The Seduction of Shamus O'Rourke

Chapter Four

Cyndi dragged her feet as she climbed aboard Shamus's truck. Why wouldn't he leave well enough alone? Because he was a good man, a voice in the back of her head insisted.

She could just imagine the strife it would cause in his life if his sister found out that he was hanging around her, having breakfast with her. As for his brother Patrick, well, Cyndi didn't want to think about what he might do. He had the power to make her life very uncomfortable in this town.

The irony of the situation didn't escape her. Years before, it had been the O'Rourke family who hadn't had any power against the influential James family. Now the shoe was on the other foot. From her conversation with her father's lawyer yesterday, she knew that Burke Black, Shamus's brother-in-law, was now one of the most prominent men in town. Now to find out that Patrick O'Rourke was the sheriff... Well, if she hadn't felt welcome in Jamesville before, it felt triply that way now.

Shamus was sitting silently beside her, waiting for her to tell him where to go. He might be younger than her, but there was a steadiness about him, a calmness that made him seem more mature.

Keeping her eyes on the road in front of her, she gave him directions. “We're going to James Lane."

She could feel his eyes on her for a moment and then the truck began to move. “Not many houses on James Lane.” He said it casually, but she could hear the underlying question in his voice.

"No, there's not.” Her tone was flat and didn't invite further comment. If he was bound and determined to dig up the past, he could wait until she'd gathered her thoughts.

Her head was beginning to throb, and no wonder. She'd slept in fits and starts last night, waking at every groan and creak the house made. Even though she'd brought her own pillows and comforter with her, there was no disguising the fact that she wasn't in her cozy bedroom in Vermont anymore.

She hadn't slept well since she'd received that first embossed envelope by special messenger informing her of her father's death. He'd always been a larger-than-life figure. She'd half expected him to live forever. Even from the grave, he'd dictated how he'd wanted matters handled, which was why she'd gotten a letter from the lawyers instead of a phone call.

Leaning her head back against the headrest, she closed her eyes. The darkness helped her head, but it heightened her other senses. She could hear the rustle of material as Shamus turned the wheel of the truck. His scent—sandalwood and a hint of something else, masculine and uniquely Shamus—seemed to fill the cab.

Her fingers curled inward. He was wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt this morning. The shirt, a blue-gray color, matched his eyes and made the color appear even deeper. His shoulders were incredibly wide, his biceps thick. She swallowed a moan of despair. She had to stop thinking about him in that way. Shamus was one indulgence she just couldn't afford, not if she was determined to stay in Jamesville and put the ghosts of her past to rest. He was a part of her past, part of what she'd been running from, whether he knew it or not.

"Cyndi?"

She opened her eyes and turned her head. He was staring at her with obvious concern on his face. Ignoring it, she pointed ahead. “There."

"That's the James's house."

"I know.” She straightened and waited until he pulled the truck in the driveway. When he parked, she grasped the door handle. “You might as well come in."

She slid out of the vehicle, not waiting to see if he was behind her. If he wanted answers, he'd follow her. The thud of a door closing reached her ears, and then she heard the crunch of boots against the gravel.

Cyndi rooted around in her purse until she found her keys. She quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside. Ignoring the oppressive foyer, she headed toward the back of the house and the kitchen. “This way."

She could sense him behind her, but she still didn't face him. She dumped her purse on the kitchen counter and pulled off her jacket, tossing it aside. Grabbing the kettle, she put water on to boil before she finally turned to face Shamus.

He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb just watching her. His eyes were hooded, his arms crossed negligently against his chest. “You want to tell me what we're doing here?” The low, rough tone of his voice sent shivers skating down her spine.

No other man had ever had the ability to affect her this easily. It had to be the stress. It couldn't be anything else. She couldn't let it be anything else.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, she crossed her ankles and tried to appear as casual as he did. She could feel the cool marble against the small of her back and she wished she hadn't taken off her jacket.

"This is mine now."

His eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. “You knew Cyrus James?"

"I'm his daughter.” There. She'd said it, flung the words at him like some gauntlet, daring him to pick it up.

He pushed away from the doorjamb and straightened. He was so broad he all but filled the doorway. His hands went to his hips as he stared at her. “What did you say?"

She took a deep breath wanting to get through this as fast as possible. “My name was Cynthia James; I changed it legally when I left town years ago. I took my mother's maiden name and kept it even when I got married."

"You're married.” His voice got flatter and softer, but Cyndi flinched as if he'd yelled at her. Somehow, his quiet anger was more frightening then her father's loud fury had been.

"No. I'm divorced. I was married more than ten years ago. The marriage didn't last very long.” And why was she telling him all this? She didn't owe him anything, for heaven's sake. He was a kind stranger who'd stopped to help her on the road yesterday, yet somehow she was spilling her guts to him to try to make him understand. “It doesn't matter,” she began.

"Of course it matters.” He took a step toward her and it took everything in her to stand her ground.

"No, it doesn't.” Someone had to be sensible here and it looked as if it would have to be her. “I'm Cynthia James. Don't you have any idea what that means in this town?"

