Pure, cold fury surged through Patrick’s body. “I don’t believe it. Why the hell didn’t you call me right away?”
“I’ve been on the phone trying to find out what’s going on. But let me give you a piece of advice. From now on, keep your nose clean. And stay away from Helen Stewart! Don‘t—”
Patrick banged down the phone. He threw on his jacket, yanked on his shoes, and charged out of the house.
Helen. He had to find Helen.
This whole thing was his fault. Dammit, if he hadn’t pressured her in the first place, she never would have gotten involved in this mess. And if he hadn’t practically blackmailed her, she wouldn’t have let him stay the night at her place. The gossips wouldn’t be saying they were having an affair. And Franklin Chambers wouldn’t have fired her.
Patrick clenched his teeth as he sprinted through the rain. He really had screwed up this time. It was all his fault Helen had lost her job. The job she’d admitted was the most important thing in the world to her. More important than her safety.
More important than her life.
Fear tightened in his chest. Oh, God, he couldn’t let his mistakes cause another death....
He had to find her. He had to make sure she was safe.
As he reached his car, he suddenly knew where she’d be. The place she loved the most, the place she always went when she was upset.
He leaped into his car, fired up the engine, and roared off to the beach.
Helen sat on the cold, damp log, staring into the water. Waves pounded against the shore, whipped to a frenzy by the sharp, biting wind. Rain slashed down, soaking her to the skin, but she didn’t move.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
The tide was coming in, and the water crept closer. A wave broke over her feet, soaking her Ferragamo pumps. They were her most expensive shoes—her favorites. She’d put them on that morning to give herself confidence for her meeting with Franklin.
The wave sucked one of the pumps back into the water, pulling it into the surging foam. Helen watched as it floated away, pitching and tossing in the waves. A second later a bigger wave broke over her feet. It soaked her ankles and calves, making her panty hose cling wetly to her skin.
Soon, the water would creep up higher.
Helen stared into the surging water. It didn’t matter if she got soaked. It didn’t matter if she ruined her best wool suit. Her career was over. She would never need the suit again.
Her mind felt slow and numb as she tried to think it through, to absorb what had happened. She could probably sue Franklin for wrongful dismissal, she thought dully. After all, he’d implied he was firing her for having an affair with Patrick, and she hadn’t had one.
But there was really no point in suing. She knew the truth. Sure, she hadn’t slept with Patrick. But she could have. Would have, if Patrick hadn’t pulled away from her. She’d lost control, and she’d paid for it with her career.
It wasn’t any more than she deserved.
“Helen!”
Patrick’s deep voice pierced the ice that encased her mind. Fiercely, she pushed the voice away, willing herself not to hear it. She already had enough problems without indulging in aural hallucinations.
“Helen!”
She jerked up her head.
Patrick ran along the edge of the surf. His arms pumped, his feet kicking up sprays of water as he raced through the wind and the rain.
He careened to a halt in front of her, water eddying around his calves, his jeans plastered wetly to his strong thighs. “Helen. Thank God you’re all right.”
“All right?” A burst of hysterical laughter swelled up in her throat. She gave in to it, sucking air into lungs that burned with the effort of holding back tears. “Sure, I’m all right. I’ve just lost my job. Ruined my career. Lost the only thing in the world that meant anything to me.”
Patrick winced and dragged his hands through his wet hair. “Helen, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. This whole thing is my fault.” His eyes were dark. “I wasn’t meaning to make light of what’s happened. I just...I was worried about you.”
She looked away from him as the icy calm reclaimed her. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Another wave swirled toward her, rocking the log she sat on. Freezing salt water crept up almost to her knees, and a strand of dark green seaweed wound itself around her leg. Patrick stood in water up to his thighs.
Helen looked past him, out to the ocean as it boomed and crashed. The wind picked up, sending a crest of icy spray into her face. She didn’t bother to wipe it away.
Patrick’s voice floated to her as if from a great distance. “Helen, we’ve got to get out of here. The tide’s coming in. You’re going to catch pneumonia.”
“You go. I’m staying here.”
He reached for her, but she struck away his hand. “I said go!”
“I won’t leave you here!” A wave hit him, and he staggered, almost falling into the water. He scrambled onto the log where she sat and stood on top of it, his arms folded across his chest. “You can’t just give up like this, Stewart!”
She whipped up her head, her soaking hair flying forward to stick to her cheek. “Give up? It’s not a matter of giving up. I’ve been thrown out of the game.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s time to start arguing with the ump.”
“Franklin, you mean? Not a chance. He’s so worried about how he’ll look on television, he’s not about to give me a second chance.”
“What if you prove you were right?”
“Prove that you’re innocent, you mean?” She gave a bitter laugh. “Franklin will never believe anything I say. And even if I did find the real killer, he would never rehire me. That would mean he’d have to admit in public that he was wrong, and he’ll never do that.”
“Then you’re just going to give up.” There was anger in Patrick’s voice. “I never pegged you as a quitter, Stewart.”
