Storm Surge (11 page)

Paige stopped looking at him. She studied the blanket’s weave in front of her bare feet, fighting the urge to hide. She managed to push two words out, hardly recognizing the shape of them. “What happened?”

“A distress call came in. We were the closest ship under power. So we responded.”

Paige squeezed her eyes shut, biting down on her lip until she tasted blood.

“It was your father, Paige.”

* * * *

Paige paced the cottage from one end to the other. Every time Liam opened his mouth to speak she raised a hand to silence him. Before he clouded the issue with any sort of explanation for why he’d kept this from her she wanted to formulate the proper questions to ask, ones he couldn’t skirt around with counter questions and more deception. Liam Gray had lied to her. He’d lied by omission, but it was a deceit nevertheless.

She went to the door and flung it open, breathing in storm-fresh air before reminding herself that danger lurked outside. She slammed it shut, throwing the bolt.

“Paige…”

She shook her head. Not yet.

“I didn’t lie to you. Not really.”

She strode to the dresser and back to the kitchen, Liam’s gaze trailing her movements. He sat very still, hands clasped loosely between his knees.

“You know exactly where my father’s ship went down.”

“Yes.”

“You know when.”

“Yes.”

“You lied when you said you knew nothing.”

His head moved from side to side. “You have to understand.”

“I don’t have to understand anything.”

“I didn’t say I knew nothing. You were asking about when I bought the house, whether I knew your father, and I said I hadn’t known him. I said there were other people better able to answer your questions. And there are.”

She stopped within an inch of his bent knees. He lifted his head to meet her eyes. She could feel his breath against her shirtfront. “How did you think I would feel when I found out the truth?”

“Like this.”

“Like this.” She backed up and sat on the mattress edge, nearly missing it. “You let me run around town asking questions, when all the while you could have provided me with the answers I sought.”

He brought his hands up onto his thighs as though he were about to rise.

She shook her head at him. “Stay there.”

He did, relaxing his spine against the chair’s ladder back. “I won’t be able to make you understand, but believe me when I say I’m sorry. The facts surrounding your father’s death weren’t the only answers you were looking for, Paige. In fact, based on what you’ve told me, that is the least of what you need. You want to know more than what happened out on the ocean. You want to know about your father’s life.”

Damn it, his understanding was putting a real damper on her anger. She needed to stay mad. Something was missing from his story, and she couldn’t follow through with the right questions if he turned the focus back on her. “If everything happened as you said, why was I unable to find out sooner? Nothing in the papers. No one willing to say a word. Not even you.”

“Paige, please.”

“What is the mystery?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t aware there was a mystery. I didn’t go looking for news stories, never asked about it in town. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t act like you did me a favor, Liam, by keeping this to yourself. Yes, I want an understanding of my parents’ lives, but I planned to start with the one solid fact I knew. My father died. I needed the when, where, and how, and all that information was yours to tell me.”

He said nothing.

“I’ve had so much trouble finding out the smallest details, and you kept quiet. I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t.”

She frowned. “Then help me to.” There was a reason for his omission, an explanation that would make sense. It couldn’t have been cruelty. He didn’t
know
her, for crying out loud. Unless pathological, a decision to lie was usually based on the dynamics of an intimate, long-term interaction between two people. “You’re leaving something out. What?”

He lowered his head against his hands until his palms ground into the hollows of his eye sockets. “I…I don’t want to.”

“Please.”

“It’s not a day I care to relive. Perhaps it would have been easier to tell you right away, when I still didn’t know you, rather than now.”

Paige slipped from the bed and onto her knees. She circled his wrist with her fingers. He raised his head.

“I lost two of my crew that day, and your father’s crippled ship went down beneath the waves with his own crew still inside. There was no saving them. And the fire—”

“Fire?”

He nodded, closing his eyes. The pain in his voice tore at her. She turned his hand until his fingers lay in hers.

“Yes. The ship burst into flame before it went down. But the worst…the worst hadn’t happened yet. When I got home I found out I’d lost them. No one had radioed me. I guess I should be grateful for that, but somehow I’m not.”

