“I don’t know, Thomas. I’m just going by your reaction.”
He pressed his fingertips to his shut eyes. “Jesus. I don’t know why I acted like that, Sophie.” He dropped his hand and pinned her with his stare, looking a little desperate. “Why did I act like that?”
“You’re ill,” she whispered. “That’s why you overreacted. You’ve experienced a great deal of stress in a short period of time. You’re not yourself. Why don’t you go take a shower and clean up. I’ll make us some lunch.”
He looked undecided. “That man . . . Dol
an? Is he gone? I should apologize.”
“He left. He’s all right. If you like, we’ll walk over to their place later, and you can apologize.”
“Yeah. I should do that. I should definitely do that.”
Not until he’d walked out of the kitchen did Sophie fully exhale. She stepped over to the counter and steadied herself while she gulped for air. His emotional state was so powerful that it affected everyone around him like a drastic drop in the barometric pressure and the threat of a storm rolling in, dark and fast.
Are you really willing to put up with someone who could be dangerous, that into the thrill of going down on a bomb, Sophie?
Was there any truth to his bitter accusation? Why was she insisting he stay, when he was so volatile and unpredictable? What the hell did she really know about Thomas Nicasio?
She stared down the hallway, suddenly realizing she was in the same position she’d taken after she’d left him in the bedroom when he’d first arrived. She took a long, restorative inhale and stepped away from the counter.
There was little doubt that sex with Thomas Nicasio was unlike any experience she’d ever had. It was quite possible he’d at least partially spoken the truth when he’d accused her, Sophie thought as she flashed back to what they’d done together behind the boathouse, how she’d gotten turned on to unprecedented levels just by letting him use her for his pleasure.
She’d trusted implicitly that he wouldn’t hurt her, even in the midst of raw lust.
But sex wasn’t what was primarily motivating her. Something else was guiding her, some deep instinct she’d learned to trust long ago.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thomas toyed with his BlackBerry as he stood in the living room, staring out at the golden, rippling lake through the window. Sophie emerged from the hallway wearing a floral green and white haltered sundress that set off the peachy-gold tan she’d acquired this morning on the dock.
Earlier they’d eaten the salad she’d made them out on the front porch. Slowly, without him being entirely aware that it was happening to him, a measure of peace stole back over him as he looked at Sophie’s luminous, calm face while they ate and talked of inconsequential things, the lake winking out of the corner of his eye. He still felt a sense of deep shame for the way he’d behaved earlier—couldn’t begin to comprehend why he’d flown into a rage at the sight of a man penetrating the boundaries of Sophie’s peaceful home—but Sophie’s kindness went a long way in smoothing his frazzled emotional state.
He knew he was a jerk for taking advantage of her hospitality, not to mention her gorgeous body, but he couldn’t seem to turn away from her. Something wouldn’t let him. He didn’t entirely trust his response to her, but he couldn’t deny it. He didn’t completely trust her, either, even though he wanted to. She was hiding something from him. Her behavior for the past several days made no sense whatsoever.
Or maybe he was just being paranoid? Wasn’t it possible that she was having just as strong a reaction toward him as he was experiencing toward her?
Given how worked up he’d been lately, it wouldn’t surprise him to be accused of paranoia.
“Did you get a hold of your father?” Sophie asked, breaking through his whirling thoughts. She stepped into the living room and nodded down at the phone he held in his hand.
“Damn battery is dead, and I don’t have my car charger. Could I use your phone?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t have to get it now,” he said quickly when she started toward the hallway.
A flash of guilt went through him when she turned around and he saw her earnest puzzlement. The truth was . . . a cancerous dread had been growing in him. He was avoiding talking to his family. It pained him to think of Joseph, Iris, and Kelly. The knowledge of their suffering was like a festering wound, something he needed to ignore for the moment in order to survive.
But he couldn’t ignore it. The wound cut too deep. He knew he had no comfort to offer his family.
He was an empty shell.
He glanced down at Sophie’s smooth cheeks, incandescent wavy gold hair, and full, parted lips. His body perked up in awareness, and he begrudgingly altered his opinion.
He still possessed the animalistic aspect of his manhood. Was that why he wanted to be around Sophie so much? She reminded him that he was alive, if only in the feral, primitive form of a rutting beast?
“What’s wrong?” he asked, realizing she stared at him strangely.