A Heart Revealed (37 page)

With a dejected nod, she picked at her nails, looking more like a sad-eyed little girl than a twenty-two-year-old vamp whose open coat revealed a neckline that had taunted him all night. Raking perfect teeth over a flawless lip, she looked up. “Not unless you want to see me again.”

See her again?
Not likely. He shifted gears at a traffic light, and the engine vibrated beneath the chassis like the nervous tic in his cheek. He shot her a quick glance, noting the slump of her shoulders, then steeled his gaze straight ahead to stare at the red light. No way, he thought with a set of his jaw, although he’d enjoyed the evening, no doubt about that. Maybe because after tonight he’d never have to see her again, allowing him to relax without worry of more.

The light turned green and he gunned through the intersection like the devil was on his tail, and maybe he was. He’d enjoyed the dinner with Rose more than he’d expected. His favorite pasta—Chef Louie’s tortellini—had tasted particularly good tonight, and he wasn’t sure if it was because Rose doted on his every word, or the intimate ambiance of the candlelit booth, or even the laughter and ease of stimulating conversation. Whatever the reason, she’d surprised him, engaged him, warmed him with a glow that had rivaled that blasted candle in the middle of that blasted linen table. She was an unpredictable mix of sensuous woman and sassy flirt, and yet he sensed the real Rose was no more than a wide-eyed girl in love with the idea of being in love.

With him.

He swallowed hard as he maneuvered a corner. But the thing that really bothered him right now—besides Rose, that is—was this unsettling feeling inside that a woman’s affection, someone caring for him deeply, actually held some appeal. He hated to admit it, but Rose made him feel strong and needed and more like a man than he’d felt in a very long time.
Since Clare
, he thought with a press of his lips. The way Rose’s eyes sparkled with invitation whenever she smiled, the tilt of her head as she twisted a curl around her finger . . . the way her silk blouse listed to the side to reveal a creamy white shoulder. All of it had stirred something inside that quickened his pulse and slowed his breath until he thought he couldn’t breathe. He already knew he was attracted to Rose Kelly. He just hadn’t known that he liked her. Until now. Which proved once and for all that if he was that much in the dark about his feelings for a woman, he had no business being involved with one. He sucked in a harsh breath. Because judging from the way her company had triggered his pulse tonight, he was already in way over his head.

See her again? Not on your life.

With a firm swipe of the wheel, he turned the corner and glided to a stop in front of his house, silence thick in the air as he switched off the ignition. “I had fun tonight, Rose, but we both know that this was a onetime thing.” He drew in a deep breath and held out his hand, his chest tightening at the sheen of tears in her eyes. He cleared his throat. “I wish you well, I really do.”

He had never been comfortable with tears—not his sisters’, not his own, not even those shed in joy by his mother at Christmas. It had something to do with that sucker mentality that Pete always razzed him about, some genetic defect that nailed his heart to the wall and made it impossible for him to walk away from a woman in tears.

Like now.

He huffed out a weary sigh, eyeing her with the same wary feeling as if he were up against a shut-out pitcher during a championship game. He took her small hand in his, shocked at how icy it felt, then kneaded it to generate some warmth.

“Rose,” he whispered, his palm swallowing hers as his thumb massaged back and forth. “We’ve been over this before—I’m too old and the last guy your father would allow you to see.”

“He’d allow it if I begged him,” she said with a pitiful heave. Her brown eyes glistened like melted chocolate as water pooled at the edge.

With a wild thump of his heart, he watched two crocodile tears slither down her face, causing his stomach to cramp.
Noooooo!

Desperate words rushed from a tongue as thick as the air in his throat. “Listen, Rose, you think you like me, but you don’t know me. I constantly whistle off-key, which drives my sisters crazy, and I drum my fingers when I’m thinking—an annoying habit that even gets on
my
nerves.” He leaned in. “And my eyebrows? See how the left is thicker than the right?” He nodded with satisfaction as if his next words would have her recoiling in disgust. “Nervous habit—don’t even know I’m doing it. But if I get too stressed? Look out—they could go bald.”

