Free The Rogue by Lindsay McKenna Page A

into the kitchen, Killian sniffed. "You've got coffee on?" He found himself wanting to ease the seriousness out of her wary eyes. The dark shadows beneath them told him she hadn't slept well since the nightmare.
    Placing sketch pad, colored pencils and eraser on the table, Killian eased into a chair. Susannah went to the cupboard, retrieved a white ceramic mug and poured him some coffee. He nodded his thanks as she came over and handed it to him.
    "Sit down," he urged her. "We've got some work to do."
    Looking over the art supplies, Susannah sat down at his elbow. Somehow Killian looked heart- stoppingly handsome and dangerous all at once. His dress was casual, but she always sensed the inner tension in him, and could see some undefinable emotion in his blue eyes when he looked at her. But the anger was no longer there, she noted with relief.
    "I'd like you to sketch for me the man you saw in your nightmare," Killian said.
    Hesitant, Susannah fingered the box of colored pencils. Her throat constricted, and she closed her eyes for a moment. How could she make Killian understand that since the attack her love of drawing and painting had gone away?
    "It doesn't have to be fancy, Susannah. Draw me something. Anything. I have a way to check what you sketch for me against police mug shots." He saw pain in her eyes, and her lower lip trembled as she withdrew her hand from the box of pencils. He cocked his head. "What is it?" He recalled his sister's pain, and the hours he'd spent holding her while she cried after realizing her once-beautiful face was gone forever. A powerful urge to reach out and give Susannah that same kind of help nearly overwhelmed him, but he reared back inwardly. He couldn't.
    With a helpless shrug, Susannah swallowed against the lump and shakily opened up the sketch pad. She had to try. She believed in Killian, and she believed he could help her. Suddenly embarrassed, she took her pad and pencil and wrote:

    I'm rusty at this. I haven't drawn since being wounded.

    He grimaced. "I'm no art critic, Susannah. I can't draw a straight line. Anything you can do will look great to me. Give it your best try."
    Susannah picked up a pencil and began to sketch. She tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but she found her senses revolving back to Killian's overwhelming presence. All morning she'd thought about him staying here with her. It wasn't him she couldn't trust, she realized—it was herself! The discovery left her feeling shaken. Never had a man influenced her on all levels, as Killian did. What was it about him? For the thousandth time, Susannah ached to have her voice back. If only she could talk!
    Quiet descended upon them. Killian gazed around the kitchen, keenly aware of Susannah's presence. It was like a rainbow in his dismal life. There were at least forty colorful drawings tacked to the kitchen walls, obviously done by very young children. Probably her class. Peace, a feeling that didn't come often to Killian, descended gently around him. Was it the old-fashioned house? Being out in the country away from the madding crowd? Or—he swung his gaze back to Susannah and saw her brows drawn together in total concentration, her mouth pursed—was it her?
    Unconsciously Killian's shoulders dropped, and he eased the chair back off its two front legs, loosely holding the mug of coffee against his belly. Birds, mostly robins, were singing and calling to one another. The sweet scents of grass, ripening fruit and clean mountain air wafted through the kitchen window. Susannah had a small radio on in the corner, and FM music flowed softly across the room, like an invisible caress.
    His gaze settled on Susannah's ponytail, and he noted the gold and red glints between the sable strands. Her hair was thick and luxurious. A man could drive himself crazy wondering what the texture of it was like, Killian decided unhappily. Right now, he knew his focus had to be on keeping her protected, not his own personal