Intimate Strangers (17 page)

"I do trust you. You know I do, but my heart breaks for Sean, and I’m so worried about him."

He reached across the table and clasped her hands. "Try to see this place through the eyes of a man who’s been surrounded by death and destruction, some of which he has personally caused. Try to visualize a man so consumed by his guilt that he feels like he’s being driven insane by it. Then, try to understand that this land has become a retreat for him, a safe haven that allows him to vent his rage and frustration with himself and with the world he was a part of for far too many years."

"But he’s so alone," she insisted, still fixed on the isolation. "You’re all so alone."

"That may be true, but there are ways to deal with the loneliness and isolation. Almost everyone here has found a way to carve out a new life and new identity," he explained, his thoughts on the salvation he’d found in his writing and in her arms. Without his writing, he would never have discovered an outlet in which he could express his conflicted emotions. And without her, he would never have unearthed his capacity to love again.

"The others you’ve mentioned. Are they happy living this way?"

Nicholas nodded. "For the most part, although not everyone appreciates the spartan lifestyle that Sean’s chosen for himself. Several of the homes we’ve built here are very similar to mine. Others are far more spectacular." He paused, and then said, "And Sean is welcome in every one of them whenever he chooses to visit an old friend. It doesn’t happen often, but each residence has a separate cabin designed to meet his needs."

"You’ve all gone to a great deal of effort for him."

"Whatever he wants or needs, he receives, Hannah."

"And does everyone fly a helicopter?" she asked, her natural curiosity diminishing at least some of the anguish that still shadowed her eyes.

He shrugged. "Most of us do. It’s a simple matter of convenience when you live in such a remote area. Besides, I own tens of thousands of acres, and backpacking out on foot during the winter months through twenty or thirty foot high snowdrifts can be dangerous, especially for the women in our group."

She blinked in surprise. "Women? I didn’t realize that you had women living here."

"We’re not monks."

He laughed when he saw the expression on her face, an expression that he rather liked because it smacked of jealousy. And he wanted to believe that, under different circumstances, Hannah would feel compelled to exercise her territorial rights where he was concerned if put to the test or challenged by another woman.

"They’re friends. Good friends."

"Women mercenaries?" she said in disbelief.

He nodded. "Rather a foreign concept in your world, I would imagine."

Her gaze narrowed, her curiosity obviously piqued. "Tell me about the person who makes the jams and cans the vegetables."

"Geneva Talmadge." He grinned suddenly.

"What’s so damn funny?"

"Geneva’s a demo specialist. Her late father was an engineer, and he trained her. She was even better at demolition work than Patrick. She looks like an angel, has the body of a centerfold, and she’s as tough as steel."

Hannah made a huffing sound, and then observed, "She certainly doesn’t sound wounded."

Nicholas sobered. "I’ve known her since she was a teenager. Geneva worked for me for several years. She’s had a price on her head for years… a seven figure price for anyone who takes her out. She’s hearing impaired, so she’s doubly vulnerable to her enemies in the hearing world. She claims she spends time in the kitchen as a form of therapy, but I think she just enjoys the process of creating something, rather than the act of destruction. Given the volume of the stuff she produces, it’s no wonder she’s on the verge of opening a shop in town. And if it’s as successful as I suspect it will be, she’ll probably wind up with a chain of stores. I’m also her business manager, and I’ve been pushing her in that direction for the last year or so."

"Business manager?"

He grinned, loving her scowl. "And friend."

"Don’t forget ex–boss and protector," she reminded him.

Nicholas shrugged.

"As sexist as this will probably sound, I had no idea that women mercenaries even existed." She laughed, startling him with the return of her humor.

"What?"

"Given the skills you and your friends possess, not to mention your very protective attitude about your land, the crime rate in this part of Nevada must have plummeted when you all moved into the area. I wonder if the law enforcement authorities appreciate the advantage your presence offers to them and the other local residents."

