"You're going to have to let me help you for a change," she argued. "Let me take care of you."
He turned around and grabbed her tightly and just held on to her for a moment. "You can fuss over me when she's gone, okay? Just a little bit."
She kissed him, and said, "Okay."
"Now, get her out of here. Please," he begged, tearing himself away before he said any more.
* * *
The next time the back door opened, he knew who it was, and he knew what he had to do. Sean faced her, saw her face already wet with tears. She was trying in vain to stop them, the only outward show of emotion he'd seen from her in days.
He wasn't sure if it made him feel better, that the shock of the explosion seemed to have worn off, or if it just made it worse to see her crying. But it was an excuse to touch her, and he'd been praying for that for days, too. That he might take her in his arms and have her feel something. Anger, fear, frustration, anything but that awful numbness in which she'd wrapped herself for days.
If anything, that's what convinced him to let her go. He'd hurt her this badly, had taken her this close to the edge when he blew up the beats. And she didn't even love him. She hadn't let herself. She'd stopped in time.
What would have happened to her if she ever let herself love him and then lost him? He understood the risks to her now, how closely to the edge she lived, and he could only hope that one day she'd overcome those fears. But he couldn't force her, shouldn't even try to make her, not when they couldn't ever really have anything together. She'd have to do that for some other man. He had to hope that she would, because he honestly wanted her to be happy. He was afraid she would always be alone.
But all he could do now was say goodbye.
He went to her. She lifted her hands to his side, to hold on to him tightly. He brought his arms up alongside hers, holding her elbows in his palms, thinking to keep some distance between them now, that it was important, necessary. And then he bent his head, his forehead resting against hers, and fought with everything inside of him not to kiss her the way he was dying to. She'd freeze up on him again, put up those walls of hers so firmly, and he didn't have the heart to try to break through them. If there was a chance that this could work out somehow, he would. But it was impossible. He'd always known that.
"Am I ever going to see you again?" she whispered.
His hands tightened on her arms. He felt the heat of her body, the vaguest impression of it against his, and from somewhere deep inside of him, he found a way to speak without every bit of his emotions in his voice.
"Are you going to get in trouble again, Doc?"
"Probably," she admitted.
"Then I'll be there," he vowed.
"Still? Even after all this?"
"I told you I'd always be there for you, Grace. That I'd always be watching out for you, and I keep my promises."
"I know. I just…"
"Just wait. If you need me, I'll come walking around the corner one night. If you're not in trouble, if you just need to see me, for any reason at all, all you ever have to do is call. You have the number. The phone's manned twenty-four, seven. Someone can always find me, and I'll be there. Anywhere. Anytime."
She buried her face against his chest and sobbed, "I wish things could have been different."
He held her there, not nearly long enough. "So do I."
"You do?"
"God, yes."
And he kissed her then. One last time. One too-brief moment.
Very, very nearly, he told her he loved her, choking back the words at the last minute.
"I'll never forget you," she said, breaking his heart all over again.
He swore softly, frustration pouring out, along with the hardest bit of advice he could ever imagine giving in his life.
"Forget me, Grace. Forget what I've done to you and the way I've scared you, and find someone else. Find someone you're not afraid to love and … be happy, sweetheart. Live."
"If I was brave enough for that, I'd do it with you."
To which he could say nothing.
She stayed in his arms for another moment, kissed him hungrily, desperately, one last time, and then said, "I have to go."
He pried his hands off of her and let her slip away. He didn't look back, didn't so much as move, until he heard the car drive away.
* * *
Jamie didn't say anything when Grace, her face drenched in tears, came around the side of the house and climbed into the car. She just handed Grace a tissue and started to drive.
They were nearly at the airport when Grace said, "What is it that makes him so sad?"
Jamie's eyes turned to look at Grace, then back to the road. "He's never talked to me about it."
"But you see it in him, don't you?"
"He doesn't often let people see it. I'm ashamed to say that for the longest time, I never imagined he might be hurting so badly. I barely even see him as human. He's always been so much more than that to me. So much bigger, stronger, all-powerful. As if nothing could hurt him," Jamie said. "He's my oldest brother, older by ten years. In my first memories of him, he's already so tall, so strong, so capable. I used to think he could make anything better. I used to run to him with my scraped knees or when something scared me in the dark. My father was gone a lot when I was a baby, and mother used to joke that I was as much Sean's baby as hers. I've admired everything about him for so long. He's always taken care of the rest of us. I forget that he's human, too, that there are things that hurt him, too."
Grace nodded. She'd seen all of those qualities in him. Perfect. More than human. Capable of anything.
"He hasn't told me much of what's going on here, and I don't know how much he let you see," Jamie said, "but it's killing him to let you go. It doesn't seem to be any easier for you, either. And it's none of my business. Except that I love him, and I don't want to see him hurt."
"I'm terrified of loving him," she confessed. "And losing him."
