But even that was no excuse. Especially for letting her tell him she loved him.
God, she loved him.
"Are you okay?"
He turned to find her staring up at him and nodded, still wanting to believe there had to be a way and finding none. He just had to hold it together for a little longer, say what he had to say and then watch her go once again. Twice within twenty-four hours seemed like more than the world should demand of any man, but there it was.
"I should go," he said.
"It can wait," she said, pressing her mouth to his, drawing him down into that sinfully sweet, dark pool of desire, drowning him in it.
Not that he fought against it. She was just too perfect, too beautiful, too eager, too soft and sweet-smelling. He would take all of her he could get. Take and take and take, it seemed. She was already lying on top of him, boneless and so willing, and he was hard once again.
He ran his hands over her body, wanting to memorize every detail, savor every touch. And then he put a hand on either of her thighs and pulled them into position on either side of his body. He palmed her hips and settled her on top of him. She kissed him deeply, hungrily, and with one little move of his hips he was inside her once again. In that place that seemed to have been made just for him. He thrust gently, just once.
"You must be sore," he said.
"A little. But I don't care," she admitted, pushing herself up until she was sitting astride him, looking so wild with her hair hanging down her back and her pretty breasts filling his hands.
"You are so beautiful, Grace."
"You make me feel beautiful," she confided.
His hands went back to her hips, spanning them, cupping them, urging her down harder against him, taking him deeper, setting a rhythm that would have this over in no time.
"Like this?" she said, always so eager to please.
"Yes," he said through clenched teeth. "Just like that."
* * *
Grace woke up alone, the bed gone cold without him.
So, she thought, this was love. This was what it was all about. Losing herself completely in a man. Thinking the sun rose and set in his eyes, in his smile, his laughter. She was absolutely dazzled by him, by all he'd shown her, all he'd given her. By the sweet, seductive promise of tomorrow and the next day and all the ones after that. With him.
She was so very happy she could cry, and she fought off an attack of sheer nerves, which had no place in the face of such happiness. She didn't always have to expect the worst. It was one habit she could break. Starting right now.
She showered quickly, blushing at the thought of what they'd done right here in his shower. The way he'd looked, so sleek, so powerful, so beautiful. The way he'd felt. Her whole body was trembling, just thinking about it.
Dressing quickly in one of his T-shirts and a matching pair of sweats with a drawstring waist, which he'd left out for her, she only gave herself a minute to stare into the bathroom mirror wishing she was indeed beautiful, that she could look that way for him.
Then she went into the kitchen and absently turned on the small TV in the corner, looking for one of the all-news channels. She was a news junkie, after all, and wondering how bad the hurricane had been to the people of San Reino. She'd just found the right channel when he walked into the apartment with a bag that smelled of baked goods and coffee.
"Good morning." She pulled him to her for a brief kiss as she took her coffee and followed him to the little table by the window where he unpacked still-hot croissants, muffins, bagels and fruit, a mountain of food.
"Expecting company?" she asked.
"Just you. I didn't know what you liked."
"Oh." She blushed a bit. He didn't even know what she liked for breakfast, and she'd done things with him that she'd never dared with another man.
She was sitting down to join him when she heard her own name, then the name San Reino, coming from the TV she'd left on. She turned to the screen and saw one more time that photo of her at eleven being pulled from the wreckage in Rome.
"So, I'm still news," she said, turning to Sean.
He stood unmoving, staring at the screen, and when his gaze came back to hers he looked… She couldn't say exactly. Worried? Nervous, maybe?
That was odd. She'd never seen a hint of nerves in him. Bombs, bullets, dungeons, Central American madmen … none of that had him so much as breaking a sweat. So whatever was bothering him, it must be bad.
Grace took a sip of her coffee, which was black and strong and helped a bit to settle her nerves. "Has something happened?"
"No."
But obviously something had. He stared at her, his expression so odd. He seemed like a man absolutely torn. She put her hand on his arm, thinking to soothe him. He pulled away and abruptly stood up.
"Give me a minute, Grace. I need to… I just remembered a call I have to make."
He flicked off the TV and then went into his bedroom. She fought the urge not to move closer to try to hear what he obviously didn't want to say in front of her. What in the world had gone wrong?
He was back in a moment, his expression as guarded as she'd ever seen it, and it made her even more nervous.
"Please tell me what's wrong," she said.
He gave her a sad half smile and said, "I got up this morning thinking I'd like to take you away somewhere. Just the two of us. Somewhere we could hide away from the rest of the world for as long as you'd stay with me."
She'd stay with him forever, she thought. That's what she'd planned. Forever.
"I'll go," she said. She'd go anywhere with him.
He shook his head. "It's not that simple. I have a bad habit of always thinking I can fix anything, manage everything. I just thought there had to be a way for us to be together."
"We can't?"
