Storm Surge (10 page)

The fire in her belly rushed along the gasoline of her blood to her limbs. And to her face. She knew her cheeks had gone as bright as cherries.

He dropped the pillow onto the couch. “But as you said, tonight is not the time.”

The flames receded a tad. She breathed again. He smoothed the blanket over the fully made sofa. Paige hurried to the water she’d left standing on the end table and drank half in one gulp.

“Do you want me to put the television on? It might help you sleep.”

Paige nodded at him over the tumbler’s rim.

“I’ve locked all the doors and windows. The outside lights are on.”

Lowering the glass, Paige admitted to him his litany of the security precautions had only served to unnerve her more. “Not that I’d forgotten, but…”

“I’m sorry, but they’re necessary.” He headed across the room and paused at the stairs. “I’ll be up for quite a while in my office. I have work to do. You hear anything, get frightened, sing out, okay?”

“Okay. I’m not much of a singer, though.”

He stood a moment longer, his dark gaze intent. “God, Paige, I want…I want to kiss you. And a kiss is a simple thing, really. But not the way you do it.”

Paige closed her eyes on an expulsion of breath. “Goodnight, Liam.” When she opened them again, he was gone. She snatched up the remote and clicked on the television as she threw herself down on the couch. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

Out over the water, lightning shimmered in the belly of rolling, gray clouds, too far away for the thunder to reach Raleigh’s ears. Soon, though. He could smell the storm in the air, sense it on his skin. He watched the lightning through the smoke curling around his head from a glowing cigarette. He sucked in another lungful, blew it out, made tiny rings of it like his granddad used to do. Long time ago. Too long ago to really think about. More pressing issues weighed on him. No use looking back.

After several minutes, he stubbed the butt out beneath the sole of his shoe. Ground it with his toe right down into the sand to hide it good. Wouldn’t want anyone to know he’d been standing out here. Already had to duck from sight once when that cop car came cruising by. Checking for him, he knew that, but it didn’t much matter. They weren’t going to find him.

Staring across the road at the blank window, the glittering television glow dancing at the curtain’s edge, Raleigh thought about her sleeping on the couch, open-mouthed, the remote clutched in her hand. He’d seen her through a slit in the curtains after he’d unscrewed the light bulb by the door. That pretty little piece baffled him, she did. Couldn’t figure out her game, why she’d come back unless to play her hand. And what the fuck was she doing holed up with Gray? Gray ought to know better. Taking chances that might blow the whole deal. Unless she’d told Gray something he’d decided to hold close for use at the right time.

Opening his fingers, he narrowed his eyes at the photo on his palm. Small, dog-eared, a date in ink smeared across the back. He liked to take a few chances himself. Should be precious, a photo of one’s mama. But just like that bookmark, she hadn’t even missed it.

Thunder’s first rumble vibrated the window at Liam’s back, followed by a cool breeze wriggling into the worn fabric covering his torso. A moment later, he heard rain drumming on the roof. With a sigh, Liam rose and crossed the floor. He lowered the sash. In the glass pane, movement reflected behind him.

“Paige, did the storm wake you?”

He shut the window and locked it before turning slowly to face her. She had come halfway into the room and paused, frowning at the monitor’s glow on his desk. Sleepily, she raised a hand and pushed curling strands from her eyes.

“I had a dream,” she mumbled.

“About what?”

“My dad.”

His indrawn breath caught. He said nothing.

“You know how you dream you’re awake, only to realize you’re not awake yet?”

Liam nodded. He saved his work, shut down the computer, and straightened some papers on the desk while he waited for the screen to darken.

“In my dream, I woke up and found him standing over me.”

A single printed sheet fluttered to the floor. He bent and picked it up. Taking his time, he replaced the article on the pile. “How did you feel?”

“What? About seeing my father? I didn’t really even see him, but I knew it was him. And then I realized I was still asleep. One of the crazy dream-world things. I hate that. You feel so disoriented afterward.”

“I’ve had some of those myself.”

“Who’d you dream about?”

He shook his head. “Another time.”