"So you're going to accept it as a sure thing – that you're definitely going to lose him. You're going to give him up, without ever taking the chance that you could have him? That it could work?"
"No. Not that," she argued. "Not that at all."
She was protecting herself. She was making one last-ditch effort at self-preservation.
Jamie didn't look convinced, but she let it go, walked Grace all the way to her gate at the airport, although Grace swore that was unnecessary.
"You'll look out for him, won't you?" Grace asked.
"As much as he'll let me."
Which would have to be enough, Grace supposed. And then she found herself alone, tears in her eyes once again, as she was standing in line to board the plane to take her far, far away from him.
She'd thought she could get through this without feeling much of anything, that she had her shell firmly in place. Until he'd handed her the passport a few hours ago and told her she could be on a plane almost instantly.
Something seemed to have cracked inside of her then, something that scared her. She'd fought it, tried to push all the feelings away. If only she could get away fast enough … but she hadn't.
She was shivering with cold, and everyone around her seemed just fine. As if the room weren't an icebox at all.
She kept hearing the explosion ringing in her ears, kept being blinded by the flames, and it was as if she was still screaming his name, over and over again, deep inside.
She could close her eyes and see him, coming to her out of the darkness, giving her one of those seductively charming smiles. She could feel his arms around her, could feel his body very, very close.
And then the bomb went off again.
Sometimes she was eleven again, but back on the floor of that cell at Milero's fortress, and he'd come to her in the might and was soothing her and making all those sweet promises in the dark. And she wasn't afraid. Not with him. She shouldn't be afraid, now, leaving him, escaping. But she'd so counted on simply being numb.
It wasn't working.
Maybe when she got back to London. When she simply erased him from her senses. It might be years before she so much as caught a glimpse of him again.
Grace gasped, the pain spreading again.
"Ma'am," the man behind her said. "Are you all right?"
She lied and said she was.
She was a survivor, after all. She was saving herself once again.
But for what? What was she saving herself for? The empty, desolate life she'd always known? Where she worked and seemed fearless in the face of danger and just never stopped moving, tried to never even think?
Was that life really so important to her that she couldn't risk losing it? Losing her sanity and protecting her so-called life?
For so long, that's what she thought. One more blow like the one she'd suffered at eleven and she'd either lose her mind or take her own life. That little eleven-year-old girl still lived inside of her somewhere. The one who'd wanted to go be with her parents, any way possible. She thought about the pact she'd made with herself – that she'd never suffer that kind of pain again. The promise had let her go on by holding herself apart from everyone and everything in this world.
But that wasn't living. That's what Sean had been trying to tell her. That she had no life. That life was a gift, and she was wasting hers.
Her father would have been ashamed of her, she realized. After all, he'd placed a great value on life, and she'd been throwing hers away.
In the name of protecting herself, she was nearly killing herself trying to walk away from a man who … a man who was simply everything to her.
Even tucked deep inside that thick shell of hers, the pain crept in. Making her feel as if she were a hundred years old and that there would never be anything good in her life from this point on. Making her so tired she didn't want to go on. There was no point. Not if she went on living the way she had been. Not if she was living without him.
She'd been so stupid. All this time, she'd thought to save herself by getting away before she fell madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with him, and it seemed it had been too late from the start. She knew it was too late now.
She loved him.
If she lost him someday it just might kill her, but leaving him right now most definitely was. Which meant it was certainly too late to protect herself, but maybe not too late to save herself.
Time to jump. To close her eyes and take a leap of faith like none she'd ever made before.
She loved him. Grace smiled through her tears and told the startled ticket agent that she'd changed her mind. She wouldn't be going to London tonight. And then she turned around and ran.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Sean poured himself a shot of whiskey, then another, and then gave up on that. He didn't get drunk easily, and even if he did, what he needed was oblivion. He'd never found that in a bottle.
He prowled his apartment in Georgetown, hearing nothing but the clock, which seemed to be taunting him with every passing minute, every one taking her that much farther away from him.
Staring at the bottle again, he dismissed it once more. There was a gym around the corner. Not a prissy one. A real one. For men. He could hit the punching bag for a while. At least he'd be tired, and maybe then he could sleep. By the time he woke up, she'd be in London.
He didn't want to think about how many miles away that was.
He paced some more, thinking it was too hot. Much too hot for October. He was sweaty and tired and aching. All over. He flicked on the air conditioner, and then there really wasn't anything he could do. Not to escape.
He knew about pain, about hating himself, about the rawness of a freshly made wound. There was nothing to do but endure. Let it hurt. Let the time pass and hope it brought some measure of relief.
Finally, he stripped and got into the shower, just stood there under the spray, his hands in front of him pressed against the wall. He stood there for so long thinking about her, wet from the rain on the island. Her face, her long, glorious hair, his shirt clinging to her like a second skin, more erotic than anything he could imagine.
He stood there for so long, he could swear he heard her calling his name.
