They drove to the church, and Bibi, biting her lower lip, her head bent in feigned prayer, waited. Eventually Frank, Maureen, and their brood arrived, but Collin wouldn’t look at her, nor would he catch Stuart’s eye. He knelt at the pew, eyes cast downward in the centuries-old church and never so much as risked a glance in her direction.
It was later at Frank’s house as she was walking by the door to the den, looking for Stuart and Collin, that she overheard a conversation between her uncle and father. They were seated by the fire, swirling their drinks and smoking huge, smelly cigars.
“The boy needed to be taught a lesson,” Frank insisted, obviously defending himself.
“Not in front of the entire family.” Robert puffed angrily. His back was to her but Bibi saw the cloud of blue smoke he created. It rose to the ceiling like odoriferous mist.
“Look, Bobby, you do what you think best with your kids and I’ll handle mine.” Frank stood and walked to the mantel.
“The way you ‘handle’ the other boy?”
Bibi just stared at her uncle with wide eyes. What other boy? Frank had only one son.
“Let’s not talk about him now.”
There was another son? But where? Bibi’s mind was racing in circles.
“Why not? Don’t want the whole family to hear?” Robert said. “Think about it, Frank. Of course you don’t. Just like Collin didn’t need to be humiliated in front of his cousins.”
By this time Alicia, her white dress without so much as a spot, sneaked up behind Bibi. “What’re you doing?” she whispered, then looked through the crack between the door and the casing and saw the men inside. “Boy, you’re asking for it.”
Bibi inched away from the door. “Do you have a brother?” she asked. “I mean, besides Collin.”
“No.”
“But Daddy asked Uncle Frank about his other boy.”
“Oh.” Alicia tossed her long hair over a shoulder. “Him.”
“What—him?”
“It’s nothing,” Alicia said, her superior attitude back in place, though she avoided Bibi’s curious gaze. “Excuse me Mother wants me to practice my Mozart.” With that she scurried away in a rustle of white lace, her footsteps retreating to the parlor.
Later, Bibi caught up with her brother and demanded answers. She explained what she’d overheard and Stuart, curse him, didn’t seem the least bit surprised. He was forever keeping secrets from her.
“It’s about the bastard,” he finally revealed.
“The what?”
Stuart’s eyes gleamed. “What’ll you do for me if I tell you?”
“Just tell me!” she demanded, and after a little teasing he regaled her with the sordid tale of Frank’s whore and bastard son, Daegan O’Rourke, her other boy cousin who was scandalously illegitimate, not that she could be expected to understand everything this meant. From the look on Stuart’s face when he whispered the information to her in the attic of Frank’s house, Bibi understood that something wicked and nasty had gone on.
Now, years later in the pool house, as Collin returned with a refill of her drink, she gazed up at him and saw the young hero he’d been to her when he’d taken a beating that should have been hers. She ignored her half-smoked cigarette as he took a seat in the overstuffed chair and propped a foot on the matching ottoman. He seemed uncomfortable.
“Something’s bothering you,” she said.
“Something’s always bothering me.”
“Why?”
He lifted a shoulder, dismissing the subject, then took a long gulp of his fresh drink. If he wasn’t careful, she thought, he’d get himself drunk. Unlike Stuart, Collin couldn’t hold his liquor.
“Maybe I can help.”
“Oh, Bibi,” he said with a long sigh as he lolled his head back and she watched the glorious length of his throat. “If you only knew.”
“I’ll trade you my secret for yours.”
A blond eyebrow shot skyward and he skewered her with a look that made her want to squirm against the pillows. “You’ve got a secret?”
“More than one.”
“Interesting.” He glanced to the shadowed doorway on the other side of the bed, then, leaving his drink on a rattan end table, climbed to his feet. “Tell me, Cousin, what are they?” Walking slowly, he crossed to the bed and stopped, looming above her. His crotch was at eye level and she tried not to stare and wonder if he was getting hard. Something in his manner had changed and the air in the room seemed close and thick. She had trouble breathing. She thought she heard a door creak open, but couldn’t really tell over the hammering of her heart. “Do these secrets have anything to do with me?”
