Tempered (A Daughters of the People Novel) (Daughters of the People Series) (9 page)

“I know that’s
not how you sit in here. C’mon, relax. Get comfortable.”

“I do not wish
to become comfortable with you again.”

“Tough,” he said
cheerfully. “We’re gonna be working together for a long time. Might as well get
used to me being here.”

“I have not
decided to allow you to stay.”

“Yes, you have.”

Her gaze turned
cold. “You presume much.”

“Cut the b.s.,
Hawthorne.” He leaned forward, pinning her with a hard, even stare. “We both
know I’m staying.”

She held his
gaze for long moments, then murmured softly, “I do not wish it. Why do you
persist?”

“Because what we
had was good and I want it back. I want to earn your forgiveness, see if
there’s something between us besides sex, at least try to build a friendship. Look,
I know your past was hard and it did things to you.”

She rose slowly
and stared down at him. “What do you think it did to me?”

He stood and
edged closer to her, gradually closing the distance between them. “It hurt you,
inside and out. I want to help you find a way to put it behind you.”

“You think what
happened made me insane, and perhaps it did,” she said flatly. “For a while, a
very long time ago. I purged it by avenging my mother’s death and the honor
stolen from me by vicious, greedy men.”

“I don’t doubt
that.” He held his hands out, eased them toward her, cupped her shoulders. Her
skin was warm through the thin sweater she wore and her scent, an intriguing combination
of roses and autumn, drifted up, teasing him. “I don’t doubt you did everything
you could to find yourself again.”

“You do not
believe I achieved this finding, and so you would like to help me in order to
copulate with me again.” She shrugged her shoulders, wiggled them when he
wouldn’t let go. “Such manipulative arrogance.”

“No,” he said.
“Ok, maybe a little. Can’t I worry about you?”

“You lost that
right when you discarded me.” She stepped back, effectively dislodging his grip.
“I shall not trust you again.”

“I guess I can
understand that.”

“While you are
here…”

Hope pricked at
him. “I’m staying?”

“Only as long as
I wish it,” she said, her voice sharp. “While you are here, you will not touch
me in any way. We shall maintain a relationship appropriate for business
associates, nothing more.”

“I’ve got a lot
of good friends who are business associates.”

Her eyebrows
lowered so slightly, he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention.
“You will find a way to occupy your free time other than with my
granddaughter.”

“Hey, I’m Lali’s
puppy, not the other way around,” he pointed out.

“Nonetheless.”

“Forget it. I’m
not ignoring her while I’m here.”

She went rigid,
though her voice remained calm, controlled. “I need not tell you the
consequences of harming Lali.”

“If I stay away
from her, it’ll hurt her feelings and you know it.” He blew out an exasperated
breath. “She won’t understand why I keep pushing her away, and I don’t want to.
She’s a sweet little girl and, dammit, maybe I want to get to know her.”

“That is not
your…”

“You tell me I
don’t have a say in it and I’m gonna get pissed.” He shoved his hands into his
pockets and glared at her. “Christ, Hawthorne. I’m not a damn monster.”

“No,” she said
in a voice as cold as the winter wind. “You are a man.”

He bit back a
curse. “You know, in your mind, I don’t think there’s much difference.”

“In my
experience, there is not.”

“If that’s the
way you feel, why did you even bother to have sex with me?”

She blinked
once. “The hour grows late. Lali will awaken soon and I have much to do.”

He whipped a
hand out of his pocket, catching her forearm as she brushed by him. “Oh, no,
you don’t. You’re not getting off that easy.”

She twisted her
arm, breaking his hold, and shoved his hand away, all in one smooth motion. “I
have asked you not to touch me.”

“Ok. Fine.” He
held his hand up in surrender. “I’m not trying to hurt you. All I want is a
straight answer, just this once.”

Her expression
went flat. “You are here by the grace of Dana Goldburg. Were it my decision,
you would now be on your way back to San Francisco. Best you remember that.”

“I will. As long
as you remember that we have to talk about this sometime.”

“No,” she said.
The word held a finality that cut him to the quick. “I am of no mind to discuss
the past with you, Aaron Kesselman.”

