with. At least that hadn’t been one of Matt’s problems, she thought, irrelevantly.
“We said we weren’t going to drink while we were here,” she said lightly.
“Ah.” He pointed a finger at her. “But you see, I think we were wrong. This house was made for drinking. Much”—he slurred, so it came out Mush—“drinking was done here. The house likes it, that’s my conclusion.”
“I don’t need one, really,” Laurel said, trying not to let the alarm sound in her voice. “It’s awfully late.”
“Never too late,” he said gaily, and poured a frightening amount of what looked like whiskey into a short glass.
“Let me get that,” she said quickly, and crossed to him to take the glass before it could spill.
“Drink up, then,” he said, and took a deep swig straight from the bottle. He looked at her expectantly. Laurel sipped from the glass and felt the amber burn.
“How about bed?” she suggested, and he smiled at her.
“I’ve been hoping you’d ask.”
She blushed from her chest up, and he would not stop looking at her.
“Why don’t you let me have that?” She reached for the bottle and he yanked it away from her.
“Oh no.” He hugged the bottle to his chest and curled his arm around it protectively. “Oh no no no. Many before you have tried,” he snickered.
“All right, then,” she said carefully. “Let’s talk.” She sat on the wood bench of a window seat, watching him.
“Talk?” And suddenly his mood shifted, to something so dark she had no idea how she’d missed the transition. “What’s there to talk about? It’s over. You’re done, therefore we’re done. We spent the day measuring a pool of water. A fucking pool of water. That’s one for the books, all right.” He drank again, and she winced. “S’not working, not working,” he muttered agitatedly, and began a distracted prowl around the library.
He stopped, swaying, underneath the portrait of James Folger, and stared up at it. His eyes were hazy, as if he were seeing someone else. Father? Laurel wondered to herself. Is that what this is about? It almost always is, with men.
He laughed, harshly. “What’s another failure, though, hmm? What else can we expect?” He slipped into a thick, savage brogue. “There’s no belying birth, now, is there?”
He turned from the portrait abruptly. “Total failure. That’s what you think, too.”
“I don’t think it’s a failure,” she said, and realized she didn’t know what she thought. “I—just don’t think we can afford to risk …” Again, she was unable to say what she thought they were risking.
He suddenly turned and hurled his full glass at a blank spot on the wall, shattering it in a wide splash of amber liquid.
“Can’t afford? Can’t afford? Do you know how much is riding on this?”
Laurel stood in the middle of the floor, in shock. The glass had barely missed her; she smelled whiskey all around her. “No,” she said softly. “What’s riding on this?”
His face twisted, and for a moment he looked almost cruel. “You really don’t see, do you?”
For a horrible moment she felt tears sting her eyes. The photographs and portraits looked down from the library walls. “I guess I don’t,” she managed, and started blindly for the door.
Brendan put out an arm to stop her as she pushed past him … and then his arm was around her waist and he was pulling her against him. “Don’t leave me … ,” he whispered, and then his hands were in her hair and his mouth was on hers and she was opening under him. His mouth moved down her neck and she nearly passed out, sagging against him. He pressed his groin into hers and she could feel him throbbing against her… . He was murmuring into her ear as he kissed along her jawline, “Oh God …” and then his mouth was on hers again, and she was on fire. The couches were too small for two adult people but somehow they were on one, and somehow there was room, and his weight was on top of her, her hands were under his sweater, and her nipples were straining against his palms, and they were melting into each other.
“We can’t, we can’t,” she said against his mouth but she was swooning. His tongue filled her again and his hand was between her legs and she was wet against his fingers, so wet … and she didn’t care.
Then suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness … and a thunder of crashes shook the house, staccato