Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(33)

He draped a smooth, perfect lock of hair over her shoulder, and chose another one to lavish his attention on.

“You,” he said.

Oh dear. This was like one of her private middle-of-the-night fantasies. Sean, materializing in her bedroom and telling her she was important to him. She could not fall for this lethally dangerous hooey.

“Oh, get out,” she quavered. “Let go of me. This is a bad idea.”

He grabbed her around the waist as she tried to get up. “I remember every detail,” he said. “From the moment I first saw you. What you wore, how your hair was dressed, the smell of your shampoo. Everything. 3-D, full sensory overload. I can’t shake it.”

She twisted and gave him a quelling glance. “Shut up, Sean. That is just so much calculated bullshit, and I’m not falling for it.”

“The first day, at the construction site, you wore a white blouse,” he said softly. “Your skirt was blue. Your hair hung down to your ass.”

“Construction site?” She frowned. “I met you at Schaeffer Auditorium. At your brother’s class.”

“I’d seen you before,” he told her. Every slow stroke of the comb through her damp hair was a caress. “All the guys on the crew were talking about the big boss’s gorgeous daughter, back from prep school. Then one day you came to the site with your dad. You didn’t even notice us poor bastards staring after you. Tongues dangling to our knees.”

She racked her brains, trying to remember. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true,” he said. “You wafted past, looking off into the distance. There goes the porcelain princess. You can look, but you can’t touch.”

“I am not made out of porcelain,” she whispered.

“I know that. I know exactly how warm and soft you are.” He tossed the comb onto the bed, and ran his fingers through her hair, fanning it out over her shoulders. “I’ll tell you a guilty secret,” he murmured. “I wasn’t auditing Kev’s class to learn organic chemistry. I knew that material by the time I was twelve. I came for you, Liv.”

Sean McCloud in full-out seduction mode was deadly dangerous. She groped around for something to deflect, distract. “Is it true that you bombed the teacher’s bathroom when you were in sixth grade?”

He froze, and started to vibrate with laughter. “Wow. Of all the ghosts from my past, that’s the one I least expected. Who told you that? Was it that asswipe Blair Madden? He always was a f*cking snitch.”

“Just answer the question, please,” she said primly.

“Aw, hell. It was just a couple of molecules of gunpowder packed into a milkshake straw, duct taped shut with a fuse attached. I wouldn’t dignify that by calling it a bomb. I did wire the door to that stall shut, so no one would use it, and when Harris headed in to take his afternoon dump, I sneaked in and lit the fuse. I wanted to teach him a lesson. I didn’t want to blow his ass off.”

She twisted around to see his face. “Why did you do it?”

He shrugged. “I was angry at him. Kev aced all the math tests. Harris accused him of cheating. As if Kev needed to cheat on seventh grade math. He was already studying theoretical physics. On his own.”

“I see,” she murmured.

“Harris got Kev suspended. That pissed me off.”

His hands were busy in her hair, stroking slowly down its length. She turned, caught him pressing a lock of hair to his lips. He dropped it, lifted his hands, his face mock-guilty. “Oops,” he whispered. “Sorry.”

She looked away, stifling a giggle. This was nuts. She’d almost died today, and this man was making her act like a silly girl.

It was so easy to laugh with him. It was one of the most seductive things about him, and practically everything was seductive about him.

She’d been so shy back then. Not only with boys. With everyone. But once she got over her initial slack-jawed stupor at how gorgeous he was, Sean had been just pure, goofy fun to be with. He made her feel smart and witty. Never made her feel like she’d run up against a blank wall of incomprehension. Never made her feel like what she said was being picked apart and twisted to serve someone else’s hidden agenda. He just listened to her, thought about what she’d said, and responded.

It was effortless, it was wonderful. It was magic.

And it still was. Damn him to hell, it still was. Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Or at least to repeat that saying.

She steeled herself. “Has it occurred to you how weird this is? Sweet-talking me, after what you said to me the last time we met?”

His stroking hands stopped, and his body went very still. “No, actually,” he said warily. “I was just enjoying being close to you.”

“So that conversation is one of those insignificant things you decided not to remember?” She was horrified to feel her throat start to quiver.

He didn’t answer. She felt the heat of his face, pressing hard against her shoulder. “I remember it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She shoved his knees apart to free herself, and kept her back to him while she adjusted her robe, and her face. “You must have a split personality. There’s the sweet, cuddly Sean, and there’s the cruel, horrible Sean. Is it fun to wind women up and then watch them flap around when you dump them? Do you secretly hate women?”