“Only because I knew you’d eventually bid on an identity. I hacked into their servers months ago, and then investigated every person who bid on someone I thought you might be interested in, until I found you. No one else knew to look for you in this venue.”
I was still on the sofa, but she was sitting in an upholstered chair, now. She was on edge, hyped up, but trying to appear relaxed. “Why spend so much time and attention finding me again?”
“You’re under my skin. I want to know you better, want to spend time with you. Nothing else, Buttercup. Been a long time since I found a woman I could hold a conversation with and not want to put a ball-gag in her mouth.”
She grinned, but it didn’t go to her eyes.
When our food arrived, she sobered even more as she ate. My kissing her had acted as a cold shower, but neither of us brought it up.
She was obviously sleepy as she finished her meal, and I asked, “I slept with you once before and kept my hands to myself. Do you trust me to take care of you close up, or would you rather I took the sofa?”
“I’m sober, you don’t have to stay.”
“And yet, I told you I would, so I will. Tell me where you want me.”
“If you’re gonna be stubborn, I’ll take the sofa. You’re too big for it.”
I shook my head. “No. I want to be between you and the door. You’ll be in your bed, the only question is where I’ll be.”
She threw her arms up and headed towards the bedroom. “Fine, ass-hat. Whatever. You keep your shorts on, and don’t come in until I give the all clear. I’m gonna change.”
Was she saying she trusted me to sleep in the bed with her, and not push it?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ice
Brain wasn’t the kind of guy to let my panic attack go with stupid explanations. First, he was too smart, and second, he was too damned nosy.
The truth was, I knew he’d take care of me, and I liked the idea of going to sleep and letting him keep an eye on me. I hadn’t slept soundly since I’d arrived in Atlanta.
And he’d held me close in my sleep before, and even though I’d wanted to hate it… he’d gotten under my skin, too.
So now, I put on some loose black shorts and a black tee, and slid between the sheets.
Brain came in a few minutes later, put his gun, keys, and wallet on the bedside table, took his jeans off, and slid into bed behind me.
I didn’t look at him, didn’t need to see him without his pants on. The boxer briefs had practically made me drool before, and we weren’t having sex tonight so I didn’t need to start lusting after him.
I was tired, but within a few minutes I realized sleep wasn’t going to happen right away, and I resituated the pillow, closed my eyes, and tried to empty my mind.
“What did the Russians do to you?”
His voice was a soft request, not a demand, and my eyes watered before I could process an answer. “It’s in the past. Doesn’t matter.”
“When you freeze after I kiss you? It matters.”
“Then don’t kiss me again.” Not like that, anyway.
“You said you’d had relationships. Did you not kiss them?”
“Yeah. Exactly. I kissed them, not the other way around.” He didn’t say anything, and I squeezed my eyes shut and took a centering breath to try to get a handle on my emotions. “You said you’d go away if we weren’t compatible. I’m pretty sure this proves we aren’t.”
“No. It proves you haven’t dealt with your baggage.”
I didn’t respond, and five minutes later he asked, “Are the men who hurt you dead?”
“No. I had to kill a few during my escape, but I’m sure at least most of the rest are still alive. It’s a rough life, some are bound to have died, but I haven’t kept close track of most of them. Like I said, ancient history.”
“And keeping tabs on them might put you at risk of being found, because they’re the kind of guys who want to know who’s looking into them.”
I shook my head, but admitted, “Yeah.”
His hand touched my shoulder, caressed my arm, and I felt the loss of him as he withdrew it. I didn’t have the nerve to tell him it was okay, much less to ask him to touch me again.
I took a breath and said, “Because you’ll find out eventually, I’ll tell you they cut my clit hood off, and that’s why I have a piercing holding my labia together — to protect it. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t intend to tell you the other things they did to me. I just want you to leave it the hell alone.”
“Thanks for telling me. I don’t know if you need to be held, but I need to hold you. Would that be okay?”