Nicholas studied her features as her smile faded and her gaze drifted to the view offered by the window behind him. While it surprised him that she’d picked up on one of the more subtle, but very tangible, benefits of their presence in the region, he kept his reaction to himself. As he watched her, he recalled a conversation he’d had with the county sheriff during one of his infrequent visits. The man had voiced a similar observation, as well as a firm warning that he expected Nicholas to keep a tight rein on the residents of his property, despite the fact that they all seemed inclined to shun contact with most people beyond the boundary lines of his land.

"I miss Sean so much," she confessed, her mood abruptly shifting again. "We all do. Our family feels incomplete without him. He was such an incredible big brother when we were all growing up. He looked out for us, patched us up when we scraped a knee or an elbow, and helped us with our homework. He even protected us from the bullies in the neighborhood."

Nicholas said quietly, "He saved my life, Hannah, not once but several times, so I think I understand some of what you’re feeling. I’d give anything to have the old Sean back, but that isn’t likely to ever happen. He’s one of the emotional fatalities of our business."

She tugged her hands free of his grasp and lowered them to her lap. "Sean is completely lost to us, isn’t he? And he’ll never be strong enough to leave here, will he?"

"I think you already know the answers to those questions." Despite his empathy for Hannah, his tone became terse. "As much as I’d like to, I can’t change what’s happened to him, not even for you."

"My God, what will I tell Mom? She knows why I came here. She expects me to persuade Sean to come home."

Nicholas stood suddenly, the legs of his chair scraping across the floor as he abandoned it without a backward glance. Walking to the window, he paused there, as though to study the panoramic view, but he didn’t actually focus on anything beyond the double panes of security glass. He clenched his fists, the gesture a validation of his frustration. He longed to supply a solution to Hannah’s dilemma, but he was fresh out of miracles.

"You warned me, but I refused to believe you. I’ve been such a fool."

"You aren’t a fool. No one wants to believe how bad off he is, but we must for his sake."

"I realize that now." She left her chair, carried the two brandy snifters to the kitchen sink, and placed them there. "I left the letter on the table in the cabin. I hope he eventually finds it."

"He will."

Through narrowed eyes, he watched her close the space that separated them. Clad in black leggings, warm socks, and a thigh–length white sweater, Hannah looked young, innocent, and vulnerable. She paused just a few feet away from him, her gaze distant as she stared out the window.

Nicholas longed to ask her to stay with him for as long as she could tolerate the isolation, but he knew how selfish such a request would be. He also wanted to tell her that he needed her, but why add another complication to her already complex life?

The reality was that Sean Cassidy was one soldier destined not to return home. Hannah now faced the task of carrying that sad news to her family. She deserved to be free to resume her life as a teacher and advocate for abused children, two pursuits that obviously meant the world to her.

He had to bite back the admission that he wanted her to stay for a few more days of shared time so that he could collect more memories of her, memories that he would store in his heart and bring out whenever he missed her the most. Instead of being honest about his own motives, he suggested, "Why don’t you wait a day or two for Sean? I don’t want to give you false hope, but if he finds your letter, he may decide he wants to see you."

She nodded. Then she turned to him and walked straight into his arms. He held her close, guilt–ridden as he absorbed the trembling of her slender body. He offered her the reassurance of his embrace while his own frustration with the situation roared through him. And although he nearly lost control and shouted his rage, he managed to confine his turmoil to a silent curse against the forces working against them.

A short while later Hannah eased free of his snug hold, lifted her face into view, and searched his features with eyes that reflected the weary state of her emotions. "I would like to give Sean a chance to respond to my letter, but I don’t expect to see him. I want to stay, though, because I want to be with you."

"Hannah…" He felt shamed and humbled by her honesty and her willingness to make herself vulnerable so that he would understand her feelings.

"Please, let me finish."

He nodded.

"Leaving you will be the hardest thing I ever do, Nicholas, and I’m just selfish enough to want a little more time with you. I need…" The emotions roiling inside her made her pause and blink back tears. "I need all the memories I can have of us."

Guilt spiked within him like a high fever, but he made himself remind her, "We’ve both known from the beginning that your stay here was temporary."