In other words,
he’d had his chance and blown it. He was beginning to think there wasn’t
anything he could do to persuade her to give him another shot, but damned if he
wouldn’t keep trying. “You’re a hard woman, Hawthorne.”

She nodded
solemnly. “So I have been told. Come. I shall show you to your bed chamber.”

They left his
luggage in the foyer and went quietly up the wide staircase to the second
floor. The stairs ended in a half-circle landing with a second set of stairs
carved into the arc. Beyond, a carpeted floor stretched toward a curved wall
holding a single portrait of a woman driving a horse-drawn chariot, her flaming
red hair trailing behind her in long, winding curls. Two young girls stood in
the chariot behind her. The black-haired girl held a bow strung with an arrow
aimed at a man on horseback reaching for the reins held by the woman. The
red-headed girl gripped the chariot’s edge with one hand. The other held a
sword at the ready, its point inches away from slicing through another man’s
neck.

Aaron drew to a
stop and examined the painting. It was painted in the style of the Romantic era
and seemed achingly familiar. He rifled through his memories, searching for
where he’d seen it before, and came up blank. “Wow. That’s a really great
painting. Where did you find it?”

“It is a family
heirloom.” Hawthorne pointed to the left. “My room is beyond the double doors
at the end of the hallway, should you need me.”

Need her? Hell,
yeah. He pressed his lips together, holding the comment back. She probably
wouldn’t appreciate it right then.

“Lali’s room is
the first door on the left.” She turned to the right and led him up the second
set of stairs into the hallway beyond. “Your room is at the end of this wing.
It should be adequate for your needs. Once you have settled in, you may choose
a space in which to work.”

The right wing
turned out to be a mirror image of the one housing Hawthorne and Lali’s rooms.
Two doors were spaced at even distances on each side of the hallway, the walls
between them decorated with more portraits and paintings, spots of random color
against the ivory walls. At the end, a set of double doors stood open.

He stepped into
the room and whistled, low and long. The bedroom spanned the width of the upper
story. Windows lined each of the eggplant colored walls. Opposite the entrance,
a queen-sized sleigh bed covered in a sage green duvet was stationed with its
head against the wall, surrounded by windows. Matching night stands stood on
either side in front of the curtained windows, both holding simply styled lamps
with curved wooden bases and off-white lampshades. A love seat and a recliner
were arranged into a seating area around a coffee table near the right wall. A
drafting table, a plain wooden table, and an office chair occupied the left
wall. Two chests of drawers, one with a mirror, bracketed the entrance, with a
door set into the wall beyond each.

“Some digs,” he
said.

“I wished my
coworker to be comfortable during our collaboration.”

“I guess so.” He
poked his head into the door to the left and found a cedar-lined, walk-in
closet with enough space for two people’s clothes. A cursory examination of the
other door’s contents revealed a bathroom with a garden tub, a shower stall, a
toilet, and a long counter holding two sinks set into cabinets below a large,
lighted mirror. “I’ve lived in apartments with less square footage.”

“Have not we
all.” She cocked her head toward the door, as if listening. “Lali has awakened
and I must tend to her. Please make yourself to home.”

She brushed past
him, leaving him alone in the room that would be his home for the next few
months.

“Wait,” he said.

She peered at
him over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Thanks for
letting me stay. You won’t regret it, I swear.”

“I already do,”
she murmured, and then she was gone, her long, confident strides eating up the
distance between his room and Lali’s. He watched her go, admiring the graceful
way she carried herself and the shift of her lean body beneath the jeans and
sweater she wore. He pinched the bridge of his nose, stemming the tide of
memories. Hawthorne with water streaming over her skin. Hawthorne moving above
him, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Hawthorne turning from him, one tear
marring the perfection of her cheek as Ruby led her away.

Even knowing
that her past had twisted her mind, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d
ever met, and in every way but that one, the most sane, rational woman he’d
ever known. He’d been a fool to let her go without at least looking at the
proof she claimed to have. What would it have hurt? Not a damn thing. Instead,
he’d hurt her deeply and maybe even ruined his chance at something more,
something good and strong and unique with a woman who hadn’t bowed to
conformity or twisted under time’s steadfast hand.

She had to
forgive him. It was that simple, and he would do everything in his power to see
that she did.

