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He doesn’t say a word. He only gently, slowly washes me with a soapy rag. I close my eyes and give myself over to him for the second time tonight, parting my legs when he nudges them apart so he can slowly run the rag over my pussy. He takes special care with my ass, too, until nobody would ever know I was violated tonight. Again.
It’s only the touch of his fingers against my scar that stirs me to react. I flinch, tensing up, holding my breath. “You don’t have to do that,” he whispers, touching it again. I look up at him, blinking the water out of my eyes, and he’s wearing something close to a smile. It’s soft and almost sweet. “You’re still beautiful, with or without this,” he whispers, stroking my scar. “It doesn’t make you who you are. It doesn’t define you. Don’t let it.”
Tears mix with the water running down my face. Are they tears of embarrassment or gratitude? I don’t know. I don’t have it in me to figure it out right now.
All I know is once we’re out of the shower and dried off, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to hold a hand out when he starts for the door. “Please. Don’t leave. Stay with me.”
He hesitates, his brow furrowing and his eyes narrowing. I pull the blankets back and crawl into bed, never doubting for a moment he’ll join me.
He does, and unlike with Nix, he doesn’t leave any space between us. Instead, he wraps his arms around me from behind and holds me close. For the first time in a week, I truly relax, melting against him, leaving everything else behind in favor of feeling warm. Safe.
I know it doesn't make sense to feel safe in his arms. I should be appalled by his touch, cringe away from his body, yet I lean into him for comfort. Maybe they finally did it—they broke my mind. The worst part is, I don’t even care, not right now at least. Right now I’m so desperate, I’ll take any kindness I can.
Even if I have no idea how long the feeling will last.
CHAPTER 29
The sun is shining by the time I open my eyes again. It hits me right away. There was no middle-of-the-night drama, no close calls with James. I never thought the idea of sleeping through the night would matter quite this much. It’s like this experience has changed everything I ever thought mattered.
I’m alone in bed, too. I don’t register Colt’s absence right away, but once I do, I look across the room, expecting him to be in the bathroom. He’s not. He must have left quietly while I was out cold. I almost wish he hadn’t, even if I’m glad I avoided the awkwardness of facing him this morning.
My eyes must be playing tricks on me. I blink hard and rub my fists over them, but the image in front of me doesn’t change.
The door is partly open.
Right away, my heart takes off at double time. Does he realize he did it? I’m afraid to hope, afraid to think this might mean something good. Maybe he only thought he closed it but didn’t all the way. Whatever the reason, I’m not going to let an opportunity slip through my fingers.
I hop out of bed as quietly as I can, then exercise just as much care in pulling jeans and a T-shirt from my dresser without making a sound. As soon as I’m dressed, I tiptoe out into the hall, listening for any voices. It’s past eight o’clock, so it’s not early enough that I can hope everybody’s still asleep. James is probably up and around somewhere. I guess he eventually has to get back to the office, even if he is supposed to be on his honeymoon right now.
I can’t help but remember the women at the rehearsal dinner. The way they all looked at him like he was some big prize. They didn’t even bother to hide their interest, even with him standing arm in arm with the woman he was marrying the following day.
I wonder what they would think of him if they knew what he’s really like.
I still don’t hear anything coming from downstairs, so I take the chance of going down slowly, one step at a time, listening hard all the way. By the time I’m at the bottom of the staircase, I haven’t heard anything to discourage me from trying to get through the front door. It doesn’t come as a huge surprise when the knob won’t turn—and I don’t have a key for the special bolt that’s been engaged.
I’m not going to give up. There has to be another way. The back door? I don’t remember ever seeing a special lock on the door leading from the kitchen to the patio. When I head in that direction, I look up the stairs, expecting to find someone staring down at me. That doesn’t happen, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take my time getting to the kitchen, starting down the hall with my heart in my throat the whole time.
