"No, just my mother. She got caught in the middle of it when we moved in after Dad died."
Hayley dipped her finger into the glass, then sucked the tip. Finally she looked up.
Nash's features pulled taut at the sorrow on her face.
"Why didn't you come tell me this, instead of letting me think the worst? You just stopped calling, stopped coming by, stopped everything."
He straightened in the chair. "I couldn't see you again. I loved you so much and I knew if I saw you or heard your voice, I wouldn't do the honorable thing. I had a duty to take care of my mistakes, Hayley. My family's reputation rode on it."
It was a quiet moment before she said very softly, "And if you had seen me?"
He rubbed his face again. "I would have run away with you to some deserted spot and never looked back."
Her throat burned. Tears filled her eyes and rolled slowly down her flushed cheeks. "Damn you for not coming to me," she said in a broken whisper. "Damn your Rayburn pride."
Nash listened to her suffering, to the quiet pain-filled sobs of a woman robbed of her heart's desire. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms and soothe her.
Then in a tiny voice she said, "I could have been their mother."
He nodded, his heart aching for her. "You should have been."
She stared at him. Regret shaped her features, reaching out to him, washing over him. He felt it, shared it, reliving the torment of having to give her up for a woman he didn't love.
His eyes burned and over the stone in his throat he whispered, "I … I'm so sorry, sprite."
She lowered her gaze, as if looking at him caused her more pain. Then she unfolded from the couch and crossed to the door. Nash frowned, following her as she walked down the hall. She went into her room, slipping silently into bed.
He stood in the doorway, his body a black shadow haloed in yellow light. "Hayley?"
"I can't talk about this anymore. It's too much."
He stepped into the room and pulled the quilt over her, kneeling beside the bed. Her eyes fluttered open, brown eyes bleary from tears, from the pain she'd suffered at the hands of people she'd trusted. "I'm sorry, baby. If I could change the past—"
She worked her hand out from under the quilt and laid two fingers over his lips. "It's done, Nash. Now we go on."
Nash took heart in that and leaned forward to press a kiss to her hair.
Hayley closed her eyes, absorbing the sensation of his touch. He left, closing the door behind him, and she prayed the bourbon did its job and let her sleep without dreams of everything that might have been.
The air was damp and breezy. Her skin simmered with sensual heat. His hands slid down her body, shaping her breasts, and he paused to suckle wetly on one tight pink tip, then continued his quest downward, his hand and lips and tongue leaving her writhing mindlessly with desire. Not an inch of her skin escaped his attention. He caressed her waist, her hips, smoothed his hands down her thighs and up the inside. Then he spread her, hovering over her pulsing body as he parted her flesh and stroked the fire to a raging inferno. She gasped, arching her body in a lover's call for more, to deepen his touch, then to fill her. He crawled up over her body, his thighs rasping against hers, then again he opened her for him, to plunge and—
Hayley sat up, gasping for air. She blinked in the darkened room, then threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Bending over, she cupped her face in her hands and took several deep breaths. The dream was so real. She could almost feel his hands on her, the hardness of him pressing into her. Her body screamed for him, unfulfilled desire throbbing through every pore. Perspiration clung and she stood, fluffing her pajama top, then shucking the bottoms. Despite the air-conditioning, her skin was hot and tingling. This is so not fair, she thought.
He hurts me and I still want him. She tried deciphering whether or not it was old feelings coming back or the hurt and the need to be soothed shadowing her dreams. It didn't make any difference, she thought tiredly. She couldn't consider starting up with him again, not in any shape or form. It just wouldn't be wise to fall back into a relationship when it had nowhere to go. She was leaving. For good. She had to do her residency. People were depending on her to be at the hospital.
Glancing at the clock, she realized she had to be up in half an hour, anyway, so going back to bed was not an option. Raking her fingers through her hair, she sighed gustily, then threw on some clothes. She left her room, heading to the kitchen for some ice water and maybe a clearer perspective before everyone else awoke.
Especially Nash.
Nash rolled onto his back and jammed a pillow under his head. He gave up on trying to sleep and stared at the drape of fabric flowing over the four poster bed. Last night he'd sat alone in the darkened study and nursed a drink he didn't want, thinking of the woman he couldn't have. Everything was out on the table before them. At least they had that. But she still hadn't forgiven him. He needed to hear the words. For seven years he'd held the guilt inside, done what was expected. So why didn't he feel free of it?