Lali’s bright
voice echoed to him from the other side of the house. A moment later, she and
Hawthorne walked out of her bedroom, hand in hand.

Here was another
problem he intended to tackle head on. He’d never been around a lot of
children, not since he was a kid himself. This kid he could see spending time
with, and not because she was Hawthorne’s relative, of an unknown kinship. He had
a feeling it would only take Lali a few days to wrap him around one of her
delicate fingers. Already, her sweet smile and sassy attitude had wormed their
way into his heart. He had no clue how to convince the overprotective
Nana
that he wouldn’t hurt the little girl, but he had to try, and not solely for
the sake of peace.

When Lali
spotted him, her face lit up. She dropped Hawthorne’s hand and raced down the
hallway. He met her halfway and lifted her into a hug.

She patted his
cheeks playfully. “There were big people in my dreams, Airn.”

“Yeah? How big?”

“As big as a
house,” she said, her gray eyes round.

His gaze met
Hawthorne’s over Lali’s head. For a moment, he thought he saw something akin to
fear cross her face before her expression turned impassive. That look stole the
breath from him. Surely she didn’t honestly believe he would deliberately hurt
her or Lali, no matter what she’d said about monsters and men.

Surely not.

Hawthorne rolled
out of bed an hour earlier than usual, well before the sun topped the horizon.
During the night, she had slept little. Aaron’s presence in her home disturbed
her. His motives for coming to Tellowee remained suspect, though that did not
interfere with her sleep as much as the fierce need clamoring through her for
him.

Even after what
had passed between them, she still wanted him, wanted his kiss and his touch,
wanted to feel him moving within her, bringing her pleasure while finding his
own.

Perhaps she was
insane after all.

She shrugged out
of her night clothes and pulled on an athletic tank top and running shorts. If
Maria were home, Hawthorne would slip out into the morning’s chill and run
through the streets of Tellowee until her mind cleared and her body zinged with
fatigue. Instead, she would ease her frustrations on the treadmill.

She pulled on
socks and running shoes, then shut her bedroom door quietly behind herself. A
quick check confirmed that Lali slept on. Hawthorne tucked the bed linens
around her granddaughter’s shoulders, smoothed her hair back from her forehead,
and pressed a gentle kiss there.

She left Lali’s
door open and crossed to the stairs, her footsteps silent on the carpeted
floor. Her eyes were drawn to Aaron’s room. After Lali’s nap the day before,
Hawthorne had given him a tour of her home and pointed out the extra office
space she had cleared for him. She had invited him to use the other areas of
her home at his will, the dining room and kitchen, the living and workout
rooms. Other than agreeing to begin work the next day, she had spoken to him
only when politeness deemed it necessary.

He had not
seemed to mind.

Lali had taken
up much of his time, chattering avidly to him, holding his hand whenever he
would allow, and generally treating him as if he were an established member of
the household. He had drawn the line at Lali’s request to help her bathe, much
to Hawthorne’s relief. When he had explained that, “Big guys don’t help little
girls take a bath,” Lali had sulled up like a mule and glared at him. “I’m a
big girl,” she had said. Aaron had laughed, shot a knowing grin at Hawthorne,
and said, “Not big enough for that.”

Her blood burned
with the memories his words had stirred, memories she had tried to bury since
their time together at DragonCon.

She hesitated at
the top of the stairs, her eyes caught by the doors leading to his room. One
stood ajar, open wide enough that it could only have been arranged that way
through a deliberate action. She scowled at it. Lali would wake not long after
the sun rose and would make enough noise to disturb his sleep. Jet lag would
likely hit Aaron today, depending upon the quality of his rest.

Though it was
unkind, she hoped his night had been as restless as hers.

Guilt nagged at
her. A good hostess would shut the door. She rolled her shoulders, stepped onto
the landing. And cursed her kind heart. She could not allow Lali to wake him.
Their day would be too active. Fatigue from inadequate sleep would drain his
mortal strength far faster than it would her own and he would fall behind,
slowing their progress at work and in other ways.

A few moments
later, she stood with her hand on the doorknob, willing herself to pull the door
closed.

