“You’re a charming son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“I can do more than charm you, Neve.” He slid his mouth down to the curve of her breast, moving slowly, feeling the shiver that raced through her as his beard teased her even before he closed his mouth over her nipple.
She whimpered.
Sliding his hand down, he cupped her between her legs.
She bucked against him.
He sucked her nipple deep into his mouth and rubbed against her, falling into the rhythm that had brought her to climax in the darkness of his gardens. “I want to hear you call out my name this time. Come for me, Neve…”
She did, and the sound of it rose into the air, echoing around them.
He sprawled between her legs, his cock miserably uncomfortable under the jeans he wore, the echo of her voice as she came already burned into his memory. “If you haven’t decided yet, let me know.”
To his delight, she laughed.
“If I say no, will you do that again?”
He pressed a kiss to her torso. “I’d be delighted…” Then he flicked her a look. “Or I could…”
Her breath trapped inside her lungs at the look in his eyes. When he started to move lower, the only thing Neve could think was, oh, shit.
But then his lips brushed bare skin, the bare skin of her abdomen, and she realized her shirt was hanging open.
Oh. Shit!
She tensed up.
His mouth brushed the scars just as he noticed the tension in her body and Ian flicked a look up at her. Then he stopped, his brows dropping low as he pushed his weight up onto his elbows.
She tried to scramble back, but his hands caught her hips and held her still.
“What the bloody fuck?”
“Let me go.” Panic and shame crowded inside her, and if he didn’t let her go, she didn’t know what she’d do—
But he did, and she awkwardly got to her feet, spinning away. She caught the edges of her shirt and tried to button it but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate.
“Damn it.” The words came out in a choked whisper.
“Here.”
She froze as he reached up and caught her hands. He kissed first one, then the other, before lowering them and took over the task of buttoning her shirt. She focused on the faded yellow script that stretched across his chest. “You’re into soccer.”
“Only you Americans call it soccer. It’s football, that’s what it is.” His voice was gentle and that made her shake that much harder.
It also made it that much harder to pull away from him when he reached up and cupped her cheek, lifting her chin until their eyes met.
She waited for him to ask. She’d handled more than her share of intrusive questions, and now that the shock of it was fading, she found herself reaching for anger. Anger was better. Anger was always better. It had taken her too long to find her mad, but once she had, it had kept her going.
But all he did was rub his thumb across her lips.
Then he stepped back.
She turned away, took a few steps on legs that were still stiff.
“Neve.”
She went still.
“You can take your time deciding, but just know … I’ve already made my decision. I’m a patient man.”
She curled her hands into fists. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what you’d imagine it means.” His hand settled on her spine. “I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. That hasn’t changed. I’ll just keep waiting until you’re done thinking.”
She turned now, shrugging his hand away and glaring at him. “What is this? Are you offering me a pity fuck now?”
His lids drooped. “You think pity did this?”
She tensed as he caught her hand and then had to swallow as he brought it to the ridge in his pants. He was swollen and thick, hard under her touch, and, instinctively, she tightened her hand, or as much as she could with him confined behind the thick material of his jeans.
“Pity’s got nothing to do with what I feel right now,” he said, bringing up his arms and hooking them over her shoulders. The heavy weight of them held her in place, but his embrace was loose, loose enough that she could duck away, twist out of his arms. All she wanted to do was move closer and press herself against him—forget the past few minutes had even happened.
But he let her go and backed up.
“I think we both know that you’ll end up in my bed.” His voice was calm and level, although his eyes were burning hot. “When you do, just know the reason will be because we both want it.”
“Again, you’re arrogant.” Her voice was raspy now. The anger had faded and the fear was gone. She felt … drained. Drained and confused. The one thing she wasn’t confused about was that he was right. She did want him.
He shrugged. “If it’s true…”
She turned around and headed back up the path.
She hadn’t quite reached the tree line when he called out, “I’m joining you for dinner tonight. I’d say it was because I want to charm Ella Sue into marrying me so she’ll cook for me every day for the rest of my life but…”
She went still as his voice drew nearer.
“I can’t lie to you.”
His voice was harder now and the brogue was thicker—the words came out I cannae lie t’ ya, and she could almost feel the heat rolling from him. Slowly, she turned her head and stared at him from a distance of just a few feet.
“Marshall sent me out here—wanted me to make sure your brother didn’t go and do something rash.” A reckless smile lit his face. It should have made him look that much more charming—just a sexy, roguish bastard who could talk a woman out of her panties in no time flat.
But the glint in his eyes would chill a man’s blood.
“All I want to do is hunt your brother down and see if he wants to join me. The man who put those marks on you, Neve … if I ever get my hands on him, he’ll be begging for mercy by the time I’m done.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ian waited until she was lost in the woods, waited until even the sound of her was gone before he turned and drove his fist into the trunk of the tree nearest him.
Pain shot up his arm and his fist started to throb.
It did nothing to ease the fury. The sight of the blood coming from his split knuckles only made him want to see more blood.
