Tranquility (Turbulence Series Part Two), page 8
She looked away quickly, pulling her chin from his grasp, and turned away.
Sucking in a breath, Sean thought he was beginning to understand. He had a puzzle piece: the gash that wasn't meant to kill; it was a message. Chilled, he realized that there had been a bit of forethought in Jasper's planning: if Brit survived, beyond the wounds that were to take her life, he'd left her with the additional taunt. What it meant—that's what she was guarding.
Chapter eleven
BRIT
She wasn’t angry at him; she wasn’t. None of this was his fault, she knew. But she felt the need to distance herself from him. She had to leave Lis Manor and Ireland. It probably wasn’t fair to him, her reticence, and she wouldn’t be able to explain it to him; he’d argue with her. He’d win; he always did. He had, night after night, and then—the next night—everything escalated. It was as though she had been warned, but she wouldn’t listen, warned again, and she ignored it. She had been told she wasn’t welcome here, but she’d stayed. It had culminated in Jasper, and now, it felt as though she was on borrowed time. So she had to go before something worse than Jasper happened.
Despite her denials, that rabbit hole was still there.
But Sean tested her resolve—it’s what Sean did—and every time he touched her, she wanted to close her eyes and lean forward, let him hold her, protect her.
Even something that should have been benign, like the final removal of her bandages, he was able to turn into a seduction. He had her backed up against the counter, watching her averted face as he unbuttoned the shirt, slowly and deliberately moving from one button to the next, bottom to top, his knuckles occasionally grazing her skin. She pretended not to notice.
She noticed.
He would have continued until he had the entire shirt unbuttoned if Brit hadn’t nudged his hands away and guarded the buttons over her breasts. Her warning glance up at him only resulted in a crooked smile accompanying his heated gaze; he most definitely would’ve had the shirt completely off of her if she hadn’t stopped him.
He concentrated on the task at hand, kneeling on one knee and carefully removing the tape and gauze, critically assessing her slightly bruised, healing wounds. Brit watched, as well, curious, trying to read his expression for any signs of alarm that something wasn’t healing properly. But he merely gave her a reassuring smile as his fingers traced the handiwork of his colleague.
Brit lifted her gaze across the room and sighed in relief.
Sean took advantage of her distraction. He gently grasped her hips and pulled her closer, placing an open-mouthed kiss on the reddened gash across her abdomen, his tongue darting out in a lightning-fast caress.
Brit lost her breath, the jolt of sensation rocking through her kicking up a furious pulse between her legs so ferocious her knees almost buckled beneath her. Instead of dropping down into his arms, however, she jerked up a knee and slapped the side of his head as she twisted away. She cried out from the damage done to her hand in the process, but she kept moving.
Surprised by the attack, Sean jerked back, blocking her knee and trying to grasp her wrist, but she was a flurry of movement.
Slipping by and running away, she heard him behind her as she assumed he lunged to his feet: “Brit!”
She slammed the bathroom door shut and shot the lock home. She heard his growl of irritation on the other side.
Brit placed a hand against her screaming cracked ribs and the other over her mouth to keep the sounds of her mortified sobs silenced. The breaths hurt, and they were coming hard and fast. Her hand flamed; she’d smacked him pretty hard with an open palm.
Moving away from the door, she went to the shower and turned it on, her uncertain eyes repeatedly returning to the white door. She kept her hand over her mouth as the tears flowed. She was ashamed of herself for hitting him—she couldn’t believe that was the reaction that had come out of her. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to do, but to keep herself from caving, that’s what she’d done.
So now, her body throbbed for two colliding reasons: pain and yearning. She pressed herself to the cold white tiles of the straight-entry shower to temper both, the droplets from the rainfall showerhead barely reaching her.
When she finally stepped under the spray, another realization bucketed down on her: she still needed him to get dressed. And another defeated moan was wrenched from her.