“Lost who?” He didn’t mean his crew, surely. He already would have known.

“My wife. Our unborn daughter.” The cartilage in his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Placental abruption, it’s called. I should have been there with her. I couldn’t have stopped it, I know, but I should have been there. She must have been so damned scared.”

Tears stood out along his lashes, dripping onto her hand as he bowed his head. Shock stilled her tongue. She couldn’t imagine what it had cost him to reveal this to her. Anything about that day had to have been terrible to recall. His hope she would discover her facts elsewhere and not force him to dredge up the past was a motivation she understood. Straightening, she took his hand, tugging him toward the bed.

He pulled back. “Paige, I can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to. What do you think I am? You shouldn’t be alone right now, so kick off those wet pants and get beneath the covers. I’ve slept well. It’ll soon be dawn. There are other things I can do beside crawl into that bed next to you, okay?”

His lips twisted into a crooked smile. Disengaging his fingers from hers, he yanked his pants down past his ankles and handled them off to her. “Thank you,” he said, and shimmied beneath the covers. Trying not to gawk at the tight curve of his buttocks in damp boxers or the burn scars covering his long legs, Paige carried his jeans into the bathroom and positioned them over the shower curtain rod to dry.

Taking a few minutes to gargle, put on deodorant, and otherwise ready herself for a very early start to her day, Paige thought about what he had told her. She’d had a right to her anger, but he possessed more rights to his secrets. Liam had risked his own life to save a man he did not know and then suffered the most horrific, unexpected loss. Paige hadn’t had a relationship with her father for many years prior to his demise, and her mother’s illness had been long, yet even so, she didn’t often barrel into conversations about the particulars with people she’d just met. She couldn’t blame Liam for his hesitation, either. He’d hoped she would find out what she needed to know elsewhere, keeping him from having to revisit that tragic time in his life. She would have to accept that.

By the time she exited the bathroom, rosy light traced across the walls, shining through the windows. She clicked off the fixture above the stove and went back to the bed to peer down at Liam. Hair tousled in dark strands across her pillow, he’d already fallen asleep. She bent, careful not to bump the mattress, and pressed her mouth in a light kiss on his brow before grabbing her book from the nightstand. She then opened the door and sat on the threshold.

Storm clouds had blown inland, leaving the sky above the ocean streaked with thin, high swirls of pink and gold and azure. She could see all around, clear enough to make out anyone approaching. She opened the book on her knee, searching for the place once marked with her absent bookmark. This morning she wouldn’t let fear, or regret, or any of the numerous puzzles in her life trouble her. Because this morning, despite everything, she had recognized a singular emotion she hadn’t ever thought to experience for a member of the opposite sex: tenderness.

She had no idea, however, what to do with the feeling. The challenge made her smile.

Liam opened his eyes, gazing around in confusion as he struggled awake. He had no idea where he was. Somewhere nearby, though, he heard a tapping noise. “Who is that?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was getting hungry.”

He lowered his lids again. Paige.

“I made a sandwich for you, too, if you’re awake enough to eat it. Otherwise, I’ll stick it in the fridge for later.”

He sat up on her mattress and pushed the tangled sheets away, realizing his disorientation might be partially related to the bed’s odd positioning. He narrowed his eyes against the glare through the open door, trying to pick out from Paige’s silhouette whether she faced him or was looking the other way.

“Was that groan supposed to signify a yes or a no?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know. What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty. Maybe a little early for lunch.”

“No. That’s fine. I’ll take it.” He extended his hand and she deposited a plate on his outstretched palm. After a moment’s dithering she sat down next to him and balanced her own plate on her knee. He curled back the bread on his sandwich and peered underneath. “What is it?”

“Turkey. Did you get enough sleep?”

Taking a bite, he nodded. His bladder was painfully full, but he didn’t want to get up. The result of that type of pressure would be all too evident in his boxers. “Thank you,” he managed around a mouthful. “For letting me stay here. I slept better than I have in quite a while.”

