The Scarlet Deep
Page 65

And he might not have thought about it in his enthusiasm to reconcile, but her sister would have. Mary would have known this would happen.
Fecking Mary.
“Why are you saying this?” Anne asked. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why would you—”
“I wish we could have stayed in last night for a bit longer.” The smile was bitter on his face. “That we could have enjoyed… Do you think I like this? Like admitting you’ll probably choose your life over a life with me?” He could hear the brittleness of his own voice. Hear the automatic coolness that tainted the edges of it. “I want you. But I don’t want to have you under any false pretenses, Anne. I will not be giving up my position in Dublin. I have too many depending on me. I will not abandon them.”
“But you want me to abandon my patients?”
“I don’t want it. I’m simply predicting what will happen. If you are with me, you won’t be seen as politically neutral.”
She kept walking away from him until she reached the edge of the bed. Her knees hit the back of it and she sat slowly.
“I help people, Patrick.”
“I know you do.”
“There aren’t many… Some of my clients only confide in me. There’s no one else they trust.”
“Like Oleg?”
Her eyes burned. “I will not talk about Oleg.”
“But you admit he’s a patient.”
“He’s a friend. That’s all you need to know.”
Murphy stepped closer. “Not a patient? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Will you stop?” She groaned. “Why do you like fighting so much?”
“I’m not fighting about it. Any and all relationship you had with him is over, as far as I’m concerned.”
She jumped to her feet. “You asshole!”
“I’m just curious. We’ve both had our romantic entanglements. What’s admitting to one more?”
“Oh, thank you so much for bringing that up again.”
“Are you jealous?”
Her lip curled. “No.”
“Liar.”
He’d kept files on all her lovers. There hadn’t been many. Just enough to drive him mad with jealousy. He knew it was hypocritical, and he didn’t care. He hadn’t known about Oleg.
“And you’re not jealous?” She rose to face him. “Of something that never even existed?”
“Why are you lying about it?”
“Damn you!” she yelled. “Why do you have the right to accuse me of anything? Countless women lay in your bed, and I said nothing. Because you weren’t mine anymore.”
“I was always yours,” he said, grabbing her around the waist. “Always. Do you understand me? None of them shared my bed. No one but you has ever done that. And I know I was a bastard. But you made me so angry. You could leave me right now, and I could do nothing to stop you. And I hate that.”
He was barely holding on to control. The urge to take her, bite her, claim her, was thick in his blood. His fangs had dropped. Hers had too. He wanted her bite again. Wanted to sink his own teeth into her flesh.
“You’re pushing me away and holding on to me, all at the same time,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “I’m a bastard who has no claim over you, and it doesn’t matter because I want you. I want to keep you. I want to bite you. I want to make love to you every night. I want to have you to confide in. I want to make you laugh. Mostly I want to be your world again. Because the last time I felt alive was when I was inside you.”
Anne whispered, “You realize that’s highly dysfunctional, don’t you?”
“Yes, and I don’t care.”
He could feel the tug of dawn coming. Anne was still alert, but he was fading. Damn it. It was later that he’d realized. He wanted to make up with her and spend the moments before dawn in her arms, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. He tugged off his jacket and headed toward the adjoining room. He secured the lock, then went to check the entrance to the master suite, leaving the door between them open.
“I’m sorry,” Murphy said. “I’ll stay next door tonight. Just don’t… please don’t leave the suite. Stay here. I don’t have enough security in the other parts of the house.”
“Patrick…”
“What?”
“Stay,” she said with a sigh. “You can stay.”
He turned. “You’ll share my bed?”
She nodded even though her eyes were troubled. “Yes.”
It felt like the memory of the sun on his skin. A blessing. A reprieve. Grace.
Murphy walked to her, peeling off his shirt and unhooking his belt. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressed his face into her neck, and felt her arms come around his shoulders.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll stay. I know we haven’t settled everything, but until we do, I promise I’ll stay. I won’t walk away again.”
He urged her down to the bed and spent the last moments before day took him kissing Anne. It was a languid joining of mouths and hands. She threaded their fingers together as he tasted her. He hooked his thigh over her legs.
“We’re still dressed,” she murmured against his mouth.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you always wake up uncomfortable if you sleep in your clothes.” She sat up, his practical mate, and helped him divest himself of the rest of his suit, then he watched her drape his clothes over the chair by the bed.