The Brooding Stranger

by Maggie Cox

  Karen woke in the early hours of the morning to the rapid tattoo of rain against the window. But as she adjusted the eiderdown more snugly across a chilly bare shoulder she examined the still sleeping man lying by her side. In the depths of slumber the two faint furrows crossing his brow were relaxed, barely discernible, and the sensual mouth was free of cynicism and hurt, innocent as a child’s.

  Gray’s regret over his father not accepting his decision to forge his own way in life and his sad, ignominious death on a lonely beach clearly tormented Gray—tormented and punished him—as did the terrible fact of his mother’s suicide. Empathising with his sadness, Karen sighed, gently touching his bristly beard-shadowed jawline with her fingertips.

  After returning home from her interview with Liz, she’d tried hard not to keep anticipating his promised visit that evening. After all, he could so easily change his mind. He was still an unknown entity to her … an unpredictable maverick. But even as she’d sat singing and strumming her guitar, trying to recall songs that had at one time been second nature to her—songs that she might perhaps perform at the café—her insides had swooped and dived every time the image of Gray’s hauntingly handsome face had stolen into her mind.

  Now his muscular arm was anchored possessively round her waist. Whenever she moved even slightly it immediately tightened again, as if he was determined not to let her go—even in sleep.

  Reflecting on the passion they’d shared over and over again, before succumbing to an exhausted slumber, Karen felt her heart leap with hope that something good might ensue from their liaison, and prayed that it wouldn’t end badly as she secretly feared it might. Gray had unlocked something deep inside her that her loving husband had never been able to release. For the first time in twenty-six years she felt womanly, desired and confident of her femininity, and as she lay there beside him she sensed a new resolve building inside her. A resolve that she wouldn’t be frightened to try new things any more—that she would embrace life. She would allow herself to experience enjoyment whether she believed she deserved it or not. Most of all she would stop searching for approval all the time—and that included her mother’s.

  Burrowing her head between Gray’s arm and hard-muscled shoulder, she spread her palm out across the dark swirl of soft hair on his chest—and drifted back off to sleep.

  When she woke again, sounds emanated from the kitchen that definitely suggested tea being made. Sniffing the air, she also scented toast. Briefly stretching her lips in a smile, she plumped up the pillows behind her, then sat up. Grabbing the edge of the pretty patchwork eiderdown to cover her naked breasts, she was just in time to ensure her modesty—because, seconds later, the bedroom door was flung wide to admit the arresting reason for the sounds in the kitchen. His dark hair uncombed and tousled from sleep, his jeans riding low across his hips and his chest and feet tantalisingly bare, Gray was bearing a tray with two mugs—one tea, one coffee—and a plate of hot buttered toast. In all her days Karen had never seen a sexier or more welcome sight.

  ‘Good morning.’ Her insides clenched tight as she strove to subdue the intense carnal ache that automatically throbbed through her.

  ‘Morning,’ he replied, his voice a little husky. ‘I’ve made breakfast.’

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘You’re not surprised, then, at the extent of my talents?’

  Karen blushed at the innuendo in his voice and the lingering sexy glance he gave her. ‘I’m not surprised at all,’ she murmured, tugging the eiderdown up a little higher over her breasts.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Leaving the tray on the small cabinet beside the bed, Gray suddenly gave her his undivided attention.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why are you covering yourself up?’

  Karen didn’t know what to say. The temperature in the room was comfortably warm, despite the hammering rain outside—how could it not be after the heat they’d radiated last night?—so she could hardly use being cold as an excuse for pulling up the eiderdown.

  ‘I—’

  She held on to the material with a near death-grip, but her fingers were prised gently but firmly away as Gray tugged the bedspread free, letting it fold gently round her waist. She shivered as the kiss of air stroked its feathery fingers across her naked skin—but again not because she was cold. There was little chance of being cold with her lover’s fire-lit glance blazing hungrily back at her.