Alerted by her prolonged silence as he finished straightening his desk, he glanced in her direction. The single lamp cast her shadow across the wall and highlighted the amber hue of her round gaze, her mouth partially open, as if she’d started to speak and held her tongue. She looked vulnerable to him, a direct contrast to a woman who tended to count her victims on both hands, which was how he’d begun thinking of her in the long, dark hours. After knowing him for all of three days, she’d climbed up on him in an attempt to initiate what might have been stunning sex, and though he’d been more than willing to follow her down that rosy path, he’d found he couldn’t. Being left behind as nothing but a chalk outline on her headlong flight through life didn’t suit him. He wanted more. Finally. And he wanted more with Paige Waters. His timing sucked.

She’d warned him. Without realizing, she had warned him a couple of nights ago, out on the porch. She’d said she couldn’t get beyond her past. She was haunted by what had happened in her life all those years ago. As was he, by what had happened in his, and by what waited now in an altogether different form, threatening explosion. That alone should force wisdom and a wide berth around Paige and her desperate search. That alone would make her hate him if she ever learned the truth.

He clicked off the lamp and took her by the arm, ignoring the chemical heat at the touch as he led her from the office. He continued past the open bedroom door, down the steps, his hand slipping from her arm to her fingers, circling them, tightening, aware of her skin’s texture, the slenderness of each digit, the strength. At the bottom of the stairs, he let her go.

Lightning flashed through the darkened house. Thunder throbbed along the floorboards beneath their feet. Paige put a hand to the wall.

“It’s just a storm, Paige.” He hadn’t meant to sound so short. Or maybe he had. She shot him a look of amused tolerance.

“I know what a storm is. We had them in Tennessee, too. What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Three-thirty? Four?”

“Do you always stay up all night working?” She headed to the sofa and seized the blanket. Wrapping herself in it, she dropped cross-legged onto the cushion. He lowered himself into the nearest chair, his gaze on the blank television screen.

“Not always.”

“Are you angry with me, Liam Gray?”

Lightning continued to illuminate the room at intervals, thunder a persistent rumble. “I think I’m angry with myself.” He’d made so many decisions in this past year that had entangled him in deeper and deeper complications. He’d never expected Paige to come strolling into his life right in the thick of his difficulties. Making them worse because…well, because he cared.

Paige shifted on the sofa. “Maybe it would be better if I didn’t stay here, if I went back next door.”

“You can’t do that.”

He heard her sigh through a brief lull in the cacophony of the storm. “I’m not your responsibility, Liam. You know that.”

He did know she wasn’t his responsibility. But that recognition existed in a place other than his heart. There was no point in saying that aloud. Placing his hands on his knees, he heaved himself from the chair and stretched. “That’s a bit of an insult, your statement.”

“No, it’s not. It’s the truth.”

He went to the window and peeled back the drapes to view the storm raging outside. He wanted nothing more than to strip off those oversize clothes and press her naked body into the soft cushions with the weight of his own, sliding an erection into her, deep and hard. He knew she would receive him with infinite pleasure—at least in the physical sense.

His breath escaped in a rush, forming a damp circle on the rain-spattered glass. There were many reasons why he shouldn’t follow through with his inclinations. She could never learn all the truth she sought, no matter how hard she looked. And mysteries like that left scars as evident as the one on his face. They both had their secrets. He’d admitted as much to her. Paige’s belonged to Paige, wrapped up in her family’s dysfunctional life, but his extended beyond his solitary existence. They could even reach her if he let them.

She rose from the couch behind him. A moment later, her suitcase snapped open. He turned to find her repacking the few items inside. “What are you doing?”

“It’s late. Or early, depending on your perspective. You need to get some sleep. I need to get back to that uncomfortable bed next door.”

“Paige.”

“Walk me over if you like. See me safely locked inside. You will have discharged your gentlemanly duties.”

“It’s a deluge out there. Wait until it passes.”

