far are you willing to go for this mission of yours?” Reese laid down the challenge.
Putting it that way got her back up. “I’ll do what I have to.”
“Good.” He nodded and extended his arm toward her. “Then come and sit on my lap.”
It was the wrong thing to say. She was on her feet the next second. “Touch me and lose the hand.” The warning tore from her throat, hoarse and hard as a fist.
He tilted his head and waited a beat. “For the next three days, we are supposed to pretend that we are madly in lust. How do you think we’ll pull that off when you look like you’re ready to jump out of your skin even with three feet between us?”
She drew some air and let a couple of seconds tick by, straightened her back. Okay, so she’d overreacted. He wasn’t about to jump her. And he was right, once they got to Cavanaugh’s mansion, it would look suspicious if they never touched.
She had to make herself get over it.
She fisted then relaxed her hands, trying to swallow the memories in vain. She knew her face was getting whiter with every inch she moved toward him. Her muscles tensed. She stopped in front of him and fought to shrug off the temporary paralysis that clutched her.
Stop it.
This was stupid. He was Reese Moretti, the man who was going to keep her safe. He wasn’t Buck. He wasn’t like Buck at all.
Pretend, she told herself. Pretend it doesn’t freak you out so bad that you can barely breathe.
She looked into his face and could no longer find the disdain he’d shown since his arrival. He was watching her with a darkening expression.
“Who was it?” he asked quietly, through clenched teeth.
She could have pretended not to understand what he was asking, but she didn’t have the energy. All the starch had gone out of her, leaving her feeling weak.
“My stepfather,” she said, and couldn’t stop the images in her head.
Buck Cossner drank. When her mother wasn’t home, he drank a lot. And when he was drunk, he got mad. When he got mad, he hit her. Then he would feel bad and want to console her, no matter how hard she tried to tell him she was okay, no matter that she never cried. She’d been more afraid of his consoling than the beating. It’d always started with, I’m sorry, honey. Come sit on my lap.
Chapter Two
Reese stood, and she cringed, even though there was nothing threatening in his movements. If anything, he seemed an island of calm and strength. Even the bad-tempered look that she’d thought permanent was replaced by a softer expression.
“Take it easy.”
A part of her was staring at the transformation, at how handsome he was without the drawn-together brows and his mouth set in a flat, displeased line, how even the gray of his eyes changed. But the rest of her couldn’t help backing away a step. In a moment of conflicting emotions, instinct honed by years of bad experiences trumped everything. Goose bumps she couldn’t control rose on the bare skin of her arms.
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Is that why you ran away from home?” Then, when she didn’t respond, he said, “I read your file.”
She nodded and they stood there like that, a foot or so between them. He wouldn’t take his eyes off her.
And God, that felt good. Because when you lived on the streets and became one of the “undesirables” of society, the first thing everyone did was avert their eyes. Nobody wanted to see the filth or desperation, nobody wanted to risk a pang of guilt, that they should feel uncomfortable. She had spent years without ever being acknowledged by anyone except those who sought to use or abuse her. She’d been a “problem,” and all people wanted was for problems to go away.
But there was no pity in Reese Moretti’s gaze, nor anything remotely judgmental.
She took a breath, feeling her lungs open up. “What are we supposed to do?”
His shoulders were relaxed, as well as his commando stance. The earlier bluster seemed to disappear from his body language, but some indelible hardness remained. He considered her for a moment. “Nothing if you’re not comfortable with this. We’ll find a way around it.”
And maybe arouse Cavanaugh’s suspicion and mess up the whole operation. No way she was going to be the reason this mission failed.
The very fact that Reese gave her a way out made it possible for her to consider letting him closer.
“I’m going to have to get used to human contact.” It was the healthy thing to do. She needed to get over the past in order to move into a better future. Anita had told her that during one of the woman’s numerous pep talks, and Sam could see now that Anita had been right.
She took a deep breath. “Maybe we could start with…” She hesitated, and he waited. “Maybe you could just put your hands on me.”
He raised a hand to her arm, keeping his gaze on her face the whole time. “I can’t promise not to do anything you don’t like in the next few days, but I promise I’m not ever going to do anything that would hurt you.”
She nodded, nervous enough from his touch to jump all the way to the moon.
His other hand reached up to her other arm, and he rubbed the goose bumps away with his thumb. “Everything is different now. Back then, you did what you had to. You got yourself out of a bad situation. You survived. You are a hundred percent stronger now.” He gave her an encouraging smile.
An actual smile. On Reese Moretti.
She was so startled, she almost believed him. She had always thought herself weak for running away instead of staying and fighting. Weak and stupid. Smart people didn’t end up on the street.
A survivor. After knowing the worst of the filth about her, how could he see her like that? How could he still touch her?
She expected the cursory squeeze of polite support, then for him to let go. Instead, he drew her closer, his demeanor nonthreatening, non-sexual. And yet she felt stiff, couldn’t relax, not even in response to the comfort he was offering.
Then, through the acute sense of discomfort, another feeling seeped through slowly. Surprise. His solid strength seemed like a bulwark against the world rather than suffocating restraints as it had with other men. If only she could accept it.
It’s crazy. Her defenses rose. She knew next to nothing about the man.
But that inner voice that had shouted “run, run, run” for the last decade, now stayed curiously silent. After a second or two, she leaned against his shoulder and let him tighten his arms around her. Not because she was beginning to feel comfortable, but because she knew that was what a normal person would do. As long as she was aware of the normal responses and could fake them, they would be okay.
“How are you doing?” His voice was surprisingly gentle.
“Fine,” she lied.
Truth was, she was unable to accept
