"You're right." She was ashamed of herself for jumping down his throat. Had anyone else said what Tyson had just said, she'd have known they meant to be insulting, but Tyson didn't think that way. In his mind, she was certain he thought he was being logical, separating the issues and comparing them to his own life. "I jumped to conclusions. I'm sure your parents weren't embarrassed by you, Ty. As children we often draw incorrect conclusions about why our parents do things."
His eyebrow shot up. She had a thing for his eyebrow, black as a raven's wing, drawing attention to the intensity of his blue eyes.
"You sound like one of the twenty-seven psychiatrists my parents sent me to. They wanted to find out what was wrong with me, why I wasn't normal."
She sat up straighter. She could feel his pain, buried so deep he truly wasn't aware of it. "Ty, they didn't really send you to twenty-seven psychiatrists, did they?" She ached for him, for that never understood little boy.
"Absolutely they did. They wanted me to be normal. I think it was great to talk about having a genius for a son, but it was something altogether different living with one. I talked about things they had no interest in or understanding of. They told me many times I was a great embarrassment to them for my antisocial behavior."
She pressed her lips together to keep from expressing sympathy, knowing he wouldn't want it. She had wonderful parents who doted on her all the time. Her sisters were loving and supportive and her aunts and uncles and cousins were the same. She couldn't imagine parents not wanting a child around or saying mean, hurtful things to their only son. Tears clogged her throat, shimmered in her eyes.
"Don't look so sad, Libby," Ty said. He reached out to run a finger down her cheek, tracing the path of a tear. "I didn't even notice after a while. I had other things to occupy my mind. I think I obsessed over their opinion of me when I was around seven or eight, but then I just accepted the fact that I was different and they weren't going to change and neither was I. Once I realized it, I moved on to the things I was really interested in. And I had Aunt Ida. She may not have really understood me, but she loved me and she always wanted me. She gave me the entire basement for a laboratory. I was in heaven. My parents didn't want me messing with chemicals or anything that could possibly blow anything up. Aunt Ida encouraged me. After a while I wanted to stay here in Sea Haven with her. It was just easier."
"But you didn't," Libby said.
"No, my parents would drag me back every now and then so we'd look good for some write-up in a magazine. They tried, don't get me wrong, they wanted to be great parents, but they just didn't understand how to parent me."
"I didn't hear about their death until recently. What happened?"
"A plane crash. It was a couple of years ago. I still haven't sorted everything out. The estate was overwhelming. I hide in the laboratory and try to forget about it most of the time. I know I've got to deal with it, but it's just not a priority for me. Sam and I had a talk about it a couple of weeks ago. He took care of most of the details for me and has been overseeing a lot of things, but I can't keep expecting him to do it. He has a life, too, and sorting out the estate is a full-time job."
"You're very close to your cousin, aren't you?"
"He's more of a brother than a cousin. He tries to understand me just the way my aunt did." A small grin spread across his face, softening the hard lines that were etched in his face, making him appear almost boyish. "Tries being the operative word. He's given up trying to double-date with me. He says I'm abrasive."
"Imagine that."
He shrugged. "I get bored easily with inane conversation. I try to keep my mouth shut and just listen but after a while I can't take it and I have to leave. I see it as the lesser of two evils, but unfortunately, my dates don't agree."
"You don't sound like that bothers you very much."
He ducked his head. "Not especially. I wish it did. I want it to. I just can't seem to dredge up the effort to care what people think of me."
"Not even for Sam?"
He sat back in his chair, fiddling with the stem of the wineglass, frowning a little as he thought about it. "No. Sam doesn't need me to be charming. We don't move in the same circles most of the time. He has his life and I have mine. Even when we're sharing the house, I'm mostly in the basement."
"You bring your work home," she guessed. "You take the time off, but you're still working."
"I can't let it go for long. I start thinking about things and then I have to experiment. Sam's used to me disappearing. He's the one that always looks after things, pays the bills, keeps the refrigerator stocked, but recently I realized what a burden I was putting on him and decided to get a full-time accountant. I'm trying to take some of the pressure off of him, to assume more of the responsibility."