Upon exiting the bathroom over an hour later—wrapped in a towel because, with her impulsive act and dash, she hadn’t brought anything in with her—she sheepishly met Sean’s unyielding gaze across the room. He was standing at the kitchenette, sipping a mug of coffee; she could smell the potato hash from the previous evening, so she knew he was reheating it.
Owning what she’d done, her cheeks turning scarlet, she said quietly, “I’m sorry I hit you.”
An eyebrow quirked as he assessed her, lifting the mug to his lips, blue eyes hard over the rim. After he lowered the cup, he instructed firmly, “You don’t lock the door again.”
Brit blinked in wary confusion that that was why he appeared upset. But she merely nodded, relieved he wasn’t going to take her to task over it.
At her chastised acknowledgment, he relaxed. Without any undertones that she could pick up on—and she was sensitive to them—he helped her dress. She was able to wear one of her regular bras, a tank, and her cargo pants; they were all still slightly loose on her. Over her tank, she donned her denim shirt.
“I almost look normal,” she said as she looked down at herself, carefully smoothing the tank against her stomach. While in the bathroom, she’d noticed that the bruises on her face and neck were only the merest shadow, appearing more like a light sheen of dirt she’d missed wiping off. As long as she didn’t move quickly and show her hands, the physical effects of her ordeal were quickly evaporating. So, yeah… normal.
Sean eyed her, considering the waistline of her trousers. “The pants don’t irritate anything?”
Brit shook her head. “No.”
He gave her a half-smile, reached out to cup her cheek, and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. “Sit down. I’ll bring your breakfast.”
Brit went through her ritual to sit, aware of her growling stomach, and was only slightly surprised that the rumble didn’t shake the foundation. She watched him preparing the plates and then refilling his mug of coffee. He reached for the travel cup she had been using and asked, “May I have a mug?”
Without looking over his shoulder, he asked, “How’s your hand?”
Heat invaded her face. She looked at her right hand—the offending hand—and made a shaky fist, noticing how the blue stitches stretched as she did so. The angry redness around the lacerations didn’t appear to be any worse. She quietly answered, “Fine.”
Now he cast a dubious look her way, and he proceeded to fill the travel mug.
He carried the two plates and coffee to the table, careful with the load, so nothing dropped, watching her irritated eyes follow the travel mug. He sat it decisively in front of her and then sat down himself. He pointed out, “You didn’t ask me about my head.”
Brit’s eyes lifted as far as his plate as she paused, her loosely-held fork halfway to her mouth. She didn’t ask him now but said instead, “You’d startled me.” She completed the path with her fork.
“Hm.”
A knock interrupted them. Brit looked at Sean and noticed his bemused expression as his eyes swung to the door. With a quick glance at her, he stood, calling out for whomever to enter.
The door opened hesitatntly, and Biddie pushed it open. She stood there, eyes quickly sweeping the area for them.
Brit bolted to her feet—despite the internal shrieking that her sudden movements caused—and shielded herself behind Sean. She took his arm and pressed against his back, her cheek on his shoulder, watching Biddie. At her sidle behind him, Sean reached back as though to protect her further, his hand resting on her upper thigh.
Distantly, she realized if she had to, she could move fast; her flight response was intact. Her adrenaline had overpowered the pain.
Biddie stood before them, looking uncertain. She was dressed impeccably in a light blue dress, heels, and pearls. Brit was mainly hidden from view, but the older woman’s face registered shock and horror before she masked her response and looked at her son. “I didn’t think I’d be interrupting if you were breakfasting.” Her gaze slipped back to Brit, the bruises.
Under the other woman’s curious eyes, Brit stepped further behind Sean; Sean asked, “How’s Aunt Peg?”
Biddie’s expression fell briefly, revealing the stress that the family must have been feeling, and then she marshaled herself. She looked again to Brit. “She wants to see you.”
Before Brit could respond, Sean asked, “Why?”
