by Kate Douglas
She did indeed carry Riley’s child.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “You must be tired.” He paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Why don’t you rest. Come down when you feel like it and have some dinner. If you like, I can take you into town later to shop for a few things to replace what was...damaged. Or take your own car. It’s entirely up to you.”
“You’re damned right it’s up to me.” She held his gaze a moment, clear-eyed and steady, then abruptly turned away and stared out the window.
Women . Seamus glared at her rigid back, searching unsuccessfully for the trace of vulnerability he was certain he’d seen earlier. Shit. You try to be nice....
He turned and stalked out of the room.
The door clicked behind him and Kathleen burst into tears. Damn, it had been one hell of a day. And damn it again, but she didn’t want to cry.
But her hormones were totally screwed, she was tired and pregnant and sick to her stomach, and Riley was dead.
She hadn’t been telling the truth when she said she wouldn’t mourn him. She would. She’d miss his laughter and kindness and the plans they’d made.
Plans he’d obviously never intended to keep, damn him . And damn his insufferable brother Seamus as well. For being kind, for worrying about her, for giving her refuge when she needed it most. She didn’t want to owe him a thing. Nor did she want to be intrigued by a man who epitomized all the uptight personality traits she despised. A man who looked exactly like the one she thought she’d loved.
That man obviously never existed at all.
Damn. Damn. Damn it all to hell.
Kat stripped her clothes off and crawled between the sheets, too tired to shower, too emotionally exhausted to care. One hand rested protectively over her belly, protecting her child. Riley’s child. The child Seamus told her was impossible.
Later, she thought. She’d worry about it later.
OH, THIS WAS ACTUALLY fun...and so easy. There was no need even to stop the car. He merely noted the location and glided quietly past the mansion.
Chapter Two
SHE VAGUELY RECALLED SOMEONE opening her door during the night, but Kat didn’t fully awaken until the morning sun filtered through the heavy damask curtains and birdsong filled her mind.
She showered in the perfect little bathroom, combed her wet hair back off her face, then realized she had absolutely nothing to wear.
She checked the closet and practically giggled out loud. The entire thing, from one end to the other, was filled with perfectly pressed, clean white shirts. Identical clean white shirts, exactly like the one Seamus O’Rourke had worn to the funeral the day before.
Kat thought of Riley’s rumpled suits and wrinkled shirts and wondered once again how twin brothers could possibly be so different. Then without a second thought, she grabbed one of Seamus’s perfect shirts and put it on.
The tail fell half way down her thighs and the cuffs dangled over her hands, covering her fingers. She folded the crisp cotton back to her wrists and checked herself in the mirror to make sure she was covered. Her stomach growled and a familiar wave of nausea reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. She needed something soon or she’d spend the rest of the day feeling like crap.
The doctor had promised the morning sickness would end by her fourth month.
“One more lying male,” Kat muttered. Here it was well into her fifth month and she still spent way too much time with her head over the toilet.
With a last glance at her reflection, Kat headed downstairs in search of a meal.
Seamus found her there half an hour later, munching on a piece of toast with jam and reading the want ads in the morning paper. His morning paper. The one he liked to read in precisely the same order each day. He always began with the business section and stock quotes, which appeared to be the same section Kathleen Malone had already folded in half and covered with coffee rings from her dripping cup.
The nervy woman was even wearing one of his shirts. He started to say something, to announce his presence, but just then she shifted in her chair and tucked one bare foot up under her thigh. The shirt slipped a fraction higher, exposing a bit more of her leg.
It was a spectacular leg. Long, lean, well muscled, an athlete’s leg. He studied it a moment, allowing his imagination a brief foray into the realm of fantasy, suddenly aware of what he’d missed by never bringing a woman here before.
It was actually kind of embarrassing to admit, if only to himself. In all his thirty-six years, he’d never stepped into his kitchen in the early morning hours to find any woman other than his grandmother seated at the kitchen table.
