by Laura Taylor
Nicholas felt much of the inner peace he’d acquired during the previous two days depart as he watched Hannah, who now gripped the cell phone and fought back tears. Setting aside his coffee mug, he began to move toward her.
"I love you, too. Give Mom a hug for me, and tell her I’ll see you all very soon."
Nicholas relieved her of the phone, which he placed on the counter, and slipped his arm around her waist. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, a gesture he’d come to recognize as a barometer of her worry or frustration.
"Bad news?" he asked once she lowered her hands and squared her shoulders.
"Not really."
"Then what’s got you so upset?" Curving his hands over her shoulders, he felt her tension, her struggle for calm. "Talk to me. Let me help."
She finally looked up at him. "Mom’s surgery has been scheduled for tomorrow morning. Her doctor apparently believes she’s strong enough now to tolerate a lengthy surgical procedure, and Sarah says they’re fairly optimistic about the outcome."
He saw guilt in her eyes before she looked away. "You think you’ve failed her, don’t you?"
"What’s even worse is how self–indulgent I’ve been the last few days. I’ve hardly thought of Sean or Mom."
"Do you regret what’s happened between us?" Nicholas steeled himself for her reply.
She hesitated only briefly. "No, as selfish as I probably sound. We needed this, and I don’t regret it at all. Not a single moment," she admitted, her feelings for him evident as she gazed up at him.
"Then don’t beat yourself up for putting yourself first. I doubt you do it very often, if at all." He held his own emotions firmly in check. "Your brother marches to his own drummer, and your mother’s health problems were pre–ordained."
"My brain tells me you’re making total sense, but…"
"… but your emotions are putting you in a mood to exact penance for what you’ve done. Close?"
Reaching up, she stroked his cheek with gentle fingers. "Pretty dumb, huh?"
He nodded. "Exactly." He seared her fingertips with a hot kiss after she traced the line of his jaw and then pressed them against his lips.
"I want… more time with you. I…"
He read the words in her eyes, and he couldn’t bear to hear her say them. Not now. Not when she would be gone soon. "This isn’t the time," he interrupted, setting her aside and stepping back from her. "Now, tell me what you need."
Hannah flushed, took a deep breath, and then rattled off her game plan. "First things first… an airline reservation. There’s a flight in three and a half hours to Chicago, and I can get a connection to St. Louis from there. I’ll need to leave my van in long–term parking at the airport until I can arrange to come back for it."
He shook his head. "The van stays here. Go pack a bag while I arrange your flight. I can have you at the airport in short order."
She frowned. "What about the snowfall we had last night? The roads are probably a mess."
He shook his head. "Helicopter."
She gave him a startled look. "Oh."
"Stop thinking," he suggested as he drew her back into his arms. "I’ll think for you. Just follow orders."
She grinned. "Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?"
"I just need a minute." His arms tightened around her like steel bands.
"Me, too," she whispered, burrowing against him and pressing her lips to his neck.
He inhaled the fragrant scent of her skin and savored the now achingly familiar contours of her body, a body he knew as well as his own thanks to the intimate attention they’d showered upon each other during the previous two days. He dreaded her departure, but he knew he couldn’t indulge in self–pity. There would be plenty of time for that later, probably in those dark hours before the dawn when he somehow managed to forget that she wasn’t there and mistakenly reached for her in his sleep.
Before he released her, he said, "Everything’s going to be alright."
"I guess the world never really goes away, does it?"
Her voice, the tone achingly wistful, told him that she too felt as though someone had slammed the door of reality in her face. They couldn’t change their situation. They would just have to deal with it.
Nicholas reminded her, "At least we gave ourselves a short vacation from reality."
"We did, didn’t we?" She pressed herself as close to him as she could manage, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder as a heavy sigh escaped her.
He felt the seductive outline of her pelvis against his loins and the swell of her breasts against his chest, despite their clothing. Heat and desire instantly flared deep inside his body. They’d indulged every possible carnal impulse and appetite during the preceding forty–eight hours, but it hadn’t been enough. It would never be enough.
He shifted sideways, but she stayed with him. He shuddered beneath her seeking fingers when they stole beneath the hem of his sweater. He covered her hands, trapping them when she began to knead his muscular chest like a feline hungry for attention.
Hannah looked up at him, her green eyes darkening, her skin flushing with desire that sent recognition and response lancing through his senses. Her gaze spoke volumes.
He wanted to give in to her, wanted to block out the world and claim her yet again. But, he didn’t. "You’re ruining all of my good intentions." He pulled her hands free of his body, tugged them behind her, and clamped her wrists together with one capable hand. When she squirmed with indignation, he seized her chin with his free hand and forced her to look at him. "Pay attention."
His sharp tone made her eyes widen in surprise before a mutinous expression appeared on her face. She tried to jerk free of him, but he refused to release her.
"I’d like nothing better than to take you right here, right now. I’d eat you alive, little girl," he cautioned in a low, almost menacing voice. "And then I’d make you die one small death after another until you begged me to stop. Then, I’d take my turn, and I’d die inside of you until I collapsed. And after a while, I’d take you again."
