The Rogue (21 page)

Then nothing existed but the touching and sliding of their bodies against each other, satin against steel. Susannah was soft, giving, bending to Killian's needs with a sweet suppleness. He was hard, demanding— plunging and taking. Her lilac fragrance surrounded him as he buried his face in the silky folds of her hair. In moments, an explosive feeling enveloped him, freezing him into an immobility of such intense pleasure that he could only gasp in response. As she moved her hips sinuously against him, he could no more control himself than a rain storm could hold back from spending itself on the lush warmth of the earth.

Afterward, moments glided and fused together as Killian lay spent. He raised his head and realized that his fingers were still tightly grasping the thick strands of Susannah's hair, as if he were afraid she'd slip away from him—as if this were one of his fevered dreams, ready to flee when he opened his eyes. Susannah's lashes fluttered upward, and he held his breath, drowning in the glorious gray of her eyes.

The soft, trembling smile that curved her lips sent another sheet of heat through Killian. He felt her hot, wet tightness still around him, holding him, and he groaned.

"I feel like I've gone to heaven," he rasped against her lips. And then he added weakly, "Or as close as I'll ever get to heaven, because I'm bound for hell."

"You
are
heaven," Susannah managed huskily, held captive by him in all ways, luxuriating in his strength and masculinity.

Carefully Killian untangled his hand from her hair and touched her swollen lips. With a grimace, he whispered, "I'm sorry, colleen, I got carried away. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Susannah kissed his scarred fingers. "I'm fine. How could you hurt me?"

He shakily traced her smooth forehead and the arch of her eyebrow. "In a million ways," he assured her.

With a tender smile, Susannah framed his damp features. No longer was the man with the hard face staring down at her. No, this was the very human, vulnerable side of Sean Killian. And she reveled fiercely in his being able to shed his outer shell—to give himself to her in an even more important, wonderful way.

Gently Killian moved aside and brought Susannah into his arms as he lay on the bed. "Come here," he whispered, holding her tight for a long, long time. The moments ran together for him. Susannah's arm flowed across his chest, and one of her long, lovely legs lay across his own. He blinked his eyes several times, trying to think coherently. It was nearly impossible with Susannah in his arms.

"You're all a man could ever dream of having," he told her in a low, unsteady voice as he kissed her cheek, and then her awaiting lips. Lying there with her in his arms, he caressed her cheek.

Susannah melted within his embrace, savoring the feel of his fingers moving lightly across her shoulder, down her arm to her hip. He was stroking her as if she were a purring cat. And wasn't she? "I'll never be sorry this happened," she admitted breathlessly.
"Never."

As Killian
lay
there, his mind finally beginning to take over from the
lavalike
emotions that had exploded in a volcano lain dormant too long, he tasted bitterness in his mouth. There was Susannah, innocent and trusting in his arms, her eyes shining with such adoration that it made him sick inside. She didn't know his sordid past, didn't know the ghosts that still haunted him.

"I shouldn't have done this to you," he rasped, frowning. Yet he couldn't stop touching her, sliding his hands across her satiny flesh and feeling her effortless response.

"No!" Susannah forced herself up onto one elbow. She reached out, her hand on his chest, where his heart lay. "We both wanted this, Sean.
Both
of us."

He grimaced. "It shouldn't have happened," he said, more harshly.

"Really?"
Susannah couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her tone, and she was sorry for it.

Unable to meet her eyes, he shook his head and threw the covers aside. "I was to protect you, Susannah!"

"Loving someone isn't protecting them?"

He glanced at her sharply as he forced himself to get up and leave her side. If he stayed, he'd want to love her all over again, with the fierceness of a breaking thunderstorm.

"I was paid to protect you,
dammit
!" he flared, moving around the bed and going to the dresser. Jerking open the drawer, he retrieved jeans and a polo shirt.

Sitting up in bed, Susannah suddenly felt bereft.
Abandoned.
Quiet tension thrummed through the room, and a chill washed over her. Killian put on boxer shorts and the jeans. His face was hard again, his mouth set in a thin line.

"Sean, what's going on? I liked what we shared. I like you. Why are you so angry and upset about it?"

"You'd better get cleaned up, Susannah," he told her tautly, pulling the shirt over his head. "Take a shower and get dressed. The sheriff is sending out a cruiser to check out what happened with the hit man. He'll probably be here in a half hour or so."

Forcing herself to her feet, Susannah moved over to him. His movements were abrupt and tense. She gripped his arm.

"The police can wait," she said hoarsely, searching his dark, unfathomable eyes.
"We
can't."

Her fingers were like small, exquisite brands burning into his flesh. Killian pulled away from Susannah. "There is no 'we'!" he said harshly. It was pure, unadulterated hell looking down at her standing there naked and beautiful before him. "Look at you! Even now you can't protect yourself against the likes of someone like me. It shouldn't have happened, Susannah! It was my fault. I wanted—needed you so damned bad I could taste it." Aggravated, Killian ran his fingers through his mussed hair. "I broke
a cardi
nal
rule that I've never broken before—I got involved with the person I was supposed to protect." He gave her a sad look, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened. You didn't deserve this on top of everything else, Susannah."

