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I was trembling again, remembering.
“I came to and Peter was holding me. I was bleeding. Then I bolted. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that, and I wanted somewhere safe so I could regroup, get control of myself.”
I lifted my eyes, and it took effort. My head was encased in cement, and I could barely see him through the sludge.
My voice broke, whispering, “I felt you pick me up, and that was it for me. I knew I could disappear completely. You had me. You’d take care of me.”
His hands sank into my hips at my words. He closed his eyes. “Shit.” A hiss from him. He bent forward, his forehead resting against mine, and he raised a hand to cup the side of my face. “I’m struggling here, because what you need to hear and what you want to hear are two separate things.”
I eased back.
“What do I need to hear?”
His eyes slid to mine, looking raw. “You cut your counseling too quick.”
Oh. Oh no.
He was right. I did not want to hear those words. I began to ease away from him, but his hands tightened, holding me in place.
“You gotta talk, B. If not to a counselor, then to me, and if not me, then someone.”
“I have talked to you—”
“Not enough.” His words were gruff. “Not enough. You gotta talk more, and you need someone to guide you there, to really get all that crap that went on during the kidnapping. You need help shoveling all that shit out. I can be here. I can be a listening ear, hold you, kiss you, make you feel and think other things, but I’m not a pro. You need someone who knows trauma, and you’ve been traumatized. I heard how your voice went soft when you said the word. I felt your pulse skip a beat. Nothing wrong with admitting to being traumatized.”
Nope.
Hands to his chest, I shoved out of his arms and slid across the bed.
I wasn’t fast enough.
He snaked after me, grabbing me, and he hauled me back in his arms.
“Let me go!”
“No.”
He just held me in a cement hold, but he didn’t pull us back to the bed. “Okay. If you don’t want to talk in bed, we’ll talk somewhere else.”
We were up and moving, and we were going to the shower.
I relaxed slightly.
He turned the water on, set me on the counter. “It’s not going to be that type of shower, babe.”
Babe. I gritted my teeth. “I’m not liking the use of that word right now.”
“Don’t care.”
He was taking his clothes off.
My shirt was off.
My underwear next.
He lifted me back again, carrying me into the shower. He backed me all the way against the wall, the water coming down on us, and he lowered his head so he was staring directly into my eyes. “I see you’re dealing, but you’re not. You’re barely treading water. You’re submerging yourself so much that you don’t even know you stopped breathing long ago. Bailey.” He sighed, a caress of his breath against my face. He lowered his forehead to mine again, his lips brushing over me. “I need you with me. This fight against my grandfather, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. He’s making moves every day. I’m countering him, and that’s just business. I gotta tell you something, but you can’t freak. You can’t panic. You have to promise me that you trust me. Do you trust me?”
Oh God. What happened?
But I was nodding without even thinking about it. I did trust Kash. I trusted him more than I trusted myself.
“Good.” His thumb rubbed over my cheek. “He posted bail for Quinn.”
I stiffened.
Feeling that, he said, “That’s his first move that he scored a hit. His first personal move.”
“Aren’t they all personal?”
I lashed out those words, but I was reeling inside.
Quinn was out. Quinn was free.
Quinn could do it all over again.
I began to pull away. “I have to go—”
He moved me back against the wall.
“No! Kash—” Another try.
His hips helped to anchor me this time.
“Kash, stop it. I have to go—”
He buried his head in my neck. His hand went down to my hip, and he lifted it as he moved between my legs. “No, babe. You’re not going. You’re not running.” His other hand went down my other hip, and he lifted that leg, too.
I was completely suspended in the air, being pressed against the wall, and I felt him at my entrance.
But he didn’t move in.
I wanted him to move in.
“Kash.” His name was a plea from me. I wanted him. I wanted him to make me forget.
The panic.
I couldn’t deal.
It was rising.
It was threatening me.
It was choking me.
I gasped, searching for his mouth at the same time. “I need—”
His hand raised up, catching my face, and he paused, his lips over mine. “What do you need?”