Hannah visibly quivered under the flagrant heat of his gaze and the sensual promise of his words. "I want you, Nicholas. We have time."
He shook his head, his eyes hard, unfathomable. "I won’t rush you through a cheap quickie and have that kind of an experience as our last memory of our time together. You mean more to me than that."
"But…"
He shut her up with a thorough kiss that riled his senses and hardened his body even more. She melted into him, pure invitation in her response.
"No post–mortems, Hannah, and no delaying tactics," he warned after releasing her lips. "I’m holding your van hostage." He didn’t bother to tell her that he intended to ship the vehicle to her via rail service from Reno.
She nodded her understanding, although her reluctance was more than evident. When he freed her hands, she eased back from him. He immediately felt her absence.
Hannah blew out a breath before she met his gaze. "Mom’s post–operative condition will determine most of my travel plans for the next month or two. It’ll be a while before I can…"
"I understand." He reclaimed his coffee, grimaced when he tasted the tepid brew, and returned the mug to the counter top.
"I know you do, Nicholas. You always understand the hard parts, don’t you? For both our sakes, I wish you didn’t."
Her insightful remarks landed like blows delivered by accurately aimed fists. Well, he’d needed a reminder that he was too hard a man for a woman like Hannah Cassidy. He would set her free, once and for all, because she deserved much more than he could ever offer her—so much more.
He hugged her then, his enfolding arms and the expression on his face gentle as he held her for a lingering moment. "Now, go ahead and pack. We’ll leave whenever you’re ready."
"I’m coming back, Nicholas," she vowed as she crossed the kitchen and then glanced over her shoulder to pin him with a stubborn look. "We’re not done."
He reached for his cell phone once he heard her footsteps fade down the hallway. He speed–dialed a number he knew as well as his own, ignored the usual amenities, and said, "Judd, I need a charter to St. Louis right away."
He paused, listening for a long moment. "For a friend and the situation is urgent."
Nicholas passed a hand over his face, massaged the bridge of his nose, and then carelessly raked his fingers through his hair. The tension he felt deepened the grooves on either side of his mouth and shadowed his slate–colored eyes.
"Excellent. Thanks, buddy, I owe you one. I’ll have her there thirty minutes before take–off."
Nicholas deposited the phone in his pocket and strode out of the kitchen. A minute later he stood in the guestroom doorway, watching Hannah as she folded the clothes she’d removed from the bureau and arranged them in her suitcase.
Pausing, she looked at Nicholas. "I still don’t want to leave you." The rebellion of earlier lingered in her expressive face and posture.
"You don’t have a choice."
Her chin lifted a notch. "That doesn’t mean I have to like it."
He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he hardened himself against the impulse to comfort her. "A good friend owns an air charter service. He’ll be flying you to St. Louis."
"Nicholas, I can’t afford a charter flight."
"I can."
She heard that ground glass sound again. "But…"
Nicholas shrugged. "He owed me a favor. I decided that this was a good time to collect on it."
She frowned. "One of your friends from the past?"
He gave her a look that would have done a sphinx proud. "Does it matter?"
"Then he’s a friend of Sean’s, too?"
"Yes, but he won’t discuss him with you. One of our rules."
Hannah muttered a word she saved for especially miserable occasions before returning her attention to the clothing she’d stacked on the bed. "I’ll be ready in five minutes."
"Good girl." He turned on his heel and left her room.
As he stood in his walk–in bedroom closest a few minutes later, he collected a leather flight jacket, shoulder holster, and a pair of gloves. Then, he retrieved a handgun from a secure wall unit that contained an array of state–of–the–art weapons and other high tech equipment designed for personal security. He returned to the kitchen, his heart like a chunk of stone in his chest, his emotions flayed to the point of rawness.
Nicholas hesitated in the kitchen doorway when he spotted Sean, who stood beside the kitchen table. Clad in heavy outerwear suitable for the northern Nevada environment, he looked like a throwback to the mountain men who’d roamed the western region of the United States so long ago.
Setting the items he carried on a credenza, Nicholas slowly entered the kitchen. He didn’t extend his hand, nor did he attempt to embrace Sean, despite the warm friendship they’d once shared and the deep affection he still felt for the troubled ex–mercenary. Instead, Nicholas settled into a chair at the kitchen table, suggesting, "Make yourself comfortable."
Sean warily eased into a chair across from him after a few moments of consideration. His facial expression told Nicholas that he expected to be chastised for by–passing the security system. Nicholas didn’t waste his breath. Sean had helped to design and install the system, his technical skills undiminished by his mental instability. Despite his worry that Hannah wasn’t prepared for an encounter with Sean, Nicholas didn’t speak.
** ** **
Dragging her duffel bag behind her and carrying a heavy coat, purse, and her copy of TENDER IS THE MERCY OF A LOVER, Hannah made her way to the kitchen on sock–covered feet. She stopped short a few feet shy of the kitchen entrance when she heard a man ask, "Is she okay?"
"Hannah is just fine. I’ve been watching over her for you."
Curiosity roused, she silently lowered her things to the floor and inched closer to the open doorway.
"She’s so… pretty," the man said.
She thought his voice sounded familiar, as well as painfully rusty from disuse.
