"I'm so sorry. It must be...lonesome for you."
His chest tightened with a sudden realization. He was lonesome. And although he had good friends, there were some things a man didn't discuss with other men.
Like the need to feel loved. Another guy would laugh and call that a weakness. Hell, he'd considered it a weakness, too. He'd taken pride in being self-sufficient. He'd played the role of the proud, tough warrior for so long, it was all he knew.
And then he'd found himself entirely helpless and humiliated while the Malcontents tortured him. His self-sufficiency had been nothing but an illusion. His pride had only covered up the deep, gaping loneliness inside.
He glanced at Olivia. She was watching him curiously, but not even attempting to do therapy on him. Even so, it was happening. He was seeing things he'd never seen before. A warm, gentle feeling swelled in his chest, tempering the hard lust that had seized him earlier. Lord Almighty, he truly cared for this woman.
He swallowed hard. How should he go about this? When should he tell her the truth about himself? "I hear there's stiff competition over who's going to win yer heart." Stiff? Bad choice of words. He avoided looking down.
She waved a hand in dismissal. "That's my grandmother's doing. I'm not really interested in any of the men here."
"Then I have a chance?"
Her eyes widened. "Are you...competing?"
"Aye. Are you...interested?"
Her cheeks turned a rosy pink. "Maybe. But you have to understand, I've worked hard to get where I am. I'm not giving up my career."
"I wouldna want ye to." He resumed his stroll, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from touching her as she walked beside him. "What do ye do at the Bureau?"
"Criminal interrogation and analysis, mostly. When I was working on my master's, I interviewed a bunch of inmates at the Huntsville State Penitentiary in Texas. I convinced a guy on death row to confess to some unsolved murders, and it was covered in all the local papers. When the FBI offered me a job, I jumped on it. I've always wanted to use my gift for something important."
"Then ye shouldna stop."
She smiled wryly. "Tell that to my parents. They want me to get a cozy little private practice in a nice suburb and only see the right kind of mentally disturbed people."
He smiled. "There's a right kind?"
"Nonviolent, or rather, people who only harm themselves. Eating disorders or..." She gave him a pointed look. "Nice guys suffering from post-traumatic stress."
His smile quickly faded. "I'm no' suffering."
"Robby, you were tortured. That's not something you easily recover from."
"I'm fine."
"How long ago did it happen?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Last summer."
She halted with a small gasp. "That's no time at all. You said they...broke your bones?"
He wiggled his fingers. "All healed." His gaze drifted down her body. "And ready for action."
"Don't make light of this. You've barely had time to heal physically. And mentally - "
"Olivia," he interrupted, then softened his tone. "Sweetheart, I doona want to discuss it. We've all had bad things to deal with. I'm sure ye've seen some verra nasty things on yer job."
She winced, then looked down as she dug the toe of an athletic shoe in the sand. "It's hard, sometimes, to see the horrendous things a person can inflict on a fellow human being. But I guess you know about that firsthand."
"Aye."
She turned her head and gazed into space. Her brow furrowed and a haunted look settled in her eyes.
He touched her shoulder, but she was so far away, she didn't seem aware of him. "Are ye all right, lass?"
"I think so," she whispered. "He can't find me here."
"Who?"
She shuddered, then gave Robby an apologetic look. "It's nothing. I'd rather not talk about it."
"Ah." He recalled her words from the night before. "I've recently heard from an expert that repression can lead to serious side effects down the road. It can even affect yer physical health."
Her eyes narrowed with warning.
His mouth twitched. "Perhaps ye should see a therapist."
She punched him lightly on the arm.
"Och." He rubbed his arm. "I've been traumatized."
She scoffed. "I'll tell you what. I'll do therapy for both of us."
"I'd rather ye hit me again."
She gave him a playful shove. "It won't hurt. It's just a few questions, and you don't have to answer out loud."
"Then ye canna know if I've answered."
"You don't have to answer. Just think about it." She crossed her arms over her cream-colored jumper. "When I was interviewing criminals for my master's, I came up with a list of questions to figure out what makes them tick."
"Ye want to interrogate me like a criminal?"
She looked annoyed. "Let me finish. I discovered the average criminal doesn't have the patience to answer a long list of questions, especially if there's nothing in it for him. So I pared it down to three questions. Just three."
"Let me guess." He stepped closer. "What's your favorite color?"
She shook her head, smiling. "Green. Like your eyes."
His heart expanded. "I like yer eyes, too."
She blushed. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to distract me."
"I'll have to try harder." He touched her cheek.
She stepped back. "Question number one: what do you want more than anything in the world?"
That was easy. Revenge. "Next question?"
Her eyebrows lifted. "You're already done?"
"Aye. I know what I want."
She cocked her head, studying him. "It must be very important to you."
"It is. How did ye answer the question?"
A hint of a smile played on her lips. "If you're not telling, neither am I."
"Saucy wench," he muttered.
Her smile widened. "Question number two: what scares you more than anything in the world?"
Failure to get revenge. "Done."
"That was fast."
"Aye." He would have revenge on the bastards who had tortured him. They would pay for every blow, every burn, every break of his bones.
"Okay, then," she continued. "The last question refers back to the first one about what you want more than anything. If you succeed, will it make you a better person?"
He stiffened with a quick intake of air. Bloody hell. He turned and stared at the sea. He didn't want to think about this. He knew his plans weren't an eye for an eye. They hadn't killed him, yet he fully intended to kill them. And what's more - he intended to enjoy it.
Would it make him a better person? He closed his eyes briefly. It didn't matter. They deserved to die. They were evil, and the world would be better off without them.
