“Shh,” she murmured against his mouth. “I need this. I need you, Roman. Would you come inside?”
She rose and held out her hand.
Torn between what he thought was best for her and what she was asking of him, at last he took her hand and followed her into this house that felt more like home than anywhere he’d ever been.
And she was the reason.
She pulled away from him only long enough to light a lamp, then led him to her bedroom, her small hand swallowed in his. Once inside, she drew him forward until they stood by her bed—a confection of fluffy pillows over a quilt that only furthered his sense of coming home.
“Jenna…”
She rose to her toes and silenced him with her lips. “Please don’t say you shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t.” But he wanted to be. Desperately.
He pulled back. Cradled her poor injured face. “Oh, God,” he said, in the light able to get a closer look at what had been done to her.
“Please,” she said, eyes swimming. “I don’t want to feel ugly or scared. I want to feel beautiful.”
“You are more than beautiful,” he answered. “So much more.” She needed him. Maybe only for tonight, but if this was all he would have of her, all he could do for her…nothing he could do would be enough to make up for what she’d suffered.
Gently he pressed a kiss to her bruised cheek. To the barely healed corner of her mouth. Rage rose in him, monstrous and choking out every last—
I should have killed him.
“Shh,” she said, over and over, punctuating each breath with a kiss to his eyes, his cheeks, his ears, healing something inside him with each touch, when he was supposed to be taking care of her. “I’m all right, now that you’re here.”
He lost himself in the blue eyes that were his vision of heaven. He could say he was sorry until the end of forever, and it wouldn’t make a dent in his sin. And she would never be allowed to forget what she’d suffered.
Or he could try to honor her courage and her beauty, to pay tribute with his body to a woman he admired. Cherished.
So Roman did his best to lock away every ounce of rage, every killing thought that would taint what he could do for her. Who he could be for her.
Slowly, reverently, he worshipped Jenna with his body, with soft, tender touches of his lips and his fingertips, slowly baring her, never pushing her beyond her eagerness…and her eagerness grew.
Soon she was stripping him with haste, and it was hard to tell who was more nervous, whose fingers trembled most.
When at last they were both naked, he paused, looking down at her and wondering how one woman could encapsulate every dream he’d ever had. “You are so beautiful,” he said to her. He let his fingers trace the glories of her flesh, taunting and teasing, delighting in every curve. When he spotted the fingertip pattern of bruises on her breast, fury stopped him in his tracks.
But he felt her falter. Sensed her shame, her need to be healed.
He caught her chin in his hand and let his eyes say what he didn’t have the words to express. Then he bent and used his lips to cleanse her of each mark of violence she should never have had to experience.
* * *
HIS BIG HANDS WERE so reverent, so tender. With slow, careful strokes he painted Jenna’s body with a torturous sweetness, a maddening caution that made her feel both deeply protected and brought her tears dangerously near the surface.
When at last he broke through the scrim she’d been fighting to paste over the shreds of her confidence, she tried to roll away from him, to cover herself and the soul-deep flaw that had been exposed in her.
Roman wouldn’t let her flee. Instead he made her lie back, vulnerable and shorn of defense, and he sheltered her with his big body, with the fierce, powerful wings of his protection.
For a moment she hovered on the edge of terror, of the yawning pit of darkness her luck-filled life had kept her from seeing, surrounded as she had always been by those who loved her. She had, for the first time ever, experienced the soul-destroying powerlessness that others like Freddie lived with every day.
What if she was unequal to the challenge? What if all the strength she’d never before doubted she possessed was now revealed as empty bluster? She trembled from the terror of it.
Roman seemed to sense her fear, gathering her up and holding her close, his powerful frame surrounding her, shielding her, the warmth of his skin seeping into hers, feeding her his own strength until hers returned.
He understood. Whatever it was that had marked him, whatever had scarred him, he, too, had been sliced to the core—judging from the wounds on his body, he’d been cut far worse than she could even imagine. He knew what it was like to feel powerless, and her fear didn’t intimidate him.
He saw, and he regretted, but he didn’t stop touching her, and he didn’t hold her apart as though she would break. Instead, as soon as she began to settle, his strokes changed from soothing to whisper-light teasing, to a delicious, spooled-out torment. In her heart of hearts, she came to see that she could trust this man not to be afraid of her weakness, and the relief of it was stunning.
He was here with her, truly here. He saw into her heart, and she had her first true glimpse into his. There was much she didn’t know about him yet, but they were together now, and she would have time to learn.
At the understanding that she could be who she was with him—strong or frightened, cheerful or despairing—and he wouldn’t flinch, desire came roaring back to her.
Her hands began to roam over his body, and she was consumed by a tenderness she’d never experienced before, by a driving need to prove to this man who resisted letting anyone close, that his scars and his wounds didn’t bother her, either. She slipped from his arms and pushed him back on the mattress, then began at his feet, pressing kiss after kiss to the terrible evidence of what he had suffered.
“Jenna,” he protested as he rose, but she shoved him down and kept going, taking her time to caress every ridge of scar tissue, every micron of puckered flesh. He remained tense, unable to accept her ministry as he had so willingly offered his own, so she added the stroke of her fingers to the press of her mouth. Slowly she worked her way back up his body, and at last he began to yield, to accept what she desperately wanted to give.
He had fought for her, this man, not once but twice. He’d rescued a lost, injured boy who would have died. She wanted to know what had happened to render him unable to see who he was at his core: a scarred, beautiful warrior whose good heart was buried under the weight of his past but still beat strong and true.
She traveled her way up his thighs and felt a new tension invade him. She let the ends of her hair brush over his groin as she raised her face to him and smiled, then took him into her mouth.
With a gasp, he reacted as if she’d branded him.
Suddenly she was on her back again beneath a hot, hard man with smoldering eyes.
“Roman…” Even as she burned with him, she cradled his face in her hands.
In that moment, he was open to her, those beautiful, wounded eyes filled with powerful emotion.
Then he bent his head and kissed her with such passion that she was lost in the magnetism of this man who, unlike any other, spoke to the deepest part of who she was.
At last, she thought. Here you are, my one true love. I was afraid I’d never find you.
* * *
SOMETHING SHIFTED IN HER, and Roman felt it in himself. The darkness in her eased, and shades of the old Jenna soon appeared, the playful Jenna, the one with shining eyes. She rose in a silken undulation, pushing at his shoulder and toppling him, quickly straddling him, a Celtic queen in all her glory, a bright, beautiful fairy with mischief in her eyes and magic in her fingertips.
With a smile curving her lips, Jenna proceeded to l
ay siege to his every last defense. She tickled him and giggled when he flinched. Arched her lithe body and rubbed herself against him until he moaned. She kissed his shoulders, trailed her tongue over his biceps, down his chest and over his belly, then took him in her mouth once more.
He hissed and hastily plucked her off, reversing their positions again, loving her with his body, with his tongue and his lips and his hands, until she was moaning, too.
Then, hoping to heaven she was better prepared than he was, he stretched past her, admiring her pretty blush as he fished for a condom in the drawer next to the bed.
Thank God for women who liked to be in control, he thought as he found one.
Watching her eyes go wide, her pupils huge and dark, slowly he sheathed himself inside her, never taking his gaze from hers.
And they climbed together into a refuge, a heaven he’d never been to before, a glorious beautiful oasis where no one hurt, no one died, no one suffered. A haven lit by Jenna’s smile, with a sky the color of her eyes, with a sun nearly as bright as her courage and her kindness.
Where Roman found, for the first time in longer than he could remember, a place where his heart did not hurt. Where joy raced through his veins. Where his world was this woman, this beautiful, sweet woman he could so easily love all his days.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CORDITE STUNG THE AIR. He couldn’t hear anything for a second—
Then all he could hear were screams.
Blood matted his face, gore spattered his chest—
Roman awoke gasping.
Disoriented, caught on the claws of gut-wrenching despair, he felt the presence of another and went on full alert, poised to attack, until he realized where he was.
Jenna’s bed. Jenna’s house, not—
His heart slowed a little, his breathing gradually evening out. Carefully he rolled to his side and watched her sleep, tempted beyond wisdom to touch her hair, to rub his fingers over the red-gold talisman of her goodness.
Mijo, there are angels where you least expect them, Abuela used to say. As a boy he’d been fascinated by the notion; as a worldly teen, he’d been dismissive. As a grown man, he’d been tolerant of her beliefs, but he’d never shared them.
Angels. As he yielded to his longing and let a lock of her hair slide through his fingers, he smiled to himself. He’d never thought of an angel being stubborn or sassy. An unlikely angel, yes, but for all her single-minded determination to make reality take the shape that she wanted, this woman had a heart as fierce and pure as any celestial being could claim.
If only he could be what she needed. One day, maybe, but that was a big maybe, a day so far off he couldn’t envision it. He yearned to be that man, but his heart was still filled with darkness, his mind a cobweb of all the horror he couldn’t find a way to forget, all the pain and loss he’d been part of, all the guilt he could not shake.
He was a bad bargain, and this stubborn, valiant woman would never give up on him if he stayed. He would drag her down with him, and of everything weighing on his conscience, that failure would break him.
To the end of his days, though, he would never forget what it had been like to be lost in love with this woman who was as generous with her body as she was with her heart. He would carry it with him, a flame against the darkness, wherever he went.
But go he must, before she awoke. Before she tangled herself deeper in the quagmire that was his mind and she was the one who broke.
Slowly and carefully he left the bed that had, for a few short hours, been the closest he would get to paradise in this life.
Goodbye, angel, he said silently.
And, after one long, last, yearning look…
He left.
* * *
JENNA AWOKE TO A MORNING bright and beautiful. She felt newly washed and clean, cleared of the remnants of horror, the bindings of fear.
