Читать книгу Killian's Passion - Barbara McCauley - Страница 9

Nothing could have possibly defused Cara more than the slam of Ian’s mouth against hers. She’d drawn in a breath the same second his lips smothered hers, and her lungs held the air in stunned suspension. Her heart smashed against her ribs, once, twice, and still he didn’t stop, only deepened the pressure with his strong, hard lips while he scooped her up in his arms.

She should bite him—pride and instinct both told her to—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. All she could do was…nothing. She had the most frustrating and infuriating urge to draw him closer still, but with her hands tied that was hardly possible.

There was no passion in his kiss, no sense of need or desire, but there was heat. A consuming, toe-curling, bonemelting fire that spread through her blood even as her mind screamed that she was an idiot. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, and she had no defenses prepared for it, no protection.

He carried her somewhere, but she didn’t even care where. His chest was solid and warm against her, his arms strong and muscular. They were both soaking wet, and it felt as if steam were rising from their skin and clothes. Clothes that suddenly felt tight and uncomfortable. His mouth stayed steady on hers, never letting up, and she felt as if she were drowning in the taste of him, something dark and heady and overwhelmingly masculine.

He made a sound deep in his throat, and she couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or pleasure. He swung her sideways through a doorway, and for the briefest moment, so fleeting she wasn’t certain if she imagined it, she felt his tongue sweep over her lips.

Her senses were still spinning when he dumped her unceremoniously into a bathtub. She heard a man’s voice call Ian’s name, and the sound snapped her out of her trance. She blinked twice and swung an elbow at his face, catching him in his bottom lip. His head snapped back and he swore, then grabbed a sock from a sports bag sitting beside the tub and shoved it into her mouth. A hand towel came next, and he secured it over her mouth with a knot at the base of her head.

Furious, she shook her head and screamed into the gag, praying the sock was clean while she plotted his demise. It was going to be slow and painful. Her only satisfaction at the moment was the blood oozing from his lip where she’d whacked him with her elbow. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, scowled when he saw the blood, then rose and pointed a warning finger at her.

“I’m going to get rid of whoever that is. So help me, if you make one sound, I promise you that you’ll be sorry.”

She was already sorry, but she recognized that tone in his voice. She’d heard it often enough in her brothers’, when they’d been pushed to the edge of their tolerance. And since—for the moment—he obviously had the upper hand, she could be patient.

She still had a trick or two up her sleeve for Mr. Killian Shawnessy.

“You deaf or something?” Nick Santos, wearing a torn, sleeveless white T-shirt and faded jeans, strolled past Ian when he threw open the door. “I’ve been knocking out here for five minutes. How come your door’s locked, anyway?”

“To keep bums like you out.” Ian held his breath while he kept one eye on the bathroom door, half expecting a female fireball to explode through at any moment.

Nick shook his wet, dark hair and headed for the refrigerator. “Damn, it’s hot. Got a cold one?”

Terrific, Ian thought on a curse. He could have easily gotten rid of anybody but Nick or Lucas. His day had swiftly moved from bad to worse, and the prospects of it improving were looking less than slim. Of course, he could always explain that he couldn’t entertain company at the moment because he had a woman tied up in his bathtub. That ought to go over well.

Ian’s hand tightened on the still-open front door. The rain had nearly stopped, but the heat hadn’t let up. Humidity choked the air like a tight fist. “Look, Santos, this is kind of a bad time.”

Nick gave a snort of laughter while he rummaged through the refrigerator, clanking bottles against cans. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do, your best buddy drives twenty minutes in a downpour to come see you, and you tell him it’s a bad time. You’re a riot.”

“I’m serious.” Ian raked a hand through his still-wet hair. The woman had been quiet for all of sixty seconds. A record. Strangely enough, the silence worried him. “I’m a little busy right now.”

His quest successful, Nick pulled a cold bottle out of the refrigerator, then kicked the door shut while he twisted off the cap. “What, is it time for a poetry reading from the woodland nymphs?”

Amused with himself, Nick took a long swig from his bottle, then gave a loud sigh of appreciation. “Damn, that tastes good. Don’t mind me, buddy. I’ll just sit fight here and drink my beer and you can go right ahead and do whatever it is you need to do. Oh, yeah, and I’m supposed to remind you about the tux fitting on Thursday morning and dinner Friday night at Lucas’s house after the wedding rehearsal.”

Muttering an oath under his breath, Ian shoved the door closed as Nick plopped down on the sofa. “Speaking of your wedding, don’t you have to help Maggie pick out flowers or tablecloths or something?”

