The Rogue (16 page)

There was fear in her eyes, mixed with desire and longing. Killian not only saw it in the nuances of her fleeting expression, but sensed it, as well. Like a wolf too long without a mate, he ached to claim her as his own. And then, abruptly he laughed at himself. Who was he kidding? She was all the things he was not. She had hope. She believed in a future filled with dreams. Hell, she gave handicapped children back the chance to dream.

"It's not a good time to be around me," he rasped.

Inhaling shakily, Susannah nodded. "It's a chance I'll take." Never had she seen a man of such power, intensity and beauty as Killian. He stood in the kitchen doorway, the towel draped casually across his lean hips, accentuating his near nakedness.

Killian's shoulders were proudly thrown back, and his muscles were cleanly delineated. His chest was covered with hair that headed like an arrow down his long torso and flat belly. The dark line of hair disappeared beneath the stark whiteness of the towel, but still, little was left to the imagination. Susannah gulped convulsively.

Susannah's skin tingled where his hungry gaze had swept across her. Trying to steady her desire for him, she noticed that her hands shook as she turned to put the coffee into the pot.

It had taken everything for Susannah to tear her gaze from his overwhelming masculine image. "I—I heard you scream. At first I thought it was a night
mare I
was having, and then I realized it wasn't me screaming. It was you."

Killian remained frozen in the doorway. The husky softness of Susannah's voice began to dissolve some of the terror that seemed to twist within him like a living being.

She shrugged. "I didn't know what to do."

"You did the right thing," he said raggedly. He forced himself to move toward the table. Gripping the chair, he sat
down,
afraid he might fall down if he didn't. His knees were still weak from the virulent nightmare. He looked up at Susannah. "Didn't I tell you that I wasn't worth the risk? Look at you. You're shaking." And she was. He wanted desperately to reassure her somehow, but he couldn't.

Rubbing her arms, Susannah nodded. "I'll be okay."

Killian felt like hell. He'd scared her, triggered the fear she'd barely survived months ago, and he knew it. "I walk around in a living death every day of my life. You don't deserve to be around it—or me."

The sweat glistening on Killian's taut muscles spoke to her of the hell he was still caught up in. Susannah forced herself to move through her fear and cross to his side. She reached out and gently laid her hands on his shoulders.

Killian groaned. Her touch was so warm, so steadying.

"Just sit there," she whispered in a strained tone. "Let me work the knots out of your shoulders. You're so tense."

He opened his mouth to protest, but the kneading quality of her strong, slender hands as they worked his aching muscles stopped him. Instead of speaking, he closed his eyes and gradually began to relax. With each sliding, coaxing movement of her fingers along his skin, a little more of the fear he carried with him dissolved. Eventually he allowed himself to sag against the chair.

"Lean on me," Susannah coaxed. She pressed her hand to his sweaty brow and guided his head against her.

How easy it was to have his head cushioned against her as her hands moved with confidence on his shoulders and neck. A ragged sigh issued from him, and he- closed his eyes, trusting her completely.

"Good," she crooned softly, watching his short, spiky lashes droop closed. Even his mouth, once a harsh line holding back a deluge of emotions, gradually relaxed.

Susannah felt the steel-cable strength of his muscles beneath her hands. He was built like a cougar— lean and lithe. Her feelings were alive, bright and clamoring not only for acknowledgment, but for action. The thrill of touching Killian, of having him trust her this much, was dizzying and inviting. Susannah ached to lean forward and place a soft kiss on his furrowed brow. How much pain did this man carry within him?

As she stood in the moonlit kitchen with him, massaging his terror and tension away, Susannah realized that Killian's life must have been one of unending violence.

"Two years ago," she said unsteadily as she smoothed away the last of the rigidity from his now- supple muscles, "I had a little boy,
Stevey
, in my class.

He was mentally retarded and had been taken from his home by Social Services. He was only eight years old, and he was like a frightened little animal. The social worker told me that his father was an alcoholic and his mother was on drugs. They both beat up on him."

Killian's eyes snapped open.

"I'm telling you this for a reason," Susannah whispered, her hands stilling on his shoulders. "At first,
Stevey
would only crawl into a corner and hide. Gradually I earned his trust, and then I got him to draw. The pictures told me so much about what he'd endured, what he'd suffered through, alone and unprotected. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't cry for him.

"
Stevey
taught me more about trust and love than any other person in my life ever has. Gradually, throughout the year that he was in my class, he came to life. He truly blossomed, and it was so breathtaking. He learned to smile, then to laugh. His new foster parents love him deeply, and that helped bring him out of the terror and humiliation he'd endured.

"I saw this frightened, beaten child have enough blind faith in another human being to rally and reach out just once more.
Stevey
had a kind of courage that I feel is the rarest kind in the world, and the hardest to acquire." Susannah reached out and stroked Killian's damp hair. "
Stevey
knew only violence, broken trust and heartache. But something in him—his spirit, if you will—had the strength to work through all of that and embrace others who truly loved him and accepted him for who he was."

Killian released a shaky breath, wildly aware of Susannah's trembling fingers lightly caressing his hair.

Did she realize what she was doing? Did she know that if she kept it up he'd take her hard and fast, burying himself in her hot depths? Longing warred with control. He eased out of her hands and sat up.