He looked hurt, she realized. Bleak. There was something different even about the way he held himself, his back so straight, chin up, expression rigid. As if he were facing a court martial.
"Sean, you're scaring me."
"I'm sorry." He started walking around the room. To the window and back to the sofa and back to her.
"I love you." She decided to lay it all on the line. "I don't care what's wrong. I love you."
And it was only then that she realized he'd never said it back to her. On the island, he'd said he could love her, if he let himself. But that was a far cry from being desperately, madly, passionately in love with her, which was what she felt for him.
"Whatever it is, just say it," she begged.
"God," he groaned. "I don't know how. I haven't talked about this in twenty years."
Twenty years?
It couldn't be a coincidence. She knew of only one significant thing that happened twenty years ago.
"The bombing?"
He nodded and looked away.
"I never meant for any of this to happen, Grace. I thought I could watch out for you and try to make sure you were safe and still keep my distance. I thought if I looked different and sounded different every time, you might never even make the connection that I was the same person. I thought as long as you never got a good look at my face in the daylight…"
"Why wasn't I suppose to see your face?"
"I was afraid you'd recognize me," he said. "Think about it, Grace. Close your eyes for a minute and listen to my voice. This voice. The real one. You've always known me."
She had, it seemed. Always. She didn't know why or from where. But it had always seemed she'd known him all along.
"I don't understand."
"My father was doing a tour of duty with the UN during the peace conference twenty years ago. He was in charge of security for the conference."
"Where my father was killed? My mother and my brother?" Everyone she loved?
"Yes."
He waited, giving her time to try to take that in.
So their fathers hadn't just been friends. His father was there the day her family died. There was the connection she'd always known must
be there. None of this had happened by chance. Nothing to do with him and her.
"He's always felt responsible," Sean continued. "Always felt there had to be more he could have done, and I… We both felt we owed you. A debt of honor. He tried to be a part of your life back then, even talked about bringing you here to live with us, but he said your mind was made up. That lots of your family's friends had offered to take you, and you'd been adamant about going to boarding school in England. So he gave up on that idea. But he's always kept track of how you were doing. We both have. When you went on your first IRC mission, he got worried. I was in the area already.
"I hated the whole idea of you being there, but, as he pointed out, neither one of us had any say in the way you chose to live your life. So I did what I could. It wasn't that hard to keep track of your team and what was going on there. I kept hoping you'd all pack up and leave, but the IRC's one of the most stubborn groups I've ever known. When we got word that the UN bombing campaign was starting, I had to get you out of there somehow. So I went to see you, to tell you to go. And you did.
"It wasn't long until you were in the middle of something else. You are so stubborn, so strong, so determined, so committed. As frustrated as you've made me over the years, I can't help but admire all of those things about you."
Which she found didn't mean the least to her now. That he merely admired her? When she loved him? And he'd been keeping things from her. Important things? Things she still didn't fully comprehend?
"So you and your father have watched over me because you think you owe me?"
"We did," he said.
A debt of honor, he'd said.
And she got scared. So scared. He thought he owed her, because his father was in charge of security at the conference where the bomb went off'?
Just how seriously did he take his debts? she wondered. How far would he go? He'd tried awfully hard to resist her on the island. He'd taken such tender care of her, been so gentle, so understanding, so strong. But he hadn't wanted to make love to her. He'd told her goodbye just yesterday, would obviously have let her walk out of his life without a word, without ever asking her to stay. So what in the world could she possibly mean to him?
"Just how guilty do you feel?" she asked, thinking that she loved him. Oh, God, she loved him. And he thought he owed her something.
"There's more to it than that, Grace. There's … I don't even know if I can say it. I've always been such a coward where this was concerned."
"No," she said, thinking he wasn't. Not about anything. Thinking she didn't want to know. She wanted to go hide away in a cabin in the mountains with him and make love to him until neither one of them could move. She wanted to run. Now. With her illusions firmly in place.
"I was twenty-three," he said. "Just a couple of years out of the Naval Academy. I was … I don't know what I was. Thinking I knew everything, I guess. Thinking I could handle anything. So young and so stupid. So full of myself."
"What did you do?" she asked, finally understanding. This wasn't about his father, but him.
"I was there visiting my family. In Rome. I was in the courtyard when the suicide bomber waltzed in. You were playing with another girl. I heard the two of you laughing—"
"Sean, what did you do?"
"There are some kids… My age, a few years younger maybe, hanging out near one of the barricades around the lecture hall. I didn't like the fact that they were loitering so close to the perimeter. There'd been a number of threats made. Apparently, your father got them wherever he went those days. My father was nervous, thinking he wasn't prepared, didn't have enough troops, hadn't had the time he wanted to plan.