“I am helping. I’m staying out of the way.” Nick tossed back another swallow of beer while he put his feet up on the weathered pine coffee table. “I’ve got three hours to kill before I pick my son up from his grandma’s house.”

Ian couldn’t help but notice the pride in Nick’s eyes at the mention of his son. A son he hadn’t even known existed until a few weeks ago. Ian still couldn’t believe it. Nick had a five-year-old son and was getting married in a few days to little redheaded Maggie Smith, who wasn’t so little anymore. She was all grown-up and gorgeous.

And Lucas. Married to a blond beauty like Julianna Hadley, with twins. A boy and a girl. Damn if life didn’t work in strange, mysterious ways.

Thank God at least he had kept his sanity, Ian thought with relief.

“Hey—” Nick gestured with the bottle in his hand “—did you know you’re all wet?”

A noise from the bathroom, sort of a thump, had Nick turning his head.

The knot of tension in Ian’s shoulders worked its way up his neck to his jaw. He had to get rid of Nick. Immediately.

“Squirrels,” Ian said evenly. “They built a nest in the attic over the bathroom. I was on the roof trying to see where they got in when the storm hit. Listen, I’ve got to go into town and buy some screen to cover the vent up there. Meet me at Tanner’s in forty-five minutes. I’ll spring for the beer and pool.”

Never mind that Nick could have bought the pool hall fifty times over, it was unthinkable to turn down a free game of pool and beer. “Make that ten bucks a game and you’re on.”

“Five. Take it or leave it.” Ian knew if he gave in too easily, Nick might be suspicious.

“You’re on.” Not one to be wasteful, Nick took a deep swig from his bottle and started to rise. “I’ll call Lucas, see if he can get away from Julianna and the kids for a couple of hours.”

Another sound from the bathroom. A clank this time. Nick turned toward the bathroom. “Squirrels, you say?”

“They might be inside. I’ll check it out.” Ian started for the bathroom, but stopped at the distinct sound of water running from the sink faucet.

Nick swiveled a look at Ian. “They know how to turn on the water?”

The bathroom door opened, and she flounced out.

She’d stripped out of her wet khakis and was wearing a snug white tank top and tight jeans that exposed curves he hadn’t seen before. She’d done something with her hair—pulled it back and let a few wet strands curl around her freshly washed, heart-shaped face.

How the hell had she gotten out of that rope?

“Oh, Ian, honey, there you are.” She smiled brightly at him, but it wasn’t a smile that reached her smoky-green eyes—it was smug satisfaction. “I was wondering what took you so long. I’m afraid we’ll have to do this some other time. I completely forgot I have an appointment in town. I’ll call you later and—oh, you have company.”

Nick’s jaw had gone slack as he stared at the woman. If Ian wasn’t so furious, he’d be laughing his butt off at the expression on his friend’s face.

Hell, it had to be the same as the expression on his own face.

“I’ll just get my bag and be on my way.” She bent down to pick up her backpack and had started for the door when she stopped suddenly and turned to stare hard at Nick. Nick stared right back.

“Nick Santos?” Eyes wide, she whispered the name with reverence.

Nick managed an uncertain nod and continued to gawk openly at the woman.

“I’ve been a fan for years.” She moved toward him, her smile genuine now as she offered her hand. “Cara Sinclair.”

Nick stared at Cara’s hand, blinked twice, then slowly closed his palm over her long, slender fingers. “Uh, a pleasure, Miss Sinclair.”

“Cara, please,” she said, her voice soft and breathy.

This isn’t happening, Ian thought dimly. Five minutes ago he’d left this long-legged she-cat spitting and snarling in his bathtub. Tied up and gagged. Now she stood here as calmly as if she’d dropped in for tea, cooing that she was a fan of Nick’s, for God’s sake.

“I was at the Bloomfield County Speedway when you won Nationals three years ago.” She pulled her hand away and shifted the backpack on her shoulder. “You were amazing.”

Her eyes were soft now, almost dreamy, Ian noted, and he clenched his jaw so tightly he thought it might snap. If she asked Santos for his autograph, Ian knew he’d have to hurt someone.

“Just lucky, but thanks, anyway.” Nick seemed to have his composure back now. He flashed Cara the smile that had graced numerous sports magazines and several advertising campaigns for everything from motorcycles to jeans to milk. Charm had always been Nick’s middle name, and he laid it on heavy. Ian was certain it was just to annoy him.

