until the next sad sound came. Sorrel’s room, not the boys’.
Lia pushed open the door. “Sorrel? Honey?”
The teenager moved restlessly. “No.” A gasp. “No, please! Please! No.”
Lia went to the bed and sat, laying a gentle hand on her foster daughter’s back. “Wake up, honey. It’s a bad dream. Only a dream.”
“Mommy?” Sorrel whispered.
“It’s Lia.” She moved her hand in a soothing circle, murmuring, “Shh, you were having a nightmare.”
She kept talking for a couple of minutes in a near sing-song, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. Gradually Sorrel’s body relaxed beneath Lia’s hands, and finally her breathing deepened. Lia kept sitting there, waiting, but the girl’s sleep was peaceful now.
Lia slipped out of the room and eased the door shut.
A deep, low voice asked, “Is she all right?”
Lia squeaked in alarm and swung around.
Conall’s big hands gripped her arms. “Hey, it’s me. I’m sorry, I thought you’d heard me.”
“No.” Her heart was slamming.
“What’s wrong with Sorrel?”
“A nightmare. She kept saying, ‘No, no, please.’”
“You don’t know her history?”
Lia hesitated. “Let’s get away from her door.”
He let go of one of her arms but maintained his hold on the other. It was only a few steps to her bedroom door, and once they reached it Conall steered her inside.
“Let me turn on the light,” she said. The memory of their other encounter in the dark hall was too vivid. He let her go, and she went to her bedside to switch on the lamp.
She felt a shock when she saw Conall wearing only jeans, zipped but unsnapped. He must have left his T-shirt in the bathroom laundry hamper. His bare chest was all male—hard muscles and dark hair in a triangle like a kite with a tail that disappeared inside the denim of his jeans. He took her breath away.
His darkened eyes swept over her, making her painfully aware of her skimpy attire, only flannel boxer shorts and a well-worn tank top. She’d never thought of them as sexy before.
“Sorrel?” he asked hoarsely.
“Oh, um.” Her mind was astonishingly blank. Remembering who Sorrel was took an embarrassing moment. “She was sexually molested.”
He went very still, but his expression didn’t change. “Yeah,” he said after a minute. “I thought it was something like that.”
“I shouldn’t tell you more than that. I really need to keep the kids’ problems confidential.”
“That’s okay.” His voice was a gentle rumble. “I understand.”
“She hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks that I’m aware of. She had a counseling session yesterday.” He nodded; she’d left the boys with him when she went to pick Sorrel up. “Maybe whatever they talked about triggered this.”
Conall took a long stride closer to her. Lia crossed her arms in self-defense and he stopped.
“Lia?”
Oh, dear Lord, don’t let me do something stupid.
She was breathing in quick gusts. She couldn’t look away from Conall. Those eyes, so dark a charcoal right now they might have been black. His hair, coarse and ruffled and wavy, droplets of water clinging here and there. The shadow of a beard on his jaw, the hollow at the base of his throat, his utter self-containment. His whole, big body had remained still, waiting, rigid with tension.
It seemed the Lord wasn’t listening right now, or the temptation was too great. Lia wanted this man more than she’d wanted anything in her whole life.
She let her hands drop to her sides. Took a step herself and saw him break.
The next second he’d crushed her in his arms and his mouth devoured hers.
CHAPTER TEN
LIA HAD NEVER felt anything like this. All patience deserted her, replaced by urgency so huge and overwhelming, she was ready for him now. She kissed him with fervor that was probably clumsy, it had been so long since she’d done even this much with a man. She rose on tiptoe and strained against him. Her arms locked around his neck, and she had the heady pleasure of plunging her fingers into his hair, finally feeling the springy coarse-textured silk.
There was no tenderness in this kiss, only need. His tongue established a hard, driving rhythm interrupted only by sharp nips on her lower lip. She returned them, and followed his tongue into his mouth with her own.
She was trying to climb him, she should have been embarrassed to realize, but any ability to feel shame had been supplanted by this all-consuming want.
When the back of her legs hit the bed, she realized Conall had walked her the few steps. “Yes,” she whispered, and moved her open mouth over his jaw