"What kind of kiss was that?" she whispered, dazed and shaken by the experience.
"One that says I care a great deal about you and one that says you're a very special woman."
"You do? I am?" she asked in bewilderment.
Isaac sighed. "I don't know who made you feel like you were unworthy, like you were nothing, because you don't trust me enough to share that with me yet, but Jenna, it's bullshit. It's complete bullshit. You're a fucking miracle, honey, and I don't mean because of your gift."
"I do trust you, Isaac," she said, staring earnestly into his eyes. "I'm sorry if I made you feel as if I don't. I'm just worried. I don't want you or any of your men to be hurt or killed because of me. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you-any of you."
Isaac cupped her cheek tenderly, luring her further into his embrace.
"Jenna, I want you to listen to me. Really listen to me, okay? Nothing is going to happen to me or any of my men. Our job is to protect you. It is not your job to protect us. Do you understand?"
"You have no idea how ruthless they are," she said tearfully. "Or what their plans are."
"No, I don't," he said calmly. "Because you won't confide in me. If you want to protect me and the others, the best thing you can do is to trust me and tell me everything. We can't prepare for the worst if we don't know what the worst is."
She ducked her head, guilt overwhelming her. He was right. What was her shame compared to their lives? She was being selfish, choosing her pride over their safety.
"I'm so sorry," she choked out. "I know you're right. You need to know everything. You've been nothing but kind when I've been nothing but ashamed, and my pride could get all of you killed."
Isaac squeezed her in a gesture of comfort. "No one blames you, baby. But I won't lie. It's driving me crazy not knowing what those bastards have done to you. I want to kill every last one of them so you'll feel safe, so you can stop running and constantly looking over your shoulder. And honey, you can trust me to take care of you. If you let me in I'll make sure nothing ever hurts or frightens you again."
"I do trust you," she said softly, reaching up to palm his stubbly jaw.
Never before had she met a man like Isaac. So formidable, a warrior, and yet so gentle and patient with her that she wanted to weep.
"Then will you tell me everything?" he asked, stroking a hand through her hair. "And I mean everything. I want to know everything about you, Jenna. What makes you happy, what makes you sad, what makes you smile, and especially what hurts you and frightens you."
She didn't realize she was shaking or that her alarm was evident until Isaac sat up and pulled her across his lap, cradling her in his arms. He rubbed his hand up and down her back and pressed his lips to the top of her head.
"You're trembling, honey, and panic is all over your face. You're safe with me. Nothing can touch you while you're in my arms. I need you to relax and take some deep breaths, try to calm down. We don't have to talk about this right now. I'll wait as long as necessary until you're ready to tell me, okay? I will never pressure you."
She was silent for a long moment, grappling with painful and humiliating memories. Isaac didn't break the silence. He continued to hold her, rocking her in a soothing motion, hand rubbing lightly up and down her spine as he waited patiently, almost as if he sensed the intense battle waging inside her.
"I belong to a cult," she said boldly, her gaze immediately shooting to Isaac for any sign of judgment or condemnation. But he didn't react, nor did he stop the gentle caresses up and down her back.
"I say 'belong,' but belonging indicates a conscious choice," she said bitterly. "I was a prisoner and treated as such."
At that, Isaac's expression darkened but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
"I wasn't always with them," she said wistfully. "Or at least I don't think I was. I have memories of when I was young. I think they were of my parents. I remember a man-my father? Tossing me in the air and then kissing me on the nose."
Tears burned her eyelids as she strained to assemble those memories in her mind, desperately wanting to hold on to them and for them to be true. That at one time, someone had loved her and had wanted her.
"He always smiled at me. And the woman . . . I don't have as many memories of her, but I remember her making a birthday cake for me and me blowing out the candles."
"How many candles?" Isaac asked, interrupting her for the first time. "Think hard, baby. How many candles were on your cake?"