Page 111 of Whispers

“Just callin’ ’em as I see ’em.” Kane’s smile, enigmatic and crooked, touched her heart. “Tell me about Sean.”

She licked her lips. He’s asking, so tell him the truth. Tell him he’s a father!

“You’ve got your hands full with that one,” he observed, his eyebrows slamming together as he glanced at the screen door, where Sean had made his gruff exit.

“He’ll be all right.”

“Not unless you sit on him hard.”

“So now you’re Dear Abby?” she asked, slightly irritated and fighting all the conflicting emotions running through her veins. Tell him, her mind screamed. Tell him that he’s Sean’s father! And what then? How would he react? And what about Sean? How would her son feel to know that his mother had lied to him for all these years? Her stomach twisted into a raw knot of anxiety and she avoided Kane’s eyes, focusing instead upon a bumblebee as it flitted from one rosebush to the next.

“You don’t want any advice about your kid?”

“No.” She reached for the door handle. “Sean’s having a tough time, not only dealing with all he knows about his father, but also about the move here. He left a lot of friends and . . .” Her heart squeezed as she thought that she might be messing with her son’s life. “. . . and living here is an adjustment.”

“It’s not so bad, though,” he said softly, and, for a second, as he gazed into her eyes, she expected him to reach forward and touch the side of her face with those callused fingers. “You and I made it.”

“Did we?” she wondered aloud, then cleared her throat. Every time she was around this man the clarity in her mind suddenly clouded, and the atmosphere seemed to change, to become more dense and sticky. She licked her lips.

“Yes.”

Swallowing hard, she yanked on the screen door. “Thanks for saving Sean’s skin,” she said. “I appreciate—oh!”

The flat of his hand slapped the door shut. Bam! In a second he stepped closer, so that his body nearly touched

hers. The toes of his boots were a hairbreadth from her own sandals, his chest was only inches from hers and his face was close enough that she could see the striations of color in his eyes, feel the heat and hostility radiating from his body. “I came by for another reason.”

“And . . . and that is?” she whispered, her skin alive at his nearness, her pulse leaping in her throat.

“To apologize for last night.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You took off like a scared rabbit.”

“I—I didn’t know what to think . . . to do,” she admitted even though her blood was already racing, her throat tight, her breathing shallow.

“Sure you did,” he cajoled and he placed his other hand on the door as well, trapping her head between his arms, keeping her pressed against the door by the nearness of his body. He was lean and muscular and tough. No longer was there a trace of any boyhood in his features, no longer was there any part of him that was soft with youth. His lips curved down and he sighed as if about to admit his darkest secrets. “I can’t stay away from you, Claire,” he said. “I told myself when I took on this project that I’d keep my distance, reminded myself that what we had a long time ago was gone, but I just can’t seem to convince myself.”

She swallowed hard, and he watched the movement of her throat.

“Christ, you’re beautiful.” With a finger he captured a curl that had fallen over her face. Her skin, when his fingertip touched it, nearly sizzled. “Too damned beautiful.”

She wanted to melt into his arms. Over the thudding of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears, she heard her daughter, yelling from the kitchen.

“Mom! Mom! The pancakes are done.”

She shoved one of his hands away. “Look, I’ve got to go . . . but . . .” Don’t say it, Claire. Don’t invite him in. For all you know he could be using you, trying to weasel information out of you for his damned book. He’s dangerous! “. . . if you haven’t had breakfast yet . . .”

“Is this an invitation?” His smile was so sincere it nearly broke her heart.

“Yes.”

He glanced into the interior of the house, to the foyer where the mutilated railing of the stairs was still visible. “I think I’d better pass this time. You’ve got a lot to work out with your kids.”

Disappointment shrouded her insides, but she forced a smile. “Another time.”

“I’d like that.” He shoved away from the door and turned away quickly, as if afraid to second-guess himself. Claire sagged against the exterior wall and caught her breath. What was wrong with her? Certainly he was a lover from her past, one she’d buried deep in her heart, but that was years ago. A lifetime.