Killian's Passion. Barbara McCauley
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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.