A Heart Revealed (36 page)

Not unlike his wife, he thought as Charity shifted beside him in her sleep. He released a silent sigh. She was worried about Marjorie—he knew it. From the moment he’d told her he would be working Thursday nights with the socialite, he could sense it in the way Charity looked at him, clung to him at night, subtle things like cooking more, fixing his favorite meals, pouting when he worked late.
Especially
tonight, his first meeting with the “Queen,” as Charity had dubbed her. Every word out of her mouth seemed to probe, dissecting his day, curious about where he went, every woman he talked to. One edge of his mouth crooked up. Except for his secretary, that is. Thank God Dorothy was twenty years his senior and happily married, or his wife would be fretting about her too.

Mitch released a silent sigh. He hadn’t seen Charity like this in years. She was nervous, tense, needy for his love like before they were married, suspicious, crazy, with that dangerous gleam in her eye. Years ago, it had pushed him away because, yes, as a man, he wanted to be needed, but he didn’t want a needy woman. And God help her, whatever the reason, Charity was needy right now, demanding his love at a time when work sapped him of both the time and energy to give it.

She rustled in the bed beside him and he froze, waiting for her to settle in once again before her soft breathing brought a faint smile to his lips. No matter how many ways he’d tried to tell her, she didn’t understand that there was no woman alive who’d cast a spell on him like she did, and he craved to disrupt her sleep to tell her so with a passion that was long overdue. It seemed like forever since he’d made love to her, but there was no one to blame but himself. The depression had taken its toll at the
Herald
too, thinning the staff until Mitch felt as if he were carrying double his workload, too exhausted from fourteen-hour days to do anything but collapse in his bed at night and sleep. And for a man with a voracious appetite for making love to his wife, he could feel the absence of it in the tension of his body and the edginess of his mind. He wondered if Marjorie could feel it too, and the thought unsettled him even more. Her flirtations, her demands on his time had escalated all evening, and for Mitch, his tenure as auction cochair couldn’t end soon enough. Only three months to go, he thought with a weary sigh, and a pariah with provocative dress and seductive ways would be history. The thought eased the tension from his mind, and he rolled over, more than ready to succumb to exhaustion.

He didn’t know how long he hovered on the edge of consciousness before sinking into the slumber of the dead, but he did know the exact moment his life flashed before his eyes. It was when a sharp slash of pain gouged his back, erupting him from the bed like a horde of hornets had impaled his flesh. And when his wife hurtled forward with a guttural cry, he stumbled back in a daze, shock and stupor thwarting his defenses. For one paralyzing moment, he saw the fury in her eyes before she pounced again, and in a knee-jerk reaction, he warded her off, apparently stealing her balance as she toppled back on the bed.

“Are you out of your mind?”

She sprang to her feet, fists clenched at her sides while her chest heaved with rage. Pale moonlight distorted the anger in her face. “Out of my mind? No, but you’re out of my bed until I get a straight answer. Where were you tonight?”

He stared, too numb to move. “I was working, I told you that.”

“Liar! Angus said you left hours ago.” She leaned in, eyes on fire and fists balled at her sides. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be told your husband’s gone ‘home’—only to some other woman’s instead of his?”

“Charity, I’m sorry—I called and left a message with Henry. Didn’t he tell you? Marjorie wasn’t feeling well and asked if I’d come there for our Thursday night meeting. And why does it matter anyway—you know I’ll be working late every Thursday for the auction.”

“
Work?
Is that what you call it?”

Her words detonated his temper and he stared her down, eyes itching with anger and his humor as spent as his patience. He ground his teeth. “No, I call it pure torture having to work all night with an obnoxious, spoiled socialite and then have to defend myself to a wife who acts like a shrew.”

“You want shrew? I’ll show you shrew!” She lunged.

Deflecting her hand midair, Mitch blistered her with a glare. “I don’t have to take this,” he said. He snatched his pillow from the bed and strode to the door. “I’ll sleep in the study.”