It had never felt right, somehow, to bring a woman into his home. In his mind, Seamus realized, that was tantamount to making a commitment, something he had no intention of doing. No, you took a woman out to an extravagant dinner, and if the evening progressed in a satisfactory fashion, you booked a room in a very nice hotel.
Then you left a rose or chocolates on the pillow and slipped away before dawn. He’d tried to explain it to Riley one time, how much simpler it was to avoid the complications of relationships that were doomed to failure. Riley had merely laughed.
Seamus had reminded Riley that most women wanted a husband and children. The O’Rourke twins would never be fathers. A shared childhood illness had seen to that. Riley’s smug grin had told Seamus the truth...his irresponsible twin had been relieved that children weren’t a risk he’d be taking. He’d gloried in his vast conquests among the female population. Even marriage hadn’t slowed him down.
No. Nothing had slowed Riley O’Rourke. Not until a hit and run driver on the James Lick Freeway in San Francisco took the Irishman’s life.
Seamus had never before considered what he’d been missing. An image flashed into his mind, of waking up in his own bed with Kathleen sleeping next to him, of sharing a quiet morning cup of coffee after a night of lovemaking.
He rubbed his thumbs over his fingertips. His palms were damp with sweat.
Kathleen looked up, as if suddenly aware of his presence. “Oh.” She smiled that devastating smile of hers. “Good morning. I didn’t hear you come in. I hope you don’t mind...” She gestured toward the coffee maker, the grounds scattered amid toast crumbs and a smear of jam on the otherwise spotless counter. “I kind of made myself at home. If I don’t have toast or crackers right off the bat, I get squeamish.” She gave him a crooked smile, remembering, he was certain, how he’d responded to her version of squeamish .
“Oh, and...uh...I borrowed your shirt.”
“I noticed.” How could any man not notice? He tried to ignore how she looked.
It wasn’t easy ignoring a woman as naturally beautiful as this one. Yesterday she’d been so emotionally overwrought, he’d been so upset, he really hadn’t allowed the force of her beauty to register. This morning it was impossible to ignore the natural shine of her shoulder length hair, the high, wide cheekbones, the generous mouth.
Not to mention the lean length of her, the athletic grace so evident in every movement. He didn’t even attempt to contain the involuntary sigh that escaped him. For the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours, Seamus envied his brother. Envied Riley the casual way in which he’d lived his life, the manner in which he’d so easily dumped all his problems on his “older” brother.
Why hadn’t he seen it before? Why did it take Riley’s death to make him finally understand the truth? Riley embraced life. Seamus endured. Riley had laughed and conquered. Seamus followed the rules. Hell, he’d not only followed them, he’d welcomed them. Rules had protected him, had allowed him to back away from every personal challenge he’d ever faced.
Seamus, the perfect son, was doing his best to make the ghosts of his parents proud. He’d even studied for the priesthood because he thought it would have made them happy.
Thank God his grandmother had convinced him he had neither the calling nor the aptitude. But he’d still walked away suffused wit
h guilt, wondering why he hadn’t been able to figure that out for himself.
The alpha male had definitely been the one they’d buried yesterday, he thought ruefully. Which left him, Seamus O’Rourke, holding the bag as usual, waiting for the hammer to fall, the bell to ring, the timing to be off.
He’d always felt this way, so uncomfortable within his own skin. He was perfectly aware he made up for it by projecting an image of strength...one he didn’t necessarily feel.
Especially now, with Riley’s woman sitting at his kitchen table, her sleek form barely covered in one of Seamus’s typically conservative white cotton shirts.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Immediately he regretted his demanding tone. “I mean, with the baby coming...”
“It’s all I can stomach in the morning.” She grimaced, then smiled. “I’m taking my prenatal vitamins and eating better later in the day, when my stomach’s settled a bit more.”
“We definitely want your stomach settled.” He turned his back on her and poured his coffee.
SHE SMILED AT HIS dry quip as she watched him, struck once again with the resemblance that wasn’t perfect, the subtle differences she found so fascinating.
