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Her voice trailed away again as she struggled with her memories. Ronan waited in silence until she cleared her throat, ready to begin again.
‘In the living room we had an old-fashioned open fire, one of those with a wooden mantelpiece over the top. Mum used to like to decorate it with candles and little figures all set into cotton wool, so that it looked like a snow scene—you know what I mean?’
She glanced up at Ronan to check that he understood and found herself transfixed by the blaze of that unmoving, fiercely intent scrutiny. His concentration on her was so complete, so absorbed that it took the space of a couple of heartbeats before he inclined his head in silent acknowledgement.
‘Davey was only young, and he was fascinated by the candles. If we weren’t careful he would try to light them himself, either with matches, or once he used a small piece of paper that he stuck in the fire…’
Dark memories were beating against her thoughts like powerful wings, and she had to swallow hard to ease the constriction in her throat. Ronan clearly noted her distress, and the way her fingers clenched over each other, but he did nothing, waiting in that rigid silence until she regained enough control to go on.
‘On New Year’s Eve we all stayed up to see the New Year in, and so we went to bed exhausted. I was sure that the fire had died down, that it was safe. Dad was usually so careful. He always put a guard up before he went upstairs. But that night some spark must have jumped onto a curtain, or perhaps a decoration fell. We’ll never know.’
Unable to continue, she shook her head despairingly, dashing the back of her hand against her eyes to brush away the bitter tears.
‘The whole house went up. The first I knew of it was when my dad banged on the bedroom door, yelling at me to wake up. By that time the lounge was alight, and the smoke…’
Her eyes darkened as she recalled the acidic, stinging sensation, the burning in her lungs that had made it so difficult to breathe.
‘Dad got Davey and I up and out of the bedroom window, but Mum had stayed to look for something—I’ve no idea what. He went back to fetch her and I never saw either of them again. There was a terrible crash. I learned later that the stairs had given way and Mum and Dad were trapped upstairs. They both died.’
Ronan moved abruptly, but only to reach for his glass. He drained what was left in it in one long swallow. It was either that or give in to his urge to go to her, hold her tight. But she wouldn’t welcome any such gesture, and right now she had enough to handle without the added pressure of anything he might do.
‘I didn’t know…’ His voice was low, sounding rusty, as if it had come from a painfully dry throat. ‘You were how old?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘Little more than a child. And Davey?’
‘He was almost eleven. His birthday was the day after we buried our parents.’
The words themselves were hard enough, but what made it so much worse was the way that Ronan continued to hold himself aloof, the distance, both mental and physical, he deliberately put between them. He didn’t move from his chair, made no gesture of concern or attempt to hold her and comfort her.
And she did so want to be held. She needed to know the solace of those strong arms around her, to feel someone cared.
But of course that was what was wrong. The truth hit her like a further cruel blow to an already wounded heart. Ronan didn’t care. She had let the past days, with their form of peace, the new-found ease with which the two of them had been able to live together, lull her into a false sense of security. They hadn’t been living or doing anything together. They had simply been existing in the same house.
Except for the sex, of course. And that was all it had ever been—pure sex, nothing more. Though there had been nothing remotely pure about it. On Ronan’s part, at least, it had been just the passion without emotion that he had declared he wanted.
Lily felt suddenly totally, bone-numbingly weary, the adrenaline rush supplied by her earlier panic leaving her abruptly. She collapsed back against the cushions, as limp as a punctured balloon from which all the air had escaped.
‘What happened to you both?’
‘We were put into temporary accommodation—bed and breakfast. Davey hated it. He never adjusted to living with so many people, and he was bullied by some of the older boys.’
‘Is that why you’re so over-protective of him?’
A small flame of defiance flared in the shadowed amber of her eyes.
‘I am not over-protective! Davey was so much younger than I was, and I felt responsible for him! He was scared and lost and he missed our parents desperately. As soon as I could, I got myself a job and a flat and Davey came with me.’
‘And who looked after you?’
