Giving In(67)

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her silky hair. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, as if again she was soothing him and not the other way around.

“I’d like that,” he said.

She drew away but kept ahold of his hand and then tugged him toward the bedroom. When they entered, she went to the drawer where most of her clothing was and pulled out a pair of pajamas.

She stripped efficiently, not at all bothered by the fact he could see her. He was relieved that for the most part she didn’t seem too traumatized over the night’s events. Perhaps he was the one reeling the most. Seeing the woman brutalized in the parking lot had brought back painful memories for him. A feeling of helplessness had gripped him when the woman had pleaded with him not to call the police.

God, he never wanted to feel that helplessness again.

His hands were shaking. He hadn’t even realized it until Kylie came over to him and slid her hands into his, squeezing in a comforting manner.

“We need to get you undressed and ready for bed,” she said.

He stood there while she undressed him piece by piece. She moved slowly and almost reverently, as if she’d taken over the role of caregiver, one usually assigned to him. And yet he allowed it, savoring the sensation of having someone who loved him to care for him when he was vulnerable.

Only with this woman would he ever allow this side of himself to be exposed. With no one else had he ever felt secure enough to allow control out of his grasp.

When he was down to his underwear, she guided him toward the bed, pulling the covers back so they could get in.

As soon as they were both settled in, Kylie snuggled into his arms, pillowing her head on his shoulder.

“What happened tonight, Jensen?” she asked gently. “Aside from the obvious. I saw the look in your eyes. I saw more than anger or rage. I saw grief and . . . despair. You once told me that I wasn’t the only one who struggled with the demons of their past. Will you tell me about them now?”

He closed his eyes a moment, wondering just how much he should tell her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her or didn’t trust her enough to share. He worried that it would bring back unpleasant memories for her if he related his own tormented childhood.

As if reaching into his mind and plucking out his thoughts, she cupped his jaw and smoothed her hand over his cheek.

“Tonight is about you,” she said in a soft voice. “I don’t want you to worry about me. For once, let me be the strong one for you. I’ll listen. To whatever you tell me. And I’ll never tell anyone else. You can trust me.”

He turned his face in to her hand, kissing her palm. “Ah, Kylie, I trust you absolutely. I trust you more than anyone else. I just don’t want to hurt you or bring back painful memories for you.”

“You won’t,” she said solemnly. “Not tonight. Tonight I’m here to listen. To be strong for you like you’ve been strong for me.”

God, but he loved this woman. The idea of not being with her ripped a hole in his heart. He never wanted to contemplate a life without her. Not now that he had her. She belonged to him, and he’d never willingly let her go.

She touched his face again, lightly stroking the curve of his jaw.

“I love you. Remember that. Nothing you say will ever change that.”

He closed his eyes, wondering how he’d gotten so damn lucky. Who would have ever thought he’d meet his soul mate in a woman with whom sexual dominance wasn’t possible. But then she’d likely never pondered or entertained even for a moment becoming involved with a dominant man, so perhaps they were even.

“I hope to hell that will always be the case,” he said.

She nodded, sincerity blazing in her eyes.

He sucked in a breath, taking the plunge. He wanted to get it over with. Like ripping a bandage off quickly.

“Like you I come from an abusive background. My father—”

He choked on the words, hating to give the man who’d been such a monster the reverence of that title.

Sorrow filled her eyes. And understanding. But she remained silent, not interrupting him as he struggled with how to continue.

“Unlike in your case, most of his abuse wasn’t directed at me. I wish to hell it had been. That I could have dealt with. But he took out his rage on my mother and I was helpless to do anything but watch and then pick up the pieces afterward. I hate that feeling. I hate it.”

A tear slid down Kylie’s cheek, her grief as thick as his own. She understood all too well his feelings on the subject. She knew more than anyone else his pain and the wretchedness of his memories.

Her hand trembled against his cheek but she kept it there, a silent signal of her love and support.