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The memory slashed over her, around her. It seared in her memory. Nathan yelling at her. Nathan never yelled at her. He always controlled himself. But she had shocked him that day. He had gripped her shoulders to move her out of the way, but she had felt it. Felt the way his fingertips pressed, not ungently, in a distinct way. The way his fingers flared out, gripped, moved her.
She remembered his eyes. So wild, the way they went feverish with anger, arousal, and pure lust as he dragged her into the house.
It was distinctive. She remembered the exact spots his fingers had pressed into her shoulders, how it made them feel, how his eyes had changed.
She remembered where he hid his guns. How he hid his guns.
He had known where the coffee cups were in her kitchen that first morning when she had informed him he wouldn’t be sharing her bed. She had distracted him, made him angry right off, and he had stalked straight to the coffee cups and pulled one free, and not once had she shown him where they were.
He slept against her as her husband once had. He held her as her husband had held her.
And that first night, between sleep and waking, she was certain, now she was certain to the soles of her feet, that she had heard him whisper “go síoraí.” The words only her husband had known to whisper to her.
She turned her head to stare at him, watched how his hair fell over his brow now. Nathan had always kept his hair cut short, but the profile hadn’t changed that much. Small differences, enough to fool her at first.
He was her soul. No other man could have walked into her life and taken her over as he had. Only her husband could have done that.
And he had been lying to her all along.
He said he’d been captured. Pumped full of that horrifying drug that had been in the news a few years back. And she remembered her own nightmares. The crawling certainty that he was in danger, not dead. Hearing him scream out for her, begging her to save him, to help him. Her horror, her uncertainty. Waking in the middle of the night screaming from an agony that had no beginning and no end.
He said her husband had died. His eyes had held bleak, raging pain. And he hadn’t lied to her. He truly thought the man he was had died. And perhaps in ways he had. But this was still her husband, her lover, her soul. Only his name had changed. He was still hers.
And he was still lying to her. He was, and Rory was. Her eyes narrowed. The son of a bitch. Rory knew. He had told Rory, but he hadn’t told his own wife.
She fought back the panic, the pain at the thought that Noah hadn’t told her the truth, perhaps even hadn’t returned home for her. Rory was stronger. He was a man. And he knew the truth, she was certain of it. Whatever Noah was doing, did he think he would need help?
He had had to get into the garage, but why? To get to her? To do whatever he had come here to do?
She inhaled slowly. Whatever the reason, it was time her husband, as much as she loved him, adored him, as much as having him back in her arms meant to her, it was time he learned. Lying to Sabella was a very, very bad thing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning Toby was still shaken, but he was at work on time and determined to stay. He wasn’t going to let anyone run him off, he claimed.
Sabella worked in the garage for several hours, tuning up one of the vehicles that had come in the evening before and finishing it before she looked at the clock and smiled.
She lowered the hood, her gaze going to Noah.
He was watching the computer readout on a new SUV, twirling a wrench lazily through his fingers and chewing gum. Damn, she was glad none of the old mechanics he had employed worked here anymore. They would have seen that and suspected instantly. If they had ever paid attention to it. It was something Sabella had found completely sexy the few times she had seen him do it, so many years ago.
Irish. Her heart swelled, tears threatened to rush to her eyes, and she had to turn away quickly to keep from sobbing out in joy.
Her Irish. He was back, he was here. She trembled at the knowledge and shook with the anger. Whatever had kept him away, it was obvious he had spent quite a lot of time recovering from it. She would have been there for him. She could have been there. She would have given up her life to have made a single day, a single hour, easier for him.
And he had refused to allow it. He hadn’t let her come to him, hadn’t let her comfort him, and even now, he tried to hide from her.
From the corner of her eye she watched as Rory came over to him, caught the wrench, and gave his brother a warning glare.
Oh yeah, Rory knew. He knew well enough to know to watch for the little things that would give Noah away. She turned away before narrowing her eyes as a sense of betrayal filled her. He could tell his brother, but he couldn’t tell her?
She turned and jerked the mechanic’s rag from the counter and cleaned her hands.
“Rory, I have an appointment,” she called out. “I’ll be back around five.”
Both Rory and Noah turned to her, their expressions wiping, becoming bland. Bastards.
“We have a lot of work piled up here, Belle.” Rory cleared his throat as Noah crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a brooding stare.
