever move past that.”
She frowned. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Ian. I’m not talking about forever. I’m talking about one night.”
His hands shook as he cupped her face again and searched her eyes. “Aren’t you? I heard the catch in your voice when you talked about having a home, children. I’ve held myself back all the time we lived in the duplex because there were lies between us. It wouldn’t have been right for me to sleep with you while I was hiding the fact that I was a cop—the one thing you hate most. And now that you know the truth, I’m still what you fear. Admit it. You can’t trust me.”
She started to deny it, but all the hurts and pain of her past made her hesitate. By the time she was able to gather her scattered thoughts again, he’d already dropped his hands. She hated herself in that moment.
He smiled sadly. “Even if we didn’t have that between us,” he continued, “you hunger for a stable home, for everything you were denied while growing up. I’ve had that—a mom who loved me, a dad I loved and who loved me back until we had our falling-out. My times with my brothers weren’t all bad either. There were a lot of good times. But when I turned seventeen, everything changed. You know why.”
“Willow.”
He nodded. “Everything changed after that. I changed. I don’t want the house and the picket fence and babies. I want freedom to move every few months, to start a new investigation. If I was married, I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right. I’d settle down, build a life. But I’d be miserable doing it. And that’s not a recipe for a successful marriage. So, no, I won’t make love to you, Shannon. Even though I want to, so much sometimes I feel like I’ll die if I don’t.”
She fisted her hands and stared up at him. “I don’t understand how everything you said means that we can’t make love.”
“Don’t you?” He searched her gaze. “You still haven’t figured it out?”
She shook her head. “No. You’re completely confusing me.”
He shut his eyes for a moment, then blew out a long, slow breath before looking at her again. “I’m in love with you, Shannon. Hopelessly, head over heels in love with you.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock.
He laughed bitterly. “I’ve done a really good job of hiding that. But it’s true. And if I take you to my bed, and then have to let you go, I don’t know that I could survive. And since I know there’s no way that I can make you happy, even if you could look past the fact that I’m a special agent, a future between us isn’t even in the realm of possibilities. It’s better that we stay friends. Very good friends. And after this case is resolved, you go your way and I go mine. You’ll eventually find a man who can give you everything you want, someone who will treat you like a queen and give you babies and a home and who will be there every day. But I’m not that man.” He kissed her on the top of her head, then slowly walked away.
Chapter Twenty
What did a girl wear when she was going to see the man who’d told her the night before that he was in love with her? Then promptly rejected her and walked away? Should she pay extra attention to her makeup and hair to tempt him to change his mind? Or should she do herself up to salvage her wounded ego? Whatever the real reason, she fussed over her makeup and hair far longer than usual. And now she stood contemplating which top to wear with her jeans. The red one or the blue one—the only two blouses she had that were clean.
Telling herself it didn’t matter since Ian only wanted to be friends, she threw on the red top. Then she changed her mind because it clashed with the blue tips of her
hair and put on the blue blouse. Then she cursed herself for caring what she looked like at all and threw the red one back on just to be ornery.
She flounced down the staircase, holding her head high and bracing herself for her first glimpse of Ian. The great room and kitchen were empty. She passed them and headed down the hallway that led to a maze of other rooms, including a game room and a home theater, as well as rooms whose purposes she couldn’t quite discern. At the very end was Ian’s office. But the door was closed. Afraid that he might be in the middle of working on the case, she went back to the kitchen.
Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, reminding her that she’d eaten only one of her pieces of pizza last night after going most of the day without eating. She felt as if her stomach was going to rub right through her spine if she didn’t have something soon.
The groceries in the refrigerator were probably a chef’s dream. She imagined someone who knew how to cook really well could whip up an amazing omelet or some other kind of eggs and bacon, and maybe French toast. Since her breakfast cooking skills consisted of knowing how to pour a bowl of cereal or make toast, she did both—first the toast, then the cereal. She knew that much at least. No one liked soggy cereal.
After placing her dirty dishes in one of two drawer-style dishwashers, she thumped her hands on top of the island, wondering what to do next. Had Ian already eaten? Should she bring him some toast and cereal in his office? Rather than guess, she decided to brave the lion’s den and simply ask him. She headed down the hallway toward his office.
“Morning. Looking for me?”
She turned around. Ian was coming down the stairs, looking so good in his jeans and black collared shirt that she had to remind herself to breathe. She also had to remind herself that he didn’t want her in his life, even though he supposedly loved her. If she went down that rabbit hole again of trying to understand his reasoning, she’d just get herself twisted into knots. Instead, she forced a smile and tried to pretend that everything was normal, that he’d never told her he loved her.