Damn if it wasn’t working.

“I’m off the circuit now,” Nick said smoothly. “I’ve got my own place customizing bikes here in Wolf River. Maybe you’d like to see it sometime.” Nick grinned at Ian, who scowled back. “Ian can bring you by.”

Cara looked at Ian, and a slow smile spread over her lips, lips still slightly swollen and rosy from the kiss he’d planted on her. Or maybe it was from the sock he’d shoved in her mouth. Either way, the look she shot him said he’d better watch his back.

“Thanks. I’ll get back to you on that. Oh, and congratulations on your upcoming wedding. Ian couldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Is that right?” Nick raised his brows and glanced at Ian. Ian knew what Nick thought, that he’d interrupted an afternoon interlude, not conversation about the Santos wedding. What else was he to think when a beautiful woman came bouncing out of the bathroom, her hair wet and her cheeks flushed?

And Ian decided he’d let Nick keep right on thinking just that.

Moving behind the Sinclair woman, Ian caught the scent of the storm that still lingered on her damp hair and smooth skin. When he placed his hands on her shoulders in what appeared to be an affectionate display, she stiffened, then covered his boot discreetly with her own and came down hard on his instep. Pain shot up his leg when she shifted her weight. She leaned intimately against him while she dug her heel in deeper. He forced a smile and plowed his fingers into the soft flesh of her shoulders.

“I’ll catch you in town, Santos,” Ian ground out, fighting to ignore the bone-crushing pressure of her boot on top of his foot. “I’d just like to say goodbye to Cara.”

“I’ve really got to run, darling. I don’t want to be late for my appointment.” She twisted in his arms to press a kiss to his cheek and threw her entire weight into increasing his torture. He sucked in a breath and clenched his teeth.

She held his gaze, waited for him to make the next move. He considered his options: create a scene in front of Nick or let her go. He didn’t like either option.

Neither he or the woman, for reasons of their own, wanted a confrontation in front of Nick. No, Ian thought as he slowly let go of her shoulders, he wanted to finish this privately, someplace where they would be completely alone.

There was a momentary, tense silence as she stepped away from him. The rain had stopped completely now and the only sound was the heavy drip-drip of water from the roof.

She turned away from him and smiled at Nick as she backed toward the door. “Nice to meet you.”

Nick nodded. “You, too. We’ll see you around.”

Her hand on the open door, Cara paused and cast a glance at Ian. “Maybe,” she said, arching one delicate brow.

Ian stared at the door when she closed it behind her.

No maybe about it, Blondie.

She wouldn’t go far, he was certain of that. She’d come here for something. Whatever it was she was after, she wasn’t finished yet.

And neither was he.

He turned to Nick, who was staring hard at him. “Don’t ask. Don’t even ask.”

Fortunately for Nick, he didn’t. He simply scratched at his neck and shrugged. “Does this mean that free offer of pool and beer is on or off?”

“On.” Ian unbuttoned his shirt and headed for the bedroom to change his clothes. He needed a game of pool to clear his head and a beer to wash the taste of apricots out of his mouth.

Cara kept a vigil on the thick trees separating her cabin from Ian’s. Evening shadows darkened the woods, and though Cara had never been afraid of the night, she couldn’t stop the prickle of anxiety working its way up her spine.

He hadn’t followed her when she’d left his cabin over an hour ago, but she hadn’t really expected that he would. At least, not yet. Through the bathroom door, she’d overheard Ian’s offer to meet Nick in town for a game of pool, and she assumed that he’d stayed with those plans. No doubt Ian would play it cool, to downplay what Nick had walked into this afternoon.

Or what he thought he’d walked into.

She smiled at that, decided that Ian would stay in town, casually play a few games of pool, drink some beer. He’d act like he had all the time in the world. But Cara knew he was thinking about her, wondering who the devil she was and what she’d been doing watching him.

He’d be coming soon. She was certain of that.

A shiver crept up her arms, a mixture of tension and anticipation. Her skin felt sticky and itchy from crawling around in the cattails, and her hair had dried into a mass of stiff curls. She needed a shower badly, but she’d phoned in an urgent message to Margaret and couldn’t risk missing a return call. She would want to know what had happened this afternoon, though Cara had already decided that certain minor details were unimportant and could be left out. One, that Ian had tied her up, and two, that he’d kissed her.

Touching her fingers to her lips, she remembered the press of his mouth against hers, the hot, though brief, brush of his tongue over her own. Killian Shawnessy was much more than she’d bargained for.

