Her eyes widened. “You knew? You never said anything.”
Eyes swimming with grief, Peter nodded. “I knew, but didn’t understand. I was seven when she died. I heard fights more than saw. Except the bruises.” He took a deep breath. “Mama chose to stay. That makes everything harder to deal with.”
A tear slipped down Rowan’s face and she wiped it away. “You should have talked to me. Maybe we could have helped each other.”
“Maybe we could have, if we were older. And together. But when the O’Briens adopted me and Roger took you in, we didn’t see each other and then-time. Time is cruel, Rowan. I’ve dealt with everything the best way I could, and I’m at peace with it. What else can I do? Except try to help you. But you never let anyone in.” Peter looked at John. “At least, you didn’t for a long time.”
Rowan stole a glance at John. His jaw was tight, posture stiff, but his eyes looked at her with compassion and something more. Something binding. Her heart paused as she realized in that moment that John had grown to be such an important part of her life so quickly, she hadn’t seen it happen.
That wasn’t an entirely comfortable thought.
“Why didn’t the O’Briens adopt Rowan?” John asked, turning from her to Peter.
Peter paused a long time. “It was a difficult time for both of us, I think. They’re good people, but two damaged kids would be trying on anyone. Aunt Karen, our mother’s sister, refused to take us in. Rowan and I overheard her call us the ‘Devil’s spawn.’ ”
Rowan would never forget that. It reminded her always of where she came from. The loins of a devil.
“Our grandparents were old,” she said quietly. “We were with them for a week, but-I didn’t make it easy.”
“Who could blame you?” Peter snapped, rare anger in his voice. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself? What could you have done as a child to stop our father from stabbing our mother to death? What could you have done to protect Dani? You did everything you could. You saved my life.”
She stifled a sob, and Peter’s hand shot out and squeezed hers. “You have to let the past go.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But not until Bobby is caught. He’s on the loose, killing people to get to me. Please be careful, Peter. If he finds out you’re still alive, he’ll go after you.”
“I’m ready, Rowan. I’m at peace. The question is, are you?”
After Peter left, John escorted Rowan to her room. He had the adjoining suite, and made sure the door was open in case she was in trouble. He doubted Bobby knew where they were, but if he had help or access to airline records-illegally-he might be able to track them down.
John couldn’t sleep. He lay on his back and stared at the acoustic hotel ceiling, the dim light from the street casting shadows across his room. He thought about everything Peter had said. Rowan’s guilt and frustration. He understood that. He had plenty of guilt and frustration of his own.
He missed Michael. Wednesday was his funeral, and he didn’t want to go. He hated funerals. He’d been to too many in his nearly forty years. His mom. His dad. Colleagues. Criminals.
Denny.
He’d already said goodbye to Michael in the morgue-face-to-face. He closed his eyes and saw his brother’s cold, lifeless body in the steel drawer.
But he would go. He had to. For Tess. For Michael.
A faint movement from Rowan’s room caught his eye and he silently slid from his bed, gun in hand.
“It’s me,” Rowan said as she stepped through the doorway. Her long white hair fell down her back and shimmered in the shadows. She wore a long T-shirt that barely touched the top of her thighs, and her long, shapely legs were bare.
He relaxed, put his gun by his side. “Is everything okay?”
She nodded. “I just-Can I sleep with you tonight?”
The words were like a child’s, but her voice was husky, sexy. His body instantly responded. “Are you sure?”
She walked over to him, laid a hand on his chest. Her lips were inches from his. “Yes, John. I’m sure.”
Rowan hadn’t been sure of a lot in her life, especially since she quit the FBI, but right here, right now, she was confident that she needed John. More than a need. A desire deeper than anything she’d felt for a man before.
How could something that felt so powerful, so right, happen so fast?
“Rowan.” His voice was dark and shaded with desire. He stood still, trembling slightly beneath her hands spread across his wide, muscular chest.
She couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here. With John.
She kissed his chest, his heat radiating through her lips, down her throat, to the center of her soul. Her breath hitched as she realized her feelings for John went deeper than she’d thought. She wanted to scream with the injustice of it all-that she very well could die. Or that John could.
Dear God, no. Not John. She’d never be able to live with herself if he died protecting her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as she feathered kisses on his chest, up his shoulder.
He was too perceptive for his own good. She didn’t say a word, just continued to kiss him. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to feel.
He stepped back, tilted her chin up with his finger. “Talk to me.”
But she couldn’t talk about it. Not her fears, not what her heart was clamoring for her to say.
She couldn’t say it. Everyone she loved died.
“Make love to me,” she said and touched her lips to his.
“Row-”
“Shh,” she murmured into his lips, gently pushing him back onto the bed.
He hesitated only a moment before deepening the embrace. Like a switch, he went from soft caresses to hard passion. Her hands roamed the long, firm length of his body. Rowan couldn’t touch him enough. As if it were the last time, she needed to touch all of him, from his cropped hair to his broad shoulders to the jagged scar that ran from mid-thigh to his knee.
Her mouth trailed down his chest to his stomach. He quivered, his hands wound tightly in her hair. She kissed his navel, licked him from his hard stomach down to his pelvis, her hands reaching for his long hardness, and taking it into her mouth. He moaned and she drew him in deeper.
Sweat and raw masculine need wafted through her senses. Never had she felt so passionate, so desirable.
“Row-an.” He pulled her up and off him, rolled over on top of her. “You’re driving me crazy.”
He sank into her. His lips onto hers, his tongue dueling. Chest against chest, pelvis against pelvis. He slid comfortably into her, drawing out a long groan from deep in her body.
They quickly found their rhythm. Fast, hard, intense. She couldn’t get close enough to him; he pulled her closer, plunging deeper, until they pushed each other into orgasms, clinging and almost frantic. As if it were the last time.
No. It couldn’t be the last time. She couldn’t lose him now that she’d found someone who fit so well into her tainted and troubled life.
Unless-
She didn’t want to think about John’s feelings, but she had to. He was comforting her, caring for her, loving her-for tonight. Tonight they had. Tomorrow-maybe. But forever?
She couldn’t even imagine forever. There had never been a forever in her life, and it was foolish to think of one with this complex and tough man with the tender soul.
She breathed deeply and tried to roll away from him.
“Not so fast.” John cleared his throat. If Rowan thought she was going back to her bed she had another thing coming.
He scrambled to the center of the bed, bringing Rowan with him, covering their naked, sweat-coated bodies with the sheet. He didn’t remember ditching his sweats or pulling her nightshirt off. Maybe she had.
He relished the closeness they’d shared, but felt her pull away shortly after, as if closing herself off from the warm afterglow. As if it were just about sex.
It wasn’t just about sex. And it hadn’t been since the first night they made love. Was it only three days ago?