Page 75 of Teach Me
That hurt. But all he said was, “I know.”
Cris’s gaze seared him, searched for the truth, for understanding. “So you killed the bastard, huh?”
Con squared his shoulders. “Yeah.”
“Good.” She looked back at Steven, then turned to Con again. “When can I see her?”
Mentally kissing any time with Jess good-bye for the next little while, Con reached out to help the woman to her feet. “Let’s go talk to the nurse.”
Two hours later, Jess’s slitted gaze watched the door close behind her friend. Con could see the glaze in her eyes, though crying, recriminations, explanations—hell, practically wailing and gnashing of teeth, not that he blamed Cris one bit—had been endured by her in a silent haze of drugged calm. Even when he gathered her hand in his, he could feel the slight shivering of pain-induced shock no medicine could completely dissipate. Still her fingers clamped down hard on his as he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
He locked eyes with her and ducked down to her level, inches apart—his dad’s trick—before whispering, “I love you, Jess.”
For a moment she didn’t move, didn’t react, almost as if the words hadn’t registered. “What?”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
No change of expression, no other words. Con’s heart squeezed hard. He leaned even closer until his lips rubbed against hers. “I love you, Jess. Wanna hear it again?” he asked, tilting his mouth into a smile. “Me too. I love you. I do.”
“I do to—”
A soft kiss silenced her. When her mouth relaxed and let him in, he stroked inside gently, careful of her split lip, letting his actions do the talking. Wet warmth greeted him, a soft moan caressed his tongue, and Con reveled in the knowledge that his woman was here, safe, in his arms. He loved her. All the rest was in the past—only the two of them counted. The two of them and their future.
Pulling back, Jess stared up at him. Dark purple shadows underlined her eyes, and a faint pink streak of blood marred her temple. Reaching out to wipe away the offending reminder, he said the only words that mattered right now, maybe ever. “Come home with me, baby.”
Two white lines appeared between her brows as she frowned. “For now?”
He shook his head, smiled, and whispered against her mouth before kissing her once more, “For always.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The shadows lengthened on the deck as Jess sat, journal in hand, trying to decide what she needed to say tonight. Cicadas raised a chorus that blended with the wind over the lake, the rustle of leaves, and the distant hoot of an owl. The night’s song soaked into her bones, relaxing her muscles, emptying the day’s tension onto the wooden slats of the deck’s floor. She imagined it seeping down, through the cracks, to disappear into the healing soil. This place, this life had become hers in a way she’d never imagined it could be a few short weeks ago. For that she was ever grateful.
This ritual with pen and paper and nature’s song was her nightly solace. And it helped. Her therapist had said it would, and Jess found that excavating her soul cleansed her in a way nothing else could. Four weeks she’d been home from the hospital, and still she woke with sweat-soaked gasps on a regular basis, clutching her throat, feeling the cold pain of metal sliding through her skin—but no longer every night, several times a night, like she had when she first came home.
Home.She smiled into the twilight and thought about that word, about what she’d finally found here. But it wasn’t really the lake house itself that was her home; it was the man who lived here.
Light filtered through the French doors behind her, passing over one shoulder, setting the heart-shaped diamond on her left hand into flame. Her period had come and gone, confirming the hospital’s negative results, and yet last night, right here on this deck, Conlan had dropped down on one knee, a suspicious sheen in his eyes, and officially asked her to marry him. To share his life, be his happiness. It was all she’d ever wanted. All she could have hoped for. A small, late-summer wedding by the water, just family and friends, and a future as bright as the sun that would shine down on their special day.
There was only one thing marring that happiness, holding her back on her road to recovery.
He hadn’t made love to her.
And whose fault is that, Jess?
Night after night, cuddled into his warm body, her thin T-shirts and his flimsy cotton boxer briefs no barrier at all to the erotic swelling of his shaft against the small of her back. His body fairly vibrated with the need to take her, but he held back.
He knew she wasn’t ready. And he was right.
It tore her apart inside, this feeling of being frozen in time, caught between the horror of the past and the freedom of the future. Limbo was hell, and it was wearing on her very last nerve. She was tired of it, tired of letting Brit control a part of her he’d never had to begin with. A part that was and always had been Conlan’s alone: her body.
Her therapist’s words from their session this morning filtered through her mind.“You know in your head you’re safe, that your attacker is dead and gone, but it may take time for your body to truly believe it.”
For the first couple of weeks, Conlan had treated her as if she were fine porcelain, touch her and she might break. It wasn’t until she’d thrown a pillow at him in frustration that he’d gotten the picture. She hadn’t wanted to be treated like porcelain then, and she didn’t want to be treated that way now. So why was she allowing herself to hold back?
If she was honest, she knew why: because she was afraid. She was afraid to lose what she now had. She feared having Conlan on top of her and being able to see nothing but Brit. Having his hands caress her and feel nothing but the knife and fists. Having him whisper words of love and hear nothing but the dying roar of hate.