A hell of a lot more.

Of course, she knew that the only reason he’d kissed her was to stifle her scream, but somehow that didn’t seem to ease the persistent tingling in her lips. Nor did it erase the memory of his hard, muscled body pressed against hers, his hands on her skin. She remembered those hands now. Large and rough, as skillful as they were experienced. There’d been no movement wasted, no hesitation or uncertainty. Though it nearly killed her to admit it, she admired and respected that.

It also made her mad as hell.

She’d learned how to handle herself from the time she was a little girl. With four big brothers, she’d had two choices: submit or assert. And since submission had never been her style, throughout her childhood she’d endured daily altercations with at least one of her siblings. Except Gabe. At thirty-five, he was the oldest, and had always been the one who’d saved her from serious injury when things got out of hand, dried her tears when frustration took over and she’d been reduced to that despicable female trait of crying.

The year following her parents’ death when she was sixteen had been the hardest, but he’d been there for her then, too. Especially then, even though at twenty-four he suddenly had a family to hold together, as well as support. With three younger, headstrong brothers and a rebellious teenage sister, it hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed, and somehow they’d all survived to become closer to each other than ever before.

She had the urge to call Gabe now, just to hear his voice. His soft, deep tone had always calmed her, and she could certainly use a little calming right now. Ian had shaken her self-confidence, not to mention her pride, and though she never would have admitted that—or what had happened—to anyone, not even Gabe, she could vent her annoyance on the phone in some meaningless nonrelated complaint and never once mention the name Killian Shawnessy.

In spite of her irritation with the man, she smiled slowly, remembering the look of astonishment on his face when she’d walked casually out of the bathroom and into the living room. That look had been her only compensation for the humiliation he’d caused her. She imagined that her heel digging into his foot had left a bruise, as well, but it served him right. How dare he tie her up and toss her in the bathtub!

But why had he done that? she wondered. The information she’d collected on him showed him to be an ordinary enough kind of guy: he owned a small business in Washington, D.C., manufacturing cellular phones; four years in the military, though that stint had ended ten years ago; no wife, no kids; and he lived in a one bedroom apartment in Maryland and drove a four-year-old Ford Explorer.

What reason would he have to be so suspicious of her? Why had he assumed she’d been lying when she’d told him she’d been bird watching? And why would he think anyone was watching him?

He had an edge to him, Cara thought. She recognized it. It was the same kind of edge her brother Lucian had. It was wild, reckless at times, but always contained, always just below the surface. Until something, or someone, brought it out.

Something told her there was more to Killian Shawnessy than met the eye. And whatever that something was, she intended to find out.

For now she’d wait. And while she was waiting, there was no reason not to enjoy the scenery.

She breathed in the scent of pine and damp leaves that drifted on the evening breeze. It had finally cooled down, and the air was comfortable, fresh and soft from the storm. Crickets came to life with their rhythmic night music, and bullfrogs joined in as background chorus.

This was as far from the city as a person could get, Cara thought, letting herself relax against the porch rail. No bumper-to-bumper traffic, no police sirens, no screaming arguments from the married couple in the apartment next to hers.

The quiet was wonderful, she told herself. Exactly what she needed.

It was going to drive her crazy.

She needed sound. Horns honking, the pounding beat of rock and roll, the blare of a television set. She’d been raised with noise, lots of it, and loud. She needed it to unwind, especially after a day like the one she’d had. But there was no TV, not even a radio in the cabin, and she’d have to settle for crickets and frogs.

A shower would help, and she decided to risk a quick one. She figured she had at least another hour before Shawnessy showed up, and it would be easier to face him if she were clean and dressed in something other than military fatigues. A suit of armor, maybe.

She jumped at the sound of the phone ringing from inside the cabin, then hurried to answer it, locking the door securely behind her. She doubted a simple lock would keep Shawnessy out, but it might give her an extra couple of seconds to compose herself when he finally showed up. She almost laughed out loud at that thought. She’d had more than an hour and she wasn’t ready to face the man. A couple of seconds would hardly matter.

She grabbed the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Cara?” Margaret’s voice was heavy with concern. “Are you all right, dear? Peter and I were worried when you didn’t call earlier.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, though that wasn’t completely truthful. “But I’m afraid there’s been a little change in our plans.”

Tanner’s Tavern was dark and smoky. The gravelly wail of a country-western singer poured from a corner jukebox, while a pinball competition brought whoops and hollers from three men crowded around the clanging, lightsflashing machines at the back of the bar.

