Pursued by the Rogue (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 1) (9 page)

“What is it that you think I see?”

Nothing good.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured. “Smarter than most. Strong-minded. You also know passion and how to surrender to it. Fascinating.”

She couldn’t bear his tender gaze. That which had thrilled her ten years ago was now ripping her to pieces. Finbar Sullivan had so much to give. He’d find someone to share his life with. Someone who was all of those things and more. Someone who could unconditionally give him all he asked for. She pressed her lips to his collarbone and he trembled beneath her kiss, before rolling onto his back on the bed and looking at something else instead. In this case, the back of his eyelids.

“A secret for a secret,” she said. “Tell me something you’re not proud of and I’ll do the same. You first.”

He stayed silent for a while and Dawn closed her eyes on a sigh or relief because she thought that was the end of this line of questioning.

And then he spoke.

“The family pub. Sully’s,” he said gruffly. “The home I grew up in. The home where my mother’s memory is strongest. I’d get rid of it in a heartbeat if I thought it would free my sister to do what she wanted with her life. I swear to God, Dawn, I hate it more than I love it. I hate my father’s stubborn attachment to the place and his inability to fucking
run
it alone.”

“Why can’t he run it?”

“His heart’s no good. He’s not physically capable of doing a day’s work, and he won’t have the operation that could fix him.”

She could hear the frustration in Finn’s words. His inability to accept his father’s decisions.

“Illness changes people,” she offered tentatively.

“He could at least
try
to get well.” Finn lifted his arm and raked his hand through his hair. “I know I get frustrated when people don’t perform to their abilities. I know I should respect my father’s decisions, but I don’t. He’s taking advantage of Faith, and it burns me to see her squandering her talent in service to him. That was the deal, right? To tell you something about me that I’m not proud of.”

That was the deal, yes, and she wasn’t reneging. But his revelations had surprised her. “Faith’s unhappy?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Frustration laced his voice. “I’m ambitious, always have been, and not just for me. For Faith as well. Chances are I need to dial it down and let her be.”

Intimate thoughts from a man who’d taken her at her word and bared soul secrets.

And now it was her turn.

She took a deep breath and then another, trying to still the hammers in her heart. Trying to figure out where she was going with this.

Nowhere good.

He took her hand and slid his fingers in hers as if sensing her inner disquiet. He was so very attuned to her, this man. “Your turn,” he rumbled.

Her turn.

“I got pregnant once, years ago,” she began, and stopped.

Because this rehashing of history he’d played a crucial part in … this was just cruel. “I wasn’t looking for it. Didn’t want to be.”

His fingers tightened around hers and gently squeezed, as if encouraging her to continue. “What happened?”

“I miscarried around the six week mark.”

“Did the father know? Were you a couple?” He let her hand go in favor of sliding it over her abdomen and up towards her rips and heart as if touch alone could heal her. Maybe it could.

“No. The father didn’t know.” She cleared her throat and shied away from an even bigger reveal. “It wasn’t that kind of relationship.”

“What kind of relationship was it?”

“Fleeting,” she said.

She’d been alone. So very alone. No one to confide in, not even her friends.

“I know a little about miscarriage,” he said gruffly. “Enough to know that it can leave a woman feeling broken.”

Intuitive, this man, but Dawn’s damage hadn’t only been emotional. “I didn’t seek medical treatment afterwards, when I should have. Complications arose and were dealt with. My odds of having children diminished.” She felt his hand slide lower to skim across her abdomen, warm and gentle, almost reverent, and hot tears began to gather.

“I felt shattered by my body’s betrayal, shamed by my own stupidity, and unbelievably relieved. I didn’t have to change my goals to accommodate a child. Neither did anyone else. It was punishment and reprieve. Sacrifice and deliverance and I never breathed a word of it. Not to anyone.”

“Dawn, whatever you’re thinking, whatever guilt you carry for wanting one outcome over the other, it wasn’t your fault.” He was back up on his elbow again, his concern for her thick and smothering.

“Then why does it haunt me?” She slid from the bed and turned away to pick up her clothes, unsteady on her legs and shaking hard but determined to be away from him. Surely her body could get her to the bathroom without tripping over itself. “May I use your shower?” She didn’t wait for his reply. The bathroom was through a door off the bedroom and she locked the door behind her. She leaned against the door, naked and exposed before finally sliding to the cold tile and burying her head in her hands.

What was she doing here? To herself and to Finn?

She’d thought being with him all those years ago was stupid but this … this tearing herself apart over him all over again was a thousand times worse. What was she doing here?

Nothing
good. Finbar Sullivan was a good man.

He didn’t deserve this.

