Hearts Under Siege (7 page)

Grateful, he let it carry him away.

Chapter Four

Brady fell into unconsciousness so abruptly Molly panicked, fumbling at his neck, trying to lift him enough to find his pulse or check to see if he was breathing. She shoved at his shoulders. His head and arms remained limp, but she felt a slight gust of breath against her cheek. He was alive. She relaxed a little, finding the pulse in his neck. The beat was normal, though still slightly fast from exertion. He was just exhausted, overwhelmed. She stroked her hand through his hair. Poor guy.

That was why he’d had sex with her, of course. She had no illusions about that. But lack of self-deception didn’t keep her from holding him close until his weight became too much. She shifted out from under him but stayed near, especially when he curled his arm around her waist. She closed her eyes, trying to succumb to her own exhaustion, but sleep eluded her. Too much swirled through her brain.

Mostly, it was a video of tomorrow morning’s conversation. More like Brady’s half of it. Because in her mind, it never changed, no matter what she said in her half. He was going to be appalled. He’d apologize over and over. Make a dozen excuses—over and over—that were meant to reassure her but would simply make her feel like shit. She desperately wanted to avoid all that, but had no idea how.

If he knew how she felt, and for how long she’d felt that way, it would be even worse. He’d think he was leading her on, and would hasten to explain that the sex had been cathartic, releasing of emotions he couldn’t handle any other way. That he was oh-so-grateful to her for letting herself be used, but it would never happen again.

If she didn’t handle it right, he’d send her away. He would think the distance important for both of them, especially if she protested. Brady had that sexist streak that was built into every guy. He’d believe that just because they’d had sex, she would think she was in love with him, and if they stayed away from each other, the feelings would go away.

She snorted softly. What a blow it would be to his ego if she told him the sex hadn’t been good enough to inspire the illusion of love. Okay, sure, she’d had a pretty damned good orgasm, and the arousal had been real enough. But the whole time, her brain had kept up a running commentary about how this was all grief with a side helping of adrenaline, and would change nothing between them. Not the way she wished it could.

So the morning would be awkward and uncomfortable in a way their relationship had never been, not even that Christmas when she heard him kiss Jessica in the back hall. She’d already known about his feelings for his now sister-in-law, and he hadn’t harbored any guilt for doing what he’d felt he had to do. He’d told Molly that at least it was all out in the open and he never had to wonder or hope.

Of course, after that, he’d distanced himself from his entire family, including her, but still.

Hell. This was going to be much more acutely painful.

Eventually he released her and rolled onto his back, and she pulled on her tank and shorts before trying again to sleep. But as she started to drift off, he jerked, muttering something, and it startled her awake. He flailed and growled in an obvious nightmare. She shifted up on the bed and tried to soothe him back into restful sleep, smoothing his hair off his forehead and putting a hand on his chest, murmuring in his ear, even singing. Nothing worked until she cradled his head against her chest. He rolled toward her, nuzzled, and
then
, of course, subsided into normal sleep again. And she spent at least the next hour trying not to think about his mouth so close to her nipple.

She managed to drift off half an hour before dawn, not really sleeping, but semi-lucid, dreaming about Brady waking her with lovemaking, this time tender and caring and about
them
rather than about…other stuff. But she knew it wasn’t real, wasn’t going to happen, and when her watch alarm beeped, she’d been waiting for it.

Might as well grab another shower. She needed it after…well, after the thing that didn’t happen. That was how she was going to have to handle it. Cut Brady off before he got to say anything at all. He’d get the message. He was smart, and it would be what he really wanted, anyway. She swung her legs out of the bed and tried to sit up.

“O-
ohh
.” Cramps rippled up her back and down her legs, even around her sides. The moan of pain reversed to an indrawn hiss. Every muscle in her body was stiff, proving that training and real fighting were
not
the same thing. Layer tension on top of that, plus the…thing that hadn’t happened, and she was lucky to stand.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, wincing as she rolled her shoulders and hobbled to the bathroom.