This morning, wearing a dark maroon robe, his hair still tousled from sleep, Seamus looked more like Riley than he had the day before, but everything else about him was different, unique to himself.
Where Riley had moved in a loose-jointed, almost clumsy manner, this man’s grace was as much a part of himself as a cat’s. No movement wasted, everything precise.
He made her nervous, made her skin feel tight and her heart pound just a bit faster. It was almost as if she were waiting for something to happen—the way she felt on a job where danger lurked.
Here in this spotless kitchen with the morning sun shining brightly and the scent of fresh ground coffee in the air, danger definitely lurked.
Kat watched Seamus take down a box of cereal from one cupboard, a bowl from another, unable to stop the constant need to compare him to his brother. Riley’d been Don Johnson to this man’s Nicholas Cage, easy going and affable to dark and dangerous. Seamus projected raw power, leashed and restrained, but prowling just beneath the surface.
She’d loved Riley as much for the ease she felt in his presence as for his striking physique, coal black hair and twinkling blue eyes. Seamus had the look, but the presence was all wrong. It sucked the air from the room, filled the space and demanded it be acknowledged.
He challenged her personally. And Kathleen Margaret Malone never, ever backed down from a challenge. Maybe his comment hadn’t been meant as humor. Had it been an insult?
“I didn’t mean to ruin your shoes.” She hoped he was perfectly aware from the tone of her voice there was no apology intended. “I didn’t puke on them on purpose.”
“My shoes will survive,” Seamus replied, looking over Kathleen with a judgmental air. “My shirt, however, will never be the same.”
She glanced down at the line of grape jam dribbled down the front. “I’m sorry. All right?” She covered her embarrassment with another attack. “It’s not like you don’t have a whole closet full of them.”
“You’re right. I do.” He glared at her. “And if I want any of them to remain intact, we’d better take you shopping as soon as possible.”
“ We aren’t taking me anywhere. I’m going alone. Don’t you have a job or something to go to?”
“I work at home.” Suddenly the wall beyond her shoulder appeared to catch his interest.
“Doing what?” Kat consciously toned her voice down as her anger drained away. She’d always been volatile, knew she could be abrasive, but she really didn’t have a right to be so rude to the man in his own house. He had, truly, shown her nothing but kindness. He’d even given her, a total stranger, a place to sleep.
“I’m a writer.”
Now his spoon full of cereal seemed to demand his attention.
“Wow, really? Like mysteries or thrillers? What do you write?”
He mumbled something unintelligible.
“What?” she asked. Something about food?
“I write food and wine columns for magazines, if you really must know.” His expression said, I dare you .
She giggled, then bit her bottom lip for control . Food and wine? This big, sexy man with the broad shoulders, booming voice and air of danger surrounding him, wrote about food? Kat sucked both lips between her teeth. It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t stop it. Her laughter exploded, full and unrestrained while he carefully wiped his mouth with a white cloth napkin and glared at her again.
He’d done that a lot this morning, she thought. She hiccupped, wiped her eyes, and giggled again. “I’m sorry,” she said, not really sorry at all. “It’s just that you look so much like Riley, and he and I both think beer and hamburgers cover all the food groups. It’s not easy to picture Riley as a food critic, you know, other than ‘hey Sid, ya burned the bun’.”
He was still glaring. “I’ll remind you once again, Ms. Malone. I am not my brother. Another thing...you need to learn to put him in the past. My brother is dead.”
He might as well have slapped her. Maybe she deserved it, but he didn’t have to deliberately say things to hurt her. She was hurting enough already. “I’m very aware Riley is dead.” She rose stiffly to her feet. “You don’t have to remind me, but I’ll remind you, Mr. O’Rourke, that when I lost Riley, I lost more than a lover. I lost my memories of him as well. The Riley O’Rourke I loved never existed at all.” She brushed the crumbs off the front of her shirt and onto the tile floor, smearing the grape jam into a long purple slash across the white cotton. “I’ll take myself shopping, thank you. Don’t expect me back for a couple of hours. There are some rentals I need to check on.”