He’d thought she’d been hurt.
Hurt, yes.
But somebody had fucking terrified her.
It sickened him, infuriated him, and made him want to break things. At the same time, he wanted to cuddle her up close, although she wouldn’t stand for that.
She’d gotten herself away.
It was written all over her face, in the proud way she held herself, in the way she tried to hide a fear that had to be etched on her soul.
Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back to the sky. He had the answer to his question now, although he wasn’t any happier for it. He’d wanted to know just what had gotten under Brannon’s skin.
He knew now. Not all of it, no. But enough.
And Gideon Marshall thought Ian was the one to help watch Brannon?
What a laugh that idea was.
He had no clue what he was asking.
None at all.
He’d tell Brannon later. They’d share a pint and have a laugh over it. Assuming they didn’t both end up in jail. One thing was certain, though, Brannon would find out who it was. And once Brannon knew, Ian would damn well find out himself.
For now, though, he needed to get back to the house.
He wasn’t hungry anymore, although he imagined once he sat down, he’d find his appetite. But he wouldn’t be able to leave until he’d seen Neve again.
He’d put the shadows back in her eyes.
He’d try to take them away if he could.
* * *
That man was dangerous.
Neve tried to tell herself on the walk back to the house that the only thing she n
eeded to do, as far as Ian Campbell was concerned, was stay far away.
She wasn’t going to take her advice, though. Not at all.
That knowledge filled her with more than a little trepidation, but she was smart enough to know that the fears weren’t grounded in anything resembling logic.
He took her breath away and he was sexy and he made her feel like she was in over her head, but those were the only things he had in common with William.
Even from the beginning, William hadn’t let her be who she was, and now, with the experience of years behind her, she could see how easily he had manipulated her. Just as she could see that if she’d pulled away from Ian, he would have let her do just that. He might have quietly worked on wearing her down, but if she’d given him a firm no, he’d have taken it.
That was what made him really dangerous.
Not the fact that he turned her into a molten mass of need when he kissed her.
But that she knew she wouldn’t be able to say no and she just might lose herself in him, right when she had finally figured out who she was—or who she needed to be.
Dangerous, she thought again.
By the time she’d reached the house, she was composed—mostly—and thought maybe she could handle looking at him across the table. It might not even be that bad. It would give her more time to compose herself and ready herself before she had to tell Moira.
More time to get her head and her emotions under control.
Going through this so many times in one day was leaving her feeling raw, and she thought she just might try to wheedle Brannon into giving her another day.
That was until she opened the door and found herself in the middle of World War III.
“—what you think. She didn’t have shit to do with it and if you don’t get out of here, I’m going to throw you out!”
Brannon’s voice, big as life, boomed through the opened door.
Moira stood with her hips against the counter, her hand pressed to her temple.
A few feet away, Ella Sue stood watch and her face was a smooth, expressionless mask, but her eyes rested on one man with acute dislike—something that was so unlike Ella Sue that Neve found herself staring. Ella Sue didn’t do that. Oh, she disliked plenty of people and those close to her would know—and hear the sharp edge of her tongue—but unless you were one of those people, you’d rarely see such obvious signs of her dislike.
Brannon said again, “Did you not hear me, Hurst? I want you out of my house.”
“I thought you would be the rational one of the lot, Brannon,” Charles said, his voice smooth. He flicked a look at Moira. “I tried to discuss this with Moira and she wouldn’t listen. Don’t you care that—”
They all seemed to notice her at the same time.
Gideon’s mouth thinned down. Both Moira and Gideon set their jaws, but while Brannon started to swear under his breath, Moira shifted her attention to Charles and said in an icy voice, “We will discuss this later. Charles, you should go. We had a family dinner planned and you’re interrupting.”
The warm presence at her back had Neve shifting her attention over her shoulder, but only for a minute. She moved deeper into the kitchen, letting Ian come in.
“Family?” Charles smiled tightly. “Since when is the help at the local bar family?”
“Oh, since I started romancing Miss Ella Sue,” Ian said easily. Seemingly unaware of the tension in the air, he crossed to the island and reached out, grabbing something from the tray Ella Sue had waiting there. “I intend to woo her away from her man, you see, and make her fall madly in love with me. I’ve already discussed wedding plans with Brannon.”
Neve wondered if he was obtuse, but then he turned and she caught the glint in his eyes. It was almost as hard as the one in Brannon’s.
She was tempted to just leave—go to her bedroom or take the car—but as gazes continued to flick to her, she found herself getting angry. Fuck this, she thought.
“So just what didn’t I do?” she asked quietly.
“Neve, sweetie,” Moira said, smiling gently.
“Don’t.” She looked at Moira, surprising herself by the soft, steely tone to her voice. “I’m neither a child nor an idiot teenager. If I’m being accused of something—and I’m pretty sure I am—I think I’ve got a right to know.”
Moira stared at her, but remained silent.
Neve shifted her attention to Brannon, but he was glaring at Charles.
“Moira’s tire was slashed at the museum.”