She swallowed hard, then took a long drink. “Maybe.”
“Don’t you know?” He reached down and tangled a finger in her hair, tugging a little. Deliciously painful.
She could barely breathe. “Collin—”
“Don’t.”
“I have to,” she admitted, knowing it was the time to unburden her heart.
“I don’t think—” It was as if he were struggling with himself, waging some inner battle. Because they were cousins—related—he had to deny any feelings he had for her. That was it!
“Just listen,” she pleaded.
He sank onto the bed and his face was barely inches from hers. “What, darling?”
Her heart was thudding like a jackhammer, her breathing raspy and shallow. Had he really called her darling? Did he, too, care more than he’d admitted. “I—um…” Oh, God, what could she say? She smelled the expensive Kentucky blend on his breath, felt his finger slide from her hair along her chin to rest at her lips.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“I want to, don’t you understand. It’s something that I…that I’ve been thinking for a long, long time.”
“Oh, God.”
“Collin, I—”
“Just do what you want to, Bibi,” he said in a low voice that she barely recognized, a voiced filled with defeat.
She reached forward tentatively, her arms encircling his neck. “I want to kiss you.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Just let me.” She pressed her lips to his and felt him shudder. Her fingers dug into the muscles between his shoulders and he groaned. He wanted her, she could feel it! As if the wall of doubt he’d erected had suddenly fallen into rubble, he kissed her back. Hotly. Hungrily. Fiercely.
“Is this all you want? Just to kiss?”
She could hardly think between the alcohol and the magic of his touch. “Yes…no.”
“Make up your mind, Bibi. It’s now or never.”
“I want to—to—”
“What, darling?”
“Love you,” she said weakly, saying the words that had hovered in her mind for a dozen years.
He groaned as if in agony, then twined his hands in her hair, jerked her face close to his, and kissed her so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. As if giving into a temptation he’d been denying for far too long, he slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, displaying a chest of raw muscle without any disturbance of hair.
She was suddenly frightened, but his skin, glistening in the light from that single bulb, beckoned her.
“We can do anything at all. We’re all alone.” He threw off his shirt and he was bare to the waist, all tight skin and corded muscles. With a half smile, he glanced to the open door and dark hallway that led to the kitchen.
“You think Stuart will be back—”
“Not for a while,” Collin said, though his voice was strangled. “Don’t think about him.” His dusky gaze found hers again and he circled her lips with a finger that smelled vaguely of smoke.
She touched the tip of her tongue to his skin and a soft moan escaped him. Inside she was turning hot and sticky and liquid, like honey warmed over open coals. She took more of his finger into her mouth, sucking loudly, making sensual noises that seemed to arouse him.
“Th
at’s right, baby,” he whispered, one hand tangling in her hair as he pressed soft lips to hers. His mouth was open, his tongue quick.
Hot jets of passion spurted through her blood and she kissed him eagerly, tumbling back onto the bed as he pushed her down. His hands were strong, suddenly rough as he tore at the buttons of her blouse.
The first niggle of doubt pricked her cloudy mind. “Collin?”
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he said. The fabric parted and her breasts, tucked into the demure cups of a cotton bra, were exposed. He rubbed her chest hard with the flat of his big hand and her nipples peaked.
“Yes, but—” Where was the tenderness? The love? A dull roar started in her ears, sounding like the din of the sea, the same roar she heard whenever she was in trouble.
He ripped the blouse from her torso and she’d never felt more naked in her life. He was kissing her sloppily, wet and anxious, his fingers fumbling at the back fastening of her bra. This wasn’t right, she thought wildly as the hook gave way and he yanked the scanty fabric down her arms.
He was touching her, groaning, breathing fast, and yet it was as if he wasn’t really there, as if only his body was in the room, that his soul had departed.