He cocked his eyebrow. “That you're better than me?"

She closed her eyes and almost groaned. They snapped open again when she sensed Shamus moving toward her. “No!” She held out her hand and he came to an abrupt halt.

"No,” she softened her tone. “It doesn't mean I'm better. It means I've got a history in this town and not a very pleasant one. A lot of folks in Jamesville won't be happy to know I'm back, and your sister is one of them."

"Why?” His voice was soft and non-threatening as if he sensed just how on edge she was.

It irritated her and she snapped at him. “Because I was a bitch when I lived here, and I tried to break up Dani and Burke before they were married. You probably don't remember it because you were just a kid."

He didn't react to her barb, which left her feeling small and petty for flinging it at him. What was it about this place that brought out the absolute worst in her?

She reached inside herself for the calm that was usually there and found nothing but a roiling mass of emotions threatening to bubble over. “The short version of the story is that I had problems, and I thought a rich man like Burke could help me out of them. I tried to break up his relationship with Dani, going as far as standing in the middle of Jessie's and accusing him of getting me pregnant. It didn't work, I left town in disgrace, end of story."

It was strange to sum up years of torment and pain in a few short sentences. No one in this town had known the hell that had been her life. The two housekeepers who'd tried to help her when she was still a child had found themselves jobless and soon, penniless. Her father had found secrets in their past, blackmailing them to keep them quiet. As her father had been fond of saying—everyone has a price or a secret and, if you know it, you can control them.

She watched Shamus, but his expression didn't change. She had no idea what he was thinking. She just knew she had to get him out of her house. “Now you understand why you have to stay away from me."

He shook his head and began to walk slowly toward her. His heavy boots thudded against the hardwood floor. By the time she thought to move, it was too late. The counter was behind her and Shamus was in front of her.

He loomed over her, his face grave as he leaned forward and placed his hands on the counter on either side of her, effectively caging her in. She swallowed hard, half afraid, half thrilled by his nearness. She could feel the heat of his body, and she'd been cold for so long.

Cyndi raised her hand and placed it on his chest. She wanted to push him away, instead her fingers curled into his shirt. He lowered his head until their noses were almost touching. His eyes appeared even darker as he stared at her.

"No, I don't understand what that has to do with us. That was a long time ago, Cyndi, and you're not the same woman anymore."

She frowned at him. “How can you say that? You don't know me.” The last thing she'd expected was for him to say something like that. She expected everyone in Jamesville to judge her by her past. After all, they had nothing else to go on.

His hand came up to touch her cheek. It took all her resolve not to turn into his palm and press her face against it. Sympathy and understanding were the last things she'd expected, and they pushed her to the verge of tears. But she blinked them back.

Tears were useless, or at least real tears were. She'd been able to summon fake tears at will years ago, to get her way with men and sometimes, even women. But real tears, the kind she'd shed alone in her bedroom late at night, had gained her nothing.

His fingers pushed back her bangs as he leaned down and kissed her forehead. It was a gentle caress, one to give comfort, with no expectations. Other than her Aunt Verna, no one had ever touched her in such a way before.

When she was growing up, the boys she'd dated had treated her as a prize to be won. As she'd grown older, the men had treated her like a sexual trophy, although all of them had gone away empty-handed. Most folks in this town probably wouldn't believe it, but she'd been a virgin when she'd married Brett Landers. Her father had her checked by the doctor every six months back when she lived at home and had sworn he'd kill her if she gave in to a man without a ring on her finger.

She'd realized too late that she'd married a man too much like her father. Aunt Verna had warned her, but she hadn't listened, hadn't wanted to. All Cyndi had wanted was to be loved for herself, but it hadn't happened. A divorce had quickly followed. After that, she hadn't trusted her judgment, not when it came to men.

But Shamus seemed different.

No man had ever touched her just to offer comfort. Cyndi swallowed the lump in her throat. He pulled his lips away and just rested his forehead against hers. Her fingers tightened, holding onto his shirt as if he was the only anchor she had in a world tilted on its axis.

"You have to leave me alone,” she whispered. Shamus was a good man, a kind man, and she would not be responsible for causing problems between him and his family. Those days were over. Somehow, she found the strength to pry her fingers from his shirt and push him away. He leaned back, but didn't move away. His eyes searched her face, but he said nothing. “I won't cause problems for you and your family."

"Let me worry about them."

"No.” She shook her head adamantly. The kettle began to whistle, and she slid away from him. Her body grazed his, and it sent a blast of heat through her.

Cyndi's hand was shaking as she lifted the kettle and placed it on the back burner. “Look, we only met yesterday. You helped me out in a jam, and we had breakfast this morning. There's nothing between us."

Shamus came up behind her and rested his large, powerful hands on her shoulders. “You don't believe that any more than I do,” he whispered as he kissed the side of her neck.

For just a moment, she gave into weakness and leaned into his caress. His lips glided over her nape and then he was nibbling on her earlobe. The pounding of her heart filled her ears, her breathing was getting shallow, and her knees went weak.