Lucas Blackhawk was bent over the cue ball, eyes narrowed while he set up his shot.

“Hey, Lucas.” Nick casually chalked his cue on the opposite side of the table. “Did I mention that Ian was entertaining a beautiful woman in his cabin when I stopped by this afternoon?”

Lucas pitched forward, miscued and sank the cue ball. He glanced up sharply from the pool table. “What did you say?”

Ian tightened his hand around the cue stick he held and did his best to ignore the two sets of dark eyes focused on him. He’d known it was coming, of course. He’d been waiting for Nick to razz him about this afternoon ever since Lucas walked in thirty minutes ago. Ian was only surprised Nick had waited so long, but realized that he’d been waiting until Lucas was about to sink the game ball. Five bucks was five bucks, after all.

And now he’d never hear the end of it.

“A woman,” Nick repeated. “As in female. As in dropdead gorgeous. As in hot.”

Ian moved to rack the balls, thought about slipping the wooden triangle over Nick’s head and twisting. “Shut up, Santos.”

Lucas straightened slowly and lifted one brow. “No kidding. So who is she?”

Ian knew they wouldn’t go away if he ignored them, and besides, from past experience, he knew that the more evasive he was, the more curious they would be.

“No one you know.” Ian scooped up the balls and dropped them into the rack. “She’s on vacation, renting the cabin next to mine, and we ran into each other by the lake.”

Nick leaned closer to Lucas. “He tried to get rid of me before she came out of the bathroom dripping wet.”

Both brows raised now, Lucas stared at Ian. “Dripping wet?”

“We got caught in the storm,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “She was drying off in the bathroom, that’s all. She was fully clothed, for God’s sake.”

She had been fully clothed, Ian recalled, but her tank top had been tight over her full breasts, and she would have won a wet-T-shirt contest hands down. He forced the image from his mind, replaced it with the memory of her crushing her boot into his foot. It still throbbed.

Nick grinned. “She called him honey and darling.”

Lucas’s jaw went slack. “Ian’s only been in town three days and he’s already got himself a woman in his little mountain hideaway? You’re putting me on.”

Nick raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor. Her name’s Cara Sinclair. Blond hair, green eyes and a body that would make you—”

“Shut up, Santos,” Ian warned. “And for a man who’s getting married, you sure noticed a hell of a lot.”

“A beautiful woman walks out of your bathroom and I’m not supposed to notice?” Nick leaned on his cue stick and gave a snort of disbelief. “Besides, I had to pay attention. Lucas wasn’t there to share in the moment, and I figured he’d want details.”

“Lucas has better things to do than listen to you yammer on about something that was nothing.” Ian moved around the table to break. They weren’t going to let this drop, he thought irritably. One more reason to dislike Miss Cara Sinclair.

“I haven’t got anything better to do,” Lucas said. “Julianna went with Maggie for their final fittings on their dresses, and they took the twins.” Lucas grinned at Ian. “So she really called you honey?”

Ian broke hard and the balls exploded against the table’s cushions. “Both of you can either put a sock in it and play pool, or I can leave and you two sweethearts can bat your eyes at each other and fantasize some more about my love life.”

“He’s jealous because she recognized me,” Nick whispered loudly to Lucas. “She told me she’s a fan of mine, and that she thinks I’m amazing.”

“That does it.” Ian threw his cue on the table, as annoyed with his friends as he was with himself for letting them get to him. “I’ve got better things to do than stand around here playing games with you girls.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Nick said cheerfully. “And don’t worry, I’ll call before I stop by next time, lover boy.”

Ian’s response was simple and earthy, and Nick merely laughed. Ian decided he’d let them get it out of their system without him around. He stomped out of the bar into the parking lot toward the truck Nick had loaned him to drive for the two weeks he was visiting. The pickup was old, the paint worn, but the engine had been rebuilt. From a stop light he could leave a Porsche behind, reading his license plate.

He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel, revved the engine, then spun dirt and gravel coming out of the parking lot. He enjoyed the power of the machine under his hands. She took the curves like a dream, and by the time he reached the main dirt road that led to the lake, he felt in control again. Something he hadn’t felt since that Sinclair woman walked out of his bathroom this afternoon.

He pulled off the dirt road onto a long driveway, shut off the headlights and cut the engine as he neared the cabin.

He needed one thing, and one thing only, from Miss Cara Sinclair—the truth. He wasn’t leaving until he got it.