"She’s beautiful, Sean. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known."
Sean? Hannah trembled with shock at Nicholas’s use of her brother’s name.
"Is she happy?"
"Yes. She has a good life, and she’s a strong woman."
"She was always stubborn." A pause ensued, finally ending when Sean said, "I disappointed her."
"She understands," Nicholas assured him. "And she’s not the kind of woman who judges people."
She longed to fling herself into her big brother’s arms, but she quelled the impulse. Just listening to the sound of his voice reinforced everything Nicholas had told her about him. She’d heard fragility and fear and vulnerability in the few words he’d spoken, not just in the frequent pauses during their conversation.
"I don’t want her to hate me, Nick. What if she hates me?" he fretted.
Hannah stepped into the threshold of the kitchen. "I couldn’t ever hate my favorite big brother."
Sean vaulted out of his chair and dashed across the room. Hannah took a step forward, but Nicholas surged to his feet and blocked her path before she could take another one. She nodded when she saw his cautionary look. When he stepped out of her way, she stayed put.
"Sean, don’t leave yet. Please."
She watched him hesitate, and she prayed.
Standing with his back to her, he clutched at the doorknob to the back door. A violent tremor shook his shoulders, prompting him to hunch forward.
Still, Hannah waited, frozen in place by both hope and anxiety. She hoped he would find the courage to share a few minutes with her before she departed for St. Louis.
Sean turned slowly, his gaze fastened to the floor. Hannah nearly wept. Despite his heavy beard, mustache, shoulder–length hair that was mostly gray now, and the bulky clothes he wore, she recognized what remained of the big brother whom she’d idolized as a child.
When he lifted his gaze and looked at her, she glimpsed the fear in his eyes. She felt momentarily faint from the shock that washed over her. Nicholas selected that moment to place his hands on her shoulders. She sank back against him, relieved and grateful for his support. Hannah used every ounce of inner strength she possessed to silence the scream of pain rising up inside of her as she studied Sean.
"Steady, Hannah," whispered Nicholas. "You can handle this."
She drew courage from him as they all stood in the silence of the kitchen. Rigid with tension, Sean watched them both with the wary eyes of a trapped animal.
"I came here to talk to you about Mom. She wanted me to tell you how often she thinks about you and how very much she loves you."
Hannah spoke to him with the same gentleness and caution she employed when dealing with abused children. And as she talked to Sean about their family, she kept her voice as non–threatening as possible. She said nothing about the despair and worry their mother had experienced during his lengthy absence from home. Some instinct told her that he could not handle even the mildest chiding from anyone.
Although she mentioned that Jessica Cassidy would undergo surgery the following morning, Hannah refrained from revealing the older woman’s precarious health or her hunger to see her son one more time. When she finished speaking, Hannah noticed that much of the previous tension in her brother’s posture had eased. He no longer looked poised to bolt.
She felt the dig of Nicholas’s fingers in her shoulders when Sean began to move in her direction. Hannah held her breath as he closed the space that separated them with hesitant footsteps.
Sean paused uncertainly, and then he reached out. He touched the underside of Hannah’s chin, a faint grazing by the tip of one finger before he whispered, "Thank you."
She suddenly remembered a fall from her bike at the age of six. She’d clipped her chin on the handlebars, and Sean had cleaned away the blood, bandaged the wound, and dried her tears.
Tears filled her eyes now as she
smiled at him. "Would you like to hear about the family from time to time?"
He stared at her, disbelief in his bewildered–looking gaze. "You don’t all hate me?"
"We could never hate you. We love you, Sean. We always have, and we always will."
He backed up a step.
"I could write to you. Nicholas will give you my letters."
He nodded. "Please."
"I brought a photo album for you, too. It’s in the living room on the coffee table." Tears flooded her eyes, but she blinked them away. "I love you, big brother. Please… please take good care of yourself."
He lowered his head and shuffled past them. Leaving the kitchen, he disappeared from sight without another word. His fading footfalls marked his passage into another part of the house.
Turning, Hannah welcomed the haven she found in Nicholas’s embrace. When she could speak, she said, "He remembered the time when I fell off my bike."
"Hannah…"
"Sean touched the scar beneath my chin. He remembered, Nicholas. He took care of me when it happened."
"I believe you."
"Will he stay for a while, even though we have to leave?"
"Very likely. He knows he’s welcome, and he’s got his own room here." Nicholas gave her a hard hug before he released her. "He’ll do what’s best for him, which is the way it has to be."
Just then they both heard the muted strains of a piano concerto from a stereo system located deep in the guest wing of the sprawling house.
Nicholas flashed a reassuring look at Hannah. "He’s settling in… the music relaxes him."
Although emotionally drained, she felt relieved that she’d finally seen Sean for herself. "Mom needs me now. I’ll get my things."
"I’ll take care of it. Your boots are by the back door." Nicholas caught her wrist, lifted her hand to his lips, and pressed a hot, stinging kiss into the center of her palm. "I haven’t seen him willingly touch another human being in more than five years. That was a breakthrough for Sean, especially given his state of mind. You reached him, and that hasn’t happened in too many years to count."