Another tear rolled down her cheek and snagged in the corner of her half smile, easing the tension in his shoulders as he patted her hand. “Trust me, you can do much better than a man with bad sinuses who clears his throat all the time or one who’s so consumed with sports even his mother doesn’t know if he’s coming or going. If I were you, I’d consider yourself lucky, Miss Kelly. You don’t want a man who has no time for a woman, even one that he likes.”

Her lips quivered, dislodging a tear. “You like me?” she whispered.

Lie, O’Connor, and get out of this car . . . now!

He dropped her fingers like a Lefty Grove fastball just stung his bare hand. “Yes, but not that way.” He gripped the door handle so hard, it gouged the calluses on his palm. “I gotta go.”

The heaving whimper that rose in the air fused his trousers to the seat as surely as if they were hand-stitched to the red leather. She began to sob, hands to her mouth, and the whites of his eyes expanded in shock. “Rose, please—”

A wailing moan finished him off, and his blood froze as she wept against the back of her father’s Moroccan leather seat. Heaven help him, he had
way
too much compassion for his own good, a trait he could obviously blame on his parents. With an agonizing sigh, he dropped his head in his hands and gave up the ghost, finally pulling her to his chest and patting her on the back. “Rose, don’t cry,
please
! It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard—I can’t handle it.” Her body continued to heave, and he stroked her hair, rocking her with a gentle motion as he whispered in her ear. “It’s okay, Rose, you’re going to be fine, I promise.” The waterworks continued, and her sobs grew, obliterating any thoughts but those for her welfare. “Rose, Rose,” he said, kissing her hair. He closed his eyes, and her scent aroused his senses, a heady meld of Breck shampoo and Chanel No. 5, warming his blood while he warmed her arms with the buff of his hands.

Her travail rose in volume and he panicked, weaving fingers into her hair to cup her face in his hands. “Rose, shhh . . . it’s okay . . . it’s okay . . .” Like he’d done a million times with Gabe or Katie or any of his nieces, he pressed his lips to her cheek, and her moist lashes lifted, spiky with tears and swollen eyes awash with surprise. His breath caught at the tremble of her lips, parted and wet, the innocence of her face, mottled with weeping, and a once-familiar heat singed his body like an electric shock. Her breathing was husky and shallow like his, filling the silence between them with something other than grief. His gaze settled on her lips and his mouth went dry, confirming that
this
kiss on the cheek was far more dangerous and far more compelling.

He jerked away. “Rose, I need to go.”

“Sean, no, please . . .” Her voice was nasal and husky, drawing him back like the hands now clasped to his neck. Before he could retreat, she captured his mouth with her own, paralyzing him to the spot.

It was a brisk autumn night, but the taste of her lips made it feel like a blistering day in June, melting his resolve and fogging the windows as much as his mind. The woman may as well have been made of magnetite—her lips drew his with a pull he hadn’t felt since Clare. His eyelids weighted closed, heavy with need as his mouth devoured hers, and he wrenched her close while their breathing merged into one. Glazed with desire, he gripped the nape of her neck and kissed her hard, a groan trapped in his mouth as he pressed her to the seat.

What am I doing?

But his body didn’t seem to care. She was putty in his hands, warm and willing, and heaven help him, he hadn’t felt like this in such a very long time. A moan left her lips, and he groaned, lost in the taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin, the feel of her body clinging to his.

“Sean, I love you,” she whispered, and his body froze, colder than October frost on her daddy’s steel bumper.

He jerked away, mind in a stupor. “Rose, no . . . you can’t . . .” Shame surged within, cooling the heat of her kiss. “Forgive me, please, I was wrong—”

“No, Sean, you weren’t! We’re attracted to each other—why do you fight it?”

He stared, chest rising and falling with tortuous breaths and his body still humming from the heat of their kiss.
Why?
Because he’d only felt like this one time before, and that had ended in the most excruciating pain of his life. A fatal attraction, pulsing with passion and little else, starting fast and finishing faster . . .

Like this . . . tonight.

He put his hand to the latch of the door. “Rose, I need to go . . .”

Need and want were two different things, apparently, at least to Rose Kelly. She sidled close, sending his pulse into overdrive faster than her daddy’s Cadillac Vic. Reaching up to nuzzle his neck, she feathered his ear with her whisper, her words warm and husky. “Stay with me, Sean, please? Just for a while?”