God, he was losing it.
He leaned against the wall, his forehead resting there, his hands knotted into fists. He was so oblivious, he didn't even realize he wasn't alone anymore until someone pulled open the shower door and said, "Sean."
In Grace's voice, someone said his name.
He turned around, dazed, and he could have sworn she was standing there, looking a bit lost but not quite so sad. Looking so very real.
"Hi," she said.
He frowned at the image. It talked, too.
"I know you're not real," he said.
She looked sad for a moment, and then said, "I think that's my line."
"No." He was going to argue with an illusion. He felt so stupid for it, but it was that or reach out and touch her.
He thought about every time he'd shown up out of the shadows, thinking to keep her from ever getting a clear look at him, just in case she might recognize him. Every time he'd tried to sound different and look different, so he could watch over her without becoming a person to her, without being real.
It had all played into the silly idea of hers that even when she saw him standing right in front of her, he might not be real. He understood completely now just how disconcerting that could be.
"Grace," he said.
"I got all the way to the gate and realized it was too late."
"Too late for what?"
"To stop myself from falling in love with you."
He felt the words ripple through him. Love. She was not supposed to love him. He would never have asked that of her, even though he selfishly wanted just that, wanted it more than he wanted to breathe.
"You said you could love me, too, if you just let yourself," his beautiful illusion said. "I found out I didn't have a choice in the matter. I couldn't stop it at all. I love you."
"Grace—"
"Could you really stop yourself?" she asked. "Are you going to tell me you're strong enough, powerful enough to control even that? That you could stop yourself from loving me?"
"I'm telling you I can't quite believe you're here. Because I want that so desperately."
"I got all the way to the gate," she said again, crying now, smiling through the tears. "I had to chase Jamie through the terminal, barely caught her outside, and she brought me to find you. We knocked and knocked, but you didn't answer. She had a key, so here I am."
He just stood there, his heart banging like a jackhammer. Touch her, he told himself. Reach out and touch her.
His hand came up, water dripping off it, and hesitated there with a good six inches between them. He was scared to try it.
"Do you still have your knife?" she suggested finally. "You could—"
That was it. He grabbed her, his hand closing around warm, soft flesh.
"Grace," he said, the sound ripped from him.
He pulled her to him, thinking, never, never let her go.
She laughed a bit as the water hit her. "It's cold."
If it was, he didn't notice. But the air conditioner was on, and there was a draft coming in. He closed the shower door, adjusted the knob for warmer water, and then pulled back just enough to see her, and he could very easily have laughed until he cried, if he let himself. He'd pulled her into the shower fully dressed, and now she was drenched. But she was here. She was right here with him and there wasn't an ounce of conscience inside of him capable of making him let her go. He'd denied his need for this woman for years, but no more.
"I don't deserve you," he said, his hands on her arms, her shoulders, in her hair, at the side of her face.
"I can't imagine anything I ever did to deserve you," she claimed.
"Oh, baby. You just don't know."
She ran her hands along his shoulders, his chest, the way she had that one night in
the cave. When she'd stroked him so sweetly, so innocently. He'd never forget the feel of her delicate, innocent hands on him.
They'd been soaked then, as well. Every truly erotic picture he had of her featured her soaking wet.
He peeled off her shirt and found her bare beneath it. His eyes feasted on her breasts, those nicely rounded curves. His hands did, too. His mouth. He licked the water off of her, sucked it, finding all that smooth, creamy skin he'd so longed to touch, to taste.
He fell to his knees in front of her and pulled off her slacks. He'd ruined her shoes, and he threw them onto the bathroom floor. She laughed over that until he planted a kiss on the inside of her knee and started working his way up her left thigh. Then she shuddered and clutched at his shoulders, his head, his hair.
Water cascaded down her body. He drank it straight from her body, wanted her absolutely drenched from wanting him. There was a storm raging inside of him, a need, and he wanted it inside of her, as well. He wanted to give it to her, to take her there. He wanted her dazed and gasping for breath and hanging on to him with every bit of strength she had left. He never wanted this night to end, and there was no way he was going to make this last. Not when every nerve ending in his body was screaming for him to take her. Right now. Hard and fast and so deep. To be so far up inside of her. To claim her as his.
For now, she was going to be his.
His body was throbbing painfully already. He felt as if he were perilously close to exploding, and he couldn't imagine the sheer pleasure of joining his body to hers, of driving inside of her, struggling to overcome the physical limits of what their bodies could do, could take.
He simply wanted to be a part of her in every way possible. He wanted her heart and her soul and all of the love inside of her that he absolutely did not deserve.
He wanted to feel her, stroke her, kiss her, taste her, and make her so ready for him she couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted her begging and pleading and exploding around him, the first minute he thrust inside her.
He pushed her up against the wall, had his face buried between her thighs, urging her to open herself up to him, and her legs were trembling. All of her was.
HER SECRET GUARDIAN Page 17