"I know what it is to hurt."

"Not like this." No one could ever hurt this much. No one.

"Listen to me," he said, and his hands gripped her shoulders. But even his fingers were gentle when she wanted them to be hard and punishing. "Cry. Let it out before the grief strangles you."

"No." Still she resisted, wildly shaking her head. "No. I hate him. I hate him."

"I know, honey. I know."

The dam broke then, and the tears that had been pent up inside her soul, shoved down and ignored for so long, bled from her eyes. A low, mewing sound slid from the back of her throat, nearly choking her. Sobs overtook her, huge, oxygen-robbing sobs that shook her shoulders and made her breast heave.

Rush didn’t try to hold her and she was grateful because she couldn’t have borne being restrained. Unable to remain upright, she braced her back against the wall and slumped to the floor. She gently rocked back and forth, weeping bitterly for the innocence she had lost, and wailing for the love she had given so freely to a man who didn’t deserve it. She cried until there was nothing left inside her.

Lindy started to retch when her tears were spent, and she knew she was about to lose her dinner. Rush’s hand under her elbow helped her to an upright position and into the bathroom. He stood behind her as she leaned over the toilet. She thought she felt his hand on her back, but she couldn’t be sure.

When she was finished he handed her a damp washcloth. She held it to her face, letting the coolness soak away some of the terrible red heat. Her eyes burned like fire, her throat felt gritty and coarse, and her hands shook.

"Here." Rush handed her a glass of water.

She felt an abundance of shame at having allowed him to see her like this, and worse, that he should be the one to take care of her. She sank to the edge of the tub, afraid her shaky legs could no longer support her.

"You’re going to be all right now," Rush told her confidently. "It’s over."

She couldn’t look at him but nodded because it seemed the right thing to do. Rush had no way of knowing what Paul had done to her. No way of knowing that the man she’d loved and planned to share her life with had married another woman while Lindy proudly wore his engagement ring. Rush Callaghan didn’t know a damn whit about shattered dreams or the pain of a broken heart. He would never allow himself to be hurt this way.

"Come on," he said. "I’ll take you into your room."

She stood with his help, and he tucked his arm around her waist as he led her into her darkened bedroom. Gently he brushed the wet strands of hair from her face and lowered her onto the mattress in a sitting position.

"I trust you don’t need anyone to undress you."

"No, I’m fine."

"It’s a damn good thing," he said, and there was more than a trace of a smile in his words.

He started to walk away from her but paused just before he reached the door, turning back to her. "You’re a beautiful woman, Lindy Kyle, and someday there’ll be a man who will love you the way you deserve to be loved."

Her mother had said almost those identical words to her. At the time, Lindy hadn’t been ready to accept them; she wasn’t sure she could now. All through college there’d only been Paul. Every thought of the future had been linked with him. Every dream. Every ambition. She felt as if fate had sent her tumbling into oblivion, uncaring what ill fortune befell her.

But it wasn’t in her to argue with Rush. Instead she brought her feet up onto the bed and pressed her head against the feather pillow. Her eyes ached unmercifully and she closed them.

"Did you hear me?" Rush demanded softly.

She wanted to shake her head that she hadn’t, but there wasn’t enough spirit left in her to challenge him. "I’m too selfish to pine away for Paul Abrams," she said, her soft voice trembling. "I’m not willing to be miserable any more."

Her words seemed to please him. "You’re one hell of a woman, Lindy, and don’t you forget it."

"Right." She couldn’t contain the sarcasm. Although she kept her eyes closed, Lindy knew it was a long time before Rush left the doorway. His presence all but filled the room. Only when he’d slipped away did she feel comfortable enough to relax and sleep.

Lindy woke around two, her throat dry and scratchy. Her temples throbbed, and her eyes were red and swollen. She didn’t turn on any lights as she made her way into the kitchen, preferring the shield of darkness.

The drapes were open and the city lights flickered in the distance. Taking the cold glass of water and the aspirin with her, Lindy stood at the window and expelled her breath in a long sigh. She’d made such an idiot of herself in front of Rush. The thought of facing him in the morning was almost more than she could bear.

Fresh tears dampened her face at the memory of the humiliating way she’d sobbed and moaned and rocked with grief. She exhaled a quivering breath and brushed her cheeks free of moisture.

"It’s over, Lindy, there’s no need to cry anymore."

She whirled around to discover Rush sitting in the darkened room, watching her.

"I’ll cry if I damn well please," she hissed.

"There’s no need to now."

Lord, she hated it when men thought they were so wonderfully logical. Everything seemed to be so cut-and-dried for them.

"Who made you king of the universe?"

He chuckled at that.

"I don’t find that the least bit amusing. I honestly want to know what makes you think you know so damn much about human nature that you can decree when enough tears have been shed?"

