Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) (24 page)

Silence fell between them, awkward and uncomfortable. When Ian finally spoke, he caught her off guard yet again.

“He’s turning the place into a winery.”

And yet again, she was confused. “What?”

Ian waved a hand around, a gesture that clearly encompassed the entire building. “It’s going to be a place for people to try the wines from the winery he’s been working on. Your brother can’t seem to not be doing something.”

She reached up and rubbed her ear. “Brannon wants to start a winery?”

“No.” Ian said it slowly, his voice patient. “He doesn’t
want
to. He’s done it. It’s not half bad, although I’ll take a pint, or scotch, any day. It’s something he started working on not long after he got out of university, I think.”

He shrugged and went quiet.

Neve appreciated it, using that time to process what he’d just told her.

“Since you don’t hate me, does that mean…” He paused, as if searching for the word. Finally, he said, “I can’t sleep for want of you. I close my eyes and see you. Am I wasting my time?”

Neve turned away. “You’re all about throwing me off balance, aren’t you?” she asked faintly. “Look, I … William is responsible for what he did. I’m making myself accept that. I still blame me … sometimes … but I know that’s wrong. I’m not going to blame you or Brannon, either.”

She turned back, but not to look at him. She focused on the building around them instead. “So. A winery. That’s … a big deal.”

A winery.

The museum.

Big things—Brannon and Moira had all been doing big things.

A knot settled in her throat and she looked away. What did she have to show for the past ten years of her life?

“I can understand why he keeps hovering, seeing the look on your face now.”

Ian’s voice was closer now.

Slowly, she looked up.

His misty gray eyes were slightly narrowed and she didn’t like the thorough way he watched her.

She suspected there was no way to hide from that gaze. Some people just saw past the barriers.

Now a faint smile curled his lips. “If it pisses you off, then you should probably stop letting them see you look so broken.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she said slowly.

He dipped his head.

Neve froze as his breath drifted over her skin. Goose bumps rose in the wake and her blood started to swim as she caught his scent. He smelled of sawdust and musk and something smoky. It was heady, intoxicating. Her heart jumped up to slam away in her throat and it took a moment to even focus on his words.

“But that’s so boring, Neve.” He straightened and then moved away. “You’re not even close to broken. If you were, you never would have left that sad sack of shite. But you did.”

Closing one hand into a fist, she met his eyes when he turned to look at her.

“This really isn’t any of your concern.”

“Well, that could depend on how you look at it.”

“Oh, really,” she said. Feeling exposed under his penetrating glance, she crossed her arms over her middle. “Do tell.”

“It’s your private business, of that there’s no question.” Ian studied her and then once more, closed the distance between them. “Your private business. But then there’s this thing…”

His voice trailed off.

“What thing?”

“You know, if you’d told me you hated me, I wouldn’t dare do this. But you didn’t, so…”

She didn’t even have time to brace herself before he kissed her.

With hard, rough hands, he cupped her face and tipped her head back.

Her heart banged hard against her ribs as he slid his tongue along her lower lip, teased the entrance to her mouth, but when she opened for him, he broke the kiss.

“That’s the thing, Neve. I want you. I want you naked and in my bed, so that means I can’t help but think about it.” He swiped his thumb across her lower lip.

The sensation sent a shiver through her and heat chased back the chill.

But then he lowered his hands and turned away. “I can’t help but think about it—and knowing that the fucker who did this to you likely did it because of your connection to Brannon eats at me, Neve. It’s like a fire in my gut.”

“I…” She stopped and forced herself to breathe. The ache in her chest spread as she watched him scrub his hands up and down his face. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

He glanced back at her, his eyes unreadable. “You didn’t pull away when I touched you.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Maybe.” He lifted one heavy shoulder in a shrug. “Knowing what you know now—why shouldn’t you pull away?”

“You didn’t do anything.” Cold, she wrapped her arms around herself. Unable to stand there, she started to pace. “You didn’t do it. Brannon didn’t.” She stopped in the middle of the floor as she forced the rest of it out. “I didn’t.”