Biddie gave her son a gently reproachful look. “Sean, her son has been accused of terrible things. She’s grieving, and she’s confused. She doesn’t know what to think.” Her gaze shifted to Brit again. “And here you are, one of his alleged…”
“There’s no allegation about it,” Sean snapped out. “You think she doesn’t know who did this to her?”
Biddie ignored him, appealing to Brit, “It’s a horrible thing, what’s happened. We’re sorry you had to go through it. It’s just that you were so close. Peg is… confused.”
Brit responded, “So am I.”
Biddie looked pleased that she received a response. “Perhaps you can help each other.”
Sean glanced back at Brit.
“And then there’s the matter of Maggie. You said some terrible things there, too, implicating Jasper in her tragic loss.”
Sean stared hard at his mother. “Jasper implicated Jasper.”
Biddie gave him a look as though to say she wasn’t inclined to believe her son. “We can discuss it. You can come for dinner tonight.”
Brit turned her head away, content to let Sean fight this battle for her.
She felt Sean shake his head. “Do you know what Da has been saying? To the detective?”
“The detective… I forget his name… he spoke to us separately. We didn’t compare notes afterward.”
Sean prompted, “Compare notes.”
Her tone was whiplash sharp, in a mother’s tone that brooked no argument. “I’ve no control over your father and what he says or does.”
“To a degree, that’s not true,” Sean challenged.
“Sean, I am still your mammy,” she reminded him imperiously, offended by the accusation.
“You are, so,” he replied. Glancing over his shoulder at her—a quick check-in—he said, “I’ll let you know about dinner. In the meantime, our breakfast is getting cold.”
There was silence. Expectation hung in the air along with sorrow, hurt, and anger. That she was the cause for this rift between mother and son was heartbreaking. That she didn’t have the energy to mend it was even more so.
But Brit remained where she was, tucked behind Sean. She was grateful for his protective stance; his arm wrapped back to hold her to him. She hadn’t meant to put him in the position of choosing; she really hadn’t.
The older woman sighed out, “Britton, this isn’t… we’re sorry, truly we are, that this has happened to you.”
Brit nodded her acknowledgment of the words. She peeked over Sean’s shoulder.
Biddie gave a curt nod of her head even as her blue eyes silently pleaded with her son. She closed the door behind herself softly as she left.
Sean turned again to Brit, ready to take her back into his arms, but she blocked him by stepping back and carefully returning to her seat. “It isn’t a thing you need to do, go to dinner. You know that.”
“I won’t,” she replied; that was the easiest decision she’d had to make in a while. She closed her eyes for a moment to get back her equilibrium. To lock down the guilt, to wait for both the physical and mental anguish to recede.
When she looked back up, Sean remained standing, head bowed, regarding her from beneath lowered brows, gauging, assessing—continuously evaluating. “I was planning on going to hospital. I can ring up Evie and put her off.”
Brit shook her head. She wanted Evie to come; it would be a relief to have her here, a break in the monotony. Not that the surprise visit from Biddie hadn’t been a jolt—it wasn’t the type of jolt she wanted.
“All right, then. She’ll be here at half-two.”
She nodded; it wasn’t as though she had a lot of say in the schedules. Clearly, she had no control over where the Maddens could go on their own property.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. “Where’s my passport?
Chapter twelve
EVIE
Evie parked her compact German import in the driveway carefully, her eyes on Sean. He waited for her in the drive, hands in the pockets of his suit pants. She exited her vehicle with grace, knowing she was being watched. She even ducked her head coquettishly to ensure that she was, indeed, being observed.
Evie did everything with seductive intention.
Sean shook his head at her.
She had chosen relaxed gear today; form-fitting blue jeans and a pink silk button-up top, enough buttons undone at the neck to allow for a hint of cleavage. Her blonde hair was swept up in a loose bun. Her black booties were stylish flats with side-zips. She was stunning, and she knew it.