This shower was the second best she’d ever experienced. Slowly, her muscles loosened with the warm water and stretching, and after she felt halfway normal, she climbed out and got dressed while she worked at putting on a mask of normalcy and shoving every single emotion into a box. A steel box. With no opening. Just solid steel riveted right around her heart. She sealed it by running through a mental to-do list. Six times.

Then she was ready to face the other side of that bathroom door. She took a steadying breath and opened it.

Brady rose from the bed, closing his cell phone as he did. He didn’t make eye contact, but started moving around the bed toward her.

“Shower’s free,” she announced stupidly, and hurried on in as normal a voice as she could muster—if “normal” meant “uninflected.” “Did you check the flight?”

“Yeah, it’s on time. We have a couple of hours before we have to be at the airport.”

“Okay, good. You have time to get cleaned up. I’ll—” She waved a hand vaguely around the room. Neither had left anything unpacked, and Brady had made the bed. Kind of. Pulled up the covers. Crap. She couldn’t look at it.
Window
. She’d look for suspicious characters.

She started toward the window as Brady said, “Moll, about last night.”

“How did you sleep?” she cut him off, still aiming for the window but unable to get by him.

“Surprisingly great, actually.”

His hand came up to her upper arm, his fingers squeezing gently, and Molly fought not to close her eyes, to give into the comfort of touching him. It had been far too long since they’d been this close, in any capacity, and she was on pleasure overload. Or something.

“Good. Better get in the shower. Water’s nice and hot.” She slid past him and hid her face in the gap between curtain and wall. What a moron she was.
So much for normal
.

“I need to apologize for last night,” he said from behind her, obviously still standing in the same place.

Crap. Crap-crap-crap-crap.
She scrambled to come up with another topic to head him off. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I was selfish.”

No! She could
not
do this! She could
not
have this conversation with him! She blurted, “No, you weren’t. Jessica was probably sedated, and I let your parents know we’d call when we got back in the country.”

Dead silence. What the hell was she thinking? Bringing up Jessica and his parents and therefore, indirectly, his brother would definitely head off a discussion of sex. But now they were in even more painful territory.

“I just called them, actually.” His voice was subdued. “I talked to Jess. She’s having a hard time, but said she’s managing without the tranquilizers now.”

“Good,” Molly managed to choke out.

“Mom said to tell you how grateful they are that you came to get me. She’s a little confused on why that was necessary, but we’ll come up with something.”

“
Mm-hmm
.” The soft rasp of his voice, the sorrow behind it, was killing her.
Strap in
, she told herself.
This is just the beginning
.

“So, that wasn’t what I meant when I said I was selfish. But I get the picture.” She heard the soft swish of fabric. His hand closed over her shoulder for a second, then he moved away. When the bathroom door clicked shut, she let out her breath in a
whoosh
and leaned against the wall. That had been a narrower escape than yesterday’s car chase. She focused on the scene outside, one she hadn’t paid any attention to, and started cataloging details. Then realized none of them were relevant. She hadn’t seen their pursuers yesterday, could barely remember the vehicle they’d been driving, and there were several on the street below that looked like it. So this was pointless. She released the curtain and backed up to double-check the room for anything they’d dropped. Oh, lovely, there was the condom wrapper on the floor between beds, Brady’s jeans in a heap next to it. She vaguely remembered hearing a
thump
last night and bent to check. Brady’s wallet had fallen out of his pocket; it lay under the jeans. She picked up both and crumpled the condom wrapper into her fist as he emerged from the bathroom in a billow of steam.

She straightened, turned, and froze, every nerve in her body jumping to attention and shouting “
Hell-
o!” Brady stood wrapped in a skimpy towel, water beaded on his sculpted chest and shoulders, dripping off his shaggy hair. She hadn’t seen him like this in…ever, actually. Even last night, she hadn’t had much chance to look at his body. Part of her told her not to now, that the barrier she was trying to erect wouldn’t hold if she did, but the rest of her said the hell with it, she might not ever get this chance again. So she stood and looked her fill. When her upward-stroking gaze reached his face, his mouth was quirked up on one side. She snorted. Male pride.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Picking up. These were on the floor.” She held out the jeans and wallet, squeezing her fist around the wrapper.