“You blame yourself.”

Slowly, she looked up at him. “Are you a mind reader?”

“No.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I just know that look on your face. I saw it on a face of my gran. My grandfather … he would hurt her. A lot. But she didn’t leave him. She just killed herself instead.”

*   *   *

Still haunted by what Ian had told her, it took a great deal of willpower for Neve to focus on Brannon as he walked her through the place, but she finally succeeded. To her surprise, the blueprints he showed her actually made sense to her—in a way. She could see some sort of roughed-out idea of what this place might look like and it delighted her.

“I have to admit I’m impressed.” Neve studied the blueprints and eyed the mock-ups or whatever Brannon had called them.

He talked to her the same way he’d talk to a nervous horse. She found herself scowling at the image it brought to mind—Brannon handling her with kid gloves for fear of frightening her. It just pissed her off even more. She tried not to think about it, but abruptly, she put down the dregs of the coffee she’d been nursing and turned away from him, walking across the room that would eventually be an office.

“What’s the point of all this, Brannon?”

“I already told you. I need help with it.” He straightened up, that easy smile fixed firmly back in place.

“Why? Do you think I need somebody to hand me something so I feel like I’m needed?” The pathetic truth was that she
did
need something.

Something flashed in his eyes, but was hidden a moment later.

It snapped the threads of her temper. “Stop it!”

He frowned. “Stop what?”

“Stop treating me like I’m fragile.” She swiped her hands down her jeans, and realized she was sweating. She
was
fragile. She felt that way. But how could she get past that if everybody treated her like some delicate piece of glass? “I fucked up but I survived it. If he comes looking—”

“I’ll kill him,” Brannon yelled, his voice echoing.

The clattering of hammers went silent.

He swore and stormed over to the frame that would eventually hold the door. “Clear out! Now!”

The next few minutes were filled with sounds of low voices, toolboxes slamming, and heavy boots thudding as everybody hit the door. From where she stood, Neve couldn’t see them but she had no doubt people were leaving.

“Well.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she angled a look at her brother. He was bent over the board that had been placed over two sawhorses. His shoulders were rounded, spine stiff with tension. “It looks like your temper is still the same.”

Brannon was laid-back for the most part, but once you set him off, it was wise to stay out of the line of fire.

“Fuck, Neve. What am I supposed to do?”

“Let me breathe.”

He straightened and turned to look at her.

She was still surprised the words had slid out and had to fumble with what to say next. “Brannon … I … look, I spent the past couple of years questioning everything I did, afraid to let myself get close to anybody … just alone. And afraid. I’m tired of being afraid, but if you want me to find that part of me that wasn’t afraid to kick people in the teeth…” She stopped and swallowed. Did that girl still exist? She just didn’t know. She’d been as lonely then. She’d wanted—
needed
somebody to just tell her it would be okay. She hadn’t been
okay
in years. “I have to breathe. I have to work things out.”

“I’m not trying to smother you, sis,” he said, his voice tired now. She suspected he hadn’t slept worth shit. He looked away, his jaw clenching as he stared outside. “But I can’t be okay with this. I—I just can’t.”

“I’m not
okay
with it, either. But it’s done. There’s no changing it. Now I just have to go on.” She crossed the floor and reached out to catch his hand. “I’d rather not have my big brother in jail.”

A faint smile appeared on his face, gone almost as soon as it formed.

“As long as he stays out of our town, there’s nothing to worry about.” He reached up and tugged her toward him, hugging her tight. “You’re not alone here. I wish…”

He didn’t finish. She felt him shake his head. “That doesn’t matter. You’re here now. That matters.”

“I love you, Brannon.”

“Yeah. I love you, too, Neve.”

Pulling away, she looked around. “This will be pretty cool when you’re done. You don’t need me for anything.”

A pained look crossed his face. “But that’s just the point. I don’t
want
to finish it up.”

“You started it.” She scowled at him.