Quitter. She’d never been a quitter. She’d always fought, ever since she was a child. Refused to listen to all the people who said she’d never make it, said she’d end up like her mother. She’d fought her way out of the slums. Through university. Into the prosecutor’s office.
Pain stabbed through her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. There was no point in fighting now. It was all over. She knew what she was. It was inside her. And there was no way she could fight her own soul.
Thunder boomed and a flash of lightning rent the sky. The storm had finally hit. Helen raised her face to the sky. This was what she’d been waiting for—this wildness, this display of nature that matched the despair in her heart.
Another wave crashed and broke. The freezing water hit her skin, and she gasped, welcoming the icy feel of it.
And then Patrick’s strong arms closed around her, lifting her, cradling her like a child.
“Put me down!” she demanded.
“No,” he said grimly. “I’m taking you home.”
He held her against his soaking chest and began wading through the hip-deep water. The sky had gone dark, almost black. A streak of lightning flashed across it, electrifying the air.
Helen pounded against his chest. “Put me down, dammit! How dare you—” To her horror, she felt hot tears start to her eyes. They seeped out from under her lids as she pushed against him, struggling to get free of his arms.
Above the rushing roar of the water, she heard his deep voice. “That’s right. Fight me, Helen. Feel the anger. Feel your strength.”
The tears flooded down her cheeks. “I’m not strong,” she said brokenly. “Not at all.”
He tightened his arms around her. “Yes, you are. Helen, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You can’t give up now. You can’t just let Franklin take your career away from you.”
“It’s too late.” A giant sob rose in her throat. “He already has taken it away.”
“It’s never too late. You’re a fighter. I know you are. We can
fight this thing together.”
She lifted her blurry eyes to his face. “T-together?”
His expression was deadly serious, his jaw tight. “You lost your job because of me. The very least I owe you is to try and fix things.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yeah, I do. I got you into this mess. But we can get you out of it. Together.” He paused, his eyes boring into hers. “But you have to fight.”
She wanted to tell him no. She wanted to tell him to put her back down in the water, to let her surround herself with the cold wind and the icy rain, to freeze what was left of her heart into a hard little nugget that couldn’t be hurt.
But his arms were warm, so warm and so strong. And when she looked into his eyes, she had the craziest feeling that everything was going to be all right....
She took a deep, shaky breath. “Okay, Monaghan. We’ll fight.”
His face broke into a huge grin, and he hugged her tight. “You got yourself a deal, Stewart.”
Still cradling her in his arms, he strode on through the rain. Helen closed her eyes and laid her head against his rock-hard chest. Under her wet cheek, she could feel his heart thumping, and she felt herself almost smile.
She’d lost her job. Her career was in ruins. Ten minutes ago she’d felt as if the world was coming to an end. But somehow, with Patrick carrying her through the storm, the world didn’t seem so bleak after all.
Opening her eyes, she lifted her head. “Patrick?”
“What is it?”
“Thank you for coming to get me.”
He stopped, stopped with the rain pelting down and the water swirling around his muscular thighs, stopped and looked straight into her eyes.
“Anytime, Helen,” he said softly. “Anytime.”
Chapter 10
Patrick clenched the steering wheel as he drove back into town. The speedometer climbed as he raced past other drivers.
In the passenger seat beside him, Helen was shivering. He’d thrown his leather jacket around her shoulders when he put her in the car, but her teeth chattered so loudly they almost drowned out the patter of the rain on the convertible’s roof.
Fear—as cold as the rain that slid down the windows—twisted through Patrick’s chest. What if Helen had hypothermia? He didn’t know how long she’d been sitting out there in the freezing wind and rain. And being in his car wasn’t much better. The heater hadn’t worked in months.
He had to get her somewhere warm and dry. Fast.
His apartment was closer than hers, so he took her there. He screeched to a halt right in front and went around to open her door. She swung her legs out of the car, and he took her hands. They were icy-cold, and as he pulled her to her feet, her body was racked by violent shivers.
A fresh shard of fear stabbed through him. Swiftly he wrapped his arm around her and led her inside.
“You need a hot bath and a warm drink,” he said as he closed the door behind them.
She gave him a shaky smile. “Sounds good to me.”
Patrick strode into the bathroom. His tub was old-fashioned—the deep, porcelain, claw-footed kind—and he cranked on the hot water tap full-blast. He dug out some bath salts Deirdre had given him two Christmases ago and dumped a healthy amount into the steaming water. All his towels were faded and worn, but he pulled out the best of them and left them on the counter.
He grabbed his terry robe off the back of the door and went back out to the main room. Helen was in the kitchen, filling the kettle. She put it on the stove and turned on the gas.
Relief expanded in Patrick’s chest. Helen looked better already. Her cheeks had a little color, and she wasn’t shivering anymore.
For a moment he just stood and watched her. Having her here—in his apartment, in his kitchen—gave him a feeling of deep satisfaction. It was strange. Since his divorce, he hadn’t wanted any other woman here. This was his own space, his private sanctuary, a place where he didn’t ever have to apologize for who he was.