He was a responsible man, moral to a fault and loath to hurt anyone’s feelings. He needed to end this before he got in too deep and someone got hurt. And he would. He closed his eyes and drew her close as the blood throbbed in his veins.

Right after the next kiss.

“Okay, somebody’s in trouble because I
just
picked up those toys.” Katie stared, arms folded and mouth flat as she assessed a parlor that looked as if it had been gutted by a pack of wild children rather than just two.

Luke and Kit looked up at the same time, sitting in a sea of Tinkertoys and wooden blocks that sprawled from window to wall.

“Mama!” Kit’s little legs pumped in joy beneath her nightgown. “Da-da . . . fun!”

Rubbing her temple to alleviate yet another headache, Katie shot Luke a narrow gaze. “Yeah, well, there won’t be a lot of ‘fun’ for Da-da if he doesn’t get those toys picked up, pronto.” She squatted and held her arms out to Kit. “Come on, big girl, it’s time for bed.”

Before Katie could steal Kit away, Luke swooped the little girl up and blew raspberries on her belly, sending baby giggles bouncing off the fleur-de-lis papered walls. His blue eyes sparkled as he winked, flashing Katie a sultry smile. “Admit it, Katie, you’re just sore because I’m playing with Kit instead of you.” He tossed Kit over his shoulder and rose to his feet, sending Katie a smoky look that never failed to quiver her stomach.

Except for tonight.

Luke leaned to give Katie a quick kiss on the lips. “Don’t be so grumpy, Mrs. McGee. I’ll put your daughter to bed and pick up the toys.” He lifted her chin with his finger, teasing her with his eyes. “And if you’re a good girl, Katie Rose,” he whispered, “I’ll play with you too.”

She returned his warm gaze with a cool one. “No thanks, McGee, I’ve had enough playtime with you as it is.” She kissed Kit’s cheek as the little girl giggled and squirmed over Luke’s shoulder. “Good night, Kitty Kat. I’ll come tuck you in after Daddy reads you a story.”

Brow kinked in concern, he palmed Katie’s cheek while Kit’s chubby legs flailed his back. “What’s wrong, Katie? You’ve been edgy all night. Don’t you feel well?”

Tears stung her eyes and she turned away. “I’m fine, just need to finish the dishes.”

He grabbed her arm, tone tinged with worry. “Has something happened? What’s wrong?”

Steeling her chin, she blinked to dispel her tears. “Nothing. I’m just crabby, that’s all.”

A blond brow jagged high. “Yeah? Well, I’d say that’s an understatement. Why don’t you take a hot bath, and I’ll finish the dishes?”

She jerked free from his hold and hurried toward the kitchen, unwilling for him to see the tears streaming her face. “No, I’ll do them,” she called. “You just put Kit to bed, okay?”

Slipping into the kitchen, she closed her eyes and put a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs as she pressed against the wall.
Oh, Lord . . .

Giggles escaped down the hall to taunt her, first Kit’s high-pitched squeal and then Luke’s low, husky laughter, an untimely reminder of just how much joy they brought to her life.

With a shaky swipe, she pushed tears from her eyes and sucked in a deep swallow of air, willing it to calm her, settle her, before Luke came back in the room. She needed to be tough, efficient, a pillar of strength. And as cool and calm as the lawyer she’d always dreamed she’d be.

Even if those dreams were dead in the water.

Exhaling her grief, she moved to the sink to finish the dishes, plunging her hands into dirty dishwater as cold and slimy as the fear snaking its way through the pit of her stomach. She’d always seen herself in a courtroom with high heels and a tailored suit, giving birth to her dreams of fighting for women’s rights, first as a lawyer and then finally a judge. She sagged against the sink and hung her head, dispelling more tears as she placed a wet palm to her abdomen. Well, she’d give birth, all right . . . but not to her dreams. No, she’d spend the rest of her life changing diapers instead of the world. The thought terrorized her, and she slumped over the sink, nausea curdling her stomach.
Oh, Lord, I don’t know how to be a mother . . .