“Don’t you dare walk out on me!” Her hiss edged toward panic. With a broken sob, she ran and pummeled his back.

He spun and disarmed her with an iron grip, her nails nicking before he could clamp her to his chest. “Charity, stop it!” he said, his breathing harsh. “I’m not letting you go till you calm down.”

She thrashed in his arms for several seconds before finally collapsing in a fit of weeping so painful, it wounded his soul.
Heaven, help me, I’m an idiot
, he thought with a low groan, his heart sick with regret over the first fight they’d had in years. Holding her close, he swept her up and laid her back on the bed, cradling her as she wept in his arms. “God forgive me, Charity—I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I lost my temper and I—” He swallowed hard, his sorrow thick in his throat. “Please forgive me, I love you.”

Her sobs softened to frail whimpers as she wept, tears soaking his chest. He held her tightly until her breathing was calm and still, then pulled back to cup her face in his hands. “Charity, as God is my witness, nothing happened. Nothing ever could. I despise the woman, and I’m desperately in love with my wife.”

She sniffed, body shuddering with pitiful heaves. Moments passed before her final shiver, and when it came, he clung to her with everything in him. “You have to believe me, little girl—I love you, only you!”

He felt the warm breath of her lips against his skin, and longing pulsed in his veins. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I love you too . . . so much that the thought of another woman . . .” She shivered in his arms. “Oh, Mitch, I would die if you ever left me!”

A grin tugged. “No, little girl, I’d be the one who would die, because I’m pretty sure you’d claw me to death.”

She sat up, her face glistening with grief as she caressed his jaw with her fingers. The whites of her eyes expanded at a scratch on his neck. “Oh, no . . . did I do that?”

“And this . . .” With a tight smile, he palmed her hand to stroke the bulge of a bicep, scarred by her vengeance.

A hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Mitch, I’m so sorry—can you ever forgive me?”

In slow motion he rose up and gently nudged her back on the pillow, his eyes burning with intent and his blood pulsing with need. A dangerous smile curved his lips as he pinned her to the pillow. “I might,” he said in husky warning, “if you tend to my wounds.” He grazed the curve of her jaw with his lips, his breathing as shallow as hers. “Trust me, they’re pretty raw.”

Her voice brimmed with regret. “Oh, Mitch, I feel awful—”

He silenced her mouth with his own, his love for this woman so deep, every fiber of his being ached. “Charity, when are you going to learn that you possess me body and soul . . .” His voice was a heated rasp as his hands wandered and his lips trailed her shoulder. “And I want
you
. . . only you.”

His mouth took hers with a low groan, having its way until she melted in his arms. Molding her body to his, he feathered her throat with kisses before nuzzling the lobe of her ear. “So don’t feel awful, Mrs. Dennehy, because when I’m through making love to you,” he whispered, reveling in the silky touch of her body, “you have my word—
neither
of us will feel ‘awful’ anymore.”

“How someone as little as you can eat that much is beyond me.” Sean held the carved wooden door of Nicoletti’s Steak and Pasta while Rose sauntered out with a smug smile, her fur-trimmed coat wrapped tightly around her slim body. The intoxicating scent of Chanel No. 5 collided with the hearty aroma of oregano and garlic, embedding a sensory memory into his mind he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

“I’m like a shark—I never stop moving,” she said with a sassy smile. Her playful chuckle floated in the cool night air, merging with the blare of car horns and the sultry sound of jazz from the nightclub across the way. She sashayed to her father’s red Cadillac roadster parked at the curb and pivoted to face him, one manicured hand trailing the sleek fender as she gave him a teasing smile. “Of course, that also means I have a very sharp bite.”

He strolled to just short of where she stood and slacked a hip, arms folded while studying her through hooded eyes. A bit of the devil twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Which is exactly why I stay out of the water, young lady. No matter how good a swimmer, a man could get eaten alive by a woman like you.”

