Made a nonsense of it, in fact.
Which was probably as well, because Rogan was more determined than ever to get out of here, and out of England, as soon as he possibly could.
He straightened. ‘I’ll go and ask Mrs Baines to make us a pot of coffee. It might help us get through this,’ he added dryly, before disappearing to the kitchen.
As Elizabeth distractedly resumed checking and stacking the books, she wished she could make this whole morning disappear: making love with Rogan, discovering the break-in, their conversation afterwards, the unhelpfulness of the police. A pot of coffee wasn’t even going to come close to taking away the suspicion and tension that now, more than ever, existed between them.
They hadn’t been acquainted with each other long enough to really know each other. They certainly didn’t trust each other.
The first might nullify the second, of course. But, as Rogan had stated his intention of leaving immediately after his father’s funeral, that was never going to happen.
Which was probably as well. Elizabeth’s uncharacteristic reaction to Rogan this morning—that wild, out-of-control response!—told her she knew him well enough, at least, to want to stay well away from him in future.
‘I’m sorry I was gone so long, but I couldn’t find Mrs Baines so I made the coffee myself—Elizabeth, are you crying?’ Rogan probed disbelievingly as he came back into the library carrying the tray of coffee things and saw tears tracking wetly down Elizabeth’s cheeks.
She raised a hand and touched her face, her eyes widening as she felt the wetness there. ‘I’m sorry. I simply don’t understand how anyone could have done this.’ Her expression was bewildered as she stared down at the tumble of books that still surrounded her. ‘Books don’t harm people. They’re here to provide knowledge. Entertainment. They’re my life.’ Her voice wobbled emotionally. ‘My friends,’ she added shakily as the tears once again fell softly down her cheeks.
Rogan put down the tray before crossing to her side to look down at her searchingly, knowing by the bruised look beneath her eyes, the pallor of her cheeks and the slight trembling of her hands that she was genuinely shaken by this whole thing.
He liked and appreciated books as much as the next man—or woman—but, as with all objects, he considered them replaceable.
Elizabeth talked about them lovingly, felt pained at their having been tumbled from the shelves in this way. She called them her friends…
There weren’t too many people in his life that Rogan trusted, but he would certainly count Ace, Grant, Ricky and a couple of other men he had served with amongst them.
What sort of life had Elizabeth led—did she still lead?—that she considered books her friends rather than people?
‘Hey, it’s not the end of the world.’ He put his fist beneath her chin and raised her face so that he could look down at her. ‘A couple of hours and we should have restored some semblance of order.’
Elizabeth was totally aware of the touch of Rogan’s hand as it burned against her skin, knew she should move away, but as the darkness of his gaze captured hers, and the warmth of his body so close to hers acted almost like a narcotic, she felt unable do so.
She moistened dry lips. ‘I’m sure you must have other things you need to be doing… ’
He grimaced. ‘Such as sorting out my father’s personal belongings? Believe me, I’m in no rush whatsoever to start doing that.’
His father!
Elizabeth was crying over a few books and Rogan’s father had died only days ago. That father and son hadn’t been close didn’t change the fact that Brad Sullivan was dead.
She stepped away from the touch of Rogan’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry. You must think me totally insensitive to be so concerned over a few books after you have suffered such a terrible personal loss.’
‘As you said, books don’t hurt people,’ Rogan murmured huskily.
She had said that, Elizabeth recalled with an embarrassed wince. As well as crying over them. What must Rogan think of her?
That she was a sad individual. Very sad, Elizabeth ac-knowledged wryly.
‘Who hurt you, Elizabeth?’ Rogan probed softly. ‘Someone you were in love with? Or just your father?’
Elizabeth had never allowed anyone close enough to fall in love with them! Which only left her father…
Her father had only wooed and married her mother because she had been a wealthy heiress. As a consequence, he had made Stella’s life, and Elizabeth’s, a misery. Wasn’t that enough?
Elizabeth had always thought so. Which was why, even as a child, she had always preferred books to people.
She still preferred books to people!
‘No one hurt me, Rogan,’ she assured him dismissively as she moved to the tray of coffee things. ‘How do you like your coffee?’
‘Changing the subject, Elizabeth?’ he taunted.
‘Yes.’ She made no attempt to prevaricate.
‘So, no lover took advantage of you and then left you heartbroken?’
Her mouth firmed. ‘Not yet.’
Those dark eyes glinted with humour. ‘Are you saying I took advantage of you this morning?’
Elizabeth felt an icy chill down the length of her spine as she realised she should never have attempted to retaliate in that way to Rogan’s mockery. ‘I believe I asked how you prefer your coffee,’ she said stiltedly.
‘Black, no sugar,’ Rogan supplied slowly, recognising that the previous conversation was over.
Even so, it had been a conversation that told him more about Elizabeth than she perhaps wanted him to know…
He had already realised from what had happened down in the cove this morning that Elizabeth was capable of deep emotion. That she normally kept those emotions firmly under control, hidden, was also in no doubt. He now also knew that she preferred the black and white aspect of the written word to any of those emotions.
Well, that was fine with him. He had no interest in Elizabeth Brown’s emotions. Teasing her just now had been as much of a mistake on his part as making love with her this morning had been. One Rogan would do well to avoid in future.
‘I can manage here on my own, if you have something else you need to do,’ Elizabeth said as she handed Rogan his cup of coffee, and she saw the dark frown on his brow.
That frown darkened to a scowl. ‘Such as?’ Rogan scorned. ‘There is nothing else to do here!’ He impatiently answered his own question. ‘How the hell did I stand living here as a kid?’
Elizabeth shrugged. ‘It was your family home—’
‘This was never a family home!’ Rogan denied coldly. ‘My mother’s home, yes. My home, too, for the five years I lived here. But my father was never here; he lived in London most of the time. We were never a family together here. And after my mother died I didn’t want to be here either—’ He broke off abruptly, the flare of anger in those dark eyes as he glared across at Elizabeth telling her how much Rogan instantly regretted the revealing outburst.
And Elizabeth wondered at the reason for it…
Rogan thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘You said your own father is still alive?’
Elizabeth’s expression instantly became wary. ‘Yes… ’
Rogan’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘Take my advice, Elizabeth, and put that particular