“Yeah.” He shrugged now. “That’s the fun part for me. I…” He trailed off and looked away. “Being around here, having to deal with all the day-to-day decisions isn’t what I wanted to mess with. I want to be out at the winery, working there, handling that part.”

He paused, then added, “Come on, Neve. Help me out.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

That lovely shade of red, William would know it anywhere.

At end of the block, he studied her. She stood in front of a shop, her arms wrapped around her, her expression thoughtful and the breeze turned her hair into a banner, whipping it around her face.

Gone were the lovely designer clothes he’d bought her. She wore threadbare jeans and a simple silk top. The top was sufficient, but the pants were a disgrace. Her shoes were a pair of black flats.

Still, despite the plain clothing, Neve McKay looked lovely. She always looked lovely. Once he had her back where she belonged, he’d see to it that she was dressed as was fitting for a woman of her station.

He moved closer, need pulsing inside him. It wouldn’t take much. All he had to do was get her alone for a few minutes. A quick look around had him thinking hard and fast. It wasn’t a bustling sort of town, that was certain. A few moments and he could bring her around.

She lifted a hand, brushing her hair back, and he could see the long, pale line of her neck. His own hands itched and he thought of that first night, when he’d wrapped the pretty green silk around her elegant neck and made her his.

His mouth watering, he took another step.

He’d talk to her. There was no reason for this utter nonsense to continue. She’d had her fun. Now it was time for it to end, for her to come home where she belonged. He might even be lenient.

The words were already forming on his tongue and he was already envisioning the look on her face, how her eyes would widen and the hesitant gasp she’d make.

When the man moved up to stand behind her, a vicious wash of red came across William’s vision.

*   *   *

“He talked you into it, didn’t he?”

Neve jumped at the sound of Ian’s voice. She’d been about ready to leave, uneasy—there was an odd, rippling sensation crawling down her spine, like the weight of a hundred thousand gazes on her. Or one very evil one.

Standing in front of the bookstore, she looked into the glass and saw Ian in the reflection. “I remember this bookstore.” She smiled. “Old Mrs. Stafford. My mom and dad would bring me here and I’d leave with an entire stack of books.”

“You’re a reader then,” he said as he came to stand at her shoulder.

The uneasiness inside her gut faded, as if it had never been. “I used to be.” Neve tried to think of the last time she’d read a book, the last time she’d had the time … or the presence of mind to focus on a book. “Lately, not so much.”

“You should get back to it.” He flicked at the ends of her hair. “What’s your poison, my darling Neve? Do you want a swashbuckling pirate? Or do you prefer a mystery? Some epic tale where good and evil battle at the world’s edge?”

“How about all of the above?” She shrugged. “It’s been so long, I don’t know the last time I even read a book.”

“We should rectify that.” He rested a hand on her waist.

Her heart skittered up into dangerous territory and she wondered what he’d do if she turned to face him, lean against him, press her mouth to his.

“You didn’t answer me, you know.”

Her gaze flew to his.

“Didn’t answer what?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He turned, slowly. It seemed they were talking about something much more intimate than whether or not she was going to take on the job Brannon wanted to thrust upon her.

His dark eyes scorched her skin and she wanted to move closer, let him scorch her. She was tired of being cold, tired of being lonely.

Ian’s thumb slid under the hem of her white silk shirt, rubbed over her skin. “I just asked if he talked you into it. Did he?”

Oh. That. She made a face at him even as she had to handle how her heart continued to race. “It’s not that he talked me into it. It’s that I need to do something more than just sit home. All the hard stuff is done. If all he needs is somebody to pick out paint chips and decide what kind of floor to lay down … I can handle that.” She grinned. “If I mess it up, it’s his own damn fault. I’ve already decided to veto the lace doilies.”

“There is a God,” Ian said, returning her grin. It faded, though, and he reached up, cupping her cheek.

That simple gesture made her heart melt.

“He’s not going to be satisfied with you throwing me doilies out the window, though. He’s looking for a way to keep you here.” His thumb brushed against her cheek and Neve could have sworn the entire world seemed to fall away. “They missed you.”