Instead, she
eased it open and stepped inside, drawn toward his sleeping figure. He rested
on his stomach with one knee up and an arm thrown around the spare pillow. His
hair lay in disheveled curls on top of the ivory pillowcase. During the night,
the bed linens had worked their way down to his waist, baring his upper body to
her view.

He wore no night
shirt. During their time together, he had often slept in the nude. Did he do so
now?

Her fingers
itched to find out.

She moved
silently, coming to a stop beside his bed. He had often slept thusly, with his
face buried in her neck and his arm drawing her tight against his chest. A pang
of longing hit her. For the first time in centuries, she had felt safe in a
man’s embrace, secure in the knowledge that they were building trust together.

The longing
turned to bitterness. He had not hesitated to break her trust, precisely when
she had learned to count on it.

She gazed down
at him, torn between the passion he stirred so easily within her and the need
to protect her heart. In sleep, he lay vulnerable. It would be easy to dispose
of him now before he had a chance to hurt her again, before he could harm Lali,
who had had enough pain in her young life and needed no more.

Hawthorne
reached for him, intending she knew not what. Her hand trembled, refusing her
bidding, and she drew back. Never before had she hesitated to avenge harm done
to her and her family. And yet, here lay a man who had made her feel, then
cracked her heart with his refusal to believe in her. Why could she not harm
him? Why did vengeance elude her with this man?

The answer came
to her in a sudden rush of understanding.

Her heart longed
for him still.

This is what had
stayed her hand at DragonCon when he had called her insane. This is what had
silenced her objections and allowed him to remain in her home, in spite of
reason cautioning against it. This is what leashed her temper when he touched
her, when any other man who dared such would be dead before his next breath.

Foolish heart.
Its weakness shamed her.

She leaned
forward and tugged gently at the covers, pulling them over his shoulders, much
as she had for Lali. The room’s chill would seep through him. She could not
allow anyone under her care to fall ill, regardless of his past actions.

He stirred and
turned toward her, catching one of her hands. “Hawthorne?”

His hand was
warm on hers, its breadth comfortingly familiar. He tugged gently, throwing her
off balance, and she fell forward on top of him. He
mmmd
and wrapped his
arms around her, sighing into her hair. “Missed you,” he murmured. “So much.”

Were his words
true? Did he miss their time together so much that even in sleep he could admit
it? Is this truly why he had come to Tellowee, as he had claimed?

She closed her
eyes and lay still atop him, listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath
her ear as his breaths evened and his hold relaxed. Her fingers found the bare
flesh of his arm. She could not resist touching him there, could not quash the
yearning to know him again, foolish though it might have been. A few minutes
stolen in the predawn morning would not change anything. She claimed them
anyway, reveling in the heavy weight of his arms across her back, in the warmth
of his sleeping form and the way their bodies aligned perfectly together
through the barrier of clothing and linens.

When light
seeped through the blinds and into the room, she slid from his embrace and left
his bedroom without looking back, closing his door softly behind her. Lali
would wake soon, leaving Hawthorne little time for the run she desperately
needed, not to clear her mind, but to search for answers to the questions suddenly
crowding her thoughts.

* * *

Aaron squinted
at the digital numbers on his alarm clock and groaned. The night before, he
hadn’t been able to settle. He’d unpacked, paced around the room, crept quietly
downstairs and raided the kitchen, where he’d been appalled to find no bagels.

How could any
sane person live without bagels? If he were Catholic, he would’ve called it a cardinal
sin.

He’d scrounged
together a plate of fruit and sat at the kitchen table, eating it while he
checked e-mails, and put off answering them because he could.

Though he’d
taken great delight in deleting all seven of Jeanne’s e-mails.

He’d
investigated Hawthorne’s house in more depth than her cursory tour had allowed
and seriously considered using her workout equipment, would’ve used it if
Lali’s bedroom hadn’t been directly above.

And so the night
had gone. When he’d finally fallen into bed at three oh five, his sleep had
been filled with dreams of Hawthorne, some of them so real he’d woken, expecting
to find her snuggled into the bed beside him.

Her scent
lingered in the room, teasing him. How could it be so strong when she’d only
spent ten minutes in there the day before? He thumped his head into the pillow
and threw an arm over his eyes. Need shot through him, heating his blood as his
body reacted to the subtle fragrance.

