The Rogue (25 page)

"How did you find me?"

"I flew to Washington and talked with Morgan. He told me where you lived." Susannah saw his eyes flare with disbelief.

Killian took a step back, because if he didn't he was going to sweep Susannah uncompromisingly into his arms. And then he was going to take her to his bedroom and make wild, hungry love with her until they were so exhausted that they couldn't move.

Killian looked down at her vulnerable features. There was real hope in Susannah's eyes, a kind of hope he'd never be able to claim as his own. She was dressed
in a summery print blouse—pink peonies
against a white background—and white slacks, with sandals outlining her feet. Her lovely sable hair was trapped in a chignon, and Killian had to stop himself from reaching forward to release that captive mass of silk into his hands. His mouth had grown dry, and his heart was beating dangerously hard in his chest.

"All right, what's going on?"

"You and me."
Susannah felt her fear almost overwhelming her, but she dared not be weak now. She saw a slight thawing in Killian's narrowed eyes, a slight softening of his thinned mouth. "What made you think," Susannah said in a low, strangled voice, "that you could walk out on me just like that? We made love with each other, Sean. I thought—I thought we meant something to each other." She forced herself to hold his hardening gaze. "You ran without ever giving me the opportunity to sit down and talk to you. I'm here to complete unfinished business." Her voice grew hoarse.
"One way or another."

Killian stood stunned. It took him a long time to find his voice. "I told you—I didn't mean to hurt you," he rasped. "I thought leaving the way I did would hurt you less."

Susannah's eyes went round, and anger gave her the backbone she needed. "Hurt me less?" Susannah forced herself to walk into the living room. She dropped her purse and her one piece of luggage on the carpet. Turning, she rounded on Killian. "I don't call running out on me less hurtful!"

Nervously Killian shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm sorry, Susannah.
For everything."

"For loving me?"

Killian dropped his gaze and stared at the floor. He heard the ache in her husky tone; her voice was like a lover's caress. He was glad to see her, glad that she was here. "No," he admitted. He raised his chin and forced himself to meet her large, tear-filled eyes. "But I am sorry for the hurt I've caused you."

"You walk around in your silence and don't communicate worth a darn. I'm not a mind reader. Do you know how awful I felt after you left? Do you know that I blamed myself? I asked myself what I did wrong. Was it something I said? Did?" Grimly, her eyes flashing, she said, "I don't have a lot of worldly ways like you. I know I'm a country woman, but I don't question the way of my heart, Sean. You had no right to leave the way you did. It wasn't fair to me, and it wasn't fair to you, either."

Pain knifed through him and he moved into the living room with her. He halted a foot away from her, aching to put his hands on her shoulders, but not daring to. "I was to blame, not you."

To her amazement, Susannah saw Killian thawing. Perhaps Laura was right: He needed a woman to be stronger than him so that he could feel safe enough to open up. Had he never had a woman of strength to lean on? If not, it was no wonder he remained closed, protecting his vulnerability. The discovery was as sweet as it was bold—and frightening. Susannah was just coming out of her own trauma. Did she have enough strength for the both of them? She simply didn't know, but the glimmer in Killian's eyes, the way his mouth unconsciously hinted at the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide and protect, made her decide to try anyway.

"I hope you've got a guest bedroom."

He blinked.

Susannah drilled him with a fiery look. "Sean, I happen to feel that we meant a lot to each other when you were in Kentucky. And after we made love, you ran. I don't know your reasons for running, and that's what I'm here to find out. I intend to stay here, no matter how miserable you make it for me, until we get to the bottom of this—together."

Dread flared through Killian. No woman had ever challenged him like this. "You don't know what you're saying," he warned.

"Like heck I don't! Give me some credit, Sean. I work with special children. I've got to have a lot of insight into them to reach them, to touch them, so that they'll stop retreating."

Killian took another step away, terror warring with his need of Susannah. "You're biting off too much. You don't know what you're getting into," he snapped.

Tilting her chin, Susannah rasped, "Oh, yes I do."

"Now look," he said in a low, gravelly voice, "I don't want to hurt you, Susannah. If you stay here, it'll happen. Don't put yourself on the firing line for me. I'm not worth it."

Tears stung her eyes, but Susannah forced them back. Killian would read her tears as a sign of weakness. "You're wrong. You're a good man, Sean. You've been hurt, and you're hiding. I'm here to show you that you don't need to keep running. You're allowed to laugh, you know.
And to cry.
How long has it been since you've done either?"

Killian lunged forward blindly and gripped her by the arm. "
Dammit
," he rasped off-key, "get the hell out of here while you still can, Susannah! I'm a monster!
A monster!"
He savagely poked a finger at his belly. "It's in here, this thing, this hell that I carry. It comes out and controls me, and it will hurt whoever is around. You've got to understand that!"

She held his blazing gaze, seeing the horror of his past reflected in his eyes, hearing the anguish in his tone. "No," she said. "I'm not afraid of you," she rattled, "or that so-called monster inside of you. For the first time in your life, Sean, you're going to be honest, not only with yourself, but with someone else—me."