It was the last question she had expected. Looking sharply into Ronan’s watchful eyes, Lily was surprised to see how pale and drawn he looked. He seemed to have lost all colour, and his skin appeared to be stretched tight over the forceful lines of his cheekbones until it was almost transparent. Those clasped hands were clenched so tight that the knuckles showed white.
‘I was older, and besides I didn’t have to live with the dreadful fear that haunted my brother.’
The blue-grey eyes narrowed sharply. If his gaze had been fixed before, now it impaled her with all the force of a powerful laser.
‘What fear?’
‘He thought he was responsible for the fire that killed Mum and Dad. He admitted to me that he’d not been able to sleep and he’d gone downstairs. He hadn’t been able to resist lighting the candles even though he’d been forbidden to do so. He thought he’d blown them out before he went back to bed but he couldn’t be absolutely sure.’
There, it was out now. For the first time ever she’d revealed the dreadful fear that her brother had confided to her all those years ago. This was the shadow Davey carried with him every day, the cause of those black dreams that destroyed his peace at night.
‘Poor Davey.’ Ronan sounded surprised to find himself feeling sorry for him. ‘This is what gives him the nightmares?’
Too astonished by his perceptiveness to speak, Lily could only nod numbly, unshed tears swimming in her brilliant golden eyes. With a faint shudder she folded her arms around her slender body, as if to provide for herself the physical comfort she needed from him.
‘He—he dreams of the fire.’ A single tear welled up at the corner of one eye and she simply let it fall, too miserable, too drained to do anything more. ‘So do I sometimes. When things get on top of me I…’
‘Oh, hell—Lily!’
At last Ronan moved. In a swift, lithe movement he was up out of his chair and had caught her in his arms, pulling her close against the warm strength of his chest. His action shattered the last thread of her self-control so that, abandoning all attempt at restraint, she collapsed against him, her hands clutching at his shirt as she sobbed helplessly.
Ronan simply held her. She felt the power of his arms around her, heard his voice whispering words of comfort, soothing her until the violent storm had passed and she’d regained some degree of calm, her sobs subsiding to uneven, choking gasps. It was then that she twisted in his arms, lifting her face to his in the instinctive, unthinking gesture of a wounded child seeking comfort.
His hesitation was not what she’d expected. But it lasted only a second or two, and then Ronan was kissing her as she had wanted, his soft, featherlight caresses wiping away the lingering traces of her tears. His touch stabbed at her heart with such a bittersweet gentleness that aroused a soft, sensual longing deep inside, yet she knew that the comfort he offered her was basically flawed.
It was not the deep, committed care of someone who loved her and would do anything to help ease the pain deep inside. It was only the gesture of a man, any man, who could not just sit and watch her weep and do nothing.
But for now she would settle for that imperfect sort of giving. She was so desperate for the consolation of another human being, needing so desperately to be held, that she would give herself up to it without a second thought. She would let the physical passion that he could arouse so easily wipe her mind clean of every other unhappy thought.
In Ronan’s arms she couldn’t think of anything but him and the cyclone of hunger that whirled deep inside her, and right now all she wanted to do was to abandon herself to that mindless delight in order to be able to forget about everything else.
So it was the most devastating shock of all when Ronan swore savagely and wrenched himself away from her. The force of his movement took him halfway across the room to stand, hands pushed deep into his pockets, staring out of the window into the darkness of the night. At last he sighed and raked one hand roughly through his hair.
‘We need to talk, Lily,’ he said unevenly.
Talk. It was the last thing she wanted. But, even as she formed the fullness of her mouth into a moue of petulant protest, she was thoroughly taken aback to find that the gesture transformed itself into a wide, aching yawn. Without the warm support of Ronan’s arms around her she felt exhausted, the emotions of the night having drained all her strength. Weakly she fell back against the arm of the settee, unable to hold back another yawn.
‘But not tonight,’ Ronan continued more quietly. ‘You’re worn out. You should be in bed.’
