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Her breath released in a rush, her body sagging with relief.
She got ready for bed in a daze. But as she lay on the coverlet, staring at the beautiful plasterwork on the ceiling, the bed’s drapes fluttering in the sea breeze, all she could see was the power and majesty of his naked body. All she could feel was his mouth on hers, forceful and demanding—and her body hummed, brutally captivated by the rich, fluid kick of exhilaration.
CHAPTER FOUR
“YOU’LL DO AS I tell you or you’ll rot here.”
Visceral terror crawled over Jared’s flesh as the vicious taunt hissed in his skull. The fetid smells—damp, vomit, rotting food—and the funky smell of stale sweat suffocated him. The pain burned and throbbed, pinpricks of agony.
He could see the crack of light beneath the door, could hear the deafening snap as the bolt drew back. The bones of his spine cracked against the wall as he scrambled away from the light, trying to make himself invisible. The pulsing glow of neon lit his stepfather’s face and he morphed into a monster. Terror charged through Jared and he whimpered.
Punishing hands grabbed his arms, indescribable pain lancing up them, and the silent screams trapped in his throat burst free.
Jared jerked awake, yanked out of the nightmare by his own hoarse shouts. His ribs hurt from the violent panting. The sea breeze from the open terrace door chilled the pool of sweat dampening fine Egyptian sheets. The old marks burned, the paralyzing pain new and raw.
He jolted upright, throwing off the sheets. And sunk his head into his hands, his body shaking from the nightmare.
No, not nightmare—night terrors. That was what the therapist had called them.
Humiliation washed through him. Unable to control the tremors, like a drunk with the DTs, he staggered into the bathroom.
He should have closed the balcony doors before he’d gone to bed. What if Katherine had heard him screaming and whimpering like a terrified child?
He took a moment, dousing his face with cold water, until his pulse finally tracked out of the danger zone and his heart no longer felt as if it were about to explode out of his chest.
He swallowed, the dryness in his throat momentarily bringing back the tremors—reminding him of that boy, kept thirsty in the stultifying humidity to make him comply, to force him to... He shook his head.
Lock the fear back in that room. Don’t let it out.
Returning to the bedroom, he dragged on fresh shorts and headed out into the villa’s kitchen. He needed a cold drink.
Once he had gulped down a glass of water, and refilled it, he braced his hands on the countertop, forcing his knees to lock, the ringing in his ears making him scared he was about to faint.
That was all he needed now, to collapse in a heap.
A tiny sound had him lurching round, to see Katherine standing behind him, her eyes round with concern but her face fierce with determination—a large vase held aloft in her hands like a weapon.
She dropped her arms.
“Jared, I thought I heard yelling. Is everything okay?”
Not exactly.
His lips twisted. The sight of her—so fierce, so fragile—planning to fight any and all intruders was almost amusing, in a blackly comic way. He fought to stop himself from keeling over in front of her.
“Yeah. I’m good. Just had a bad dream,” he said, forced to tell her at least some of the truth. But then his gaze tracked over her. She wore a slip of a thing, the hall light silhouetting her curves and leaving very little to the imagination. He could see the slim slope of her hips, the subtle jut of her breasts, the dusky shadow of her nipples.
Arousal surged through him and his knees trembled for an entirely different reason.
“Go back to bed,” he managed.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Katie asked. “What was the dream about?”
What kind of bad dream left you looking like you had been dragged out of your own grave?
The white scars caused by his stepfather’s abuse stood out against the tanned skin of Jared’s forearms.
