Page 8 of Healed By Doc
I should head back inside, but my feet are frozen to the ground. My chest is tightening, a vise slowly constricting and making each breath painful. Before I know it, I’m gasping, sucking in air that doesn’t seem to reach my lungs, and the world starts tilting.
Where’s my food, you little brat? Why is this place such a mess? You need a lesson in manners!
My vision tunnels, and I feel my heart hammer against my ribs, blood roaring in my head like a hurricane. God, this can’t be happening. Not now.Please,not now!
Your whore mother should have taken you along with her, spoiled little brat!
My fingers tremble and twitch uncontrollably as they claw at the collar of my shirt, grasping for something, anything to hold onto. I feel everything. The sweat beading my forehead, my muscles locked, rigid with tension. Colors seem to blur, and the sound around me is distorted. All but Eric’s grating voice.
When you’re older, I’ll make you earn your keep in this house!
I’m falling, I realize. Even in death, Eric can still make me suffer, it seems. And once again, I’m alone to bear the weight of his vitriol. Surrounded by people but alone, like I’ve spent every day for the last twenty-one years.
A presence, warm and solid, steps in front of me. I feel his hands on my shoulders and he urges me to bend forward. “Cara, breathe for me,” he orders in a soft but steely voice. “Look at me, baby.”
“I…I can’t!”
“Breathe with me, in and then hold.” He instructs, bringing one of my hands to his chest so I can feel it expand and contract. I choke in a gasp, forcing my lungs to hold, eyes boring trustingly into his. “Out, slowly. Yes, like that. Now I want you to do it again. In, hold, out.”
I don’t shift my eyes from his, doing as he instructs until my lungs aren’t burning anymore and my heart isn’t threatening to pound out of my chest. As everything slowly slips into place, I feel a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I’m tempted to let myself slide to the ground when strong arms wrap around me and I’m lifted, the ground falling away beneath my feet.
I should protest this. Ask for a moment of privacy to die from mortification, but I can’t find my voice.
Instead, I let the man whose life I ruined carry me in his arms. I allow myself to be pressed against a solid chest, to drown in his scent that is a mix of leather and cedar. Inhaling his scent, I let it ground me.
He stops to say something to someone, and then he’s walking again, murmuring something low and soothing, his voice a gentle rumble against my ear, but the words are lost in the roaring in my head. He maneuvers through a doorway and kicks the door shut behind us, then we’re in a dimly lit room. It takes me a second to realize that we’re alone in one of the sitting rooms. There is an urge to rush upstairs to my bedroom, crawl under the covers, and turn my face into the pillow, but I can’t bring myself to pull away from James.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, silently pleading with the man to just leave me, but he simply tightens his hold on me as he moves to the couch and sits down with me in his arms.
“You’re not fine,” he says, pushing back to look at me. He runs his long fingers delicately over my forehead, brushing backmy hair in a move that’s supposed to be innocent and yet feels deeply intimate. “You just suffered a panic attack, Cara.”
“No, I’m fine,” I protest, and realize I am beginning to feel better. So much so that it slowly dawning on me that I am on the man’s lap, feeling his touch….
God, something must be wrong with me. This man and I have so many unresolved issues between us, and now he’s here, in my safe place. And we’re alone. He could do anything to me in this moment, exact whatever revenge he might want.
“Stop,” he grinds out, his harsh voice pulling my focus back to his face, and I shudder at the hard expression on his face. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m pretty good at reading people, and I can see it on your face and feel it in your body, the way you tense up when I get too close. I understand why you’re afraid of me, but I’m not going to hurt you. Ever.”
“Won’t you?” I challenge, my voice is not as firm as I would like it to be.
“No, Cara. I’ve never considered it.”
Why not?I want to ask, even as my gaze drops from his.I ruined your life.
Long fingers grip my chin, and I look up to meet hard brown eyes, gasping at the heat I read in them. “James,” I whisper, my body reacting as much to the hand sliding along my jaw as the one rubbing my back. It’s not overtly sexual, but it makes me feel sensitive. Everywhere.
It’s almost like every one of my nerves is connected to his touch; my breasts ache, thighs tremble, and the spot between my legs pulses needily. I feel it in my fingertips too, the urge to reach up and touch that stubble. I long to trace my lips over his, feel them against mine, and then kiss that hard jawline.
It would be my first kiss.
The first time I have ever allowed myself to think of a man in this way, and now, I want nothing more than to forget the past and focus on this…on him.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Cara,” he growls. “What do I have to do to prove it to you?”
Touch me.
Heat prickles my cheeks at the thought, and I fight the urge to squeeze my thighs as those heated eyes send moisture pooling between my legs. I realize with surprise that I believe him. The fiery look in James’s eyes has nothing to do with him getting his revenge—something that I still haven’t wrapped my thoughts around—but everything to do with this strange sexual tension between us.
“Okay,” I murmur, my eyes dropping to that firm mouth. “I believe you.”
