He actually roared. Libby heard it. Dark, demonic shadows clouded his face and sparks glittered in the depths of his eyes. He spun Sam around, his shoulder heaving. Sam's head jerked back and Libby heard the sharp crack of fist breaking bone. Sam grunted. Tyson hit him a second time, driving him backwards so that he stumbled over Libby, stepping hard on her thigh; he caught himself and took a couple steps to her left.
Tyson yanked her to her feet and shoved her back behind him. "Get out of here, Libby." His voice was low and utterly cold.
"Stop. Both of you," Libby demanded, horrified. "This is crazy. Sam's nose is broken. Let me take a look at it and both of you calm down."
Was this the kind of thing that happened to Joley? It sickened Libby. She'd never even witnessed a fistfight, not even in school. It was much more primitive and raw then she ever imagined.
"I'm not asking, Libby. Get the hell out of here before you get hurt. You've got bruises all over you. No one, no one, puts their hands on you, related or not."
The entire time Tyson didn't take his eyes off his cousin. Cold. Angry. The tension rose until Libby wanted to scream. She thought she knew Tyson, but realized the man who was always so unfailingly gentle with her, was quite capable of extreme violence.
Sam pressed his back against the counter and shook his head, one hand to his nose, the other up in surrender. "I'm not fighting with you, Ty. I've made enough of a jackass of myself. I don't know what the hell got into me." He shook his head again and walked around the island counter to the sink, running water on a paper towel. "I must have sounded like a raving lunatic. I don't need help, I've had a broken nose before."
Tyson glared at his cousin. "You were hurting her, Sam. Hurting her."
"Was I, Libby?" Sam pressed his fingers to his nose, trying to stem the flow of blood. "I'm sorry, I lost my mind. I just don't do change well. That's no excuse, but I've been looking out for Tyson for so long I almost forget he's a grown man. My mother used to tell me he's different, that it was up to me to watch over him and I guess I took it a little too seriously."
"Different doesn't mean slow, Sam," Tyson pointed out.
Libby made no attempt to walk over to help Sam. She couldn't tell exactly why when her instincts insisted. She stood behind Ty and watched his cousin's face. The anger was gone to be replaced by the easygoing charm, but she could still feel his hands on her shoulders, fingers digging all the way to the bone.
"If you're all right, Sam, I promised Irene I'd be seeing Drew today." She glanced at her watch, eager to get out of his presence. She might be able to see his point of view another time, she might even be able to eventually see his side, but she was never going to be friends with Sam Chapman, Tyson's only relative and the only person in the world he loved, and that was heartbreaking. Libby felt she was letting Tyson down. "I can meet you over at the Madisons', Ty, if you still want to come."
Tyson reached out to wrap his hand around the nape of her neck, holding her still. "I'm coming with you now. I've wanted to drive your car."
"What makes you think I'm letting you drive my car?"
He held his hand out for the keys. "Because that poor car deserves to be driven by someone who goes more than thirty miles an hour." He snapped his fingers, palm up. "It begs me every time I get close to it."
Libby dropped the keys obediently into his hand for two reasons. He never took his eyes from Sam, never once looked at her, but kept his cousin pinned with a dark promise of retribution. She didn't want to leave him there. And Sam was watching. She wasn't denying Tyson in front of Sam.
Ty swept his arm around her, turning his back on Sam. "Let's get out of here."
Libby didn't say anything until they were out on the highway. Tyson drove like he did everything, with complete commitment and focus. He stared straight ahead, hands loose on the wheel and gear shift, the car smoother going through the tight turns than it had ever been.
"Are you all right, Ty?" Libby ventured. His jaw was set, his expression blank, but his eyes were alive with pain. She wanted to cry for him.
"You're the one he was trying to slam into the wall."
She winced at the clipped grimness in his voice. "People say things in anger they don't mean. He's worried about you and I can't blame him."
He glanced at her, a brief sideways flick of his eyes as the Porsche slid smoothly through a series of S turns. "Don't do that. Don't make excuses for him. People are responsible for what they do whether they're emotionally upset like Irene, drunk, or angry. He could have hurt you. You're not exactly big, Libby."
