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It wasn’t Patrick who opened the door.
“Sean.”
Sean Rogan smiled with half his mouth, revealing his dimples. Lucy had wondered, from the time she’d first met Patrick’s business partner, if he’d perfected the impish, boyish charm in front of a mirror. “You sound disappointed. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“No, I just—yeah. Sorry. Is Patrick here?” Her voice sounded panicked. Damn, she had to get her emotions together. She didn’t want to fall apart in front of Sean. She barely knew him.
She didn’t want to fall apart at all.
In a blink, Sean’s entire demeanor changed from casual flirt to serious business.
“I thought you knew he left for California this morning.”
How could she have forgotten? There was no one else, no one she trusted who knew her whole story. Where would she go now? The only option was back home.
“Lucy, you’re shaking.” Sean took her arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.
She tried to apologize for disturbing him, but no words came out. Her cheeks burned in the warmth of the house, reminding her how cold she was.
“You’re frozen.”
She tried to unbutton her coat, but her fingers were stiff and numb. Sean reached over and quickly undid the buttons and slid the wet wool coat off her arms, tossing it on the coat rack by the door.
He frowned when he saw her red hands, and took them both into his. He was dressed in just jeans and a white polo shirt, but his body was a virtual furnace. The heat from his hands felt both wonderful and painful as her skin thawed. He brought her hands to his mouth and blew hot air on them, his black hair—longer on top—falling across one eye. He said, “I’m so sorry, Luce, I must not have heard the bell the first time.”
“I only rang once. I walked here.”
“Walked?”
“It wasn’t far.”
“From Kate and Dillon’s place? That’s half a mile and you’re not properly dressed.” His bright blue eyes assessed her as his hands rubbed her arms. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m—” Her mouth quivered. No no no no no! She didn’t want to cry in front of Sean Rogan, not him, not her brother’s partner. Not in front of anyone. She should have gone to her room. Why had she come here anyway?
You forgot Patrick was gone.
“I have to go,” she said.
Sean ignored that statement and led her down the wide hall to the back of the house, where a fire raged in a brick fireplace that took up half of one wall. He seated her on the large hearth. “This should warm you up.”
Unable to speak, she nodded, averting her eyes. The fire was too hot, but she sat and stared at the flames, willing herself not to cry.
Please, God, don’t let me break down now.
Sean moved away, and Lucy breathed easier. She’d get her emotions together, find a way to lock the past back where it belonged, and phone for a taxi.
She had so desperately wanted to talk to Patrick. Maybe that was the answer—fly to California.
Right. Leave her job, her volunteer work, miss the WCF fund-raiser on Saturday. Fran would be disappointed. Lucy didn’t run away from anything. She hadn’t run six years ago even when she longed to disappear, and she wasn’t about to do it now. And what for? She wasn’t in danger, only hollowed out from the lies told by her family. She had no energy tonight, but tomorrow she would regain her strength.
She glanced into the kitchen, where Sean had his back to her, thankful he’d given her some space. She didn’t want to make small talk with him, no matter how nice he was to look at, nor did she want to explain why she’d walked through what might turn into a blizzard to visit the brother who she’d forgotten was working three thousand miles away.
Lucy rubbed her hands together in front of the fireplace and tried not to think about what Sean must think of her lunacy. The last hour, from the minute she walked into her house and saw those two FBI agents talking to Kate, had drained her and she couldn’t stop shaking.
Sean brought two mugs to the fireplace and handed one to her. “This will warm up the inside.”
“What is it?” She looked inside. Teeny marshmallows were floating on top. “Hot chocolate?”
