Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) (21 page)

“He used you.” Moira stood, her arms full of clothes. She hugged them instead of her sister.

Neve stood up and met her eyes. “Yeah. It shouldn’t matter, should it? He still hit me. He still hurt me. He’d still be doing it if I hadn’t left … and now I feel like I’m back there all over again. It wasn’t ever even about me.”

Neve turned around, dumping the clothes on the bed. “Think Ella Sue can dig up a couple of boxes before she leaves?”

“Fuck the boxes.” Moira caught her sister’s arm, turning her around. “You were the one he hurt and it’s your life he’s still trying to mess up. I’d say it’s very much about you.”

Neve opened her mouth, then closed it. She went to pull away, but as she averted her face, Moira saw the tears she was still fighting.

She needs her sister
.

Although the gulf of years separating them still felt as wide as ever, she moved in and caught Neve around the waist, hugging her.

Neve didn’t move—not for the longest time, and then, she started to sob.

*   *   *

“He never even loved me.”

The words came into the quiet a long time later. Moira didn’t know how much time had passed. They were curled up on the floor, Neve with her head pillowed on Moira’s lap. Moira stroked Neve’s hair back.

“That shouldn’t even be a question. He used his fists on you. That’s not love.”

“That’s not always true,” Neve said, sighing. “Abusers can very well love … it’s a twisted, dangerous kind of love, Moira. And the abuse is that much more subtle for it. It’s the kind of stuff that leads to obsession. But he didn’t love me. That was why I stayed for as long as I did—I thought he loved me. But it wasn’t ever about that.”

Moira didn’t know what to say to that—she couldn’t comprehend being with a man who’d hurt her.
Staying
with a man who’d hurt her. She wouldn’t have thought Neve would, either. But she knew her sister—she’d once been incredibly strong-willed. Somehow, William Clyde, Sam Clyde, whoever he was, had damaged her enough to make her do just that.
Walk a mile in her shoes,
she thought. “In the end, it doesn’t matter what it was about, I don’t think,” she finally said. “Right now, it’s a kick in the gut. But what matters is that he’s still the man who hurt you. One who might try to hurt you again.”

“Yeah.” Neve sighed, the sound shuddering out of her. “I just…”

The words trailed off.

“What, baby?”

Neve sat up, drawing long, denim-clad legs to her chest. “I was so happy with him. At first. I had this great guy … and yeah, it was all a lie. But there he was. I thought I’d finally have somebody who
wanted
me. Who
needed
me.”

The words—the sheer loneliness in them—hit Moira hard.

“Nevie…”

Neve shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

When Neve tried to stand up, Moira reached out. “Do you honestly think we didn’t need you? Didn’t want you?”

A sad smile curved her lips. “I was a pain in the ass, Moira. There were times when
I
didn’t want me.” Then she shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter anyway.”

She got to her feet, stretching her arms over her head.

Moira did the same, although her spine ached and every muscle in her body protested. “It matters,” she said. “We should have done better—
I
should have done better. You needed me and I was too caught up in everything else to even realize how much I was messing up. You and Brannon were the two who needed me the most and I let you both down.”

Neve looked away. “We all messed up. I’m … tired,” she said after a moment. “I’m tired of looking back and wondering and questioning and wishing. I just want to forget half of my life and start over, if I can.”

Then she looked back at her sister. “Brannon and I weren’t the only ones who needed you, though. Gideon did, too.”

The simply spoken words hit her like a fist and Moira opened her mouth only to realize she had absolutely nothing to say.

“I don’t think the two of you ever got over it, either.” Neve turned toward her bed. “I guess I’ll just fold these for now. Thanks for … well, you know.”

Moira opened her mouth to respond, but then she just stood and moved to the bed. When she started to fold the clothes, Neve looked at her.

“It’s been years,” Moira said, forcing her voice to be level. “I figure we’ve got time to make up for. Even if we’re doing it over a pile of clothes that are…”—she held up something insanely fuchsia and insanely floral—“sadly outdated.”