“I’m glad.” Her tone remained carefully neutral. “And I’m sorry for getting angry at you last night. I understand how hard it was for you.”

He shook his head in dismissal of the subject. “Why is the door open?”

“For fresh air,” she said, as if that fact should be obvious.

“You know what I mean.”

She swiped at a drop of mayo and then licked it from the back of her hand. The act appeared unconscious, not designed to entice or arouse, and yet he found the brief flick of her tongue across skin produced precisely those results. He took another bite from his sandwich, concentrating on chewing.

She tossed her head, shaking hair back from her eyes. “I figured with you here, I didn’t have to worry so much. Plus it’s a beautiful morning.”

Liam set the plate on his knee. “I do have to go home, though. I have work to do.”

“And I have to go into town.”

Liam questioned the wisdom of an unaccompanied trip to anywhere at that point in time, but he didn’t think he’d win that argument. A warning would have to suffice. Not that she needed one. He found her independence particularly appealing. However, her unnatural reserve this morning made him feel guilty as hell. He wondered what she felt after his confession. Betrayal? Anger? Even if she’d set aside the fact he’d hidden what he’d known about Edwin’s death, he didn’t want to be treated as if he might break based on the latter admission. He didn’t want her believing he’d gifted her with insight into him as a man, either. He’d spoken because he trusted her, because he hoped to make her understand his motivation and his reluctance. But he wanted nothing from her in return because, goddamn it, he’d only given her half the truth.

“Liam, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shifted the plate from his leg and started scooting toward the mattress edge beneath the sheets. “Are my pants dry?”

“Not yet,” she said, standing. “I went next door and grabbed you a clean pair, though. I spotted some folded laundry on the dining room table last night when I—”

He froze. “You did what?”

“I didn’t go anywhere but straight into the dining room. I wouldn’t be nosy about your private life.”

“That’s not the point.”

Paige came around the bed. “Are you worried about me going over there? I assumed it would be safe. That psycho wasn’t after you, and it is broad daylight—”

“It was broad daylight when he accosted you in the street, wasn’t it?” He could tell he’d confused her by his confrontational tone. Though he had every reason for concern, he had none for anger. Not an iota for which she was at fault, anyway. “I’m sorry, Paige. Ignore me.” He stood up, remembered he wore nothing but his boxers, and sat down again. “My jeans?”

“Here.” She handed them to him with her eyes averted and wearing a look of impatience. “I saw you in your underwear last night. No need to be shy all of a sudden.”

He shoved his legs into his pants and stood, jerking the waistband up over his hips. “Look, Paige, I—”

“No, it’s all right. Truly. I understand. I get it.” She turned back to him and, with a snort of amusement, tugged the sheet out he’d inadvertently shoved down his jeans along with the hem of the T-shirt.

“I’ll get this back to you,” he said, pinching the soft fabric of the T-shirt between thumb and forefinger.

“No rush, Liam. And I do get it. Basically, we’re strangers—”

“Hardly that.”

“Hardly more,” she argued.

Despite all the reasons piled up like cordwood against pursuing her, she touched him, reached him, in a way no one had since Alice died. In a way no one could. The leaping of his blood in chemical response to her was the least of it. And yet…yes, and yet.

He thought of the frigid January evening almost three months to the day after he’d lost Alice and their daughter. The evening Fate had strolled up to him with a casual greeting and tendered an offer he’d decided not to refuse. It hadn’t been the money. He could have resisted that. Sometimes the possibilities of opportunity were enough. He’d viewed it as a win-win situation. But now, people were going to get hurt. Well, not people. One person. Paige.

“I’m sorry, Paige.”

“You apologize one more time, I’m going to kick your ass all the way down to the tide line and leave you for the gulls.” Handing him his half-eaten sandwich, she set his plate and her own in the sink. “Take that with you. Go do whatever it is you have to do, and if you decide later you want to invite me to drink a disgusting beer again, we’ll do that, and if not, I’ll be right here, locked up and safe and reading my novel.”