Too much pain filled the small confines of the car. She opened the window and drew fresh air into her lungs. "It's not true, you know."
His gaze slid sideways again and then back to the road. "That you're not a hundred pounds soaking wet?"
"The things he said. About the money. About someone not wanting you for yourself. About someone loving you. I don't care about the money."
A muscle jerked in the side of his jaw. "I know the money doesn't mean anything to you, Libby. I've watched you too long to think you were ever after my money. You don't have to tell me that."
Abruptly he pulled the small sportster onto the shoulder of the road, put his head down, brow on the steering wheel, breathing deeply.
Libby put her hand on his shoulder. "Talk to me."
He shook his head. "The things he said . . ."
"None of it was true."
Head still on the wheel, he turned to look at her, anguish in his eyes. "What do I do that's so wrong all the time? I've seen exasperation in your eyes, the same as I've seen in Sam's, in my parents. What is it I do that you don't do, that Sam doesn't? The rest of the world? What makes me so damned unlovable?"
Libby brushed caressing fingers through his hair. "People can love someone and still be exasperated, Ty. They can get angry and have terrible fights. You've removed yourself emotionally from the world for so long you don't recognize things that are normal. It's when you feel very strong emotions that you can have passionate reactions. Believe me, my parents were often exasperated with Joley, but she is very, very loved."
"I don't feel sorry for myself, Libby. I never thought how much my life was missing until recently."
Libby leaned closer to him, rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "Maybe you aren't for everyone, Ty. Neither am I. Most couples find one another because they're right for one another. Maybe someone else couldn't live with you forgetting dates."
"I've never remembered my own birthday let alone someone else's."
She laughed softly. "Somehow, hon, that doesn't surprise me in the least. I can live with reminding you about the big things."
"What if we have children?" He put his palm on her stomach. "What if you're already pregnant? I'd make a terrible parent. I'd probably forget to come to their birth."
"Fortunately, I'm a doctor, so I'd get through it and then I'd skin you alive and you'd remember for the second one. And just for your information, I'm on birth control. I suppose it wasn't very responsible of us to not talk about all of that before we jumped into having sex."
"I made love to you, Libby. I didn't fuck you and I didn't have sex with you, I made love to you. I'm in love with you. Whatever else is going on, at least believe that."
"I may not be experienced sexually, Ty, but I think I know the difference. You didn't have to reassure me." He was still radiating so much pain that Libby needed to get out of the car. But she didn't want to take the chance he might view her distance as a rejection. The things Sam said, the way his cousin had treated him, brought his childhood, so carefully hidden away, straight to the surface.
"He hurt you, Libby."
"He hurt you, Ty," she pointed out gently. "Your parents hurt you. People we love can do that. We give them power over us by loving them. That's part of living. You can't sit on the sidelines and you can't hide in a laboratory forever. Life is messy, Tyson. If you don't trust me with your love, you're never going to know if we work or not. Whatever
Sam thinks, or Sarah thinks, ultimately doesn't matter. It's what we think."
His hands fisted in her hair and he pulled her close to him, holding her head still. "I think I want you more than I've ever wanted anything else in my life. What do you think, Libby?"
His piercing blue eyes blazed down into hers and she felt that same curious melting sensation she always felt when she looked at him. More than that, more than the ache between her legs and the tightness in her breasts, was the feeling of rightness. Love could be overwhelming and for a long moment she could only look at him.
Tyson never took his gaze from her face. Didn't blink. His world, his future, the rest of his life had come down to this one strange moment, sitting on the side of the road. Her delicate scent drifted to him and her hair felt like crushed silk in his hands. Libby Drake, with her large bedroom eyes and her sensual mouth and her innate innocence. She couldn't hide her thoughts from him if she tried. She had the most expressive face of any person he'd ever met.
And there was love in her eyes. There was no mistaking that. He might not have ever seen it before, but it was unmistakable and quickened his heartbeat until his pulse was thundering in his ears and tears burned close behind his eyes. To prevent making a fool of himself, he leaned down and took the words as they formed, from her mouth. Tasted them. Savored them. Held them inside of him.
