Out Of Her League (24 page)

The ache in her chest intensified, her body raging a war between old fears of commitment, of abandonment, and this new insatiable need she was afraid to unleash. To separate the trauma of the attack from the security and emotional intimacy he represented.

Rayne took her deeper, stroking her tongue with his, sensation zinging down into the pit of her belly. His hands caressed her neck and shoulders, eased the length of her spine, then traced over her taut stomach and up to brush the curve of her left breast. She moaned and leaned into him, shocked at how good it felt. He brushed a thumb over her nipple, making her arch and gasp. Slow and sure, he kept moving his thumb while he licked into her mouth, leaving her trembling. She broke the kiss with a gasp and buried her face against his neck, shaking, battling the intense throbbing in her lower body.

Take me to bed
. The crazy plea formed, crowded her throat. She wanted to forget all the crazy melodrama, even if for one night.

“You all right?” His voice was low and rough.

“Yeah.” Her legs wobbled as he cradled her there in the firelight. Finally he broke the contact and stepped back.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and blew out a breath. “Ready to sleep yet?”

“I think that's probably the smartest thing for me to do.”

“I think you're right.” He straightened, dragged his fingers through his hair.

At least she wasn't the only one dying of need. “Rayne— ”

“Don't, Chris. We'll take this as slow as you need to. Nothing's going to happen until you're ready.”

If she hadn't been in love with him already, that would have done the trick.

As was already his habit, Rayne checked in on her before he went to bed, noting the spiral notebook clenched in one hand though she was fast asleep. He crossed the room to watch her for a moment.

She was breathing hard, her body twitching... another nightmare. He put his hand on her shoulder and she bolted upright with a strangled gasp, eyes wild and disoriented in her pale face. He stood still beside her, made no sudden moves as her eyes focused on him. “Easy, Chris,” he said soothingly, not daring to touch her. “It was just a dream.” Her face was glazed with perspiration and the mattress vibrated with her trembling.

She fought for air as if her throat was closed off, as if someone was strangling her.

“Jesus.” His heart thundered, panic bubbling inside him. He forced it down, willing himself to appear calm for her.

The choking gasps lessened and her body shook even more wildly, as if she were going into shock. She reached out blindly and clung to his arm like a lifeline, tears streaming through her clenched lids. She gulped lungfuls of air and fell back onto her pillow, clamping her arms around her belly and moaning, curling onto her side.

“I'm gonna to be sick,” she blurted, shoving at him and leaping out of bed to careen into the bathroom, the door slamming behind her.

Rayne went to stand there, wincing at the retching coming from inside. Should he go in and hold her hair back? The toilet flushed and then the basin tap was running. A minute later the shower came on, and he leaned his forehead against the doorframe.

After a while longer he knocked on the door. “Chris, are you all right in there?”

No answer. Only the sound of her grief muffled by the spray of water.

He swung the door open. “Chris?” he said again, barely making out her silhouette behind the shower curtain. She huddled with her arms wrapped around herself, choking back the sobs ripping from her chest. Trying to shut the pain away where he couldn't see it. He wished she'd just let go.

He hunkered next to the tub, letting the shower run for another few minutes before he reached in to shut it off. The dripping of water and her hitching breaths filled the humid bathroom.

She opened glassy, shadowed eyes to peer through the gap between the shower curtain and the wall, then flung herself into his arms and hung on.

He held her, trying to stop the trembling that shook her. Her fingers dug into his back, her wet torso soaking his t-shirt. “When will they stop?” she demanded in an agonized whisper.

He stroked her dripping hair, pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “I don't know, sweetheart.” She let out a defeated sigh and sagged against him, silently conveying her trust.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped her in it, hauling her out of the tub and onto his lap. “You scared the hell out of me back there. I thought you were going to stop breathing.”

“Sorry,” she whispered unsteadily. “They're not usually this bad.” She seemed to curl into herself.