"That doesn’t mean I have to like it one damn bit!" she snapped, some of her old fighting spirit apparent as she glared up at him, tears spilling from her eyes.

His own gaze cooled to resemble glacial ice, his hard jaw reminiscent of an outcropping of solid granite. "You have responsibilities. So do I."

Hannah stiffened in his arms, but she didn’t move away from him. "You don’t have to remind me that I’m an outsider. I just wish we could find some kind of a compromise that would allow us to…"

"We can’t," he cut in, unwilling to allow either one of them to hope for or to expect anything more than what they could have in this moment. Only normal people had even half a prayer of sustaining a loving relationship, and he couldn’t offer her anything even remotely normal. Their situation was impossible, and he didn’t expect it to change.

Hannah behaved as though she hadn’t heard his words or his implacable tone of voice. She flattened her palms against his chest, slipped her hands up and around his neck, and tugged his head down.

His heart shifted painfully in his chest as he looked down into her heart–shaped face. The thought of never seeing her or holding her or making love to her again seemed like the worst torture imaginable—the kind of torture capable of permanently maiming his soul.

"Make love to me, Nicholas. Make me feel as though I really belong in your life just a little while longer. Make me believe that I belong to you, even if it’s just a fantasy."

All of his defenses crashed in on him. He stopped fighting, stopped resisting, and stopped trying to sidestep the need that blazed like an inferno in his soul. He jerked her up and into his arms with a muttered curse and carried her out of the kitchen. He strode across the ground floor level of his home and then took the stairs to the master bedroom suite three at a time, his booted footsteps echoing in the silence.

Pausing beside his bed, he lowered Hannah to a position in front of him, his hands shifting to his belt buckle the instant he released her. They kept their eyes fastened on each other as they hastily shed their clothing.

Breathing rapidly, Hannah stared up at the hard planes of his face as she discarded the final barriers to closeness with Nicholas. She unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor. Then, she shimmied free of her panties, feeling them slide down her legs, and then kicked them aside. His gaze, so cold and unemotional just minutes ago, now flared with sensual intent.

She shivered beneath the heat of it, but she didn’t make any attempt to cover her nakedness. She knew her love for him shone in her eyes. She needed him to see the true depth of her feelings for him, wanted him to finally grasp that she would be anything he needed her to be and give him everything he demanded of her.

Anticipation made her breathless, but her desire for him strengthened her ability to display her nakedness without trying to shield herself with any gestures of false modesty. She saw his appreciation as his eyes skimmed over her. She arched slightly when she felt her nipples tighten into hard buds. His eyes lingered and stroked her with an invisible caress.

Her insides clenched, and her breasts felt heavy and swollen. She nearly begged him to touch them, to fondle them with his callused hands and long, narrow fingers, but she couldn’t speak. All her of emotions felt wedged in her throat.

He brought his hands up to cup her face. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I still can’t quite believe you’re real," he admitted, his voice sounding raw and ravaged as he spoke. "And I don’t understand how you can want someone like me."

She almost admitted to him that she was in love with him. Instead, she smiled gently and reached for his hands, guiding them to her breasts, offering herself to him with a simplicity that was both innocent and seductive. Her eyes fluttered closed as his hands closed over her flesh, and air hissed as she sucked it into her lungs.

She felt the spasm of his fingers as he cupped her breasts with a possessiveness she adored. She stood there, vulnerable to his gaze and his touch, giving herself to him with an innate honesty that seemed to baffle this powerful man. She welcomed the erotic images that flashed through her mind like a thousand brightly lighted neon signs.

"Make the world go away, Nicholas." Her voice broke as she said his name. She felt exposed, and as terrified of facing the future without him as she was eager for what they could share now.

He drew her into his heat and hardness, molding her soft curves to the muscles that ridged the front of his torso and thighs. He swept his hands down her back, his fingertips tracing the faint indentation of her spine before he curved them over her hips and tucked her between his parted legs. His sex throbbed against her belly, warning her with a lack of subtlety of the power of his need and branding her for all eternity as his.