“That was yours,” Neve said. “I just … borrowed it.”

*   *   *

Brannon and Ian had a method of communication that seemed to involve odd looks, low grunts or mutters, and lots of whiskey.

Gideon didn’t bother asking for translations.

The two were close—they might as well have been born in the same nursery. The fact that an ocean had separated them for the first eighteen years of their lives didn’t matter much. They were as close as two friends could get.

While they continued their indeterminate conversation, Gideon moved through the house, feeling at loose ends.

Ella Sue had made coffee and then gone home.

He drank half the pot and then made himself walk away. He would probably be up half the night anyway, but at least now he’d know it was his own fault and not the coffee.

As the clock crept up on ten, he found himself at the foot of the steps.

It had been silent ever since Moira had followed Neve, and now, like a string was tugging on him, Gideon was drawn up the elegant staircase off to the west wing, where the family’s bedrooms were.

Neve’s had never been moved.

They’d never changed a single thing, a fact that surprised him not at all.

They’d just been waiting for her.

What infuriated him was that they’d
just
waited—that
he
had just waited. He should have known Neve wouldn’t just … disappear like that. Hot as that temper was, she’d loved her family and she would have come home. Because nobody had pushed, look at what had happened.

The door was closed and he turned the handle gently, watching as a wedge of light from the hallway spilled inside.

The first thing he saw was the miniature tower city constructed of a tower of clothes neatly stacked on the floor in front of Neve’s bed.

The second thing … the two women curled up on the bed.

Although Neve was the taller of the two, she lay curled up on her side, Moira at her back with a protective arm resting over her.

And her eyes were open. As Neve slept, her sister kept watch.

She met his gaze and, after a moment, her lashes swept down. He went to back away, but she eased off the massive bed, padding across the floor toward the open door.

He really should have just left.

She closed the door behind her and turned toward him.

Her face was flushed from sleep. She’d taken off her shoes and, at some point, she’d also lost the closely fitted, dressy little jacket she’d been wearing when he found her at the museum.

She looked mussed and sleepy and so completely beautiful.

She still turned his brain to mush and the love he had for her felt like it would explode out of him.

But he’d lived with this for years and he was able to give her a polite nod. “How is she?”

Moira sighed and slumped back against the wall. “I don’t even know how to answer that. She’s upset. She’s angry.” She lapsed into silence and then she added, “
I’m
angry. I want to kill him, Gideon.”

“He won’t hurt her again, Moira.”

“He never should have hurt her to begin with.” She curled her hands into fists, her gray-green eyes staring off down the hall. Her voice was muted and quiet as she added, “She wanted somebody to
need
her, Gideon. How badly did I mess up if I chased my baby sister into the arms of someone who’d hurt her just because she wanted to feel
needed
?”

Gideon had rules he tried to live by—as a cop, as a man.

And there were rules he had to live by to stay sane around Moira.

Number one—don’t touch.

But he couldn’t not touch her now.

He kept it light, casual, just a brush of his fingers down her arm. The contact brought her eyes to his. “You didn’t drive her to him. You aren’t responsible—neither is Neve. The only one responsible for this is the man who hurt her.”

It didn’t do anything to lessen the shadows in her eyes, but he hadn’t expected it to.

After a moment, he just nodded. “You get some sleep, Moira.”

She reached out and caught his arm.

The contact went through him like electricity, setting his system to blaze, and he couldn’t stop the way his muscles bunched, the way his heart rate rocketed up.

The one thing he could stop was the need to grab her and back her up against the wall, to pull her mouth to his and have her—taste her again—feel her once more. But it was easier if she wasn’t touching him. Holding himself still, he watched as she moved closer. “Thank you,” she said, her hand still on his arm.

“You don’t need to thank me for anything, Moira.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re always there, Gideon.” Her gaze slid across his face and heat blistered him as it landed briefly on his mouth. The hunger snarled, growling like a caged wolf.

*   *   *

I don’t think the two of you ever got over it, either.

