Intimate Strangers (12 page)

He didn’t bother to join Hannah in the kitchen for supper. He noted, courtesy of a concealed monitor, the disinterest she displayed for the meal she’d prepared. He noticed, too, that she made a salad and a sandwich, covered both with plastic wrap, and left them in the refrigerator for him.

Amazed that she felt inclined to be thoughtful of his needs despite her anger, Nicholas allowed himself the luxury of imagining what it would be like to be loved by Hannah. His emotions and his body responded instantly, eliminating his ability to concentrate on his writing as he awaited Sean’s radio call.

The radio sparked to life shortly after midnight, rousing Nicholas from a restless doze on the couch in his office. After securing his office door, he retrieved a radio headset and spoke briefly but firmly to his old friend.

As he neared the end of their one–sided conversation, he knew he’d failed to persuade Sean to participate in a face–to–face meeting with his sister. Not a huge surprise. Nicholas finally, and very reluctantly, agreed to arrange for Sean to see his sister, but only at a distance and without her knowledge.

As he departed his office for the night, Nicholas silently cursed the emotional anguish that had become Sean Cassidy’s constant companion, the realities of his own life as gatekeeper to the privacy and protection of his small band of brothers and sisters, and the knowledge that Hannah would always remember Nicholas Benteen with regret and anger.

Nicholas found Hannah in the living room. Moonlight spilled across her nightgown clad body, spotlighting her as she sat huddled on the couch. With her head bowed, her shoulders slumped, and her arms looped around her upraised knees, her posture told an eloquent tale of dejection and isolation. He silently cursed himself when he heard the shuddering sigh that escaped her.

She didn’t stir as he approached her. Dropping to his knees before her, Nicholas took her hands and felt her chilled skin. He shared his warmth and patiently waited for her to respond to his presence. She finally raised her head and looked at him. He considered the dark shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes yet another indictment of the tactics he’d used on her.

"I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you?" she asked.

"I couldn’t sleep, either," he admitted, too disturbed by her vulnerability and his desire for her to release her hands and put a safe distance between them. He felt his once iron–control start to shatter and his emotional defenses begin to crumble with each moment that passed.

"Did you find the salad and sandwich I left in the refrigerator for you?"

He nodded, and then admitted, "I wasn’t hungry."

"I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earlier. Sometimes I speak before I think."

His grip on her hands tightened. "You didn’t say anything I haven’t already said to myself, so quit worrying." He smiled. "Your hands feel like ice. You need to take better care of yourself. You aren’t used to the climate."

"I’m not used to a lot of things, I guess." She freed one of her hands and pressed her palm to the side of his face.

His smile faded as he searched her expressive features for some hint of her state of mind.

"Despite our differences, I care about you, Nicholas, and I really am sorry if I hurt you with what I said."

He turned his face into her hand, kissed each fingertip, and then pressed his lips into the center of her palm. When she whispered his name, he died a little inside. She would leave soon, and he would never hear her speak his name in the throes of passion.

"You need to sleep. You’re exhausted."

"My body’s willing, but my brain refuses to shut down."

Lifting her into his arms, he cradled her against his chest and carried her to her bedroom, his body as powerful and his footsteps as soundless as the predator she’d compared him to earlier that day.

Nicholas knew he needed to leave her alone the instant he lowered her to the bed, but he lingered, drawn to Hannah on so many levels that his hand shook as he turned on the lamp next to the bed. He sat down beside her, his muscles knotted with tension, his body enflamed by desire. His gaze swept over her, his hands closing into fists in order to keep from touching her again.

"Can we talk for a few minutes?" She settled back against a mound of pillows.

Nicholas watched the gentle sway of her breasts beneath the simple nightgown she wore. "Of course."

She took one of his hands, brought it to her lap, and tangled their fingers together in a loose clasp.

Nicholas welcomed her gentle touch, even though his conscience urged him to stand up and walk away before he lost control of the situation. She skimmed her fingertips over the back of his hand, effectively heightening his arousal. His inner tension ratcheted higher and higher until he noticed that Hannah seemed distracted, as though something weighed heavily on her mind.