Emotion rose from some well deep inside he'd slammed shut a long time ago. It flooded his body, his mind, his heart, until he shook with it. He kissed her until he thought he'd choke on tears. He didn't know if the tears were for his past, finally shed, or tears for his future, but he turned his face away from her and started the Porsche.
"I can't talk about this, Libby," he said, keeping his face averted. "So don't start."
Libby put her hand over his as he shifted. "You can't talk about loving me?"
The little smile in her voice twisted that emotional knot in his gut tighter. "I mean it, Lib. I'm not going to be one of those mushy men women push around." He injected command into his voice, but he sounded raspy instead, not quite striking the right note.
She burst out laughing, that soft sound that seemed to be music to his ears--and his body. "You mean you're never going to tell me you love me?"
"I just did. I said it and that should be enough."
"For the rest of my life?"
"Well, how many times exactly is a man supposed to say it to a woman?"
"In an entire lifetime? Or in a few years before they divorce because he never says it and she doesn't know?"
His gaze narrowed as he flicked it over her. "There is not going to be a divorce and she should know if she's smart like you. Being nice isn't my forte, as much as I hate to admit Sam might be right in any way, but . . . I'm not about to screw this up."
She hid a smile. "Well, I guess you're going to have to make the supreme sacrifice then, and say it at least three times a day. And there's going to be kisses involved."
"Kisses I can handle. I'll be happy to make love to you three times a day, but why do we have to talk about it?" He shook his head. "We're going to do some negotiating on that one."
He pulled the car into Irene Madison's driveway and turned to look at her. "And you're going to marry me. None of this living together first to see if we're compatible. I'm not compatible with anyone, so there's no point in you trying to find that out. You're just going to have to make it permanent and find a way to cope."
"Gee, honey, I'm overwhelmed with your sweet talk. You're sweeping me off my feet."
"You're being sarcastic and I'm being serious. I want to get married as quickly as possible. I have a private plane somewhere." He looked around as if he might spot it out the window.
"A plane?" she echoed faintly. "Somewhere?"
"Yes, we could fly to Reno."
"No, we couldn't. I have this enormous family, Ty. I'm not flying to Reno. You don't actually have a pilot's license, do you?"
"Sure."
"Get out of the car. We're not talking anymore." She pushed the door open and stepped out before he could stop her. What in the world was she thinking? Tyson Derrick was going to make her crazy.
Tyson draped his arm possessively around her shoulders as they approached the house. Just before they got to the door, he pulled her to a stop. "Listen to me, Libby. I don't care what state we find this boy in. Don't risk your health or that of your sisters to ease him. Jonas is still in the hospital. All of you seem to be running on empty. If you start to feel overwhelmed and on the verge of doing something you shouldn't, give me a sign and I'll get us out of there."
Libby scowled at him. "Don't think you're going to get all bossy on me. I don't go for the he-man type."
His sudden grin was almost boyish, the smile lighting his eyes. "Yes, you do. You just never admitted it to yourself before now. I'm very bossy."
"So am I."
"But I'm always right," he said smugly and knocked on the door. As the door began to open he put his mouth against her ear. "Because I'm brilliant."
He flicked his tongue over an ultrasensitive spot, sending chills down her spine. Libby lifted her shoulder and gave him a warning glare.
"Libby. Tyson Derrick." Irene stepped back, her expression wary, ashamed, hopeful. "Please come in."
Ty allowed his arm to slip off Libby's shoulder, but he ran his fingers down her arm until he captured her hand, tugging her close to his side. Irene didn't have her purse handy, but if she decided to bash Libby, he was ready.
A small girlish giggle escaped from Libby. She leaned into him, her lips brushing his ear. "Stop looking so intimidating. The poor woman is terrified of you."
"Good. You seem to incite people toward violence. I think looking intimidating might be helpful in these situations."
