Such darkness in her eyes. “They weren’t there the day I fell into the lake, and she didn’t even notice because she was so drunk.”
His hands clenched into fists.
“She’s been clean for years, but it was a long, hard fight. My dad didn’t stay around for it. She lost most of her friends… I guess she wasn’t as fun to them anymore.”
The day I fell into the lake…
“You can’t control other people,” she said after a moment. “You can’t make them do the things you want, even if it’s for their own good.”
She’d been brutally honest with him. He could give her the same benefit. Guess I am going back to hell tonight, for her. “My mother was diagnosed with cancer two years ago. She went through the rounds of surgery and chemo, but nothing worked.”
He’d watched her wither away right in front of him. Every day, she’d just grown paler, weaker. “Quinlan… his own mother abandoned him and I don’t think he could handle watching someone else disappear before his eyes.” I sure couldn’t take it.
Quinlan had always been in his mother’s room. Watching her and talking to her as she slipped away.
“At first, no one even noticed what Quinlan was doing.” They’d all been so busy mourning his mother that it had taken them a while to see the shape Quinlan was in. “I think the drugs must have numbed the pain for him, at first anyway. Then…” Then Quinlan had just gotten to where he liked the rush.
Their gazes held.
“I’m not giving up on him. I won’t.” But he knew that she was right. He could send his brother to every program, but if Quinlan just planned to start using the minute he walked out… Max ran a hand over the back of his neck, trying to push away that knot. “I’ll get him home, and I’ll do anything I can to help him get clean.” What else was there to do?
“It’s all you,” she whispered. “What you’ll do for him. What about Frank? What’s he doing?”
Frank seemed shaken now, like his world had spiraled away from him—and it had. Maybe he’d step up now and finally see his son.
Her head tilted. “How would you say Quinlan feels about his father?”
“He hates the old man.” And that’s what Quinlan always called him. “Frank is screwing his lover, so how do you think he feels?”
“I’d say there is animosity there.”
Yeah, too damn tame a word. But then Max understood. He advanced on her. “No, hell, no. Don’t even think it.” His back teeth clenched. “My brother is the victim here.” Had the woman been playing him just then? Trying to make him feel close to her, trying to get him to let down his guard?
One of her shoulders lifted in what was probably supposed to be a careless shrug. “I never said he wasn’t.” Her stare didn’t waver.
But for a minute, when he’d first gotten the call, he’d doubted. He wondered. Quinlan had wanted that money so badly and then just disappeared…
The doubt hadn’t lasted long, though, not with that prick on the line promising to hurt Quinlan. Then that damn package had arrived.
His brother was the victim. “Get to sleep,” he ordered, tired of the doubt and the worry. “It’s late, and we’re both going to be sharing the bed.”
Her eyes widened as she glanced at the bed.
“Part of our cover, remember?” Screw the cover. The grim truth was that he still wanted her. And the sick truth was that she didn’t want him touching her.
You could run from your past. You could spend a dozen years trying to change, but there would always be people who looked at you and saw the blood and guts of who you were.
A killer. When Samantha looked at him, he knew what she saw.
She exhaled on a breathy little sigh. “I’m not here right now because I need a cover, Max.” Her hair looked soft and silky, and her lips, bare of color, were plump and just inches away. “I’m here because I want to be. I told you about my past because I wanted you to know me.”
What?
“You scare me,” she admitted.
Just great. You scare me, too, baby.
“And I—I’m sorry about what happened to your mother. The cancer… and before. With her attack.”
She might as well have hit him again. He tried to hold on to his anger, but with her, it kept sliding away. “Got the story verified, did you?” She must have called her agents when she was alone. He didn’t buy that she’d taken him at his word.
“Max…”
He brushed past her. “I’m going to bed. Do whatever the hell you want.” He ditched his pants. No boxers. Like she hadn’t already seen him naked. “Stay up all night.” He probably would. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that severed finger and wondered where his brother was. “But don’t worry about me. I’m not going to jump you.”
If only. Frank had the right of it. Hard, driving sex was the way to shove the demons away.
The way to hold onto sanity until dawn came.
Hold on, Quinlan. Just hold on.
Max climbed into the bed, closed his eyes, and tried to shut her out. But he could hear her. Every soft move. Every rustle.
The bed dipped when Samantha eased in beside him. He caught her scent, light, flowery, and wanted more.
No. You couldn’t always have what you wanted. He knew that better than others.
Silence.
In bed with him. Close. If he reached out, he could touch her.
He wouldn’t reach out. But, dammit, he had to ask. “Is he alive?” His eyes opened to darkness. “You know these bastards. Do you think he’s alive somewhere, hurting and scared, or have they already cut him up?” His eyes struggled to adjust to the dark as he waited for her answer. Not a bullshit response, the truth.
Her fingers brushed his arm. Heat shot through him. “He’s alive.”
Max could almost believe her. Almost.
Her hand slipped over his chest, stopping just over his heart, and he knew that she had to feel the desperate drumming. “Wouldn’t do that,” he warned. This was the only warning he’d give. “Not unless you want me to finish what you’re starting.”
Between them, there could be no innocent touches now. No comfort in the darkness. In the middle of hell, he still wanted her. Fuck, had wanted her, every moment, even when rage bubbled in his chest.
His c**k was hard, ready, because she was near. The temptation to reach out to her was strong because he knew she would make him forget, for just a few moments, the nightmare he was living.