He could still
feel her hands on his skin, stroking him gently, stirring his passion whether
she meant to or not.

If she’d been
there, which she hadn’t. Damn dreams.

He tossed the
covers off and slid out of bed, shivering as cool air raked across his bare
skin. A run. He needed a run to clear the fog from his head and drive Hawthorne
far enough out that he could control his reaction to her. Couldn’t run around
with a hard-on. She was liable to take offense and chop it off or something.

A few minutes
later, he crept down the hallway, iPod and ear buds in one hand, running shoes
in the other. Lali’s door was open, so he stuck his head in to check on her.
She was fast asleep, curled around a floppy ragdoll with the covers down around
her feet. His heart softened. Another couple of days and he wouldn’t be able to
resist this one’s charms at all. He pulled the covers up to her shoulders,
dropped a soft kiss to the top of her head, and crept quietly out.

Hawthorne’s
room, he ignored. If he found her sleeping as innocently, he’d crawl into bed
with her and wake her the way a beautiful woman should meet the day, with the
tender touch of her lover. He had a feeling she wouldn’t take kindly to that, and
he hadn’t quite believed her when she’d insisted Bobby Upton wasn’t her new
lover.

Aaron sat on the
bottom step and pulled on his shoes. A steady thump emanated from one of the workout
rooms. He followed it down the hallway and was surprised to find Hawthorne
running on the treadmill, her long strides falling on the machine’s exercise
belt at a sprinter’s pace. Sweat soaked through her athletic top in broad
patches and glistened on her bare abdomen and limbs, highlighting her toned
form. Her breath came in the even puffs of a woman at the top of her fitness
level.

As soon as he
entered, she jumped lightly off of the belt, straddling it as she cut the
machine off.

“Hey,” he said.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You did not.”
She slung a hand towel around her neck and sipped from an open bottle of water.
“I was nearing the end of my jog.”

He huffed out a
laugh. “That was a jog? Remind me never to race you.”

“Do you not set
a challenging pace for your exercise?”

“Challenging,
yes. Breakneck, no.” He gestured to the curtained window. “Thought I’d take a
run toward town and back, learn my way around the streets.”

She tilted her
head to the side. A slow smile curled her lips into a close approximation of
Levi’s smirk. “Have fun.”

He eyed her
warily. “Why are you smiling like that?”

She sipped her
water, rubbed the towel across her face. “I shall have breakfast ready upon
your return. Bacon and eggs, fruit if you wish.”

“I had fruit
last night. Much more concerned with that smile. What aren’t you telling me?”

“It is turkey
bacon, though I am willing to fix another meal, if you prefer.” She finished
the water and recapped the bottle. “Lali will awaken soon. She will expect you
to accompany us to the park again today, so if you wish to run, you should go
now. Unless you would rather spend the morning at work in your office.”

“Forget it. I’m
going to the park.” He planted himself in front of her and glared down at her.
“While Lali’s playing, you and I can discuss your tendency to ignore me when
you don’t want to talk about something.”

“We shall discuss
work.”

“Nope. Plenty of
time for work after we smooth over this communication problem.”

“There is
nothing to smooth.” She stepped to her right. He matched her movement, blocking
her exit, and she sighed. “Do not be childish, Aaron. I have much to do today
and no patience for a man’s foolishness.”

“I’m not the one
being childish here.”

Her eyebrows
snapped together. “You dare much.”

“Not nearly
enough,” he retorted. “I had my way, we’d be in bed right now, reenacting the
dreams I had last night.”

Her expression
went blank, her body rigid. She brushed past him without speaking and left the
room, her footsteps nearly silent against the hardwood floor.

He rubbed bleary
eyes with tired fingers. That went well. At least he hadn’t blurted out exactly
what those dreams had entailed. No need to tell her the one he really wanted to
recreate was of her resting in his arms while they slept, sharing his bed
through the long night.

Or hers. He
wasn’t picky.

Tired, that’s
what he was. Tired and hungry for her touch and nearly defenseless to the power
she had over him. His arms ached to hold her. How desperate was he that a
simple embrace was enough to drive him over the edge?