“I’ll let you know,” he told Cody quickly, trying to quiet the voice in his head that refused to be silenced.
* * *
Cate slept restlessly, then woke a little after midnight. She watched the minutes click by on the digital clock on the nightstand next to her bed, desperate to get back to sleep but unable to do so. She tucked her hand beneath her cheek and realized she couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t stop thinking of Liam. Couldn’t forget his accusation in the restaurant that she cared too much for Alec. That somehow she wanted to come between Alec and Angelina. As if that was possible even if I wanted to, she thought angrily. Which I don’t.
Then her anger turned to sadness. Not sadness that she couldn’t have Alec. But that Liam would think she was the kind of woman who would try to break up a marriage. “That tells you exactly what Liam thinks of you,” she whispered in the darkness. Despite all his encouraging words this afternoon. Despite the gentle kiss he’d placed on her wrist that had made her catch her breath at the wondrous sensation, realizing—miracle of miracles—she didn’t cringe from his touch, she actually enjoyed it. Heat had bloomed inside her, and she’d longed to have him hold her in his strong arms. Wanted to know what his lips would feel like on hers.
But all that meant nothing. Because in his heart of hearts Liam believed the worst of her. Maybe he even believed she’d voluntarily stayed with Vishenko from the start, despite what he’d said on the plane about how the scars on her wrists affected him. How could she know what he really thought? And that was the most hurtful thing she could imagine. That Liam—Liam—would think she’d chosen a life of shame.
The backs of her eyes ached, but the tears she’d sworn she’d never cry again were denied her. She turned her pillow over, seeking a cool spot, and tried to force herself to sleep. But it was useless. Finally she got out of bed, belted her new terry cloth robe around her waist and crept into the other room for a glass of water.
She’d just put the glass down on the counter when a slight sound made her turn around sharply. Liam stood there in the shadows, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and boxer shorts, his hair rumpled from sleep. With a gun in his hand.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He glanced down at the gun he held, and made a face. “I heard a noise and thought I should investigate.” He disappeared back into his bedroom, then returned without the gun. “Couldn’t sleep?” Cate shook her head. “My fault,” he said in his deep voice. “I wasn’t sleeping all that well myself. I apologized...but I know it wasn’t enough.” His eyes were sad. “Please forgive me.”
At nearly one in the morning, with darkness surrounding them like a blanket, Cate could speak honestly. “It hurt me,” she admitted. “It hurt that you would think I was the kind of woman who...”
“I didn’t. I didn’t think that.” He sighed. “I don’t know why I said it. I just... I wanted to be the one you felt that way about, and I... Jealousy is an ugly, destructive emotion, Cate. Especially when it’s your own brother you’re jealous of.”
“You don’t have to be jealous of Alec.” Her voice was low but intense. “I care for him. I admit that. But I never wanted him to touch me...that way.” There was a long pause fraught with things they’d both left unsaid. Until she whispered, “I never wanted any man to touch me that way...until I met you.”
Liam took a step toward her, his face betraying both disbelief and a desire to believe. Warring emotions written plainly. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
Cate took a step back. “Yes, I know. But just because that’s how I feel, doesn’t mean I can. I can’t. You have to know that about me.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then looked at him with all the despair nine desperate, lonely years had engendered in her. “There’s nothing I want more than to be able to come to a man clean and whole. But I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
She turned away so Liam could only see her profile. “Nine years ago I was brought to this country to be a...” She swallowed. Hard. But she couldn’t get the word out. “Vishenko saw me in that house where I was taken.” She turned back to face him. “He picked me, you understand? Out of all the women in that room. All weeping with terror and fear of what by then we knew would happen to us—all but me. I don’t know why I wasn’t crying, but he told me that was why, out of all those women, he picked me to be his toy,” she said in a bitter voice. “His personal plaything.”