The Brooding Stranger. Maggie Cox
fooled by the scenery or the supposed peace of this place. There is no peace to be had around here. Only heartache and tragedy and that’s a fact. A place like this—a life like mine—has no time for such petty considerations as common courtesy!’
His words were released with such savagery that for a moment Karen didn’t know what to do. There was one part of her that wanted to run away—to hasten back to the cottage and pack—yet there was also something perverse in her that willed her to stay and face him out, make him see that he wasn’t the only one who was hurting. Not that he’d listen to her, of course. Not when he’d already clearly dismissed her as a silly little girl.
‘Then I feel very sorry for you, Mr O’Connell.’
Her gaze lingered dangerously on the cold, unfeeling glance that was bereft of anything remotely akin to human warmth, then moved curiously down to the strongly patrician nose. It was a work of art, that was for sure. A fraction lower and her glance finally came to rest on the perfectly sculpted brooding mouth, whose upper lip was an uncompromising line of bitterness and hostility. With jolting awareness she saw that in spite of its currently bleak outlook he had a face that could be quite devastating in its beauty.
‘I feel sorry for you … yes, sorry. It seems that you’ve forgotten what it is to be entirely human. My guess is that you’re angry about something … hurt, too. But rage only creates more rage, you know. It hurts you more than it hurts anyone else. I don’t know what’s tormenting you, but I like your father’s cottage. I’d really like to stay there for a little while longer. If it’s more rent you want, then—’
‘Keep your damn money, woman! Do you think I need it?’
He glanced bleakly out to sea for several long seconds, his jaw hard and angled with rage, his eyes glittering—a prisoner in his own morose, walled-off world. A man who had deliberately isolated himself from the rest of humanity and the comfort he might get from it. Karen was chilled right down to the bone. He was like an iceberg—remote, glacial and impervious. If she’d hoped to appeal to his better nature it was becoming glaringly obvious that he didn’t have one.
That established, she started to turn away, surprised when Chase followed her for a few steps, whimpering as if he didn’t want her to go.
‘You’ve put a damn hex on my dog, you little witch.’
Gray’s next words stopped her in her tracks. Karen sucked in an astonished breath.
‘The sooner you go, the better, Miss Ford. Two weeks. then I want you gone!’
He pivoted and strode off up the beach. The long legs that were encased in fitted black denim jeans hinted at the powerful muscle in his thighs, and Chase, after one more sorrowful glance at Karen, turned and raced after him …
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