Given all that had happened that day, he wasn't surprised she'd had another nightmare. He just hadn't known it would be like this. “Want to tell me about it?”

Her body went rigid in his arms. When she didn't say a word, he pulled back and searched her face.

“You know what happened.” The heat in her tone revealed her vulnerability.

“That's the whole problem. I don't.”

“Rayne, I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk about it.”

He sighed and gave her a level look. “I know it's tough, but how can I help you with this if I don't know what you're going through, what you've been through?”

“Don't you understand? I don't want you to know what he did, what he said... ” She battled more tears. “P-pass me my robe, please.”

He grabbed it from behind the door and wrapped the thick terrycloth folds around her, held her close. She pushed away, swaying upright and moving to sit on the closed toilet seat. Her spine straightened and her shoulders went back.

“If you don't mind, I need a minute to myself.”

In other words,
get out and leave me alone
. Her body language shouted it at him. Christ, he hated it when she shut him out. “Take your time.” Her physical and mental retreat filled him with something close to panic. She was slipping away from him, and he was helpless to stop it.

Despite the robe covering her she couldn't stop shivering. He'd been more than patient with her, and he did deserve to know more than she'd told him. It wasn't just the attack, although God knew that was enough to make her panic all by itself. This new threat had scraped her raw.

Surging with helpless anger, she made her way into the sitting room, the fire still snapping in the hearth. Rayne was sitting on the sofa.

“I made you some tea,” he said, his relaxed posture belying the tension between them. She felt as though she was about to face a firing squad.

She gratefully accepted the hot mug, glad she would have something to do with her hands, and paced about the room, avoiding his gaze.

No point in dancing around the subject. “I'm not ready to talk about the attack yet,” she blurted. “So exactly what else do you want to know? The sordid details of my last relationship? Why I've turned into a nutcase?” He didn't react to her aggression, merely sat there with that maddeningly calm expression on his face.

“Hush, honey. Whatever you can tell me. I'm listening.”

She continued pacing, desperate to burn off the nervous energy. “Okay, how about I give you the Coles Notes version.” She prayed for strength. “Five years ago I was living in Tucson with my boyfriend of two years, and when I came home a day early from a softball road trip, I found him in bed with a friend of ours.” Hannah, the blonde engineering student with the double-D implants. “Well, as you can imagine, I'd had no idea he was cheating on me. After she left we got into a huge fight, and the long and the short of it was that he was sleeping with her and a bunch of other women because— how did he put it? I wasn't ‘putting out’ enough,” she used her fingers as quotation marks, “and I was frigid. He had needs, you know, and I wasn't taking care of them properly.” The anger pulsed through her all over again. “I told him I might not be so ‘frigid’ if he'd tried thawing me out from time to time, and things went downhill from there.”

“Truth is, I dreaded sex with him because I didn't enjoy it, but according to him there was something wrong with me, because it couldn't be his fault. Lots of other women wanted sex with him, so I must be the one with the problem. And he still expected me to ‘put out’ whenever he felt like it.” There, she'd said it. Lightning hadn't struck her down where she stood. “So you do the math, Rayne. I hated sex for the two years I was having it, therefore I haven't had any since.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a hand. “Bottom line, the first and only sexual relationship I've ever had was over five years ago, and it didn't do a damn thing for me.” She gathered her courage and glanced at him, then into the flickering fire. “How can this ever work between us? I'm all closed up, and I don't know if I can open that part of myself again. Compare my history to your infamous sexual exploits and you can see why I'm a walking cautionary tale. Even before what just happened with the... the... ” She buried her face in her hands.

“Chris,
stop
.” He came over to put an arm around her. “Honey, I don't care how inexperienced you are, and as for your ex, he didn't deserve you. He was a selfish asshole who did a number on your self esteem, and I can't believe you put up with him as long as you did.”

Sometimes she had trouble believing it herself.

“There's nothing wrong with you, trust me. You just about burned me alive when I kissed you, and we still had all our clothes on. And as for my past exploits as you call them, well, I'm a hell of a lot more grown up than I used to be.”

