“They know you’re with me, which means you’re safe. If we give them an exact location, we both know they’ll find a way up here. Flying is the easiest way to reach the cabin, but it’s not the only way.”
She nodded but guilt still niggled at her soul. She was being selfish and her family didn’t deserve the additional stress. Still, the torment in their eyes had been too revealing, too hurtful. They’d obviously spent the past few weeks imagining the horrors she’d undergone and even their worst imaginings couldn’t touch the reality of her captivity.
Devon walked into the bathroom and closed the door as Ian’s chest ached with unfamiliar feelings. His protective nature was fully engaged and easily explained. She was wounded and lost. Anyone with a beating heart would feel protective of her. But other, more convoluted, emotions twisted through his being as well. He was aware of her as he’d never been before.
Thanks to Payne’s meddling, Ian couldn’t help noticing the enticing shape of her body and the fullness of her lips. He could still feel her breasts pressed against his chest and the firm circle of her long legs looped around his waist. He’d never allowed himself to think of Devon as a desirable woman, and now was the absolute worst time for him to change his perspective. She was confused and defenseless. Only the worst sort of asshole would take advantage of her vulnerability.
With his determination restored, he turned his attention to his surroundings. There was only one bed and though it was large enough for two, he had no intention of suggesting they share it. Without a couch or even a loveseat, there weren’t many options. This had always been his secret hideout, his retreat from the world. He’d never brought anyone here before, yet he hadn’t hesitated to share it with Devon.
He rubbed his forehead and forced the speculation aside. His thoughts were just running in circles. If he added a layer of sleeping bags to the rug, one of them could sleep by the fire. He dug two sleeping bags out of the storage closet and spread them in front of the hearth. Then he topped the pile with the down quilt and tossed a pillow onto the makeshift bed. Satisfied with the outcome, he looked at the bathroom door.
The water was still running but he could hear nothing else, no splashing or rustling of the shower curtain. He moved closer to the door and called, “You okay in there?”
Nothing.
He knocked on the door and tried again. “Devon, are you all right?” Again she didn’t answer and his heart lurched within his chest. He reached for the handle then paused. “Say something or I’m coming in.” No such luck. “Damn it.” He muttered the curse under his breath as he opened the bathroom door.
He jerked the shower curtain open and found her huddled beneath the spray at the far end of the tub. He snatched the towel off the counter and held it out for her. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge his intrusion in any way. Her legs were drawn up and her forehead rested on her folded arms. He turned off the water and wrapped the towel around her shoulders, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react if he just reached down and picked her up.
“Devon, can you stand up? Come on, you’ve got to help me here.” He touched her upper arms, making sure she didn’t freak out before he tightened his grip and pulled her to her feet. Her arms released and her legs unfolded, but her head remained bowed, hair streaming across her face. He wrapped the towel more snugly around her and picked her up, refusing to think about anything except her obvious need for comfort. “I’ve got you, love. You’ll be fine.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her head on his shoulder, soaking his shirt in the process. She was trembling and unresponsive. Only her steady breathing assured him the crisis was emotional, not physical.
He was a warrior, a soldier, a scout. This was so far outside his realm of expertise it was comical. He had no idea what to do or say to bring her out of her stupor. Should he hold her? Encourage her to talk? What had made him think he was qualified to deal with this sort of trauma? He needed to do something. Anything. Water ran down his arm, drawing his attention to her dripping hair. If he didn’t comb it out, it would dry in snarls, if it dried at all. Okay, that was something. He’d comb out her hair.
After pushing back the quilt with his foot, he placed her on the pile he’d arranged before the fire. He covered her legs with the quilt then hurried back into the bathroom. A second towel waited on the towel rack and he found a comb in the drawer beside the sink.
She’d stayed exactly as he’d left her, staring blankly into the fire. He sat down behind her and extended his legs on either side of her hips, bending his knees to maintain his balance. Lifting her wet hair with one hand, he draped the spare towel around her shoulders then went to work on her hair.