The Rogue (14 page)

Killian lifted his chin and stared deeply into her luminous gray eyes. The need to confide, to open his arms and sweep her against him, was painfully real. His whole body was tense with pain. "In my line of work, there aren't many therapists available when things start coming down—or falling apart. There are no safe havens, Susannah. To avoid trouble and ensure safety, I breathe through my nose. It keeps my mouth shut."

He'd said too much already. Killian looked around, wanting to escape, but Susannah stood stubbornly in the doorway, barring any exit. Panic ate at him.

Susannah shook her head. "I felt such sadness around you," she whispered, opening her hands to him. "You put on such a frightening mask, Sean—"

Angrily he rasped, "Back off."

The words slapped her. His tone had a lethal quality. Swallowing hard, Susannah saw fear, mixed with anguish, mirrored in his narrowed eyes. The words had been spoken in desperation, not anger. "How can I? I feel how uncomfortable you are here with me. I feel as if I've done something to make you feel like that." She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Sean, I can't live like that with a person. How can you?"

Nostrils flaring, Killian stared at her in disbelief. Her honesty was bone deep—a kind he'd rarely encountered. Killian didn't dare tell her the raw, blatant truth—that he wanted her in every way imaginable. "I guess I've been out in the field too long," he told her in a low, growling tone. "I'm used to harshness, Susannah, not the softness a woman has, not a home. Being around you is . .
.different
. . .and I'm having to adjust."
A lot.

"And," he added savagely, seeing how flustered she was becoming, "I'm used to bunking with men, not a woman. I get nightmares." When her face fell with compassion for him, he couldn't deal with it—almost hating her for it, for forcing the feelings out of him. "The night is my enemy, Susannah. And it's an enemy for anyone who might be near me when it happens. The past comes back," he warned thickly. Killian wanted to protect Susannah from that dark side of
himself
. He was afraid he might not be able to control
himself, that terrorized portion of him that sometimes trapped him for hours in its brutal grip,
ruling him.

Standing there absorbing the emotional pain contained in his admission, Susannah realized for the first time that Killian was terribly human. He wasn't the superman she'd first thought, although Morgan's men had a proud reputation for being exactly that. The discovery was as breathtaking as it was disturbing. She had no experience with a man like Killian—someone who had been grievously wounded by a world whose existence she could hardly fathom. The pleading look Killian gave her, the twist of his lips as he shared the information with
her,
tore at Susannah's heart. Instinctively she realized that Killian needed to be held, too.
If only for a little while.
He needed a safe haven from the stormy dangers inherent in his chosen profession. That was something she could give him while he stayed with her.

"I understand," she whispered unsteadily. "And if you have bad dreams, I'll come out and make you a cup of tea. Maybe we can talk about it."

He slowly raised his head, feeling the tension make his joints ache. He held Susannah's guileless eyes, eyes that were filled with hope. "Your
naiveté
nearly got you killed once," he rasped. "Just stay away from me if you hear me up and moving around at night, Susannah.
Stay away."

She gave him a wary look, seeing the anguish in his narrowed eyes even as they burned with desire.
Desire for her?
Susannah wished that need could be for her alone, but she knew Killian was the kind of man who allowed no grass to grow under his feet. He was a wanderer over the face of the earth, with no interest in settling down. Much as she hated to admit it, she had to be honest with herself.

Killian wasn't going to say anything else, Susannah realized. She stepped back into the hallway, at a loss. Lamely she held his hooded stare.

"It's as if you're saying you're a danger to me."

"I am."

Susannah shook her head. "I wish," she said softly, "I had more experience with the world, with men. . ."

Killian wanted to move to her and simply enfold Susannah in his arms. She looked confused and bereft. "Stay the way you are," he told her harshly. "You don't want to know what the world can offer."

Susannah wasn't so sure. She felt totally unprepared to deal with a complex man like Sean, yet she was powerfully drawn to him. "Should I follow my normal schedule of doing things around here tomorrow morning?" At least this was a safe topic of conversation.

"Yes."

"I see. Good night, Sean."

"Good night." The words came out in a rasp. Killian tasted his frustration, and felt a heated longing coil through him. Susannah looked crestfallen. Could he blame her? No. Darkness was complete now, and
he automatically perused the gloomy area. Perhaps talking a little bit about
himself
hadn't been so bad after all.
At least with her.
He knew he couldn't live under the same roof without warning Susannah of his violent night world.

By ten, Killian was in bed, wearing only his pajama bottoms. He stared blankly at the plaster ceiling, which was in dire need of repair. His senses functioned like radar, swinging this way and that, picking up nuances of sound and smell. Nothing seemed out of place, so he relaxed to a degree. And then, against his will, his attention shifted to dwell on Susannah. She had a surprisingly stubborn side to her—and he liked discovering that strength within her. Outwardly she might seem soft and naive, but she had emotional convictions that served as the roots of her strength.

