Private Scandals

kitchen window, they would have seen a jolly group of friends sharing a meal. Attractive people, comfortable with one other. It would have been difficult to spot any tension, any discord.
    But Finn was a trained observer. Even had that not been the case, he could judge Deanna’s moods by the flick of an eyelash.
    He hadn’t questioned her about the tension he sensed, hoping she would tell him on her own. As the evening wore on, he accepted, impatiently, that he would have to push. Perhaps he would always have to push.
    He watched her settle down in the living room, a smileon her face. Unhappiness in her eyes.
    God, the woman frustrated him. Fascinated him. For almost two years they had been lovers, as physically intimate as it was possible to be. Yet no matter how open she was, how honest, she managed to tuck away little pieces. Closing them off from him, locking them tight and hoarding them.
    She was doing it now, he realized.
    Her hand might reach for his, holding it with comfortable familiarity. But her mind was elsewhere, methodically working through a problem she refused to share.
    Her problem, she would say in that reasonable tone that by turns infuriated and amused him. Nothing she couldn’t handle on her own. Nothing she needed him to deal with.
    Hurt, Finn set his glass aside and slipped upstairs.
    He built up the fire in the bedroom, brooding over it. He wondered how long he could wait for Deanna to take the next step. Forever, he thought, with an oath. She was as much a part of him as his muscle and bone.
    The need that had been growing in him for family, for a steady, rooted life, was nothing compared with his need for her.
    What was much worse, as well as totally unexpected, was that he wanted, quite desperately, for her to need him.
    A new one for Riley, he mused, and wished he could see the humor in this realization. The need to be needed, to be tied down, to be . . . settled, he realized, wasn’t a particularly comfortable sensation, and after several months, he understood it wasn’t going to go away.
    And he was beginning to hate the status quo.
    She found him crouched at the hearth, staring into the flames. After closing the door quietly at her back, she crossed over, brushed a hand through his hair.
    “What the hell is going on, Deanna?” He continued to stare into the fire. “You’ve been edgy since we got here last night, and pretending not to be. When I came in before dinner, you’d been crying. And you and Fran are circling each other like a couple of boxers in the tenth round.”
    “Fran’s angry with me.” She sat on the hassock and foldedher hands in her lap. She could feel his tension in the air. “I guess you will be, too.” Lowering her eyes, she told him about the note, answering his terse questions and waiting for his reaction.
    She didn’t wait long.
    He stood where he was, with the fire snapping at his back. His gaze never left her face and was calm, entirely too calm.
    “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
    “I thought it was best to wait until I’d sorted through it a bit.”
    “You thought.” He nodded, slipped his hands into his pockets. “You thought it was none of my concern.”
    “No, of course not.” She hated the fact that his cool interviewing skills always put her on the defensive. “I just didn’t want to spoil the weekend. There’s nothing you can do anyway.”
    His eyes darkened at that—the wicked cobalt Angela had described. It was a sure sign of passion. Yet his voice, when he responded, didn’t alter so much as a degree in tone. That was control.
    “Goddamn you, Deanna, you sit there and make me treat this like a hostile interview where I have to drag the facts out of you.” Fear and fury burned through him. “I’m not tolerating this. I’m fed up with your tucking things away and filing them under ‘For Deanna Only.’ ” He stepped forward then and, with a speed that had her blinking, pulled her to her feet. She’d expected him to be angry, but she hadn’t expected the rage she saw on his face.
    “Finn,” she said carefully. “You’re hurting me.”
    “What do you think you’re doing to me?” He released her so quickly she staggered back a step. He spun away, shoving fisted hands in his pockets. “You don’t have a clue. Don’t you know how badly I want to get my hands on this creep? That I want to break him in half for causing you one minute of fear? How useless I feel when you get one of those goddamn notes