"Sam? He's always so--" Libby paused, searching for the right word. Did Sam ever appear anything but charming? Certainly not pressured. "Laid back? Easygoing? I heard you shared your inheritance with him. That was generous of you."
He laughed. "Generous of me? The money doesn't mean anything at all to me. Half the time I forget it's there. Sam shared his mother and his house with me. The money is nothing compared to that, Libby."
She heard the complete honesty in his voice. Maybe it had to do with the fact that the money had belonged to his parents, or that he was quite capable of making his own very good living, or maybe it was just his character, but she believed him--and she admired him. There was a lot more to Tyson than she'd ever thought.
"Why do you go parasailing and fight fires and find the wildest river to raft down? What drives you to do that?"
"I want to feel alive."
"Doesn't it bother you that you risk your bril--" She bit off what she was going to say. "That you risk your mind?"
His smile touched his eyes, warmed them to a deep blue. And there was too much heat in his smile. It was sensual and set the blood pounding in her veins.
"You were going to say brilliant, Libby. See? You did call me brilliant, didn't you? In the hospital."
His smile was so sexy. Everything about him was sexy, especially when he was teasing her. "I'm sure I didn't. You made the entire conversation up. I didn't say yes to a date at all."
"You really don't remember anything?"
"Bits and pieces. What about you?" She was curious as to what he did remember of that day.
"The rescue. Falling. It's all a little hazy. I don't remember much until I was in the hospital. I swear I saw Joe Fields there. He was standing in the corridor, but if he was really there, why didn't he come in and talk to me?"
"Who's Joe Fields?"
"He works in the corporate offices of BioLab and he's a good friend of one of the biochemists working on the PDG."
"Really? He must have heard about your accident and came to see you. I'm sure you're very important to your company."
"He couldn't have made it to Sea Haven that fast. Even by plane. He didn't have time. He had to have been here before the accident." Ty shook his head. "Or maybe I was so out of it I just imagined him. On the other hand, I remember that I dreamt about you when I was unconscious." A faint, slightly self-derisive smile curled his mouth. "I do that a lot so it isn't surprising. Then I opened my eyes and saw your face and thought I was dreaming. God, you're beautiful." His voice roughened and his eyes darkened even more.
Libby felt the rasp of his voice tripping little arcs of electricity through her body. Why was she so susceptible to him? She'd never felt such an overwhelming pull towards one man in her life. Not so all-consuming. Her throat was dry, as were her lips. She wanted to touch him. Her fingers itched to touch him. Libby Drake, always in control, was fast sweeping out of control by the slow burn spreading through her body with every heated look he gave her.
"I'm not, you know," she said, "beautiful." It took a while to find her voice. No man had ever called her beautiful before, but Tyson couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. His desire was so stark and raw she couldn't help but believe his sincerit
y.
"You are to me. I really do dream about you."
He took another drink of wine and she watched him swallow. Even that was erotic. She had it bad. "You dream about me?"
His faint smile failed to reach his eyes. "You don't want to know what I dream, you'd slap my face."
A slow flush spread over her entire body. His voice was such a turn-on to her. God help her, all she wanted to know in that moment was exactly what he dreamt about her. All she could think about was tasting his skin. She closed her eyes and took a drink of the ice water, hoping it would help. It didn't. She touched her tongue to the beads melting on the outside of the glass, wishing it was his chest.
"Damn it, Libby. You're killing me. I don't have as much discipline as you think I do. Maybe we should find a bed and get it over with."
His abrupt tone, almost a snarl, brought her up short. What was she thinking? Libby knew her nature inside and out. She wasn't a one-night-stand woman. She didn't have flings. And she had always, always been far too aware of Tyson Derrick to think she'd walk away unscathed. He wanted sex. Plain and simple and who could blame him with the way she'd been acting? She'd been mentally undressing him most of the evening. She pressed the glass against her burning face.
"Libby?"
She cleared her voice. "While I really appreciate the invitation, especially the utter finesse with which you delivered it, I still think I'll have to pass."
"Why?"
The challenge in his voice dug under her skin, raising prickles until she felt her temper beginning to stir. Or maybe it wasn't his challenge, maybe she just wanted him so bad she was edgy and restless and wanting to pick a fight with him. Need clawed in the pit of her stomach, raging at her so she had to look away.
Libby's gaze collided with a man at the table to her left, only feet away. Recognition jolted through her. Her breath left her body in a rush and she sat up straighter, her eyes suddenly wide with fear as she turned back toward Ty.
His reaction astonished him. One moment Tyson could feel the lust of a lifetime raking his gut, hardening his body, hammers driving through his skull until his head thundered and his blood thickened and poured into his lower region with such ferocious heat he feared he might spontaneously combust, and then she looked at him with fear instead of passion. She looked vulnerable and fragile instead of sultry and seductive.
Everything in him responded on the most primitive, protective level, just as it had on a sexual level. He had never felt protective in his life, yet he wanted to stand up and smash something--or someone. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and shelter her against his stronger body. Cracked ribs and torn muscles aside, he suddenly was a caveman, adrenaline rushing and the need to protect her swamping him, even dampening the intensity of his physical attraction.
He reached out to take her hand, wrapping his fingers securely through hers to let her know she wasn't alone. He heard several chairs scrape and turned his head as three men surrounded the table, pulling out chairs and seating themselves without an invitation.
"I don't suppose you noticed you're interrupting a private dinner." Tyson greeted them sarcastically. He raised his hand to summon the waiter.
One of the men moved his jacket casually to reveal a gun in a shoulder harness. Instead of sobering him, Tyson felt fury sweep through his body. He nearly came across the table to strangle the man. He was well aware of Libby's pale face and her fingers tightening around his as if to restrain him. "Is that supposed to intimidate me?"
"I want a few words with the young lady," the tallest of the three men said in a low tone. "I'm John Sandoval and these are my colleagues. I'm here on behalf of my boss, Edward Martinelli. I only need a few minutes of her time to avoid a lot of unpleasantness. I'm certain she doesn't wish to make these photographs public." He tossed several eight-by-ten's on the table in front of Ty.
Tyson glanced down at the pictures. They were of him in his hospital room, obviously taken through the glass partition. He appeared to be in bad shape, unconscious, tubes and lines running from his body to machines. Libby stood over his unconscious body. It must have been the reflection of the flash in the window because she seemed to glow, as if her body gave off a strange light, the aura surrounding her white hot. Her hands were on his head and her eyes were closed.
His heart jolted hard in his chest and then began to pound. There was pain on her face. Not just pain, but gut-wrenching agony. And in each succeeding photograph, the pain appeared to grow worse until blood flecked the corner of her mouth and tears tracked down her face. The last picture showed him alert and wholly conscious and Libby huddling against the wall looking lost and vulnerable.
"You see now." John leaned forward, flicking the pictures with his finger. "It would not be good for the tabloids to get these photos along with a copy of your brain scan after your accident."
"And just how would you have gotten his confidential records?" Libby demanded. Her fingers tightened on Tyson's until her knuckles turned white, but she kept her voice even.
John shrugged. "These hospitals are so careless leaving patient files everywhere. My boss simply is asking for a few minutes of your time. He's a generous man, but not a patient or forgiving one. You do not want to be his enemy."
"And he does not want to threaten me," Libby said and her green eyes began to smolder with quiet fury. The wine in Tyson's glass bubbled and frothed blood red. She tried not to let them see they'd kicked her in the gut. If those pictures were printed in a tabloid, she and her sisters would become the next media freak show.
"Edward Martinelli is a friend of mine," Ty said. "We go rafting and climbing together. I intend to give him a call and let him know you're harassing and threatening Miss Drake." Tyson pushed the photographs back across the table, contempt showing in every line of his face. "Anyone can doctor photographs. All they need is a software program and they can produce any effect they want. I'm not impressed with your so-called evidence."