Susannah had barely stepped out of the shower when the sheriff's cruiser arrived. Going to her bedroom, she dressed in a sensible pair of dark green cotton slacks and a white short-sleeved blouse. Her hair was still damp, and she braided the strands together, fastening the ends with a rubber band. Her hands shook as she put on white socks and a pair of sneakers.

The terror of nearly being killed warred with Sean's reaction to their lovemaking, buffeting her weary senses. Each time she replayed the conversation, it made no sense to her. Why was he sorry he'd loved her? She wasn't. Touching her bangs with trembling fingers, she took one look in the mirror. Her face was pale, and her eyes were dark and huge.
And her lips. . .
Susannah groaned softly. Her mouth looked wonderfully ravished, slightly swollen and well kissed.

Entering the kitchen, Susannah saw the damage from the gunfire for the first time. Killian had set the table upright, and he and the two deputies sat at the table, their faces grim. Across the wooden floor, glass lay splintered and glinting in the lamplight.

Killian glanced up. Susannah stood poised just inside the room. He was struck by her beauty, her simple clothing—the luster in her gray eyes that he knew was meant for him alone. Trying to steel himself against his still-turbulent emotions, he got up.

"Come over here and sit down," he invited, his voice rough. "They've caught the guy who tried to kill us."

Gasping in surprise, Susannah came forward. "They did?"

"Yes, ma'am," a large, beefy deputy volunteered. "Thanks to Mr. Killian's quick reporting, we got him just as he was trying to leave the Glen town limits."

Killian pulled the chair out for her so that she could sit down. It hardly seemed possible, but Susannah looked even paler.

"You want some coffee?" he asked.
Dammit
, why did he have to sound so harsh with her? He was angry with himself, with his lack of control. It was he who had initiated their lovemaking.

"Please." Susannah tried to ignore Killian's overwhelming male presence—to concentrate on the deputy, whose name tag read Birch. But it was impossible. "Deputy Birch, what can you tell us about this hit man?" she managed to say, her voice unsteady.

"Not much. We're putting him through the paces right now back at the station. I do know he'll get put
in jail without bail. The judge won't hear his case until nine this morning."

Susannah looked at the wall clock. It was 3:00 a.m., yet she felt screamingly awake. Was this how Sean felt all the time? Did a mercenary ever relax? As Killian moved around the counter, which was strewn with wood and glass debris, Susannah sensed
an explosiveness
around him.

"How may I help?" Susannah asked the deputies in a low, off-key voice.

"Just give us your statement, Miss Anderson." Birch threw a look at Killian. "I'd say your guardian angel here saved you."

She forced a smile that she didn't feel. "Yes, well, Mr. Killian is protective, if nothing else." Susannah saw him twist a look across his shoulder at her. His eyes were dark and angry. What had she done to deserve his anger? She hoped against hope that, when the deputies left, she and Sean could sit and talk this out.

Killian moved restlessly around the kitchen. It was 4:00 a.m., and the deputies were wrapping up their investigation. Susannah was looking exhausted, her adrenaline high clearly worn off,
a
bruised-looking darkness beneath her eyes.

"We'll be in touch shortly," Birch promised as the deputies stood up and ended their visit.

"Thank you," Susannah told them wearily, meaning it. She watched as Killian escorted the officers out to the porch, where they talked in low voices she couldn't overhear. Exhausted, she stood up, feeling as if she'd gone days without sleep. As much as she
wanted to wait for Sean to return, to discuss whatever problem had sprung up between them, Susannah knew she didn't have the emotional strength for the confrontation. It would have to wait.

In her room, Susannah set the alarm for seven, so that she could call the principal and tell him she wouldn't be able to teach today. She lay down on the bed, not caring that she was still dressed, and fell asleep immediately. In her dreams, Killian loved her with his primal hunger all over again.

Susannah awoke with a start, her heart pounding. Sunlight was pouring in through the curtains at a high angle. What time was it? Groggily she looked at her watch. It was noon! She barely recalled getting up at seven to make the call and going straight back to bed.

Sitting for a moment, she allowed herself time to get reoriented. Had last night been some terrible combination of nightmare and dream? Killian's words about heaven and hell came back to her. That was what last night had been for her: tasting both extremes. It had been heaven loving Sean, feeling the intensity of his need for her. The hell had arrived earlier, in the form of a killer who'd wanted to take her life. Rubbing her brow, Susannah felt the beginnings of a headache.
A heartache
would be more appropriate. Why was Sean sorry he'd loved her?

When Susannah went to the kitchen, she found it almost as good as new. The only thing missing was the window over the sink. The floor had been swept clean of debris and mopped, the counters cleared of any evidence of the violent episode. She looked around. The splintered wood in the doorway had been removed. Either Killian or her father was busy making repairs.

What couldn't be repaired as quickly were the bullet holes along the kitchen
wall.
They were an ugly reminder, and Susannah stood there, rubbing her arms absently, feeling very cold.