*

Dawn washed her
pain away in the shower, taking forever, scrubbing hard with her nails until her skin was red raw and ugly on the outside. Only then did she turn the water off and reach for a towel. Finn’s towel, and she couldn’t, simply couldn’t wear his scent again, so she stood there and shivered and flicked water from her body with her hands until she was a little less wet and then put her clothes on. Her bag with makeup in it was in the other room so she wiped the last of the makeup from around her eyes and went bare. Nothing at all to hide her ugliness from this man.

It was past time he saw it.

She’d known Finn was special all those years ago. Her body had known and had wanted all that he had to give, right up until the moment her body had rejected it. It had been for the best. They’d been so young, so not ready for a child. And then Dawn had found out about her father’s disease and her chances of having it, and her offspring’s chance of having it, and then she
really
knew it had been for the best.

There would be no children for Dawn if she had Huntington’s. This was her line in the sand. No children for Dawn. No husband to sit in a chair beside her hospital bed, grieving for the woman she’d once been. This had to end here. With the choices she made and the life she allowed herself.

Thinking that she could control her feelings for Finbar Sullivan had been a mistake. She couldn’t. Not now. Not then. Better all round if she pushed him away now and saved him a world of heartache.

He’d given her an opening and she’d taken it, setting him up for a revelation she knew would hurt him. Strip him of his trust in her and drive him away for good. All she had to do was go out there and go through with it.

Cruel Dawn, cool and untouchable. Men had called her that and she’d let them. Married to her work. Too ambitious to put anyone else’s needs before her own. A cold bitch. All true. All her.

It was the cost of believing that she could skim even a little bit of companionship and warmth for herself.

Usually she could get away with playing the aloof intractable bitch, but the lovemaking she and Finn had shared made a lie of that. Hard to believe that she didn’t care when with every caress she gave him everything. Anything. Except a future.

She could go out there and tell him this wasn’t working the way she thought it would. That he had to either accept the limitations of a relationship with her or let her go. And if that didn’t work …

Don’t do it, Dawn. Don’t go there. Don’t be that cold, cruel bitch.

Only if she had to.

Only if he pushed.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin but she couldn’t look at her reflection in the mirror. Nothing there but ugliness.

Finbar Sullivan was gifted, charming and sensational in bed. He’d have no trouble finding someone else who could give him all he needed.

He’d see.

She’d make him see.

Because chaining him to a future with her was unthinkable.

*

She wasn’t staying
for the food. Finn could see it in her eyes and in the nervousness of her movements as she approached the bench. Her face was bare of makeup, revealing translucent skin and a smattering of freckles that only made her more beautiful. She had shadows under her eyes and in them. He’d spooked her, pushed too hard for concessions she hadn’t wanted to give.

She’d wanted to share confidences and they had. And hurt herself doing it.

He couldn’t spare her the pain of miscarriage but he could make her feel loved now. Loved and accepted. Appreciated.

“Beer’s a little warm,” he said, searching her face for some sign of warmth, anything to give him a clue as to where he might go next. He’d never played this tune before. He needed guidance. “You want a fresh one?”

“No. Finn—”

He didn’t like the sound of that so he cut her off with a hurried step towards her. It didn’t help that she immediately stepped back. Not in sync with him at all. “I know I’m pushy,” he said. “See something I want and I go for it. It’s as big a flaw as it is a strength. I don’t mean to frighten you.”

“All you need is someone who can keep up with you.” Carefully, she picked up her bag and took another step back. “That’s not me. I think I should leave.”

“Or you could stay.” There would be no letting her go easy. He’d done that once before and she’d haunted him for years. “Dawn, please. We’re good together, can’t you feel it? We always were. Let me show you my world. You might like it.”

“I do like it,” she said. “I like you. But I can’t be what you need. Goodbye, Finn.”

He moved towards her. She was susceptible to his touch, and he’d play dirty if he had to. “Dawn—”

“No!” This time she put her hand up to ward him off. That and the panic in her eyes sending a chill up his spine. “I can’t do this and I’m sorry for that. I knew it from the start but I let selfishness lead. I keep secrets. Damaging ones. And you don’t want to face them. Hell,
I don’t want to face them
. I’ve done my damnedest not to. You have to let me go.”

“Dawn,
please
. Don’t riddle me. Say what you mean.”

“I
am
but you’re not listening.” She picked up her handbag, headed for the door and then pinned him with a bleak gray gaze. “I’m a solitary person. I don’t
want
more than just sex. Do you really want me to nail this coffin shut with more ugly words or will you believe me?”

“You’re not indifferent to me.”

“I know. I never have been.”

“Then
be
with me.”

“I
can’t
.” She was yelling at him now, almost crying. Guess soundproof apartments were good for more than just playing music in. She all but ran for the door, and he watched as she fumbled and cursed in her endeavor to open it.

“Dawn—”

“You don’t know me,” she said, and tilted her head and let her shoulders droop. “There’s nothing but ugliness here. That baby I lost—” she looked at him and there was a world of goodbye in her eyes. “It was yours.”

*