He already felt responsible for the emotional roller coaster ride she’d endured since arriving at his home. He remained at her side, finding the patience within himself not to rush her as she readied herself to speak.

"You’ve probably noticed that I call home almost every day," she began.

He nodded. He had noticed, although the conversations he’d overheard had seemed benign enough.

"Since I don’t think you’ve listened in on my…"

"I haven’t," he broke in.

"Then you aren’t aware that my mother is very ill. She has a heart defect. The doctors are trying to get her strong enough for open heart surgery. Although she doesn’t say much to anyone about Sean, she’s afraid she’ll never see him again."

"Christ! You should have told me."

Hannah nodded, her facial expression revealing her regret that she hadn’t spoken sooner. But then, he’d treated her as an adversary from the beginning, hadn’t he? Hardly an inspiration for shared confidences.

"You’ve been suspicious of my motives since the beginning. I thought you’d feel I was trying to manipulate you if I told you the truth."

"I probably would have."

"I hate seeing the constant fear in her eyes, Nicholas. I came here because I don’t want her to be worried or afraid any longer. I need Sean to come home for Mom’s sake. If she doesn’t…" Hannah cleared her throat. ". . . if the surgery fails, then this will be her last chance to see him."

If Sean refused to speak to his sister, how in the world could he be persuaded to travel to St. Louis? "That may not be possible," he cautioned.

"It has to be possible. It just has to be." Tears welled in her eyes. "Damn it! I promised myself I wouldn’t fall apart like this."

He gave up the fight. Easing her into his arms, he held her with gentleness that seemed at odds with his physical strength and fierce nature as she wept.

As she straddled his lap, Hannah wrapped her arms around him and turned her face into his neck, dampening his warm skin with her tears. He soothed and comforted her with near heart–breaking tenderness, and he couldn’t produce even token resistance to the emotions clamoring within his own heart.

Hannah finally lifted her head, eased back, and looked at him, her face pale and her cheeks wet. Nicholas’s control snapped, and he gave into countless years of emotional starvation. He claimed her mouth, his hunger for her exploding like a fireball in a long, searching kiss.

He wanted to absorb her into his flesh, to lodge her permanently in his heart. He needed to feel her body writhing in passion beneath his own. And he craved that small death and then a glorious rebirth in her arms. He accepted, however, the limitations of nature and his own conscience as he devoured her mouth like the man that he’d become—a man desperate for tenderness, compassion, and love. With Hannah, he couldn’t mask his desperation any longer.

She gasped beneath his mouth, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she allowed him to delve past the barrier of her teeth and welcomed him into the sweet, hot depths and textures of her mouth. Circling his shoulders with her arms, she murmured indecipherable words as she angled her head to encourage even more intimate access.

Although he ached to tuck her beneath him and bury himself in her heated silken flesh, Nicholas put the brakes on before he went spinning out of control. He forced himself to gentle his kiss. Slowly, regretfully, he released her lips and lifted his head.

They stared at each other, both trembling, both stunned.

Nicholas muttered an anger–filled curse. "I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened."

Still shaking with reaction, Hannah pressed her fingertips to her swollen lips. "You don’t… want me?"

"What man in his right mind wouldn’t want you?" Fury—with himself—vibrated in every word.

"There’s only been one man in my life, but you know that from the report."

He groaned her name, and he heard the supplicant in search of his own salvation in the sound.

"I’m sorry, Nicholas."

He saw what resembled guilt in her eyes. "For what?"

"For making this so awkward. For throwing myself at you like this."

"You haven’t," he said, "and you didn’t."

"Ground glass," she whispered.

"What?"

"Your voice sounds like ground up glass when you’re upset with me."

"I’m not upset." He shifted, trying to relieve the throbbing of his hard shaft even though he sensed the futility of his effort. He’d been aroused for five and a half solid days, and he didn’t expect his need of her to politely retreat. "I’m not upset with you," he repeated.