Neve jerked her head around to stare at Ella Sue. “What?”
Ella Sue’s lip curled as she raked Charles with a disgusted look. “And that fool there thinks you had something to do with it.”
“Ella Sue!” Moira gave her a sharp look.
Ella Sue wheeled on her. “Don’t you speak to me in that tone, Moira. Neve’s not wrong. If she’s being accused, she’s got a right to know.” She looked back at Neve. “So. Neve. Were you running around slashing tires?”
“Sure.” She gave Charles a thin smile. “I did it between talking to the chief of police and my brother earlier. I had a busy afternoon.”
“I knew you didn’t have anything to do with it, Neve,” Moira said, and the words were weary. “That’s why I didn’t even want him bothering you … What?”
Neve hadn’t even thought of it.
Not until she saw the way Brannon’s eyes skipped away from hers and slid to Gideon’s.
Now, though, she couldn’t stop thinking of it.
Closing her eyes, she turned away.
She might have even headed out the door if it hadn’t been for one thing.
Or rather … one person.
Ian Campbell.
He’d somehow circled back around and stood leaning between her and the door, one tennis-shoe-clad foot hooked over the other. Gray eyes rested on hers and then he moved in, murmured, “Don’t give that sorry piece of shite the satisfaction. Unless you went and slashed her fucking tire, you aren’t responsible … and you know it.”
The hard, direct words cut through the noise in her head and she stared at him. Something warm and steady moved through her and it gave her the strength to turn back to face the room.
Neve met Moira’s gaze.
“We need to talk.”
A heavy sigh came from Charles. “I knew it. Neve, whatever trouble you’ve brought with you—”
Gideon lunged after Brannon and caught him around the waist, but he barely stopped him in time. Brannon’s fingers brushed against the lapels of Charles’s suit jacket, and the only thing that kept Brannon from dragging him in was Charles jerking back at the last moment.
“Get out,” Brannon snarled, struggling to break away from Gideon. “Get out now—Gideon, you bastard, get off me and get him out of here. I want him out of my house—now. Arrest his ass if he won’t leave.”
“You aren’t sole owner,” Charles said, but he eyed Brannon with a wary gaze.
“You have sixty seconds, Charles,” Moira said, drawing Charles’s gaze to her, “to get out that front door. Otherwise, it won’t be an issue of Gideon arresting you.” She gave him a tight smile. “After all, we are outside the town limits.”
She drew her keys from her pocket and flashed them. “Sixty seconds, Charles, or I push the panic button. The sheriff’s department will be here in roughly five minutes and I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
“Moira—”
“Forty-five.” Her eyes flashed. “And if you push me, we’ll be discussing your continued employment at the museum.”
Neve counted five seconds before Charles turned. He left, his stiff-legged stride taking him down to the front door. Gideon let Brannon go. “Keep your hot-headed ass in here,” he warned. “I’m going to make sure the uptight prick leaves.”
As all eyes shifted toward Neve, she had to fight the urge to fall back against the door.
Ian stood between her and the door, she remembered, the thought coming to her in an alm
ost absent manner. She’d be falling back against him.
That idea really, really didn’t bother her.
“Neve.”
She blinked, looking across the room to meet Moira’s gaze.
It was, as always, calm and placid, like a lake, undisturbed by even a single ripple.
“I think I want a drink.” Neve moved over toward the fridge. “You might want to have one yourself.”
“I don’t want a drink,” Moira snapped, and the sharpness of her tone had Neve pausing to look back.
Moira sucked in a breath. “I apologize. I just … please. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Here.” Ella Sue lifted a bottle of wine that had been left open to breathe on the counter. She poured Neve a glass and turned it over. “Whatever it is, Neve, please … you know we love you … don’t you? We’ll always love you.”
You can’t escape me, Neve.… I’ll always find you. She took a small sip of the wine to brace herself and then put it down.
She reached for the hem of her shirt and turned, baring the scar she’d already shown Brannon.
The muscles in his jaw were tight, bunching and clenching as he stood there. After a few seconds, he looked away.
The others just stared—including Ian. She hadn’t even thought to tell him to go.
After a moment, she dropped her shirt.
That shattered the spell. Ella Sue turned away, lifting one hand to her mouth. Moira rushed forward but when she would have caught Neve’s shirt, Neve lifted a hand. “Don’t,” she said, her voice flat.
“Who did that? What the hell, Neve?”
She tossed back the rest of her wine. Then, softly, she said, “The man I moved to London with. William.”
* * *
She recited it as if by rote—the same way she’d go through her sodding grocery list. Ian stood near the door, thinking he should leave, yet oddly unable to make himself.
There were things she wasn’t telling them, too—he could see that in her eyes—and it infuriated him just as much as the things she did say, but what was he to do?
What he wanted to do was hold her. Pick her up, carry her out of here, and hold her, because this was hurting her and it just wasn’t acceptable. But he couldn’t do that. He knew he couldn’t. So he stood there, in silence, as it hurt her, and he let the rage grow inside him.
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