  Dropping down onto the bed beside her, he made no pretence of looking anywhere else but at her bared breasts, the dusky nipples already puckering tightly beneath his bold examination.

  ‘If Shakespeare himself had witnessed you as I do now he would have composed a sonnet to these beautiful breasts.’ He smiled. ‘And Byron would have surpassed himself with an incandescent poem in your honour.’

  Just as she reached forward to grab the eiderdown Gray dipped his head to capture a tingling sensitive nipple between his lips. His even white teeth clamped down a little on the already raised flesh, and the bolt of pleasure-pain that flashed through her made Karen helplessly yelp as he started to suckle hard.

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  He glanced up at her, the look in his long-lashed eyes lascivious and unrepentant. ‘Is that “Oh, my God, I don’t want this?” or “Oh, my God, this is so good I don’t want you to stop?”’ he challenged huskily.

  ‘What do you think?’ Karen answered low-voiced, and she settled her palms either side of his unshaven jaw, then drove her fingers a little desperately through his hair.

  Liz had said she wanted to try an entertainment slot two lunchtimes a week to start with, and Karen was relieved that she didn’t expect more. Although she’d been practising as much as she could, she somehow felt she was a complete rookie, starting up again like this. Since Ryan’s death she had barely sung a note.

  There was also another reason for maybe not giving her rehearsals her utmost concentration. Her evenings had become snared by another more compelling distraction … Gray. He’d taken to calling in on her around the time of her evening meal. Sometimes he ate with her. Other times, when his mood was dark and he didn’t want to engage in even the smallest pleasantries, he took her by the hand and led her straight into the bedroom.

  If he was using their passionate lovemaking to help stave off some of the demons that haunted him, Karen told herself she didn’t mind—so long as he found some peace for a while. It shocked her to realise how much she was putting his wellbeing before her own, and how dangerous that was, but somehow she couldn’t seem to help herself. The man had seriously got into her blood. Sometimes he fell asleep in her arms, but often he woke in the early hours and went home. He usually used Chase as his excuse for leaving. The hound missed him when he wasn’t around, he told her, and Bridie his housekeeper—capable as she was—couldn’t handle him as he could.

  Now, standing in a clear space in Liz’s Cantina one busy lunchtime, with the seriously appetising smell of Mexican cooking wafting out from the kitchen, Karen watched the ever-obliging Sean plug in the small amplifier he’d found for her to use and attach her guitar lead. Several patrons turned their heads expectantly towards her as they ate their meals or waited for their food to arrive. Liz had informed her earlier that she and Sean had ‘put the word out’ about Karen singing, and that was why they were busier than usual. Nervously, she began to tune her guitar. The amplified sound was deep and rich, and she mentally revised the small programme of songs she’d chosen.

  Last night she’d told Gray she was performing today, and she’d secretly hoped he would show up to support her, even though he’d shrugged and said, ‘I don’t doubt you’ll be great, sweetheart,’ then slid his gaze cagily away without commenting further. Scanning the collection of heads again, already guessing he probably wouldn’t show, she bit back her disappointment and made herself smile.

  Sean had also set up a microphone, and now he stepped up beside her to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Best of luck,’ he said in her ear. ‘Not th
at you’ll need it.’

  Karen wanted to tell him that he and his sister had misplaced their trust in her … that she really wasn’t very good. They hadn’t even insisted she audition, for goodness’ sake! But then she remembered the resolution she’d made that first time she and Gray had made love. That she would no longer compulsively seek approval—that she would have much more faith in herself.

  ‘Hi,’ she said into the microphone with a smile. People smiled back, and a young lad with dyed black hair and ripped jeans sitting at a table by the door with another youth similarly attired wolf-whistled. ‘My name’s Karen Ford, and I’ve been asked to do a few numbers for you. This first one is called “From the Heart.”’