Glancing at the only window in his room, Killian could see stars dotting the velvet black of the sky. Everything was so peaceful here. Another layer of tension dissolved around him, and he found himself enjoying the old double bed, the texture of the clean cotton sheets that Susannah had made the bed with, and the symphony of the crickets chirping outside the house.

What was it about this place that permeated his constant state of wariness and tension to make him relax to this degree? Killian had no answers, or at least none he was willing to look at closely. Exhausted, he knew he had to try to get some sleep. He moved restlessly on the bed, afraid of what the night might hold. He forced his eyes closed, inhaled deeply and drifted off to sleep. On the nightstand was his pistol, loaded and with the safety off, perpetually at the ready.

*
   
*
   
*

Killian jerked awake, his hand automatically moving to his pistol. Sunlight streamed through the window and the lacy pale green curtains. Blinking, he slowly sat up and shoved several locks of hair off his brow. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon wafted on the air. He inhaled hungrily and threw his legs across the creaky bed. Relief flowed through him as he realized that for once the nightmares hadn't come to haunt him. Puzzled, he moved to the bathroom. Not only had the nightmares stayed at bay, but he'd slept very late. Usually his sleep was punctuated by moments of stark terror throughout the night and he finally fell more heavily asleep near dawn. Still, he never slept past six—ever. But now it was eight o'clock. Stymied about why he'd slept so late, he stepped into a hot shower.

Dressed in a white shirt and jeans, Killian swung out of his room and down the hall, following the enticing smells emanating from the kitchen. Halting in the doorway, he drank in the sight of Susannah working over the old wood stove. Today she wore a sleeveless yellow blouse, well-worn jeans and white tennis shoes. Her hair, thick and abundant, cloaked her shoulders. As if she had sensed his presence, she looked up.

"I thought this might get you out of bed." She grinned.
"So much for keeping up with me and my schedule.
I was up at five-thirty, and you were still sawing logs."

Rubbing his face, Killian managed a sheepish look as he headed for the counter where the coffeepot sat. "I overslept," he muttered.

Taking the bacon out of the skillet and placing it on a paper towel to soak up the extra grease, Susannah smiled. "Don't
worry,
your secrets are safe with me."

Killian gave her a long, absorbing look, thinking how pretty she looked this morning. But he noted a slight puffiness beneath Susannah's eyes and wondered if she'd been crying. "I guess I'll have to get used to this," he rasped. The coffee was strong, hot and black—just the way he liked it. Susannah placed a stack of pancakes, the rasher of bacon and a bottle of maple syrup before him and sat down opposite him.

"'This
' meaning me?"

Killian dug hungrily into the pancakes. "It's everything."

Susannah sat back and shook her head. "One- or two-word answers, Sean. I swear. What do you mean by 'everything'?"

He gave her a brief look. He was really enjoying the buckwheat pancakes. "It's been a long time since I was in a home, not a house," he told her between bites.

She ate slowly, listening closely not only to what he said, but also to how he said it. "So, home life appeals to you after all?"

He raised his brows.

"I thought," Susannah offered, "that you were a rolling stone that gathered no moss.
A man with wanderlust in his soul."

He refused to hold her warm gaze. "Home means everything to me." The pancakes disappeared in a hurry, and the bacon quickly followed. Killian took his steaming cup of coffee and tipped his chair back on two legs. The kitchen fragrances lingered like perfume, and birds sang cheerfully outside the screen door, enhancing his feeling of contentment. Susannah looked incredibly lovely, and Killian thought he was in heaven—or as close as the likes of him was ever going to get to it.

Sipping her coffee, Susannah risked a look at Killian. "To me, a house is built of walls and beams. A home is built with love and dreams. You said you were from Ireland. Were you happy over there?"

Uncomfortable, Killian shrugged. "Northern Ireland isn't exactly a happy place to live." He shot her a hard look. "I
learned
early on, Susannah, the danger of caring about someone too much, because they'd be ripped away from me."

It felt as if a knife were being thrust down through Susannah. She gripped the delicate cup hard between her hands. "But what—"

With a shrug, Killian tried to cover up his own unraveling emotions. Gruffly he said, "That was the past—there's no need to rehash it. This is the present."

Pain for Killian settled over Susannah. She didn't know what had happened to him as a child, but his words "the danger of caring about someone too much" created a knot in her stomach.

Finishing her coffee, Susannah quietly got up and gathered the plates and flatware. At the counter, she began washing the dishes in warm, soapy water.

Killian rose and moved to where Susannah stood. He spotted a towel hanging on a nail and began to dry the dishes as she rinsed them.

"You're upset."

"No."

"You don't lie well at all. Your voice is a dead giveaway—not to mention those large, beautiful eyes of yours." No one could have been more surprised than Killian at what had just transpired. He hadn't meant to allude to the tragedy. Her empathy was touching, but Killian knew that to feel another person's pain at that depth was dangerous. Why didn't Susannah shield herself more from him?

Avoiding his sharpened gaze, Susannah concentrated on washing the dishes. "It's just that, well, you seem to carry a lot of pain." She inhaled shakily.

"I told you the secrets I carried weren't good ones," he warned her darkly.