Her laughter had the ring of confidence, but he knew the pink in her cheeks stemmed from more than the autumn chill. He glanced at his watch, then gave her a patient smile. “I best be going. Gotta walk off this meal before my basketball game tonight.” The crestfallen look on her face tugged at his heart. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I had a good time, Rose—thanks.”

She took a step forward, a hand fluttering to her throat. “Can I . . . give you a lift home?”

The hope in her eyes almost undid him. “No, no, I need to walk, really. Thanks anyway.”

“Please?”

A lump jerked in her throat, and his stomach twisted at the fragile plea in her tone. He groaned inwardly, hating himself for being such a sucker for a vulnerable woman, especially since Rose Kelly was anything but. And yet there she stood, shivering in the night, appearing to be just that. His jaw tightened in an effort to remain strong, but she reached out to squeeze his hand.

“Please? It seems so cold to just end our evening like this.” Her body stilled, as if she were holding her breath, teetering on just the right words from his lips.

With another silent groan, he inhaled deeply, resignation rising from the pit of his stomach and into his throat. He expelled it in a harsh cloud of air that swirled up in a fog. He was just too blasted nice for his own good, he thought with a clamp of his lips, something Pete ribbed him about all the time. “If you would just treat them a little more rudely, women wouldn’t hound you like they do,” he’d say, giving Sean that smirk that told him loud and clear it was his own blasted fault. He stared at Rose now and knew if he didn’t say something soon, the woman would turn blue from lack of air.

Gouging his temples with the tips of his fingers, he sighed again. “All right, Rose, you can give me a lift home. No harm in that, I suppose.”

Yeah, right.

He reached to open the passenger door, and Rose slid in before him, peeking up through sooty lashes while she handed over her keys with a shy tilt of her head. “Would you mind driving? I tend to get distracted when I drive and talk at the same time.”

His lips quirked as he snatched the keys from her hand. “And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” He closed her door and strolled around the Cadillac Victoria, a twinge in his chest at the beauty of the vehicle before him. His pulse accelerated as he glided a hand along the glossy serpentine fender where massive bullet-type headlights were mounted to a gleaming chrome crossbar. He couldn’t help it—a low whistle escaped his lips as he stared in awe, quite sure that driving this baby would be well worth any time he had to spend with a woman like Rose.

“Was that whistle for me, I hope?” she asked when he opened his door and eased in, his palm skimming across the leather seat like it was made of satin. With a tingle of awe, he inserted the key, and the engine purred to life with a rumble that sent warm goose bumps across his flesh. He caressed the steering wheel with as much reverence as he would a brand-new Louisville Slugger signed by the “Babe” himself, then awarded Rose a boyish smile. “No, ma’am, but a few minutes behind the wheel of this baby, and I’ll whistle all you want.”

“Or anything else?” she asked with an innocent lift of brows.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as the caddy cruised down the street, infusing him with a reckless air. He shot her a half-lidded smile out of the corner of his eyes. “Maybe.”

A pretty shade of rose crept into her cheeks, and she hiked her chin as if to steel her nerve, shooting a flirty look. “Why, I didn’t know you were such a tease, Sean O’Connor.”

He grinned, enjoying the thrill of control—both with the powerful vehicle beneath his grip and with the woman sitting in it. “Only when I’m behind the wheel of a beauty like this, Miss Kelly. You’re a very lucky woman, you know, driving an automobile like this.”

“I could be luckier,” she whispered, her look of longing crashing him back to earth.

He cleared his throat and took a corner with the same skill and focus as if swinging a bat, his manner considerably sobered. The last thing he wanted to do was lead this girl on. “Look, Rose, I had a nice time tonight, but—”

“You did?” The hope in her tone gnawed at his gut.

“Yes, I did,” he said quickly, “but please don’t misconstrue what I’m saying. We had an agreement—” He slid her a sideways glance tempered with a smile. “Or an extortion, I should say, and a deal’s a deal. You swore that after tonight, I’d never see you again, remember?”