  From the moment she strummed the opening chord it was as though something so familiar and natural in her took over that barely any effort at all was required. Everything just came together perfectly on its own. The audience was almost deathly quiet as she sang, but as soon as the number came to an end they were applauding hard and calling out for more. Standing by the ranch-style doors to the kitchen, Liz Regan, in her swirling Mexican-style skirt and indigo tee shirt, was perhaps clapping the hardest of all. She even gave several piercing whistles. Meeting the other girl’s eyes across the room, Karen guessed she had made a friend in the avant-garde Irishwoman—an ally as well, perhaps?

  Flushed with pleasure that her music had gone down so well, she got ready to perform the next number with much more confidence.

  Then Gray walked in and she froze.

  It was raining again, and the broad shoulders of his battered leather jacket gleamed with damp, almost steaming in the heat of the warm café. His mercurial, almost fevered gaze fell on her straight away.

  There was no doubt his presence had caused a minor shockwave. Even as Karen’s own heartbeat registered his appearance with a jolt, she made herself turn to Sean and ask him for a chair. Suddenly her legs felt like damp noodles, and if she didn’t sit down soon they might just crumple beneath her. As she announced the next number she saw Liz fly across the room to guide Gray to a nearby empty table, just as if he was some sort of VIP. A chair was pulled out for him, and Liz must have asked him if he’d like anything to drink. Karen saw him mouth the word ‘later.’ Then he planted his elbows on the cheerful yellow vinyl tablecloth and gave his utmost attention to Karen.

  To Gray’s surprise, last night Karen had confessed to him that she’d sung professionally and had been about to sign a record deal when her husband had suddenly died. The deal had never been signed. Instead she’d retreated from the world of music, and when that hadn’t seemed to help—her words—she’d escaped to Ireland. He’d heard what she was capable of with his own ears that evening outside her door, but now it hit Gray afresh what a sublime talent she was.

  Sensing the tangible ripple of excitement circulating the room, he noticed that people were listening to Karen sing rather than eating their meals. But, more than that, the sight of her sitting there alone with her guitar damn near stopped his heart. She was dressed in well-worn but neatly pressed denims, and a multi-coloured knitted cardigan over a plain white tee shirt, her pretty hair unbound and catching the one thin ray of sunlight that broke through the rainclouds to highlight the honey-gold strands. His stomach knotted with tension and need. He’d spent hours last night with her body pressed up close to his, but it hadn’t subdued the powerful desire in him to have her close all the time, to keep her to himself … Yet the moment she started to sing and strum her guitar Gray knew it would be wrong to try and monopolise her attention exclusively.

  A talent and a loving personality like Karen’s should be shared equally, he realised with a painful stab in the region of his heart. Maybe he should leave her alone?

  Even as the thought came to him Gray irritably snuffed it out like a guttering candle. He wished he was stronger, but he couldn’t deny himself the one thing that made him feel halfway human again.

  After waiting until Karen’s song came to an end he beckoned to the ever watchful and attentive Liz Regan to order a double shot of whiskey.

  Going into the kitchen to fill the kettle, Karen sensed Gray follow her. His brooding presence was making the tight knot of anxiety beneath her ribs tighten even more. Sean had insisted on delivering her to the café for her performance, and arranged to take her home again, but Gray had coolly usurped him, announcing that he would give her a lift home and that there was no point in arguing. Karen had stood mutely by, torn between the possessive need she saw written on his face—and silently echoing it—and Sean’s clear disappointment. But he had barely said a word to her on the journey back to the cottage.

  She hadn’t a clue what he thought of her performance, and was too nervous to ask. He’d stood silently and impatiently at the back of the room while everybody else enthused about her singing and asked when she’d be back to sing again, and she’d been so flustered that she couldn’t even recall what she’d said to anyone.

  Unable to contain her emotion a second longer, she slammed down the pottery mugs she’d retrieved from the cupboard and spun round to face him. ‘What’s wrong? Didn’t you like my singing? I didn’t force you to come and hear me, you know.’

  ‘No … You didn’t.’