And her body, oh, her body felt absolutely glorious. She opened her eyes and rolled over to watch Roman sleep.
Except the bed was empty. “Roman?” Only silence greeted her. She sat up to swing her legs over the side and something captured her attention.
On the other pillow lay a note.
She lifted her hand, started to reach—and just as quickly retracted it. She exhaled a puff of air and delayed the reckoning. It might be only a note saying he’d gone out for doughnuts and would be back.
But this was Roman, after all. Mr. Vanishing.
She’d always been a rip-off-the-bandage kind of person, though, so even with her heart sinking, she leaned across and plucked the paper from the pillow.
She’d never seen his handwriting before, a bold slash of letters spelling her name.
Biting her lip, she opened it.
I can’t do this to you.
Roman
She dropped the note as if it were on fire and all but leaped from the bed. Halfway across the room, she turned to glare at the paper as if it were him.
Now, for the first time this morning, she felt truly naked. A rush to her closet, a grab for her robe. Belting it tightly, she gripped the neckline in one fist as her heart sank. What happened, Roman? It was beautiful. You were beautiful. I thought we—
I will not cry. She’d shed too many tears already. If he didn’t want her, then just screw him. Welcome anger swept over her. With quick steps she reached the kitchen and mechanically began assembling a pot of coffee, then busied herself searching through her overstuffed refrigerator in search of…there!
Defiantly she yanked out the amazing coconut-cream pie Lucia Marin had brought over. I will have pie for breakfast, and be damned to you, Roman Gallardo.
I can’t do this to you. The words rang in her head. He was protecting her.
Which made him no different than any of the other males in her life after all. She’d thought he was different, believed he saw her as she was. Didn’t need her to put on a cheerful mask and pretend.
She’d gotten it all wrong. Last night had been a sham. Last night had been…
Glorious. She dropped her fork in the sink after one bite that tasted like sawdust. She stared out her window and let every second play out.
Last night she had kissed his scars.
He had let his guard down. Had looked at her with no shields, with his own broken heart bleeding before her.
Oh, Roman.
Give him space but not too much. It’s a hard place he’s in, and a dark one.
That light he craves is the very thing he can’t let himself enjoy.
But what about me, Diego? Fear was a ball in her stomach, dread that Roman was leaving, that he would be gone before she found him.
For a second, she felt a flicker or her old self surface. You’re too strong to feel weak forever.
She would go searching for him, she realized. No way was she throwing in the towel yet. A genuine smile rose inside her, and she set her spine ramrod straight. As she marched to her closet, she was already dialing the phone. “Fayrene? I’m so glad you’re in. This is Jenna MacAllister, and I need your help.”
* * *
ROMAN HAD COVERED the windows and turned off the water supply to the sinks, tub and toilet. He’d done a thorough check of the door locks and each window.
His duffel was packed, and his truck was loaded with what little he intended to take, mostly tools so he could find work wherever the hell he was headed.
The cat was nowhere to be found, but Chico had managed to survive before Roman’s arrival and would likely do so once he was gone. There was nothing left to tie him to this place. He would sell it as soon as he figured out what he wanted—at least, out of what he could have.
God knew when that might ever happen.
One last tug at the lock on the garage that had been his home for the past several months
. He would stop by the hospital on the way out of town and leave the note he’d written for Freddie, then he was done.
He turned toward the driveway—
And halted in his tracks.
“Going somewhere?” Jenna leaned on the grill of his truck, no one’s vision of an angel now, in her short denim skirt and the snug top that bared a tantalizing strip of her belly.
He decided the safer route was to remain silent.
She shoved herself off the bumper and prowled toward him with the slender legs he could still feel wrapped around his waist. “I asked you a question.”
He couldn’t figure her mood, especially with her sunglasses hiding her eyes. “Yeah.”
“Want to explain this?” She waved the note he’d written only a few hours before.
“Seems self-evident to me.” He’d chew his way through razor wire to get to her, damn it. But for her own good, he wouldn’t. Go away.
“Well, maybe I’m just not too bright,” she said, continuing to narrow the distance between them until she was so close he couldn’t get a good breath. “But I don’t recall giving you power of attorney.”
He blinked. “What?”
“To decide my life for me.” She still had those damn sunglasses on, and he couldn’t stand it.
He yanked them off her nose and tossed them to the ground.
Blue lightning greeted him. The crackle of thunderclouds. “Those were my favorite sunglasses.”
“What?”
“You owe me some sunglasses,” she said, pressing her chest to his.
Oh, God, he knew these curves, knew the sweet pale rose of her nipples, how they felt between his lips. “Sunglasses?” he echoed.
She smacked him hard in the sternum. “Catch up, damn you, Roman. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’ve never heard you curse.”
“You’re about to hear more, you stupid, stupid—” Then she did the worst thing she could possibly do to him.
A Life Rebuilt Page 23