He curled his hands into fists. He needed revenge. It gave him purpose. It had incited him to recover physically. With every step he jogged, every weight he lifted, he envisioned himself getting revenge. Killing Casimir. Killing all the Malcontents who had tortured him, who had watched his pain and humiliation. They all had to die.
Would it make him a better person? With a groan, he relaxed his hands. No.
"Robby?" She touched his arm. "Are you all right?"
He turned to look at her, examine her, memorize every lovely inch of her face. How could she reach so deep inside him? She made him see things he didn't want to see. She made him want to be worthy of her. "Olivia."
"Yes?"
He could hear her heart pounding, her pulse racing, and he ached to touch her. "How can ye be so young and so wise?"
"I don't feel wise." Her face flushed with rushing blood. "I-I can hardly think at all."
He lay his fingers on her neck and felt the throbbing artery. "I shouldna do this."
"You mean...touch me?" She sounded breathless. "It's okay."
"Lass." He cupped his hand around the base of her neck. "I'm only getting started." He pulled her hard against his chest, leaning over to claim her mouth.
She stiffened with surprise, and he halted a mere fraction away from her lips. Her quick breaths feathered his skin, making him desperate to taste her.
"Olivia," he whispered. He was so damned close.
He felt it the minute she surrendered. Her body melted against his. Her eyes fluttered shut. He pressed his mouth against hers, molding her lips, relishing their soft fullness.
He wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer. Even through the thick wool of her jumper, he could feel her breasts, round and firm. He slanted his mouth, deepening the kiss, coaxing her lips to open.
With a sweet feminine moan, her lips parted, and he teased the small opening with his tongue. She panted, as if trying to catch her breath, her breasts pushing against his chest. With each push, his groin tightened and his passion threatened to strip away the last remnant of his control.
"Robby," she whispered. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek against his whiskered jaw.
He kissed a trail back to her mouth, and this time she kissed him back, matching the desperation of his desire. His heart soared. He invaded her mouth, tasting her with his tongue. She stroked his tongue with her own, then sucked it.
His groin hardened and pressed painfully against his jeans. He slid his hands down her spine to the delicious curve at the small of her back, then over her sweet round butt. He splayed his hands and pulled her tight against his erection.
She gasped against his mouth, breaking the kiss.
"Olivia." In his vision, her face turned from pink to dark red. He tucked her face against his chest to hide the red glow of his eyes.
She snuggled against him, breathing shallow and fast. He plucked the strange contraption from her hair, and the long curly locks fell free. He grabbed a handful and buried his face in it. It was so soft, so silky against his skin. He willed himself to regain control, a losing battle when he imagined how thick, black, and silky her hair would be between her legs.
Patience. He needed to court her slowly and carefully. Good timing would be essential, or he could lose her.
In the distance, he heard a clanging sound. He turned and spotted Olivia's grandmother standing by the telescope and banging a large metal spoon against a pot.
"What is that?" Olivia glanced toward the house and winced. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I forgot she was watching."
Robby stepped back, releasing Olivia, and the clanging stopped. "Apparently, round one is over."
Olivia turned to him with a shy smile, but it transformed instantly into a frown. "Are you all right? Your eyes seem a little red."
With an inward wince, he looked away. "I think some sand blew into them." He hated to lie, so he quickly changed the subject. "Do ye want me to take ye home?"
She glanced at her grandmother, then shook her head. "You've endured enough interrogation for one evening. And you should hurry home to wash out your eyes." The wind swept her hair across her face, and she shoved it back.
"Here." He handed her the tortoiseshell contraption he'd removed from her hair, and winced when she opened the claw. "Bugger, look at the teeth on that thing. It doesna poke holes in yer head?"
With a laugh, she twisted her hair onto the back of her head. "No."
He moved closer to observe her attaching the claw.
She slanted him an amused look. "Are you worried about my safety?"
He smiled. "I willna let anything harm a hair on yer head. May I see you tomorrow night?"
Her cheeks bloomed pink. "Yes."
"Good." He pressed a light kiss against her brow. "I'll wait here to make sure ye get home safely."
"Good night." She strode back down the beach.
He observed her graceful walk, her hair piled on the back of her head, and her slender, elegant neck. His gaze lowered to her well-rounded hips, which swayed with every step. He flexed his hands, recalling the feel of her rump. Thank God the bones in his fingers had healed properly. There were times when a man needed nimble fingers.
Olivia woke Wednesday morning with thoughts of Robby. She snuggled under the blankets, closed her eyes, and remembered every delicious detail of the hottest kiss she'd ever indulged in. First he'd pulled her against him like a man losing control, then he'd hovered over her mouth like a man straining to regain control. His struggle had excited her, making her want to push him past the brink.
She didn't need to read his emotions. His desire and passion had been clear with every movement of his lips and every touch of his hands. He'd shown himself to be bold and demanding with the way he'd pulled her tight against his erection. Shocking, but so exciting.
She smiled to herself. There was something sweet about Robby, too. Something trustworthy that made her feel safe, even though her lie detecting skills didn't work on him.
She was beginning to like the fact that she couldn't read his emotions. For the first time in her life she'd been able to kiss a man only feeling her own emotions. Instead of the usual flood of lust pouring out of the guy, drowning her desires with his needs, she'd only felt herself. Suddenly, it had all been about her. Every shudder, every tingle, every heart-pounding sensation - it had all come from her. She liked it. She wanted more.
She wanted Robby.
With a sigh, she sat up. She couldn't call it love. She'd only known the man a few days. She couldn't fall in love that fast, could she?