Libby didn't dare look at Tyson. She was catching some of his thoughts. He didn't believe in the Drake sisters' gifts and felt if they hadn't been so eager to get the world to believe they could perform magic, these kinds of threats wouldn't happen. He hadn't noticed the wine in the glasses or the coffee in the mugs bubbling. She took a breath and let it out slowly to calm herself down. Very casually she laid her palm over the nearest wineglass to still the bubbles.
Tyson ran a finger down Libby's arm to get her attention, giving her a brief smile. "The sheriff will be here any minute. He's rather fond of Libby and trying to blackmail her isn't going to go over big."
"You misunderstand," John said, reaching for the pictures.
A hand reached over his shoulder and scooped up the pictures. "Libby, I'm sorry we're late for dessert. Have you ordered yet?" Elle Drake handed the photographs to the man standing behind her.
Jackson Deveau towered over Elle, but only because she was short. He was a stocky man with broad shoulders and obvious power, unlike Jonas Harrington's much more subtle strength. Jackson's features were set in hard lines, his eyes glittering with menace. "Gentlemen, I believe you're in our seats."
The same man who had moved his jacket to show his gun, did so a second time, a casual gesture meant to intimidate. Instantly Jackson's hand circled the nape of the man's neck and slammed his head violently to the tabletop. The muzzle of the gun in the deputy's other hand pressed deep against his skull. "Libby, Ty, move back from the table now."
Tyson had already risen, pulling Libby out of her chair and behind him. Ty glanced around the room. The other occupants were silent, watching the drama unfold. Mason Fredrickson, one of Sea Haven's residents, and an older man Ty didn't recognize flanked Jackson. Both men were reserve law enforcement, willing to back up local authorities when there was no one else available.
John didn't move but the other man reached inside his coat and Mason pinned his hand. "I wouldn't. You don't know Jackson. He'd shoot all three of you and then we'd have to clean up this place before we
could have dinner. Just keep your hands on the table."
Jackson cuffed the first man and put the second one in flex cuffs. All the while John Sandoval merely stared at Libby. "They have permits to carry the guns." His gaze remained on her face. "This is all so unnecessary. He only wants to speak with you, a few minutes of your time. To anger him would be foolish." He lifted Libby's water glass in a casual gesture and took a drink, no expression on his face.
Sandoval choked. He dropped the tumbler of water so that glass shattered across the table and the liquid soaked into the cloth. Both hands went to his collar. He tore desperately at it, his coloring mottled. Libby pushed Tyson out of her way and rushed to Sandoval's side as Jackson and the other two men pulled their prisoners away from the table. Sandoval went down to his knees, Libby's arm preventing him from falling. She took one look at his face, the gasping for air and turned her head, her gaze locking with her younger sister's. They stared at one another for a long moment.
Libby lowered Sandoval to the floor and loosened his collar. His lips turned blue and he made terrible gasping sounds. Using her body to cut off the view of the others in the room as best she could, Libby traced symbols in the air over his head. The lines glowed silver and sparkled, revealing another darker set of symbols. Libby hissed and glanced back at Elle.
The silver sparkles leapt over the darker ones, extinguishing them. Libby bent over the man, her lips against his ear as she seemed to be aiding him. "It would be very foolish of you to threaten anyone in my family," she whispered.
Libby stood up and moved back behind Tyson to Elle. She caught her younger sister by the arm. They stood, nearly nose to nose, staring at one another. Elle reached out and jerked Libby to her, holding her close. I feel and see danger all around you, around your aura, and I can't find the source. I'm so afraid for you.
Elle rarely used telepathic communication, so Libby often forgot she was a strong telepath, but her sister's voice was clear in her mind, the fear echoing loudly. Libby laced her fingers through her sister's, connecting them together so they could feel power leaping back and forth. On some level Libby was aware of Jackson removing the three men from the restaurant and the waiters hastily cleaning the table off, but it all seemed far away.