She laughed and squeezed his hand. Tyson found himself wondering how she did it. Turned everything around so that he was having fun. Felt light. Playful. He wanted to swing her into his arms and kiss her right there in front of Irene because he was happy.
"Irene, Tyson works for BioLab and is a biochemist. He researches drugs all the time. In fact, his original work is the platform for the PDG drug. Like me, he's concerned that the drug in development for cancer patients performs differently on the adolescent brain. There's no significant proof of that. The clinical trials have been conducted with mainly adults. There have been only a very few patients in the trials who have developed severe depression with suicidal tendencies, but all have been teens."
Tyson leaned forward. "We know the adolescent brain isn't fully developed. I think it reacts differently than an adult brain to the stimulation of the drug. This particular drug was derived from a plant in the rain forest of Peru and . . ."
Libby squeezed his knee, flashed a smile at Irene and broke in. "How much do you actually know about clinical trials?"
Irene ducked her head again, twisting her fingers together.
"Next to nothing," she admitted. "We need money desperately and Drew has been so tired of not being able to be like other kids. When I read about this, it seemed like such a miracle."
"Prior to a clinical trial a drug or procedure is tested on animal and human cells. If the drug shows no serious concerns then they'll go into phase one of the clinical trials." Libby tried to judge Irene's reaction, but it was impossible. The woman bustled around rather than sitting still, pouring tea, cutting coffee cake and handing them plates and forks. "Phase one is anywhere from around twenty to eighty people. About seventy percent of all drugs pass this initial testing. They look for things like safety, how it's metabolized or absorbed, the best way to administer it, that sort of thing. Very few teens are ever asked to participate and certainly a test study of concentrated numbers of teenagers wouldn't be done except in very rare cases."
"I was told all that had been done and they were in the next phase. That they had already determined it was safe," Irene protested.
Libby glanced at Tyson. He raised his eyebrow. "Mrs. Madison. Irene. A trial that small c
annot possibly determine the safety and side effects to a large number of individuals, especially to the adolescent brain. In a phase two trial, such as the one your son is participating in, the drug is given to a larger group of people. They're looking to further evaluate its safety and effectiveness. It's still an experiment, Irene. They have little idea of how the drug is going to interact with an adolescent brain."
Irene pressed her fingertips to her face, hiding her expression. "I'm sorry, Libby, I should have listened to you."
"You can leave a trial anytime you want, Irene. Surely you've pulled him out by now."
"I haven't done anything. He isn't taking the drug, but he seems so different, so discouraged. I just wanted to find a way to end this all. I'm going to lose my house, everything we have, and he still isn't better. I've done everything I can think of to do."
"You should have told us about the financial difficulties, Irene," Libby said gently. "As a community, we all would have helped. Let me take this to Inez. You know she's a wonderful organizer. Joley can probably help raise money. We have resources as a community to help."
"I just didn't feel I could ask," Irene said.
"But you felt you could sell Libby out to the sharks?" Tyson asked, his voice a low whiplash of recrimination.
Libby was so startled she nearly dropped her teacup. She flashed him a chastising look, but Tyson ignored her, pinning the other woman with his piercing, icy gaze. "If you have a problem, Irene, taking it to your friends seems a better alternative than deliberately exposing a friend to what may be dangerous and unwanted attention."
"It was so much money. A man called me and said he had heard all sorts of stories about Libby. He offered me money just to tell him."
"What man?" Tyson asked, ignoring Libby digging her fingers into his thigh.
"He said his name was Edward Martinelli. I just told him a little about the Drakes and how over the years they'd put Drew's leukemia into remission over and over. He sent me a check for five thousand dollars. I'd never seen so much money. So I began to think if he would pay me for the story, maybe others would, too."
"And they did."
"Only if I had pictures and some kind of proof. I had the hospital records and many pictures of Libby with Drew. They gave me ten thousand once I came up with a picture of Joley and Libby together with Drew. Fifteen thousand dollars was too much money to pass up. We had so many bills and I was afraid of losing the house. It was a godsend." She ducked her head. "I didn't know the headlines would sound so lurid. 'Goddess and Queen of Debauched.' That was so terrible."