Wicked Burn(55)

He stepped toward her. Her lips felt warm and soft beneath the cool snowflakes.

“Would it be all right with you if we walked home?” she asked breathlessly when he finally raised his head, all evidence of ice long ago melted to vapor between their pressing, plucking lips.

Vic nodded. The snow fell heavy and silent, muting the sounds of the city as they made their way down Washington Street. Neither of them spoke for several blocks, enjoying each other’s company and the rare beauty of the night.

Vic felt so calm and content that the unexpected sound of a car backfiring loudly while they stood at the streetlight on Franklin really jarred him. By the time he’d finished blinking, he’d already realized what the noise was and turned to make a joke about it to Niall. His words stilled on his tongue when he took in the rigid pallor of Niall’s face.

“Niall?” he asked sharply.

She didn’t speak. Vic saw that the pupils of her eyes had dilated in fear as she stared down the street in the direction of the backfiring car.

“Niall!” he repeated.

She started, and dropped the shopping bag in her right hand. The silk scarf that she’d bought for her mother spilled out of it, making a crimson slash along the snow-covered pavement.

“It was a car backfiring,” Vic said more harshly than he intended as he squeezed Niall’s upper arm. The wild, cornered expression made a primitive alarm blare in his brain. He said her name again, this time more softly, a note of entreaty lacing through his tone.

She stared up at him in complete, utter nonrecognition.

Vic took one look at her and hailed a passing cab. He bent and picked up the bag and its contents before he herded Niall into the backseat.

By the time Vic unlocked his apartment door at the Riverview Towers, Niall had mostly recovered. Still, she didn’t protest when Vic guided her into the living room and gently pushed her onto the couch before he went to the kitchen and began rattling around in the cabinets.

“Thank you,” she muttered hoarsely when he handed her a glass of Scotch half a minute later. She shivered. The liquor tore like fire down her throat, thawing not only her profound chill but also the numbness that suffused her. She noticed that the liquor trembled in the glass. It mortified her that she couldn’t seem to stop shaking, especially when she felt Vic’s steady gaze on her.

She set the glass down abruptly on the coffee table. Her ears buzzed strangely in the ensuing silence.

“Why don’t you tell me about it,” Vic finally said quietly.

Niall inhaled deeply and stared out at the glittering skyline.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Vic shifted toward her on the couch. “Sorry for what, exactly? Are you apologizing for the fact that that a car backfiring on the street sent you into a state of shock? Because surely you know there’s no reason to apologize for that.” His fingers curved around her chin, tilting her face toward him. “Or are you apologizing for the fact that you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s hurting you? Is that why you’re saying you’re sorry, Niall?”

Her lips fell open. The words caught in her throat, causing a choking sensation.

“I want to tell you about it,” she said brokenly.

His eyes narrowed. “But?”

She cursed the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Dammit, why did they leave her body so easily when the words wouldn’t? Niall thought bitterly. She saw Vic’s expression shift when he saw her tears. She wiped at them with the back of her hand and stood jerkily. The last thing she wanted at that moment was his pity. His compassion, yes.

Although there was no guarantee that was what his reaction would be, was there?

She sensed him approaching her from behind where she stood at the windows overlooking the city.

“I know that something bad must have happened to you . . . something that causes those nightmares you have . . . something that makes you sad and scared. I see it in your eyes.”

She swallowed heavily. His voice sounded so kind and gentle. She wanted to unburden herself so much that it felt like an ache in her chest. To have Vic hold her, comfort her—love her as much as she loved him, despite everything—seemed like a beautiful, elusive dream.

If only she didn’t feel like she would lose every ounce of her control once she started talking. If only she was one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t judge her.

It should have been you, Niall.

A spasm wracked her chest and throat when she felt his long fingers gently caressing her neck, soothing her. She wondered if she wasn’t even more shocked than Vic appeared to be when she abruptly moved away from him.

“I . . . want to talk to you about this, Vic. I just can’t right now,” she said in a rush. She wasn’t looking at him but could easily imagine his rugged features pulling tight with concern and frustration.

“All right,” she heard Vic say after a long pause. “I’m not going to push you about it, baby.”

Niall just nodded her head. She stilled in the process of picking up one of her shopping bags.

“What the hell are you doing?” Vic asked sharply.

Niall could barely get some saliva down her throat in order to speak, she was so choked with emotion. “I . . . I think I better go.”

That galvanized Vic into action. He was beside her immediately. “No, Niall. You shouldn’t be alone. If you don’t want to talk right now, fine, but . . .”