“That’s what I needed, thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.” He took the jeans and went back into the bathroom.

She sighed. The next few days were going to be hell in more ways than one.

…

When Molly and Brady finally arrived at the Fitzpatricks’ Connecticut home, she was a wreck. Brady had slept more on the plane, which was good for him—he might not get much once they got home. But she couldn’t turn off her Brady radar—the sense that told her every move he made, that spiked her tension whenever he woke up and she’d automatically braced herself for him to talk about the previous night again. He hadn’t, but she hadn’t been able to set it aside, anyway. When she’d managed to close her eyes, her brain insisted on reminding her of all the things she’d never feel again, and prodding the embers of her dying—should be dead—hope. Now that they’d had sex, the faint spark she’d been unable to crush, even after all these years, was growing. So she’d spent much of the flight lecturing herself not to open the steel box, not to let the spark get any bigger. All wasted effort, for two reasons. One, herself didn’t listen. And two…

As soon as Brady saw Jessica, Molly knew it was all over.

“Darling, darling girl, thank you!” Donna engulfed Molly in a humongous hug, even before touching her son. “I don’t know what we’d have done.”

“Don’t be silly,” Molly said into the shoulder covering her face. “They’d have gotten a message to him eventually.” She didn’t say who “they” were, knowing Donna would assume it was the company they thought employed Brady.

“But you got him home so much faster.” Donna released her, dabbing a tissue at her eyes, a gesture that had clearly become habitual. She looked haggard, her eyes red and puffy, the lines around them and her mouth deeper, dragging the skin of her face lower.

“How are you doing?” Molly asked her, working very hard not to watch Brady on the other side of the foyer embracing his sister-in-law, who was sobbing softly. Even out of the corner of Molly’s eye, she could see reverence in his every touch. His feelings for Jessica hadn’t changed. In fact, they’d be even worse now.

So much for that spark of hope
.

“Oh, you know.” Donna led everyone into the living room and settled on the couch, reaching a hand out to Brady, who managed to release Jessica enough to grip it. He settled the two of them next to his mother, and his father sank heavily into the recliner. Molly hesitated, but as they asked Brady about the trip, she decided to escape to the kitchen to get drinks and snacks. She knew neither Donna nor Jessica would have been eating, and maybe they’d be comforted enough by Brady’s presence to do so now.

Plus, it gave her an excuse to escape.

She was trying to keep her mind blank while she found a tray and started gathering items. Brady walked in as she pulled a pile of condiments and sandwich fixings from the fridge.

“Jessica says she might be able to manage some soup.” He stood next to the island in the center of the large kitchen. “She can’t remember when she last ate.”

Molly choked back an irritated reply. Jessica had just lost her husband and had no clue about the subtext of that loss. Brady would be solicitous even if he wasn’t in love with her. “Check the pantry wall, there should be some cans in there.”

He hesitated, and Molly frowned. Didn’t he remember where the pantry was? Hell, maybe not. He hadn’t been here in years. But then he gave a little start, as if he’d been lost in his head, and turned to the wall behind him, unerringly opening the door for the canned goods.

Guilt niggled at Molly. She had to tell Brady, before someone else mentioned it. She should have told him long before now, but it had seemed not so much like pouring salt in his wounds—all of them, old and new—but rubbing it in hard with steel wool. But she’d held off as long as she could, and no time was going to be better than now.

“She’s a wreck,” he said, coming back to the counter and digging in a drawer for a can opener. “And she’s confused. She’s asking about the guy who came to tell her, and why he was so vague about the details.”

“I figured she would eventually. What did they tell her?” Molly had never bothered asking. She was the only one who knew he’d died on the job and that they wouldn’t get the truth, so the lie didn’t matter. But now she was curious.

“Car accident. You’d think that would be enough, but Jessica’s not dumb.” He poured the soup into a pan and set it on the burner, lighting the gas and adjusting the flame.