his fingers and stepped back. Control yerself .
It didn’t take much to trigger an onslaught of lust for Olivia, and he couldn’t risk glowing red eyes. “My family has
passed away, except for my grandfather.”
“I’m so sorry. It must be…lonesome for you.”
His chest tightened with a sudden realization. He was lonesome. And although he had good friends, there
were some things a man didn’t discuss with other men.
Like the need to feel loved. Another guy would laugh and call that a weakness. Hell, he’d considered it a
weakness, too. He’d taken pride in being self-sufficient. He’d played the role of the proud, tough warrior for so
long, it was all he knew.
And then he’d found himself entirely helpless and humiliated while the Malcontents tortured him. His self-
sufficiency had been nothing but an illusion. His pride had only covered up the deep, gaping loneliness inside.
He glanced at Olivia. She was watching him curiously, but not even attempting to do therapy on him. Even so,
it was happening. He was seeing things he’d never seen before. A warm, gentle feeling swelled in his chest,
tempering the hard lust that had seized him earlier. Lord Almighty, he truly cared for this woman.
He swallowed hard. How should he go about this? When should he tell her the truth about himself? “I hear
there’s stiff competition over who’s going to win yer heart.” Stiff? Bad choice of words. He avoided looking
down.
She waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s my grandmother’s doing. I’m not really interested in any of the men
here.”
“Then I have a chance?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you…competing?”
“Aye. Are you…interested?”
Her cheeks turned a rosy pink. “Maybe. But you have to understand, I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’m
not giving up my career.”
“I wouldna want ye to.” He resumed his stroll, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from touching her
as she walked beside him. “What do ye do at the Bureau?”
“Criminal interrogation and analysis, mostly. When I was working on my master’s, I interviewed a bunch of
“Criminal interrogation and analysis, mostly. When I was working on my master’s, I interviewed a bunch of
inmates at the Huntsville State Penitentiary in Texas. I convinced a guy on death row to confess to some
unsolved murders, and it was covered in all the local papers. When the FBI offered me a job, I jumped on it. I’ve
always wanted to use my gift for something important.”
“Then ye shouldna stop.”
She smiled wryly. “Tell that to my parents. They want me to get a cozy little private practice in a nice suburb
and only see the right kind of mentally disturbed people.”
He smiled. “There’s a right kind?”
“Nonviolent, or rather, people who only harm themselves. Eating disorders or…” She gave him a pointed look.
“Nice guys suffering from post-traumatic stress.”
His smile quickly faded. “I’m no’ suffering.”
“Robby, you were tortured. That’s not something you easily recover from.”
“I’m fine.”
“How long ago did it happen?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Last summer.”
She halted with a small gasp. “That’s no time at all. You said they…broke your bones?”
He wiggled his fingers. “All healed.” His gaze drifted down her body. “And ready for action.”
“Don’t make light of this. You’ve barely had time to heal physically. And mentally—”
“Olivia,” he interrupted, then softened his tone. “Sweetheart, I doona want to discuss it. We’ve all had bad
things to deal with. I’m sure ye’ve seen some verra nasty things on yer job.”
She winced, then looked down as she dug the toe of an athletic shoe in the sand. “It’s hard, sometimes, to
see the horrendous things a person can inflict on a fellow human being. But I guess you know about that
firsthand.”
“Aye.”
She turned her head and gazed into space. Her brow furrowed and a haunted look
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley