He couldn't find the energy to argue. "Do I get bubbles?"

"All you want. Go ahead." She gestured toward the door. "Relax.

I'll get you some more tea."

He pulled off his shirt and let it fall with a wet splat to the floor.

"Make it straight Irish this time. Two fingers, no ice."

She hesitated while he unsnapped his pants. She had to stop looking

for ghosts in bottles, as well. Not everyone who wanted a drink wanted

to get drunk. "All right."

When she came back, the water had stopped running. She paused at the

door, then feeling foolish, set the gla.s.s on the table by the bed.

Though they were lovers, she couldn't see herself waltzing in while he

was bathing. Whether it was a matter of intimacy or privacy, she

couldn't cross the line. She sat on the window seat, watched the rain

and waited.

With a towel slung low on his hips, he stepped out. The light was

behind him and she could clearly see the tension and withdrawal in his

face.

"I started dinner."

He nodded, but only picked up the gla.s.s. He thought he could hold the

whiskey down. Food was another matter. "Why don't you go ahead?"

"I can wait." She wanted to go to him, take his hand, smooth the lines

away from his brow. But he was brooding into the gla.s.s as if she

weren't even there. Rising, she walked into the bath to tidy the wet

clothes and towels.

"You don't have to pick up after me." He was standing in the doorway

now. An anger, deep and raw, came through in both his voice and his

eyes. "I don't need a mother."

4(i just-"

"Latimer wanted to be waited on, Emma. It's not my style."

"Fine." Her own temper rose up to meet his. She let his shirt fall to

the floor again. "Pick it up yourself then, not everyone likes to live

in a sty."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the shirt and hurled it into the tub. Emma retreated two

steps before she could stop herself. "Don't look at me like that."

He whirled on her, furious with her, himself, with everything. "Don't

ever look at me like that. I can get p.i.s.sed off at you without throwing

a punch."

She started to check the venom that burned her tongue, but it poured

out. "I'm not afraid you'll hit me. No one will ever hit me again and

walk away. I'm through being victimized by anyone. That includes you.

If you want to sulk, then go ahead and sulk. If you want to fight,

fine. I'll fight, but I'm going to know what I'm fighting about. If

you're acting like this because I won't do what you want, be what you

want, and say what you want, then tough. Shouting isn't going to change

my mind."

He held up a hand before she could storm by. Not to block her, but

to ask her to wait. The subtle difference was enough to make her hold

back the next burst of temper.

"It has nothing to do with you," he said quietly. "Nothing at all. I'm

sorry. I shouldn't have come back here tonight." He looked down at his