Rachel Brimble - A Stranger In The Cove

Her eyes widened. “I wasn’t worried about that until now.”

He shook his head. “Look, this person is connected to my family. Okay? I just want to talk to her.”

Triumph flashed in her eyes. “Aha. A her.” Then, like a switch had been flicked, the triumph dissolved into apprehension once more. “Let me help you. I work with families all the time. I could at least act as a mediator or something.”

“No.”

“But—”

“I won’t need a damn mediator, Kate.” He clenched his jaw. “Just leave things alone.”

“No.”

He swiped his slightly trembling hand over his face. “Why does my being here bother you so much? Are you sure your nervousness is about someone else? Or more about you?”

She swallowed. “Someone else.”

Care for this woman and the inexplicable way she’d reacted to his presence since meeting him wound through him. There was something disconcerting in her eyes...the odd flicker of deep sadness, or shame, that made him want to hold her. Tell her everything would be okay.

“Hey.” He gently placed his hand on her arm. “I can tell something’s happened to you. What, I don’t know. But believe me when I say I’m not here to cause you more pain. Everything will work out as it’s supposed to. End of story.”

She snorted and turned, tears glinting in her eyes. “Nothing ever works out how it’s supposed to, and why should I trust that you don’t mean to hurt this woman? People hurt each other all the time.” She eased her arm from under his hand. “More often than not, the things people want, the things they hope for, never happen. If you don’t know that, you must have lived a more privileged life than most.”

The tear that rolled over her cheek made him catch his breath, and he battled against his weakening defenses. God, if only she knew how acutely he’d experienced the brutal destruction of hopes and dreams. Of heartbreak so bad, he’d never be the same again.

He leaned against the bar, felt the warmth of her arm alongside his. “My life has been far from privileged, believe me.”

She stepped in front of him, her dark gaze burning with frustration. “Fine. But by going up on that stage, you saved me from having a lot of disappointed people demanding God knows what from the center. I’m in no doubt that because of you, the fund-raiser will be the success my team and I hoped it would be. I owe you. Let me help you, Mac. Please.”

“I don’t need your damn help.” Yet inexplicable want edged far too close to his heart. He didn’t want her help, he wanted her in his bed; wanted her to look at him with lust, not pity. He tightened his jaw. “If that changes, you’ll be the first to know. So, please, just leave it be.”

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