"You obviously don’t want to be here right now."

He stared in disbelief at her upturned face. Had he been so cruel to her that she’d failed to grasp the impact she had on him?

Hannah nervously shoved her hair back from her face. "I’m a mess."

His hands shook as he smoothed them up and down her narrow back. "The most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen."

She laughed then, the sound faintly soggy from her tears. "I’ve never been one of those women who look good when she’s crying. I just get all puffy and pale."

Still perched in his lap, she twisted suddenly. Her breasts brushed across his chest as she reached for a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blotted her wet cheeks.

Nicholas bit back a groan. To his mind, she personified the ultimate sensual temptation—even if she didn’t seem to realize it.

Hannah glanced at him. "I really didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable with all the water–works."

He chuckled at her choice of words. Uncomfortable didn’t even begin to cover it.

"You haven’t got a clue about how you make me feel, Hannah Cassidy."

"I can guess. My sisters insist that I have an abrasive personality, and my brothers claim I’m about as subtle as a ten car pile–up on the freeway when I want something. Nice, huh?"

He gripped her upper arms, held her still when she tried to move, and settled her deeply into his lap, no longer attempting to conceal his arousal. "You can’t even begin to understand how I feel about you."

Her eyes widened with surprise at his lack of subtlety, but she didn’t try to shift away. She studied him then, her expression reflective. "I think you find me annoying."

"At times," he agreed.

She stuck out her tongue like a five year old. "I also think you respect me."

He nodded, a hint of gentle humor in his normally cool gaze.

"And you might even get to like me if we could stop doing battle over Sean."

Amazed when she fell silent and simply looked at him, he shook his head in disbelief. "That’s it?"

"There’s more?" she asked.

"You really aren’t very experienced, are you?" His voice contained a raw hunger that blistered his veins with desire and sent hot blood surging into his already hard sex.

"That’s not the sort of thing a woman wants to apologize for."

Hannah lifted her hand. She trailed her fingertips across his chin and then up the side of his face. He ground his back teeth together, trying to mute his reaction to her touch. Then, he saw her eyes widen fractionally, felt the tremor that shook her fingers, and experienced it right down to his soul when surprise and sensual recognition flushed her cheeks.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm. "Talk to me."

"You do want me," she breathed.

"You needn’t sound so shocked."

"I just assumed…" Her voice trailed off.

"What did you assume?" he prodded.

"I… you… you’ve avoided me whenever possible. You only speak to me when you’re forced to. I thought…"

"What did you think?"

"What was I supposed to think?" she countered.

"Have you ever asked yourself why I’ve tried to keep my distance?"

"At first, I thought you disliked me. But then I realized that, even if you liked me, your loyalty to Sean… well, I assumed your friendship with him kept you from… treating me normally." She frowned. "That sounded really lame, didn’t it?"

Nicholas understood all too well what she thought. He’d wanted her to believe that his loyalty to Sean would prevent him from treating her like any other woman. And it should have. Little did Hannah know how much he wanted her as his woman, or how much he longed to steal a few moments out of time with her that were free of obligation and the haunting memories of his past.

"Perhaps I’m not as honorable as you’d like me to be," he remarked.

Startled, she gripped his shoulders. "You’re the most honorable man I’ve ever met."

"Your opinion of me seems to be improving."

"Pay attention, Nicholas. It never needed to improve." She paused, frowned, and then gave him a look that sparkled with unadulterated challenge. "I’m attracted to you, and I care about you far more than any other man I’ve ever known. What does or does not happen between us has nothing whatsoever to do with my big brother. Are we absolutely clear on that?"

Astounded by her bluntness, he knew he’d never known a woman more honest or more willing to make herself vulnerable to rejection by a potential lover. He brought his hands up, encircled her with his arms, and drew her into the heat and hardness of his body. Her breasts plumped against his chest, her nipples stabbing like delicate daggers through the barrier of their clothing.