"No, you have to stop.” She meant her protest to come out strong and sure, instead her voice was little more then a sultry whisper. She grabbed the edge of the counter, wrapping her fingers around the edge of the hard marble. “Stop it, Shamus."

He stepped back immediately, but turned her to face him. She tried to resist, but he just kept up a steady pressure until she gave up. “I'll go, but this is far from over."

"It's over. It has to be over."

He cocked his head to one side and a lock of his molasses-brown hair fell across his forehead. He shoved it aside. “We're both adults, Cyndi. What we do is our business."

She laughed and the sound was bitter. “Not in this town, it's not. Word will be out before the end of today that Cynthia James is back in town. Everyone will be speculating what trouble I'm going to stir up. Because I had breakfast with you, folks will be wondering what problems I'm going to cause your family. I won't have it, Shamus. Not this time. Not when I can prevent it."

He stared at her for so long that she began to get uncomfortable. Shamus had a way of looking at her as if he could see into her very soul. And maybe he could. There was an aura of calmness around him, yet she could sense the power swirling beneath. It was that power that frightened her. This man might smile at the world, but she sensed there was very little, if anything, that he wanted in his life that he didn't have. He had a relentlessness about him masked by the calmness. He was a contradiction and he was dangerous to her peace of mind.

"I'll go.” Just as she breathed a sigh of relief, he added, “For now.” Reaching into his back pocket, he dug out a business card and tucked it into the pocket of her shirt. His fingers grazed the edge of her breast and her nipple tightened. “If you need me, call anytime day or night."

She nodded. Speech was beyond her with him still touching her. He stepped back, turned on his heel, and stalked away. He paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. “You're not the woman you were, Cyndi. Don't let the past keep you prisoner.” With those parting words, he left. She heard the front door close quietly behind him.

She sagged against the kitchen counter. “Oh, lord.” She knew in her heart that she hadn't seen the last of Shamus O'Rourke. Next time, she'd have better defenses in place, or at least she hoped she would. He was too young for her, and he was an O'Rourke. His family and hers had a history.

But none of her logical reasoning could stop the frantic beat of her heart. Something about Shamus made her want to lean her head on his shoulder and pour out her troubles. He brought out feelings in her she'd thought long dead, making them surge back to life again. He made her feel like a woman, a woman with sexual wants and needs.

Whirling around, she opened a cupboard door and took down a ceramic mug. She dug out a box of chamomile tea that she'd brought with her, dumped a teabag into the mug, and poured water from the kettle over it. As it steeped, she stared blindly out the kitchen window.

She had bigger problems than just Shamus. She still had to decide what to do with the house and the bulk of its contents. Picking up her tea, she took a sip as she tried to organize her thoughts.

First things first.

With her mug cradled in her hand, she began to open and close kitchen drawers. She finally found what she was looking for in a drawer close to the phone hung on the wall. Yanking the phone book out, she began to flip the pages, running her finger up and down the pages until she found what she was searching for—Alicia Flint, attorney. That had to be Alan Flint's daughter. Cyndi remembered her well even though Alicia had been two years behind her in school. She'd been a sensible girl, and very smart—both good qualities for a lawyer.

Picking up the phone, she quickly dialed the number. When the receptionist answered, Cyndi asked to make an appointment. As it happened, Ms. Flint had a cancellation this morning and could see her in an hour. Perfect, Cyndi thought as she hung up. The quicker she could get rid of Harris and Hammond, the better.

Shamus was still reeling as he pulled away from the mansion on James Lane. He could hardly believe that his Cyndi was really Cynthia James. Well, she had been Cynthia James. Now she was Cyndi Marks, and he knew it was more than a simple name change with her.

He'd wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, promising her that her past didn't matter. Wouldn't matter. But he wasn't stupid. It might not matter to him, but it would to a lot of people. Her father might have hurt a lot of folks in this town, but he'd bet his last dollar that Cyndi Marks wouldn't.

There was a wounded, almost fragile, quality about her, even though he knew she'd deny it. She was a woman who obviously hadn't had an easy life. She might have grown up in luxury, but he had a feeling her life had been anything but a fairytale.

Shamus knew himself well. He was thirty years old and had never had this kind of a reaction to a woman before. Something about Cyndi drew him. There was an innate kindness in her that he knew she'd probably deny. She'd learned to guard her emotions well, but she couldn't hide them from him.

Call him a fool, but he knew he'd regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't pursue the attraction he felt toward her. Maybe nothing would come of it, but deep inside, he knew that if they worked at it, they could have something special together.

But there was no way he wanted to hurt his family either. He took a turn out of town and headed toward his sister's house. He needed to talk to Burke and Dani and find out exactly what had happened all those years ago. He might have been only sixteen at the time, but he remembered Dani and Burke having problems before they'd gotten married. And, of course, he'd heard the gossip about the scene in the diner. That tale had been on everyone's lips for months afterwards.

Shamus wasn't interested in gossip. He wanted the truth. Cyndi didn't deny what she'd done, but what he needed to discover was why she'd done it. He'd give her a day to settle in before dropping by to talk to her again.

One way or another, he'd have answers.