"I know."

Lindy slapped her hand against her side in an action meant to reveal her disgust. "So the big lieutenant commander has spoken." She whirled around and placed the water glass down with such force that the liquid sloshed over the sides.

"How could you possibly know about loving someone and then losing them? You can’t imagine what it’s like to have your heart ripped from your chest and be left with a gaping wound that refuses to heal." She was yelling at him now, but not because she was angry. The memory of the way she’d broken down in front of him was more than embarrassing. Heated words were her only defense.

Rush was out of the chair so fast that it shocked her. He loomed at her side like a dragon, his jaw as tight and contorted as she’d ever seen it.

"I know more than I ever cared to." Each word dripped with ice, his message clear.

They stood, their gazes locked in the moonlight, glaring at each other, refusing to look away. She saw his pain then, as raw and jagged as her own. His guard was down. He’d lowered it for her tonight when she’d spilled out her heart, leaving himself exposed and trapped in pain-filled memories.

"Rush," she whispered, "I’m sorry. I didn’t know." Slowly, she lifted her hand and touched his shoulder, wanting to offer him comfort the way he had helped her. "I didn’t know."

He reached for her then, crushing her in his arms, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He didn’t fill in the details. He didn’t need to.

Chapter Four

Lindy slept on the davenport across from Rush, but the sweet luxury of oblivion escaped him. Even now, hours later, he couldn’t forget the unself-conscious way she’d wrapped her arms around him and held him, her tears soaking through his shirt. Rush wasn’t sure who she was crying for anymore: him or her. It didn’t matter.

Her body felt unbelievably good against his own, and her warmth had chased away the arctic chill that had seemed to cut all the way through to the marrow of his bones. He didn’t like to think about Cheryl and rarely did these days. But somehow being a witness to Lindy’s anguish had brought the memory of his own bobbing uncontrollably to the surface of his mind. Like a cork, the remembrance of his love and foolishness had refused to sink, and he’d been left to deal with the pain that had suddenly seemed as fresh and real as it had been eight years ago.

The memory of Cheryl had weighed on him like a steel cloak, tormenting his heart and mind. He’d loved her with a love that was pure and innocent. A love so rare that he never hoped to feel such deep, heart-wrenching emotion again. Leaving her to go to sea had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. Every day of the tour he’d written to her, spilling out his heart. On payday he’d sent her every penny he could, living on a bare minimum himself because it was important to him that she have the things she needed.

When he’d reached home port, he couldn’t get off the aircraft carrier fast enough. After six months at sea, he was dying to hold her again, dying to love her. But she hadn’t been at the dock. Bitterly disappointed, the only thing Rush could reason was that she was ill. Well, he’d been partially right. Only her sickness was of the nine-month variety. From what he’d learned later, sweet innocent Cheryl had shacked up with another sailor a week after he’d left San Diego. She’d apparently hoped to pass the baby off as Rush’s. Rush, however, hadn’t needed a degree in math to calculate the dates.

It might have made things easier for him if they’d fought. He might have been able to release some of the bitter anguish he’d experienced over her infidelity. But instead he’d simply told her goodbye and walked away, the diamond engagement ring he’d intended to give her seeming to sear a hole through his palm.

In the weeks and months that followed, his mind played crazy tricks on him. He tried to convince himself the baby was his, although God knows it was impossible. He heard from a friend that Cheryl married some poor schmuck fresh out of officer training within a month after Rush had left her.

A couple of years later he’d run into her in a bar. Her big blue eyes had clouded with tears as she’d told him they’d let something good slip away. With a wedding band on her finger, she’d placed her hand high on his thigh and suggested they get together for old times’ sake. Rush had thought he was going to vomit, she repulsed him so completely.

He never saw her again, never wanted to. Cheryl had taught him valuable lessons, ones destined to last a lifetime. She’d destroyed a part of him that could never be resurrected.

The first faint light of dawn seeped into the sky, extinguishing the stars one by one, and still Rush couldn’t sleep. But the even meter of Lindy’s breathing as she lay sleeping on the sofa was a soothing balm and gradually he felt the rigid tension leave his limbs.

They’d sat for hours, his arm around her, her head nestled over his heart. Neither had spoken – or wanted to. It was a time to remember. A time to forget. When she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, he’d gently slipped free of her hold and lowered her head onto the sofa.

She was going to be all right now.

So was he.

Lindy squinted as the sun flooded the living room and seemed to rest, full force, on her face, disturbing her deep sleep. Her neck ached, and it was then that she realized that her only pillow had been the small flat decorative one from the couch. She felt disoriented until the memory of what had happened between her and Rush gushed through her mind like melting snow rushing down a mountainside during a spring thaw. She groaned and covered her face with her hands, embarrassed anew.