"Were you running away? Is that why you came to Sweet Haven?" he asked, then cursed himself.
Why was he taunting her about running away when that was the very thing he wanted her to do? He wanted her to run back to Jacksonville. And the sooner, the better. He didn't need the complications she could create in his life. If he had to worry about her safety, he wouldn't be as alert to protecting himself, and Ryker would use any advantage he could to win the upcoming battle.
Stopping by the table situated directly behind the sofa, Cyn ran her fingers over the array of cases that held an assortment of knives, and made a decision. "Yes, I suppose I was trying to run away. But now, I'm running back to the safety of what I know, of what I want to do with my life. Tomorrow, I'm going back to work. Half days."
"Are you sure it's what you want to do, or what you feel obligated to do for your late husband?" He stood up and moved around the sofa toward her.
She stared at him, puzzlement in her eyes. "What would make you ask such a question?"
"You said you had promised your husband."
"Tomorrow House was our dream, not just Evan's. You can't begin to imagine how many kids there are who need someone to care."
"Yeah, you're probably right. I haven't exactly spent my life helping the needy." He realized that she had no way of knowing that he had once been one of those kids who desperately needed someone, anyone, to care. He'd spent his whole life trying to escape from the past, not once confronting it or ever thinking about helping other kids with problems similar to his own.
"You said you were a navy SEAL, so you were helping others by serving your country." She had heard the self-condemnation in his words, the hidden pain masked behind his reply, and she couldn't bear to know he was hurting.
He was surprised to hear her defend him. He couldn't believe it. This woman who abhorred violence, who was scared of his knives, who condemned his brutality, was actually defending him. Damn, did she have any idea how that made him feel?
Nate came up behind her, gripped her by the shoulders and lowered his head so his lips were against her ear. "You're the most beautiful, desirable woman I've ever known." When he felt her trying to pull away, he tightened his hold. "Don't balk, Brown Eyes. I have no intention of ravishing you no matter how much I'd like to."
"I... I really should leave," she gasped, listening to the sound of her heartbeat roaring in her ears. When she tried to pull free, he let her go. She backed up several steps, then turned to face him.
He needs you, she reminded herself. It's obvious he's never been friends with a woman. The thought of exactly What he had been with other women unsettled Cyn. This man wasn't her type. He was nothing like Evan. So why was she so attracted to him? What was there about him that made her want to be with him? "I'll take care of you," he'd said, and in that moment, she had wanted his strength, had felt such relief in being allowed to lean on someone else.
"I don't want to be ravished... but if... if you need a friend..."
He looked at her, his eyes devoid of any emotion, his face a mask. She waited, wondering why he didn't say something, thinking perhaps she hadn't spoken the words aloud.
"We can never be just friends," he said.
"But Nate, I—"
"Go back to your cottage, Cynthia Porter, and stay away from me." He didn't want to send her away. He wanted to pick her up, carry her to his bed and spend the rest of the day and night making love to her. "I'm a dangerous man whose past is finally catching up with him."
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to understand. Just leave." Nate's voice was harsh. He'd meant it to be. He didn't dare let this woman become a part of his life. Not now. Not ever.
Cyn couldn't speak. She merely nodded in acquiescence, turned and ran out of the den. Stopping in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, gasping for air as she struggled to maintain control of her emotions. He didn't want her friendship. He'd made that abundantly clear.
"I...I won't bother you again," she said, not looking back as she moved hurriedly toward the front door.
It took all his willpower not to run after her, to ask her to stay, to demand that she take him into her loving arms and give his heart and soul the sanctuary he so desperately needed.
But he didn't. He let her go. For her sake, he had no other choice. * * *
Nate aimed the Arkansas toothpick, the long, sharp blade gleaming like quicksilver in the afternoon sunlight. With expert ease, he threw the weapon toward its target, knowing, without looking, that the knife had hit its mark. In the past two months of daily practice, he had regained his once-renowned skill. But how much good would it do him in a fight with Ryker?
Ryker might demand a face-to-face confrontation, but he wouldn't fight fair. It wasn't his style. Nate had to be prepared, as battle-ready as he'd ever been in Nam or afterward on the numerous assignments he'd undertaken during his days as a SEAL. Ryker was as skilled, as ruthless, as prepared to die as Nate. They were equal opponents, except that Nate had been able to hang on to his sanity. Ryker hadn't.
Retrieving the knife, he returned to his designated spot by the cypress tree in the backyard, took deadly aim and sailed the dagger through the air. Once again it pierced the makeshift wooden dummy's heart.
What would Cynthia Porter think if she knew that many times he had killed victims by covering their mouth with his hand, jerking their head up, exposing their neck and then, with a quick diagonal slice, severing their carotid artery? A bloody, messy kill. But very effective.
She would be appalled, utterly disgusted. Even if the threat of Ryker's imminent arrival didn't stand between them, his Special Forces past would.
The faint, distant ring of the telephone drifted through the open windows. Nate pulled the knife out of the dummy, slipped it back into its sheath and walked quickly inside the house.
"Yeah?" He took several deep breaths.
"Are you busy?" Nick Romero asked.
"Sort of," Nate said.
"Not in the middle of entertaining your blond neighbor, are you?"
In no uncertain terms Nate told his friend what he could do to himself.
"Keep talking like that and I'll hang up without telling you why I called." Romero's chuckle vibrated over the phone lines.
"What's up?" Nate ran his hand through his loose hair.
"Just got off the phone with John."
"What happened?" Nate didn't want John involved, didn't want anyone else getting in the way, maybe getting themselves killed.
"Seems some strange guy approached John's wife Laurel at the local supermarket. Said a friend of his wanted to send a message to Nate Hodges."
"Damn! Where was her protection? I thought you said you had her and John covered."
"We do now. Our man was late getting in position," Romero said. "Mrs. Mason wasn't hurt. The guy didn't touch her. She told John that he was very courteous."
"Did she give John a description?" Nate wondered if Ryker had sent a colleague or had come himself.
"It wasn't Ryker."
Nate heard the hesitation in the other man's voice. "But?"
"This guy told Mrs. Mason to tell you that your old buddy Ian Ryker was on his way to St. Augustine and he'd be looking you up soon."
"Make sure nothing happens to Laurel and John," Nate said, then slammed down the phone.
Not all the horrors from his past had prepared him for his present torment. He'd seen buddies die—in Nam and other godforsaken countries around the world. But not once had a friend been in jeopardy because of him. Now anyone who was a friend or acquaintance was in danger. He had to keep Cyn Porter out of his life!