“Ms. Malone...Kathleen.”
She paused in the doorway, but she didn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry. This has been a trying time for both of us and I apologize.” His mind was spinning, almost out of control. What should he do? He didn’t want her to leave. He couldn’t tolerate her here. But he’d never rest knowing there was someone out there, stalking, waiting, unless he knew he could protect her.
No, not her. The baby. Riley’s baby.
She’d drive him nuts, living here under the same roof. He wouldn’t be able to abide her unconventional ways, her attitude, her sloppiness, the gun in the bedroom, her coffee stains on his morning paper.
Damn it all! Riley had called him an anal retentive ass and Seamus had adopted the description as a badge of honor.
He’d never denied Riley was right on target.
He still couldn’t allow her to leave.
“Kathleen,” he repeated, sighing regretfully the moment he reached his decision. “Please don’t go. I’d like you to consider this as your home, at least until the baby’s born. It’s only right, as Riley’s sole surviving relative, that I offer you a place to stay during your pregnancy.”
Slowly, Kathleen turned around and faced him.
At least he’d gotten his offer out without stuttering...but why was she staring at him like that?
She shook her head, a look of disbelief on her face. “You’re kidding, right?” She grabbed the back of her chair and leaned forward. His eyes were drawn to the deep shadowed V between her breasts and the sudden realization she wore nothing at all beneath his shirt.
“You don’t honestly think I’d stay here with you? Not only are we complete strangers, we obviously don’t even like each other!” She laughed, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I don’t think so, Mr. O’Rourke. I don’t need a keeper. Thanks anyway.”
“I’m only offering you a room.” What could this woman possibly be thinking? He looked away, away from the shadows beneath her eyes, the shadow between her breasts. He concentrated instead on the bowl of cereal turning to mush in front of him.
“I’m not offering my room and certainly not my bed. We don’t have to like each other for me to want to help you. My broth
er got you pregnant. He’s dead now. That makes you my responsibility and the offer stands.”
He waited a moment for her answer, then when none came, added his final argument in soft, placating tones. “Ms. Malone...Kathleen, there’s no need for you to live alone, especially with some nut following you around making threats on your life. That would be foolish, especially when I’ve got more than enough room here for both of us. This is a very large house.”
Seamus silently congratulated himself on his convincing argument when suddenly the image of the filthy threats splashed in blood-red paint across Kat’s walls flashed into his mind, filled him with a sense of dangerous urgency. Kathleen needed him. She’d understand that.
Wouldn’t she?
“You self-righteous, egotistical fool! There is no place big enough for the two of us to co-exist. The earth is not big enough. Now get this straight...no man is responsible for me, especially you, you sanctimonious ass. How can you sit there looking at me out of Riley’s face, talking to me as if I haven’t got a mind and a will of my own and tell me I need you to take care of me? I don’t need any man, especially Riley O’Rourke’s evil twin!”
She thought he was sanctimonious? Egotistical? Hell, she’d just described herself! Seamus leapt to his feet, boiling with righteous fury. His chair skittered back and clattered to the floor as he leaned over the table, his lips just inches from her angry face.
A mere fraction from her mouth.
“You do need a keeper, lady,” he yelled, all semblance of control gone. “And for some stupid reason I’m offering to take on the job!”
Then a horrible thought struck him. What if she’d decided not to keep the baby...Riley was gone, what if...? He backed up, almost tripped over the chair lying on the floor behind him. “That’s it! You’re planning to end the pregnancy, aren’t you? You’re planning to get—”
“What I do with this pregnancy is nobody’s business but mine.” She returned his glare with one of her own. “Just as where I choose to live is no one else’s business, especially yours. Kat Malone goes it alone.” She carefully enunciated each word. “I’ve lived that philosophy since I was a little girl. It will always be true. I am responsible for myself.”