Gideon’s eyes were glittering.

The hard lines of his face were harsh and he looked flushed.

But his voice was calm, completely level as he said, “I’m just doing my job, Moira. Besides, Neve’s a friend—like a sister to me.”

“Right.” Her smile wobbled, almost fell under the intensity of his eyes. Yes, he’d always adored Neve and it was clear
that
hadn’t changed. He still had the same easy affection for Neve.

For her?

Not so much.

He gave her another polite smile. He might as well have tipped an imaginary hat and said,
Afternoon, ma’am
. As he went to pull away, she moved in. “Gideon…”

He automatically dipped his head. He was so much taller than she was. She could remember how he used to tease her about propping her up on a stool when he kissed her … then he’d just pick her up and do it.

Now, his head just barely in reach, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. He froze. The stubble on his jawline scraped against her lips. Off balance, she rested a hand on his shirt, curling her fingers into it.

And under her hand, she felt his heart.

It lunged like a racehorse.

“Gideon…”

She rubbed her mouth across his cheek, just a fraction of an inch.

Two seconds later, she had her back plastered against the wall and his hand cupped her face. He lightly squeezed her jaw and her mouth fell open. Just as his mouth came down on hers, she had time for one vague thought.

Oh, hell
.

And then she locked her arms around his neck and clung tight.

*   *   *

The taste of her, the feel of her after so long hit him like napalm.

No drug could ever touch the effect that Moira McKay had on his system.

She opened for him and he thrust his tongue inside, shuddering at the taste of her.

Still so sweet. But darker … headier, even. He wanted to go to his knees and kiss every inch of her flesh, learn what other difference there was. But that would require he move.

Her hands were fisted in his hair and he really didn’t want to stop kissing her, either. He improvised and boosted her up closer, guiding her legs until she hooked them over his hips, and then he rocked against her, driving against the heat between her thighs.

Her body trembled in response.

He could have her …

Tearing his mouth away, he kissed a burning line down her neck as she pushed a hand inside the collar of his shirt.

Bedroom.

His brain was already processing the logistics of it. Her bedroom was too far away. Another room, then. He could have her, strip her naked … love her …

The thought echoed in his mind even as she caught his earlobe and bit down.

Love her …

Although the need to feel her naked underneath him still rode him hard, Gideon found himself going cold.

Slowly, he untangled himself from the limbs she’d twined around him.

“Gideon?” she whispered.

“We’re not doing this,” he said softly, easing her down to the floor.

“We’re … what aren’t we doing?”

He moved away and shoved a shaking hand through his hair. His radio chirped and he scowled, turning it off. He was off duty, but out of habit, he kept the damn thing on. Still gripping it in his hand, he turned to face her. “This,” he said. “We’re not doing this.”

She just watched him with bruised eyes.

If somebody had told him he’d walk away from a chance at one more night—even one more time—with Moira McKay, he would have told that son of a bitch he was crazy.

But that was before he held her again. Before he realized he’d have to do it all over again, pick his heart up off the floor. He still didn’t have all the pieces.

Damn if he’d let her kick him all over again.

“I’ll be a lot of things for you, Moira,” he said, clipping the radio back on. “I’ll be a friend if you need one, and if you have problems, I’ll do my damnedest to fix them. But this … I can’t be … this for you. I’m sorry. I never should have kissed you.”

Then he turned and walked away.

CHAPTER NINE

Ever since he’d put his hands on Neve McKay, Ian’s nights had been haunted by dreams of her. Dreams that made him wake up sweaty and aching, dreams that sometimes sent him into the shower, standing under an icy stream until he thought he’d freeze himself to death.

Nothing had cooled that heat.

But no hot and sweet dream haunted him tonight.

When he came awake, panting for breath, it wasn’t a hot sweat that slicked his flesh, but an icy one.

A dull headache throbbed at the base of his head and he thought he just might be sick.

He’d been at that pub in London all over again, but Brannon hadn’t been with him.