Slamming the car door shut, she glanced at the manor and then at the row of miniscule lodges behind Sean. “Here?” She didn’t try to hide her disappointment; she’d wanted to see inside the manor.
He smiled. “Here.”
She gave him a small smile and commented, “Charming.” She found it anything but.
“I don’t need much,” he replied.
Approaching him on a gentle waft of perfume, still eyeing the length of rooms, she said with a slight tease to her voice, “Most university boys don’t.” Then she placed her manicured fingers over bright red lips, widening her eyes slightly in mock mortification. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Sean chuckled and shook his head. “Between yourself and Brit, I’m surprised there’s an ego left on me.”
“Has she not been the ideal patient?” Evie asked, keeping her tone light and flirty to disguise that there was more to the question.
He smiled. “I’ll not be telling on her.”
Evie shook her head, turning more serious. “Therapy can be for both of you, Sean. You’re her caregiver. And if I need to know something before going in there, you need to tell me so I don’t make the situation worse. For either of you.”
Sean hesitated and then told her, “She’s upset at the moment because I put her passport away for safekeeping.”
Evie wasn’t fooled. “You hid her passport.”
“It isn’t hidden; she knows where it is; she just can’t access it without me,” he clarified.
She gave him a disapproving look at the obvious manipulation, which was a result of his fear. “Got it.” She took a couple of steps toward the lodge door and then turned back to him. “Anything else?”
Sean shook his head. “That’s something for you to talk to her about; getting her to open up to me is…” He shrugged. “Every step is a misstep.”
Evie gave him a slow nod. She turned back toward the front door and proceeded, hearing Sean follow. She crossed the threshold and looked around, Sean following her and shutting the door behind them. Brit sat on a sectional, her knees pulled up, feet on the cushion with her with a pillow behind her back. She had her mobile in her hands, her thumbs furiously moving over the screen. Whoever she was texting was getting an earful.
Evie glanced at Sean. “This is a little charming.”
He smiled down at her.
“It’s crowded,” Brit contributed, fiery eyes lifting to Sean.
Staring back in amusement, he informed Evie, “The sectional is new.”
“I wasn’t talking about the furniture,” she enlightened him.
Sean gave her a slow, knowing smile that she returned with a sour expression. “Tea, Evie?”
“Mm, thank you,” she replied, walking around the sectional and sitting opposite Brit. “How are you feeling, Britton, being someplace more comfortable than the hospital?”
“It’s not home.”
A low “huh” sound came from the kitchenette behind her, and Brit glared into the screen of her mobile as though Sean could see her face.
The tension was butter-thick, but Evie was having difficulty discerning whether it was due to anger or sexual tension, finally deciding that it was a bizarre and unique combination of the two. She’d been bemused by their relationship in hospital and was more so now. “Evidently, you two are having some adjustment issues.”
“Clearly,” Brit echoed.
“Brit’s a little high-strung sometimes,” Sean offered.
She made a face of resentment. “I’m not a horse!”
“You aren’t, love; a horse can be brought to rein,” he quipped.
Brit gasped in outrage while Evie gave him a reproachful look and said, “You aren’t exactly helping yourself.”
Sean looked over at her and winked. Evie tried very hard not to glare back at him.
He took up Evie’s cup of tea and the travel mug of coffee, bringing it over. He handed Evie her tea first, then approached Brit, who eyed him warily. He held out a hand. Evie assumed it was to ward off any ideas Brit may have had of kicking him as he leaned over toward her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as she reached for the coffee. “Behave.”
She cast him a malevolent look. It seemed to Evie that Sean was the only one in her crosshairs today.
Straightening with an unaffected smile, he said, “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Don’t hurry back,” Brit said.
He merely grinned. Going to the desk, he took up his keys and mobile, pocketing them. “Call if you need,” he said to Evie as he headed out the door. His eyes caressed and assessed Brit one more time, and then he was out the door.