"Why don't you get us that coffee?" he said. His voice was none too steady, and it had a sandpaper rasp. Glancing up as Susannah walked past him, he saw her face. How could she look so damned angelic when all he felt was his blood pounding like a dam ready to burst?

Miraculously, the nightmare and its contents had disappeared beneath Susannah's gentle, questing hands.
Killian's eyes
slitted
as he studied her at the counter, where she was pouring the coffee.
What was it about her? Grateful that she wasn't looking at him, Killian struggled to get his raging need back under control. Usually he had no problem disconnecting himself from his volcanic emotions, but Susannah aroused him to a white heat of desire.

With trembling hands, Susannah set the coffee before Killian, sharply conscious of his perusal of her. His words, his warning, kept thrumming through her. She felt danger and intensity surrounding them. Did she have the courage to stay?
To be there for Killian?
Forcing herself to look up, she met and held his blue gaze, a gaze that was hooded with some unknown emotion that seemed to melt her inwardly.

Gulping, she sat down at his elbow, determined not to allow him to scare her away. Right now, her heart counseled
her,
he needed a friend, someone he could talk with.

Killian sat there thunderstruck. Susannah couldn't be this naive—she must realize how he wanted her. Yet she sat down next to him, her face filled with determination as she sipped her steaming coffee. Angry, and feeling at war within himself, he snapped irritably, "Why don't you go back to bed?"

"Because you need me here."

His eyes widened enormously.

Prepared to risk everything, Susannah met and held his incredulous gaze. "You need a friend, Sean."

His fingers gripped his cup, and he stared down at the black contents. "Talking is the last thing I want to do right now."

She tried to absorb his brutal, angry words. "What, then?"

He snapped a look at her. "Get away from me, Susannah, while you can. Stop trying to get close. I'm not
Stevey
. I'm a grown man, with a grown man's needs. You're in danger.
Stay,
and I can't answer for what I might do."

There was such anguish in his raspy words, and she felt his raw need of her. She sat up, her fingers releasing the cup. "No, you aren't like
Stevey
," Susannah whispered unsteadily. "But you are wounded—and in need of a safe haven."

With a hiss, Killian jerked to his feet, the chair nearly tipping over from the swiftness of his movement. "Wounded animals can bite those who try to help them!" Breathing harshly, he walked to the other end of the kitchen. "
Dammit
, Susannah, stay away from me. You've already been hurt by a man who nearly killed you." He struck his chest. "I can hurt you in so many different ways. Is that what you want? Do you want me to take you, to bury myself in you, to make night and day merge into one until you don't know anything except me, my arms, my body and—"

With a muffled sound, Killian spun around, jerked open the screen door and disappeared into the night. If he didn't go, he was going to take Susannah right there on the hard wooden floor. The primal blood was racing through him, blotting out reason,
disintegrating
his control. As he stalked off the porch, he knew she was an innocent in this. She was the kind of woman he'd always dreamed of—but
then,
dreams never could stand the test of harsh daylight.

Who was he kidding? Killian walked swiftly, his feet and ankles soon soaked from the trail he made through the
dewygrass
. Moonlight shifted across him in unending patterns as he continued his blind walk through the orchard. He had to protect Susannah from himself—at all costs. She didn't deserve to get tangled up with his kind. It could only end in disaster.

Gradually he slowed his pace as his head began to clear. The night was cool, but not chilly. He realized with disgust that he'd left without his weapon, and that he'd left Susannah wide open to attack if someone was prowling around. As he halted and swiftly shifted his awareness to more external things, he acknowledged that, although unarmed, he was never defenseless. No, he'd been taught to kill a hundred different ways without need of any kind of weapon.

He stood in the middle of the orchard, scowling. Bats dipped here and there, chasing after choice insects that he couldn't see. The old homestead was a quarter of a mile away, looking broken down and in dire need of paint, and also the love and care it would take to put it back in good repair. Killian laughed harshly. Wasn't he just like that old house? The only difference was that the scars he wore were mostly carried on the inside, where no one could see them.
No one except Susannah.
Why couldn't she be like everyone else and see only the tough exterior he presented to the world?

Killian stood there a long time, mulling over the story she'd told him about the little boy named
Stevey
. The boy deserved Susannah's loving care. She was the right person to help coax him out of his dark shell of fear. Her words, soft and strained, floated back to him: "You are wounded—and need a safe haven."

How long he stood there thinking about their conversation, he didn't know. When he glanced at his watch, it was 4:00 a.m. Forcing himself, he walked slowly back to the homestead. As he walked, he prayed—something he rarely did—that Susannah had had enough sense to go back to bed. What would he do if she was still up and waiting for him? His mouth was dry, and he wiped at it with the back of his hand. He didn't know.

Susannah was out in the extensive rose garden, giving the colorful flowers the special food that helped them to bloom. It was nearly noon, and she was hot, even though she wore her straw hat, a sleeveless white blouse and a threadbare pair of jeans. Her mind and heart centered on Killian. She'd gone back to bed around four, and had promptly plummeted into a deep, restful sleep. When she'd gotten up this morning at six, his bedroom door had been shut. Was he in there? Had he gone somewhere else? Susannah didn't know, and she hadn't had the courage to find out.