“I’m sorry,” he said now with a confused frown. “I’m still not followin’.”
“When he asked me to marry him, I didn’t say yes.” She turned onto her back just as another lightning bolt hit the top of a nearby building. Its electric flash strobed into the room, momentarily highlighting the misery in her eyes.
Something stilled inside him. He thought maybe it was his heart.
With a gentle finger, he brushed some hair back from her brow. He made sure to keep his voice softly supportive even though his curiosity was a rabid dog eating at him. “Why? I thought y’all were a match made in heaven.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. After taking a deep breath, she admitted in an anguished tone, “I didn’t love him. Ishouldhave loved him. He was smart, sweet, and funny. He was handsome, generous, and…most importantly…kind.”
The prickly legged thing that lived in Fisher lifted its head and snarled as she listed McClean’s redeeming qualities. He imagined stomping on it with the hard heel of his biker boot until it was nothing more than a shiny, black oil slick.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t stay dead for long.
No matter how many times he’d vanquished the vile creature, it always returned.
I mean, who in their right mind is jealous of a dead man?
Oh, right. Me. Nash Wakefield’s son.
“And on paper wewerea match made in heaven,” she continued. “We both came from political families. We both chose jobs we hoped would help make the world a better place, asaferplace. We had similar tastes in music and literature and—” She stopped and shook her head. “But I didn’t love him.”
Her confession sounded like music to Fisher’s ears. Which annoyed him further. He shouldn’t care one way or another because all he could ever offer her was a brief physical fling and the things she was talking about were far broader and deeper than that.
Heshouldn’tcare. And yet…he did.
Why?
If he’d been anyone else, anyone besides Nash Wakefield’s son, he might’ve thought he’d fallen in love. But because hewasNash Wakefield’s son, because he’d seen firsthand what obsession and jealousy looked like, he knew the score.
He couldn’t have Eliza, but he didn’t want anyone else to have her either.
How sick and twisted is that?
An anguished little moan slipped out of her, and he couldn’t stand not being able to see her face. Even though Eliza wasn’t terribly emotive—a trick she’d either learned from her stoney-faced father or from all those hoity-toity boarding schools she’d attended—he could still tell what her carefully chosen words were hiding when he could read what was in her eyes.
Her dark, sparkling eyes always gave her away.
Thumbing on the lamp, he blinked when the golden glow washed around the room. It was briefly overtaken by another flash of lightning. The accompanyingcrackhad Eliza squeaking like a mouse with a stomped-on tail.
When he looked at her, it wasn’t pain or guilt or grief he saw on her face. It was horror.Fear.
Andthathe understood. All too well.
He had loved thunderstorms as a kid. Loved the awe he felt when Mother Nature unleashed her power. Loved the patter of raindrops on a tin roof. Loved the way the air smelled clean and fresh once the storm moved on.
But now? He dreaded them. Dreaded the sound and fury. Dreaded the dazzling brightness of an arcing lightning bolt and the heart-wrenchingcrackandboomof thunder.
It was especially hard at night.
When he was sleeping, it was impossible to tell the difference between a thunderclap and the sonic snap of a bullet as it left a barrel. When he was unconscious, he couldn’t differentiate between the sudden flash of lightning and radiating flames of an exploding bomb.
Too many nights he’d sprung awake, covered in sweat, and gripping the pistol he kept under his pillow. Too many nights he was faced with the terrible truth that, like every other fighting man he knew, he hadn’t escaped this career without psychological scars.
Now Eliza is scarred too.
He hated that for her.
“It’s okay,” he said reassuringly, but his smile was close-lipped and grim. “After what you’ve seen and heard tonight, loud noises are bound to be triggerin’.”