"We'd looked over the area the day before, talked through what we thought were the greatest weakness in the security setup. We had talked about somebody trying to drive through the barricades with a truck full of explosives, and the next thing I knew, there was a truck. Near where those kids were. They started arguing, shouting. One of them pulled a gun, and I thought, this is it. What my father was so afraid of happening right there in front of me. And I thought I could stop it. I thought it was my duty to. That I was going to make my father proud of me, that I was going to be such a hero."
And she'd always thought he was. Always.
"I shouted a warning. There were guards right next to me – at the main entrance. I ran for that pack of kids, and I had the people on duty following me. I was even barking orders at them, I think, as if I had the right. There were shots fired, a lot of smoke. A lot of confusion. And in the middle of it … I don't know. It just felt wrong. I remember I turned around, and I saw someone heading for the entrance to the auditorium. A kid with a backpack on who was … I don't know. There was just something about him.
"And then I knew," he said. "I just knew. That was him. He was the one we should have been worried about. The other was just a diversion, and it worked. Perfectly. Because of me. I started running then, would have shot him right then, but I wasn't even armed. And … and I was too late, anyway. The next thing I knew, the bomb went off. The whole building just exploded. Right in my face."
Grace listened to all he had to say, and when he was done, he stood in front of the window with his back to her, stood so straight and so tall, looking like a man who could indeed do anything. A magical, all-powerful man.
She'd believed that. Believed everything he'd ever told her, everything he'd ever done for her, that it had been genuine and real and … and she'd loved him. Foolishly, it seemed.
He'd always told her that he was just a man. She'd never quite believed that, but she had believed in him. In all the goodness and the strength and the honor that was him.
And now…
Grace shuddered. She got up, just needing to move, headed for the opposite side of the room from him, thought about just walking out the door, just walking away. But she still couldn't quite believe what he'd done.
She was standing there shivering in his apartment after spending the night in his bed, standing there with his clothes on her body, thinking she'd been so foolish to love him. Wondering why, after being so careful for so long, she would have let her guard down with him.
She sensed movement behind, turned around and found that he was right there, his hand dangerously close to her arm.
She flinched and backed away, her chin coming up as she forced herself to look at him. This man who she thought was going to mean everything to her, the man who'd taken everything she'd had, everything she'd loved, away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It's totally inadequate, I know. I feel like a fool for even needing to say it to you. But there it is. I'm sorry. I would give anything to be able to go back and change it. I'd give you anything I had, if there was a way to make this up to you. I'd give you my own family, if I could. But we both know there's just nothing that could ever make up for this, Grace."
She stared up at him. The words were rumbling around inside her head, but she couldn't seem to put them together in any way that made sense. It was too much, too overwhelming, and she felt panic rising up inside of her.
She opened her mouth to say something… She had no idea what. Then closed it once again.
She'd never really asked exactly what happened the day of the bombing or why. She'd never been able to make sense of people feeling threatened by her father, people hating a man who preached peace around the world. And she knew that the man who walked into the building with the bomb on his back had died that day, with her family.
End of story. There was no sense to make of it, after all, no changing it. She hadn't felt she needed any of the details.
But this man … he was here, standing in front of her. A living, breathing human being, and he said he could have stopped it. That he should have been able to. That he screwed up, and her family died that day.
"I never had anyone to blame," she blurted out.
He didn't so much as flinch, just stood there as tall and straight as a statue. He looked as if he expected her to hurt him, to wound hi
m. Maybe to scream and cry and hit him.
She wondered if she'd feel better if she did.
There was energy coursing through her veins, an odd, unfocused kind of energy. She felt as if she should be doing something, as if she couldn't just stand here. She wasn't sure if she could be in this room with him.
He could have stopped it? He'd wanted to be a hero?
She thought of lying in the hospital, dazed, confused, scared to death. She thought of when they finally told her that her mother wasn't coming to her bedside. Neither was her father. Or her brother. Because they were all dead.
She thought about how it had always felt, being so absolutely and completely alone, thought of telling him she'd wanted to die, too, but he'd already known that. He'd known she was living like a woman who wasn't really alive, merely existing on the fringes, and he'd wanted to change that. He'd wanted her to care about something or someone. To live.
And here she was. Living. And hurting like hell. She didn't quite see the appeal.
"I hate what you've done to me," she said. All that bitterness, all that fear, had a target. Right in front of her. She zeroed in on him. "I hate it."
He nodded, accepting.
"And I think I hate you, too."
And he still didn't say anything, just looked away.
"I don't understand why you ever had to be a part of my life. Why we had to go through all of this…"
"I know," he said. "I should never have touched you."
"No, you shouldn't have."
"I just wanted to protect you—"
"For what? To live to see a day like this? To feel this bad, all over again?"
"I never thought you'd come to care about me. I thought I could talk to you, maybe make you see what you're doing with your life—"
"I thought you were going to be my life," she cried. "And you let me think that. All of those things I'd promised myself I'd never want, never risk having, you dangled it in front of my face, and then took it all away."
HER SECRET GUARDIAN Page 19