Father and Child Reunion Part 3. Christine FlynnЧитать онлайн книгу.
fingers turning nearly white as she tightened the grip on her arms.
She hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. She didn’t have to say a word for Rio to know that encountering another aspect of her mother’s life would do nothing but bring fresh pain.
“Nothing that helps,” he had to tell her. “Pictures, vases, that kind of thing.”
His shadow fell on her as he curved his hand over her shoulder. In the window he saw her head jerk up. Beneath the soft fabric of her shirt, he felt her tension increase. Ignoring it, he turned her around to face him.
The sudden wariness in her eyes made him even more aware of the shadows beneath them. They made her look terribly, frighteningly, fragile.
“Are you all right?”
Eve closed her eyes, drew a breath. The man didn’t play fair. As tenuous a hold as she had on herself, his concern threatened what little composure she could claim.
“I will be.” Come morning, the awful feelings would have passed. It was just a matter of getting through the next nine or ten hours. Then, getting through them again the next time. “I just wish I could be like you,” she told him, slipping sideways to break his hold. “I wish I had your ability to keep things from getting to me.”
She made it about three feet before he snagged her arm. Blocking her retreat with his body, he scanned her face, concern for her etching his lean features. “I don’t know where you got the idea that nothing gets to me,” he informed her, sounding as if he already had an example to the contrary in mind. “But that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“Oh, come on, Rio. You’re always in such…control. You always have been.”
“And you’re not?”
“Not here. Not since any of this started. And not like you. Never like you. I can’t…I feel…”
She shook her head, frustration piling onto everything else when the words seemed to fail her.
“You feel…what?” he encouraged, tugging her closer.
She tugged back. “Don’t, Rio. Please.”
“Just talk to me.” Though he eased his hold, he didn’t let go. “We could always talk. Remember?”
Relaxing her grip on her arms enough to restore the flow of blood to her fingers, Eve gave him a nod.
“Are you upset about what I told you today? That the police checked you out?”
“No. Maybe,” she amended, because denying it didn’t change the fact. “I understand that’s how these things work, but… Yes,” she finally admitted, because rationalizing didn’t help, either. “That’s probably part of it.”
“What about the rest? Is it your brother?”
“Not entirely, but he’s in there.”
“The investigation?”
“That, too.”
“What about having to sell this house?”
She gave him another nod, but he had the feeling there was still more.
He paused, his conscience kicking him squarely in the ribs. “Me?”
“Yes.”
She was looking down. Since the top of her head barely reached the base of his throat, he couldn’t see her face. It was probably just as well. Everything he’d mentioned was ganging up on her, but all he considered was the certainty in her last reply. It was one thing to suspect that he added to her burdens. Hearing it when she seemed so defenseless made him feel like a snake.
“And what does all of that make you feel?” he asked, smoothing her hair. “Impotent? Alone? Scared?”
His hand slipped to her nape. With his fingers resting against her slender neck, he felt her swallow.
“For starters,” she whispered.
In other words, what she felt was…overwhelmed.
The pressure of his hand increased, urging her forward. But she held her ground, refusing to move.
“I just want to hold you,” he told her, not sure it wasn’t his own need he sought to fill.
“I want that, too.” So badly she ached for it. “But I can’t let you.”
Sliding his thumb along her jaw, he stepped an inch closer and tipped up her chin. Her eyes looked haunted when they met his.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not that strong. I don’t think I can handle whatever it is that’s going on between us right now. Or what isn’t. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you, but I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“You did about as good a job as I could. I don’t know if I can explain what’s going on with us, either. But I do know,” he continued, running his hands down her arms to pry her hands apart, “that when something can’t be explained, it’s a waste of energy to try. Stop being so stubborn and come here.”
It wasn’t stubbornness. It was survival. But she went, anyway, more because she couldn’t not go than because he drew her closer. Rio knew her so well, knew what she felt, what she needed. He always had.
His arms were already around her. And when he pressed her head to his chest, she felt the fight drain out as surely as if he’d pulled a plug. Not that she had much left. It was just that she couldn’t fight herself and him, too. Not when there was so much else demanding her energy.
That was the only thought she allowed herself as she sagged against his strong, solid body. Enveloped in his arms, she simply let herself rest against him while he stroked her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head as he skimmed from crown to nape. The motion was more soothing than she could have ever dreamed, the feel of him more welcome than she could have imagined. And, in the past few weeks, she’d imagined him holding her more times than she could count.
“That’s not so bad? Is it?”
She shook her head, the motion rubbing her cheek against his shirt. He smelled of soap and fresh air, and warm, musky male. Beneath the soft fabric, she could feel the strong, steady cadence of his heart. He was a rock, and she badly needed the support he offered. The way they’d been lately, with both of them staying away from each other as much as possible, he was the last person on earth she would ever have expected to offer it.
His arms tightened around her back, securing his hold. With a familiarity that shouldn’t have been there, his hand curved easily around her side, the heat of his palm seeping inside her.
“I’d forgotten how small you are,” he murmured, his voice as soothing as his touch. “At least now I know you won’t break. The first time I held you six years ago, I was afraid you might.”
Her whispered “You were?” was barely audible, muffled as it was by his shirt.
“Yeah. I was.”
The admission surprised her. She couldn’t picture Rio fearing anything. “But I didn’t.”
“No,” he agreed, his breath feathering her hair. “You didn’t. You’re a lot stronger than you look. And a lot stronger than you think you are.”
She looked up to find a faint smile curving his sculpted mouth. He was telling her that she was doing better than she thought she was, and she appreciated the encouragement more than he could possibly know. But she wasn’t strong when it came to him. She’d meant that when she said it.
She might have told him that, too. But his glance drifted to her mouth, pooling heat low in her stomach when the smile in his dark eyes faded. When he met her eyes again, a faint tension seemed to have entered his body. She could feel it in his arms, see it in the strong angles of his features. For long seconds, he searched her face, looking