  ‘Then why are you so—so …?’

  ‘Reticent to pour praise in your ear and tell you how wonderful you were?’ His perfectly sculpted lips shaped a sardonic, slightly bitter smile. ‘Didn’t you have most of the customers in the café falling over themselves to brush up against you just in case you became famous one day? Wasn’t that enough adulation to be going on with?’

  ‘I wasn’t looking for adulation. Is that what you think?’ Her heart bumping in indignation and hurt, Karen sensed her face flood with heat. ‘I was surprised you came to hear me at all, if you want to know the truth. I never know what you’re going to do—when you’re going to show up. When you do I feel like I’m walking on eggshells in case I say the wrong thing. If you had any idea how hard it was for me to play again this afternoon, after all that’s happened, then you might have a bit more sensitivity and tact. I certainly wasn’t expecting praise. And I don’t give a fig about becoming famous! I only got into the music business because of my love of singing. If I can use my talent to earn my living then what could be better? But you know what, Gray? Frankly, I’m not going to waste my time trying to convince you of anything. I’ve got far better things to do than go down that futile route.’

  She would have crossly flounced past him if it weren’t for the fact that his hand shot out and held her fast.

  ‘I don’t want you to walk on eggshells around me. I’m a morose bastard—I know that. And I don’t remotely deserve you even though I want you so badly.’

  He sounded so bleak that Karen barely registered the warm grip of his fingers round her wrist. She sighed as she lifted her concerned gaze to examine the misty grey depths of his fascinating eyes, ‘You’re not a bad person, Gray … A troubled one, maybe. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve happiness or respect. Why do I sense that’s what you believe?’

  His hold on her slackening, he retrieved his hand and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. A flicker of some deeply corrosive pain flashed across his handsome face, making his mercurial eyes glitter. ‘Why do you think? All the evidence in my life points to the fact that people don’t think I’m worth the trouble. Haven’t you considered they may be right?’

  Before she realised his intention, he’d turned and swept back into the sitting room.

  ‘No,’ she said softly, following behind him. ‘I’ve never considered that.’

  ‘Well, then, perhaps you should.’

  ‘I make up my own mind about people.’

  ‘You do, do you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And I suppose you’re never wrong?’

  She swallowed across the sudden ache inside her throat—evidence of her sympathy for a man who had built such high walls round himself that even a trained mountaineer woul
d be severely challenged to successfully scale them.

  ‘I’m not wrong about you, Gray.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I like to think I have good instincts.’

  ‘I’ll bet your husband loved that about you.’

  ‘What?’

  The man in front of her grimaced. ‘Your ability to see the best in people … to forgive.’

  Karen shrugged. ‘It’s just the way I am—but I’m certainly no saint. I have made and still do make lots of mistakes. Ryan was quite aware of my faults, too.’

  ‘And I’ll bet he overlooked every single one.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about Ryan, Gray?’

  The shake of his head was vehement. ‘No. I most definitely don’t want to talk about him. Do you think I’m some kind of masochist? Just the mere thought that he knew you before I did, held you in his arms before I did, causes me untold agony. He’s your past. What I’m interested in is right now.’

  Visibly relaxing his shoulders, despite the passion in his voice, he removed his jacket and threw it onto the linen-covered couch. Then he crossed the room to stand in front of her. His warm breath and earthy, masculine scent made Karen tingle right down to the tips of her toes. His long fingers pushed back her hair from her face, then cupped her jaw. Did she imagine that they shook a little?

  ‘I really don’t deserve you. Your singing was outstanding, and your bravery in standing there performing your songs in front of a bunch of strangers even more so. But I’m afraid that if you become too popular your gift will take you away from me, Karen …’ He lowered his voice. ‘And I’m not ready for that … not yet.’

  ‘I don’t want to become popular,’ she breathed, losing herself in his intense heated glance, deliberately closing her mind to the words not yet. ‘I only want to stay here with you.’