Through the parted curtain, a distant, brilliant flash of silver and white lit her face. Thunder followed belatedly in a low, rumbling growl. “I can’t wait,” she said. “You can’t afford to have me wait. I understand that. I’ve disrupted your routine more than necessary. And disturbed you. I can see how much I have every time you look at me.”

“It’s not that, Paige. I just—”

Paige hiked the suitcase up under her arm and slung her purse over the other before yanking open the door and heading out into the downpour. She ducked her head against the onslaught and another flash of lightning. Adopting a similar position, Liam followed, pulling the suitcase from her grasp. “Gentlemanly duties, remember?” He held the case over her head in a semblance of protection from the pounding rain as they ran for the cottage.

* * * *

Paige stood at the kitchen sink with her arms extended like a vulture in the sun, laughter bubbling uncontrollably. Water ran in sheets from her clothing to puddle on the floor. In no better shape, Liam tossed her suitcase onto the chair, his hair plastered to his head. He hadn’t bothered with shoes and was better off without them. She wriggled her toes and watched the liquid force its way out of the canvas.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Paige, your mouth…”

She glanced up in time to witness his smile. Without another word, he went into the bathroom and returned with two towels, lobbing one in her direction. She slipped off her shoes and hurried to the room he’d vacated and shut the door. She stripped off her wet garments and toweled dry, then tugged her bathrobe on. Upon exiting the bathroom, she found Liam still shirtless, wringing water from his T-shirt into the kitchen sink. The towel lay beneath his feet, absorbing the spillage on the floor and drainage from his jeans. At the sound of a bird outside the window despite the fearsome weather, he lifted his head to listen.

“‘Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear,’” Paige quoted quietly.

Liam glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“Never mind.” She had no intention of revealing she’d quoted Shakespeare to him. He already thought her brazen and strange. It occurred to her Liam Gray might be more conservative than his appearance suggested. Grabbing fresh clothes for bed, she went back into the bathroom and dressed. Upon her return, Liam still had not put on his shirt. The garment hung over the sink edge, no longer dripping but crinkled and translucent. Palms planted on stainless steel, he leaned toward the window, not looking through the glass but at her reflection in it.

“Liam?”

“I’ll lock the door.”

“You can’t. You need a key. It secures from the inside.”

“I’m aware of that.” He strode to the door and turned the deadbolt, standing a moment with his body inches from the wood panel, immobile except for his breathing.

Paige studied his long, lean back, the solid structure of his arms, and could barely catch a breath, causing her voice to come out as little more than a whisper. “I figured you’d be going right home.”

“So did I, but I need to talk to you.”

Ah. Okay. Talking. Paige cleared her suitcase from the chair so Liam could sit. She climbed up onto the mattress, situating herself in the center, legs bent and tucked into a position to support her arms across her knees. She lowered her chin onto a forearm. He took his seat.

“Go ahead,” she encouraged him when he hesitated. “Whatever you need to say, I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

A run of his fingers through his hair sprayed droplets on the wall behind and over his shoulders. His nipples rose in chilled response. She looked away.

“It’s not anything you might imagine. I’m not even sure where to begin.”

“I can imagine a great deal,” she said. “And begin at the beginning.”

Grunting, he turned his head and folded his arms over his bare chest, casting about the room in mute search. She went and rummaged through the small dresser until she found a shirt and handed it to him.

“I like to wear loose clothing to bed.” Not waiting to witness how he responded to her statement, she returned to her comfortable roost on the mattress. He slipped a large T-shirt on without comment.

“Okay, so what is it you want to tell me?”

He pushed his hair back again. Paige watched the water spray across the borrowed shirt in a random pattern. In the gloom, his pupils widened, darkening his eyes to jet. A sense of premonition stole over Paige. Something bad was coming.

“About nine months ago,” he began, “I had the trawler out, more than forty-five miles off the coast in deep water. Cod and haddock were running like I’d never seen them. The crew, well, they were willing to stay out despite a storm approaching because it looked to be the best haul yet. Promised to be really good money. I figured we could race the weather in, beat the worst of it. And we would have, even when the seas got high and the wind started keening.”