“Collin, wait—” she whispered as his sweaty hands kneaded her back.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think…”
“Don’t tell me you’re a tease, Bibi.” He pulled his head away from hers to stare at her with condemning eyes. “Not you. Not with me.”
“I said I just want to love you.”
“You will,” he said in a breathy voice, but glanced over her shoulder, as if he expected someone to barge in on them.
“I mean, I want to, really I do, but—”
He stood suddenly then and glared down at her as if she were a piece of meat—rotten and foul. “Get up.”
“No—” The roar in her ears was deafening, and she noticed that when he looked at her breasts, his expression didn’t change, even though she’d been told before how spectacular they were. Large and full, crowned with big dark nipples, the two boys who had been given the privilege of viewing and touching them had raved about their beauty. Collin didn’t seem to notice, or to care, even when she crawled to the side of the bed and stood directly in front of him. No playful tweak, no guilty glance. Nothing.
“You can’t have it both ways, Bibi. Either you want to do it with me or you don’t. We can end it now or we can go all the way. It’s up to you.” His voice was cold and harsh as a judge meting out a sentence.
“But you don’t want me,” she accused him, swallowing hard, feeling hot tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Of course I do.”
“No, something’s wrong.”
He closed his eyes for a second, as if he was mentally counting to ten, trying to gain some self-control.
“You’re not the same.”
“You’re right,” he admitted as she covered herself with her hands. He glanced again to the doorway, as if he were attempting to find answers to their dilemma. “This is hard for me, too. I’m not sure it’s right.”
“Because we’re cousins.”
“No,” he said, hesitating and biting his lip as he had during childhood whenever he was faced with hard decisions. “Because I care about you.” He seemed sincere, though he didn’t meet her gaze. “I don’t like the idea of using you.”
“You won’t.”
“Oh, Bibi—”
“I won’t let you.” Sadness converged on his features and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if his sudden attack of nobility were too much to bear. This was the Collin she loved, this was her hero. “It’s all right.”
“No, Bibi, you don’t understand.”
“Sure I do.” She shifted, holding a breast in each hand, rubbing the hard tips of her nipples against his chest, letting him gaze down at the huge pillowy mounds. “I love you.” She wound her fingers in his and raised his hand, guiding him to her nipples, then she moved sensually, using her hand and his, feeling that little hot tickle of desire deep between her legs as she always did when she massaged her nipples. “Touch me, Collin, touch me all over and love me,” she whispered throatily.
“It’s not just you and me,” he protested.
“It is right now. Let me love you.”
“Bibi, don’t do this.” She dropped his hand and ran her fingers over his shoulders, feeling the power within his muscles as he kissed her. But the kiss had no life and his fingers had stopped kneading her breast. His sudden attack of conscience had drunk up all his desire. But Bibi knew how to get it back. She kissed him hungrily, then let her tongue slide down his chin, neck, and breastbone. She didn’t stop until she reached his fly, and dropping to her knees, she slid the button and zipper open with deft, well-practiced fingers, only to find that he wasn’t hard, that he was as limp as a wet dishrag.
“What?” she asked, gazing up at him.
His face was twisted in silent agony and his eyes glistened as if he was fighting tears.
“Collin?”
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, swallowing as his fingers played in her hair.
“Why not?”
“It’s not right.”
“Probably not,” she admitted, “but I can make you feel better.” His hands curled into fists. She thought she heard the scrape of a shoe against the tile floor. But that was silly. They were alone and he didn’t flinch, just stood over her, his eyes trained on the darkened hallway.
Sometimes being able to look into another person’s mind was a pain in the butt—a damned curse. Worse yet, Daegan couldn’t control this gift—not one bit. Whenever he least expected it, he’d get a glimmer—just a hint of what someone was thinking—not enough to do any good, but a glimmer nonetheless. He’d never be able to make his living reading palms or predicting the future and yet he had to live with the knowledge that he was occasionally offered glimpses into another person’s soul, as he was now.
