Jason was in Hell, and feeling very much like the Devil himself.
Coward!
His conscience ate at him after what Hope had revealed, hammered at him to tell Hope that he’d cold-bloodedly set up this complete sham to get her married to him. But how could he do that now, when he desperately needed her to trust him?
Christ! He’d lied to her, manipulated her, accused her of some nasty things that she wasn’t guilty of at all. She’d been raped. Repeatedly. Beaten. Terrified. All he wanted to do was fix everything, take it all away. But he couldn’t, and he hated himself for that.
Bastard!
Asshole!
Selfish prick!
Hope had suffered through horrors that he couldn’t even imagine, and yet he’d never stopped to think that maybe something was seriously wrong with her. He’d been too damn worried about himself, how he could fuck her to alleviate his own needs. Did he think about her needs? No…he hadn’t, and he should be shot for being such a self-centered son of a bitch.
She’d been brave enough to spill her own life-altering secrets, and they had turned his guts inside out. He couldn’t think about her ordeal or how much she’d suffered—how close she’d come to dying—without completely losing his fucking mind. Just thinking about her trapped in the trunk of a car, taken to God knows where in a foreign country, and being violated over and over again made his entire body shudder with fury. His protective instincts were on overdrive, and he never wanted to let her out of his sight again.
Jason was fairly certain if most people had gone through the ordeal that Hope had suffered, they’d never set foot out of the country again. Yet, she’d gone back, determined not to let that experience take over her life. Jesus. That took guts. Maybe Tate had been right when he’d said that Hope had balls.
Obviously, Tate had recognized Hope, but he hadn’t let on that he knew her. That pissed Jason off and humbled him at the same time. Colter had kept Hope’s secrets, but Jason wished the cocky bastard had said something, given him some warning about all Hope had been through. Jason knew he’d been a complete asshole toward his friend just because of a hug—and toward Hope, with the sham wedding—and he didn’t like himself very much at the moment. Colter had saved Hope’s life, and for that, Jason wanted to hug the arrogant Tate himself, thank him for protecting Hope when Jason had failed to do so himself.
She’s never been with a man except by force.
Christ! He wanted to be the man to teach her that sex wasn’t bad. The only man. Just the thought of anyone else touching her made him tighten his arms around her until she squeaked.
“Sorry.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m feeling a little protective.”
I’m feeling a little insane! Okay…maybe more than just a little.
“I don’t need your protection, Jason. I need you to fuck me and help me like it,” she told him teasingly, tremulously.
Jason nearly growled. For him, both of those things were entwined. He wanted to claim her, brand her as his by fucking her senseless, make her his to protect. He didn’t want her to remember anything sexually before him. But he was almost terrified of the act himself now. What if he hurt her? Still, if this was what Hope wanted, he would give her any damn thing she desired. “Speaking of protection, you told me you’re clean, but you didn’t ask if I was,” he mentioned gruffly.
“I trust you,” she murmured softly. “If you weren’t, you would have told me.”
Slam!
His conscience bitch-slapped him. Hard!
She trusted him, yet he really wasn’t worthy of her trust.
I can’t tell her right now. Not yet. She needs to be able to trust me. And from this moment on, I’ll never do anything to betray that trust. Someday I’ll have to tell her, but I’m going to try to give her what she wants first.
“I’m safe. I’ve never once had sex without my own protection. I’m not exactly trusting,” he admitted honestly.
She wriggled off his lap and sat next to him. Her green-eyed gaze surveyed his face curiously. “How many women have you been with?”
Jason swallowed a lump in his throat and choked out an answer. “Enough.”
Hope folded her arms over her chest. “How many?”
Honestly, Jason was ashamed to admit that he couldn’t count. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.” He already knew that before Hope, none of them really mattered. They’d been a salve to a wound, a temporary fix, all of them wanting the same thing he did: sex with no strings.
“No girlfriend. Not ever?” she questioned with a small frown.
“Once. When I was in college.”