She disengaged herself and gave him a pointed look. “Oh, come on, Rayne, an escort paid you— ”

He threw his hands in the air, eyes burning with frustration. “She meant it as a
joke
. I never touched her. You don't know how
sick
I am of everyone throwing my past in my face when they don't have the facts straight.”

She blinked at him while he hauled in a breath.

“Look, there's no need to be intimidated by my so-called ‘reputation'. Trust is earned, I know that, but I feel like I'm walking on eggshells all the time with you. Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?”

No, not personally. But she'd heard plenty to make her wary of him.

“I'm half afraid to touch you in case it triggers a bad memory. You said you cut your hair so no one could grab you by it again. So if I put my hands in your hair when I kiss you, will that scare you half to death?”

“No— ”

“Or what about your shoulder?”

She went white.

“Yeah, I know what happened. Does it still hurt, or is it the memory of what he did that makes you flinch when I get too close?”

The mention of it sucked the air out of her lungs.

“See? You're white as a sheet of paper because I even brought it up. I can't read your mind, even though I wish the hell I could. If you'd just tell me what happened, I'd have a better idea of what you need from me. Help me out here, Chris.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, his hazel eyes earnest. “I care about you. I want this to work.”

Man, how she wanted to believe it. But her emotions were in upheaval, the scars too deep. She was the proverbial basket-case, and what man would have the patience for that, especially one who could have any woman he wanted? She was ruined, a bundle of neuroses. And all because of a psychopath who wanted her dead.

She turned away. “It's no good. I can't talk about it yet, Rayne. It's too soon, and I'm still trying to sort through it all in my head. I'm not shutting you out on purpose, really I'm not. I don't have a clue how to deal with it all myself. I've been trying to write it down in my journal, and that's been hard but I think it's helping a bit.”

She retrieved the bound notebook she'd brought from her bed, clutched it to her as if afraid he'd try to take it from her, revealing her burden of shame and fear.

His gaze never wavered. “Chris, I'm a cop. I saw you in the hospital, and I saw your bedroom afterward, so I've got a pretty good idea what he did to you.”

More blood drained from her face, her heart knocking against her ribs. He might have an idea of what she'd suffered, but he didn't know the details. And he didn't know the reason behind the attack. “Trust me, some of the things in here would totally upset you. In this case, ignorance really is bliss.”

His expression tightened and he held out a hand. “Chris— ”

She jerked her arm away, tension in every rigid line of her body. “Don't. Please, Rayne. It was so awful, and I'm not ready to tell you about it yet. Okay?” She couldn't stem the sheen of tears flooding her eyes.

He stared at her for long moments, then relented with another exhalation. “Okay.” He pulled her into his arms to hold her against his heart. “Okay. I guess it can wait a little longer.”

She slumped against him, feeling like she'd been given the stay of execution at the eleventh hour.

Next morning Rayne came through the front door into the cottage, still damp from the shower he'd taken at the gym. Christa was spending a few hours with Bryn, God help him, so he and Jake were fending for themselves. He peeled off his sweatshirt and shoes, headed into the kitchen for a glass of water, then stretched out on the living room floor, pulling one knee to the opposite shoulder and holding it, repeating the other side before sitting to work out the stiffness in his hamstrings.

Holding the position to let his muscles lengthen, he noticed Christa had left her bag on the couch, her journal peeking out of it. If only she could find the courage to share what had happened to her, he'd have a better idea of how to go about helping her heal.

Which was why he'd dearly love to read what was in that journal.

No, he couldn't betray her trust like that. She'd told him flat out she didn't want him to know some of what she'd written, and he had to respect that, but that only worried him more. What did the journal contain that was too horrible for him to know about? Words triggered by her darkest nightmares, the hell she had endured. His imagination had been too good at conjuring up the sort of terrible realities he'd faced as a cop. How long could he wait for her to be ready for him to find out what had actually happened to her?