It was Bibi who was calling out to him. He heard her voice in his dreams, and tonight after work he’d gone to the pool hall, lost a little money, and drunk more beer than he usually did, then he’d staggered home, kicked off his shoes, stripped off his shirt and jeans, and fallen facedown on his bed when he heard her voice, panic-stricken and pained, bouncing off the walls in his mind. He’d told himself that he was drunk, that he was imagining everything, but he’d barely drifted off when the racket on the other side of his door drove him back to consciousness. Someone was pounding frantically on the ancient, peeling panels, rattling the lock, trying to wake the damned dead.
“Hell,” he muttered, blinking at the illuminated face of his clock as he snapped on the light. Two-thirty. He’d have to be downstairs with the pumps turned on at six.
The pounding continued making a horrendous racket. Forcing himself to his feet, he rubbed a calloused hand over his face. He knew before he opened the door that Bibi was on the landing at the top of his stairs.
“Oh, Daegan,” she cried as the door swung open. She burst into the room smelling of smoke, liquor, and perfume. Dropping onto a corner of his mussed bed, she cradled her head in her hands.
“Bibi?” He plowed his fingers through his hair and massaged his eyes. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Waving off his question, she shook her head. “I’m so stupid, so damned stupid!” she wailed, her voice filled with pain. “Oh, God, what am I going to do?”
“What’re you doing here?”
“I needed to get out, to get away…” Her words were slurred and he realized dully that she was as drunk as he. A dangerous combination.
“Away from what?”
“Them!” She spat out the word as if it were vile then started to sob, deep, soul-wracking sobs that shook her whole body. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she began to rock back and forth, forward and backward and forward again. Over and over.
He had no choice but to try and help her, to calm her down. “C
ome on, Bibi, what is it?” he said, sitting on the bed beside her and draping an arm over her shoulders.
“Collin.” She looked as if she might gag. “And Stuart.”
“I thought you liked them.”
“I did. Oh, God,” she wailed. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” She was white as a sheet. “I’ve been such a fool, such a goddamned stupid fool.”
“Hey, slow down, tell me what happened,” he said, yawning.
“I can’t.” She shook her head quickly.
“But you came all the way down here—”
“Just hold me, okay?”
“Sure.” His arm tightened around her and she leaned into his shoulder, her tears hot as they drizzled from her eyes to his bare skin. As dull as he was, he knew that touching her was precarious, that she was hurt and he was nearly naked, that just the smell of her was causing a tightening in his gut and he was getting hard. Her breath whispered over his chest, ruffling his chest hairs. Determined to keep the stiffening in his groin at bay, he gritted his teeth.
“Can I stay with you?”
“I don’t think that would be such a good idea.” His little apartment wasn’t as bleak and austere as when he’d first moved in, but it was still a far cry from what she was used to. Though there was a secondhand throw rug on the floor, sheets and blankets on the bed, a stick or two of furniture, it was still a hovel—a dirty little apartment over the top of a service station. But then, even if he lived in a mansion, he wouldn’t think her staying with him would cause them anything but grief.
“Please. I just need to be away.”
What could he say? She obviously needed a friend and he—he needed a smoke. “Fine. You…you can sleep here. I’ll take the chair.”
“No. Please, Daegan, hold me tonight,” she begged, clinging to him. “Please, just hold me. I need someone.”
“But—”
“I’ll be good, I promise.”
“You are good,” he said.
“Then, please, hold me and protect me.”
Though his ale-soaked mind warned him that he was playing with fire, he sighed and turned off the light. They tumbled into the sheets together, sharing a pillow, and he swore that the swelling between his legs and his hot-blooded sexual urges wouldn’t get the better of him. He’d hold her, assure her, maybe even kiss the back of her neck, but that was all. He didn’t need the pain and agony of having slept with his cousin and yet she was so soft, so warm, so vital. When he pressed his lips to her hair and told her to sleep, she turned to him, her luscious mouth open, her arms circling his naked torso.