But somehow, having Helen here felt perfectly right. Just like it had last year. Almost as though thins was exactly where she belonged....
The thought made his jaw harden. Helen didn’t belong here. She never had—and never would. She was only here now because he’d gotten her into trouble and he owed it to her to get her back out.
That fact didn’t change anything personal between them. And he’d better not let himself forget it.
Abruptly, he walked into the kitchen and handed her the robe. “Here. You can put this on when you’re done in the bath. I put out some towels, and soap and shampoo are by the sink.”
“Thank you for going to all this trouble,” she said quietly.
He resisted the urge to reach out and brush her wet hair off her cheek. “It’s no trouble. Go on. You’d better get in the water before it turns cold.”
Helen disappeared into the bathroom. Patrick stripped off his own wet clothes and threw on jeans and a sweatshirt. As he walked back into the kitchen, he heard faint splashing noises, and then the sound of water draining out of the tub.
Suddenly he had the crazy urge to charge into the bathroom and haul her into his arms. To make love to her so thoroughly she’d never even think about going to the beach and letting the water rise around her, about giving up the fight.
“Give it a rest, Monaghan,” he muttered. He poured boiling water into two stoneware mugs and rummaged in a cupboard for the container of instant hot chocolate. “She doesn’t need any more trouble in her life.”
And he was trouble, he told himself grimly. Just like Jessica had always said. She’d screamed it at him, that last terrible night. Screamed it when he’d confronted her with the medical bill, the evidence of what she’d done.
“You think I’d actually go through with it? You think I’m going to let you ruin my life?” Her face had been distorted with fury. “Forget it, Patrick. I’ve had enough trouble from you. I’m leaving you. Tonight.”
He hadn’t wanted to believe her then, hadn’t wanted to believe that what she’d done had anything to do with him. Sure, some part of him had blamed himself, but mostly he’d told himself it was Jessica’s fault, Jessica’s selfishness, Jessica who was really to blame.
But now...now, looking at the wreck he’d made of Helen’s life, he couldn’t help wondering if Jessica had been right....
“Is that hot chocolate?” Helen’s husky voice came from right behind him.
He started, spilling hot chocolate across the counter. How long had she been standing there? Had his thoughts shown on his face? His throat tight, he grabbed a rag and started mopping up the spill.
“Yeah, it is,” he said, trying to sound normal. “Your mug’s over there.” He nodded toward the end of the counter.
“Thanks.”
Patrick finished wiping the counter and tossed the rag into the sink. Picking up his own mug, he turned to walk over to the table.
He froze.
Helen stood beside the table, looking out the window. She wore his old blue robe, the belt knotted around her waist. The sun had come out, and light filtered through the raindrops on the window, casting a spiderweb of gold over her hair.
She was so beautiful it almost took his breath away.
He struggled to think of something to say. “Feeling better?”
“Thanks. I am.” She turned away from the window and sat, curling her feet beneath her. She lifted the mug of hot chocolate and took a delicate sip. “Mmm. This is good.”
Patrick sat across from her. “Thought we could both stand to warm up a little.”
She put down her mug and looked straight at him. “Patrick, I feel like a fool for what happened back there. But when Franklin fired me, it was like the sky had fallen. All I could think of was getting away.” Her brow wrinkled. “How did you find me?”
He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
“No, seriously.”
Patrick shifted in his chair. “Last year, you told me you always went to the
beach when you were upset.”
“I can’t believe you remember that.” She gave a little laugh. “I don’t even remember saying it.”
“Well, you did.” He remembered it vividly. He remembered everything about that night with a perfect, crystal clarity. He remembered the exact feel of her lips beneath his when he’d kissed her, the little catch of her breath when she’d touched him for the first time. He remembered her low, husky moan when he’d thrust inside her, remembered the taste of the sweat at the base of her throat.
Oh, yes, he remembered everything.
“I’m glad you remembered,” she said softly.
He looked into her eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d be happy to see me. Especially after what happened this morning.”
A wave of color flooded across her face. “You mean, in my hall?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rasping. Memory speared through him, memory of the explosive heat of that kiss, and his groin tightened in an immediate response. Gritting his teeth, he tried to get his body under control. She hadn’t wanted it to happen, he reminded himself. He’d actually made her cry.
The thought of hurting her dashed a bucket of ice water over the banked embers of his desire.
He set down his mug. “Helen, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“You are?”
“I never wanted to hurt you.” He laid his palms flat on the table for emphasis. “And I promise you. It won’t happen again.” No matter how much—how badly—he wanted it to.
Helen’s golden lashes swept down, hiding her eyes.
Guilt twisted through him, and he curled his hands into fists. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me. Or to trust me. Not after the way I’ve already messed up your life. But I mean this, Helen. From now on, it’ll be all business.”
She looked up. “Business?”
“We have to prove to Franklin that he was wrong.” Patrick paused. “Adam said Franklin fired you because he thinks you’re halving an affair with me.”
“There’s no way we can prove we aren’t sleeping together.”
Motive, Means... And Marriage? Page 15