Killian took a step back, as if she'd slapped him. He stared down at her as the tension swirled around them like a raging storm.
Frightened as never before, he backed away.
In place of the panic came anger. He ground out, "If you stay, you stay at your own risk. Do you understand that?"

"I do."

He glared at her. "You're naive and idealistic. I'll hurt you in ways you never thought possible! I won't mean to, but it'll happen, Susannah." He stood there, suddenly feeling very old and broken. His voice grew hoarse. "I don't want to, but I will. God help me, I don't want to hurt you, Susannah."

Swallowing hard, a lump forming in her throat, she nodded. "I know," she replied softly, "I know. . . ."

"This is hopeless," Killian whispered, looking out one of the series of plate-glass windows that faced the flower gardens and the ocean. "I'm hopeless."

Grimly Susannah fought the desire to take Killian into her arms. Intuitively she understood that it would weaken her position with him. He was wary and defensive enough to strike out verbally and hurt her for fear of getting hurt again. As she picked up her luggage, Susannah realized that her love for Sean was the gateway not only to trust, but also to a wealth of yet- untapped affection that lay deep within her.

"You're not hopeless," Susannah told him gently. "Now, if you'll show me where the guest bedroom is, I'll get settled in."

Killian gaped at her. His mouth opened,
then
closed. "First door on the right down the hall," he muttered, then spun on his heel and left.

Her hands shaking, Susannah put her week's worth of clothes away in the closet and the dresser. Her heart wouldn't steady, but a clean feeling, something akin to a sense of victory, soared within her. She took several deep breaths to calm herself after having established a beachhead in the initial confrontation. Killian's desperation told her, she hoped, how much he was, indeed, still tied to her. Perhaps Morgan and Laura were right, and Killian did love her after all. That was the only thing that could possibly pull them through this storm together. Any less powerful emotion would surely destroy her, and continue to wound Killian.

Straightening up from her task, Susannah took in the simple, spare room. A delicate white Irish lace spread covered the double bed. The carpet was pale lavender, and the walls cream-colored. A vibrant Van Gogh print of sunflowers hung above the bed. The maple dresser was surely an antique, but Susannah didn't know from what era. The window, framed by lavender drapes and ivory sheers, overlooked a breathtaking view of the ocean.

"Well, Susannah, keep going," she warned herself. As much as she wanted to hide in the bedroom, she knew it wasn't the answer. No, she had to establish herself as a force in Killian's isolated world, and make herself part of it—whether he wanted her to or not. And in her heart she sensed that he did want her. The risk to her heart was great. But her love for
Kil
-
lian
was strong enough to let her take that risk. He was always risking his life for others; well, it was time someone took a risk for him.

Killian stole a look into the kitchen. Susannah had busied herself all afternoon in his spacious modern kitchen. Although he'd hidden out most of the time in the garage, working on a wood-carving project, the fragrant odors coming from the kitchen couldn't be ignored. As upset as he was, the food she was cooking made him hungry. But it was his other hunger for Susannah that he was trying to quell—and he wasn't succeeding.

"What's for dinner?" he asked with a frown.

Susannah wiped her hands on the dark green apron she had tied around her waist. "Pot roast with sour- cream gravy and biscuits. Southerners love their biscuits and gravy," she said with pride.

"Sounds decent.
Dessert?"
He glanced at her.

"You really push your luck, don't you?"

He wanted to smile, but couldn't. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"I didn't come here to be a slave who cooks you three meals a day and cleans your house," Susannah pointed out as she gestured for him to sit down at the table. "This food is going to cost you."

"Oh?" Thinking he should leave, Killian sat down. Susannah seemed to belong in the kitchen—her presence was like sunshine. The bleakness of his life seemed to dissolve in her aura.

Susannah served the meat and placed the pitcher of gravy on the table with a basket of homemade biscuits. Sitting down, she held his inquiring gaze. "My folks and I always used to sit and talk after meals. It was one of the most important things I learned from them—talking."

With a grimace, Killian offered her the platter of meat first. "I'm not much of one for talking and you know it."

"So you'll learn to become a better communicator," Susannah said lightly. She felt absolutely tied in knots, and she had to force herself to put food on her plate. Just being this close to Killian, to his powerful physical presence, was making her body betray her head. When his lips curved into that sour smile, Susannah melted inwardly. She remembered how hot, how demanding and sharing, that mouth had been on hers. Never had she wanted to kiss a man so much. But she knew if she bowed to her selfish hunger for him as a man, she'd lose not only the battle, but the war, as well.

"Okay," he said tentatively, "you want me to talk." He spooned several thick portions of the roast onto his plate, added three biscuits and then some gravy.
"About what?"

"You," Susannah said pointedly.

"I'm willing to talk about anything else," he warned her heavily.

With a shrug, Susannah said, "Fine. Start anywhere you want."