Branded Sanctuary (31 page)

“That‟s your choice, Chloe. It‟s not something I need or expect you to do.” Her brow furrowed. “Do you expect anything of me?” Putting her hands on his chest, she managed to hold him off, though the bulk of her mind was happy drifting in a fog of desire and tactile pleasure, no thought or accountability required.

When he didn‟t immediately answer, she made sure he met her gaze. “Brendan?”

“Yeah, I do.” There was a trace of impatience in his eyes, but before she could determine whether she‟d pushed into a vulnerable area, he brought it back to her. “I expect you to give yourself a break, and let me do whatever you want and need to make you happy this weekend.” A brow quirked. “After all, you did pay for the privilege.” Maybe he meant it as a joke, but there was something beneath it, a dark quagmire that tripped off an alarm. Chloe tightened her grip on him, this time with a bite of nails.

“Brendan, you‟re not a whore. If you think I believe that, just because I bought you at some auction…”

“Hey.” He closed his hands on her wrists, his expression suddenly a lot more direct and forceful than she‟d yet seen. “I didn‟t mean it that way, Chloe. I was teasing.” At her look, he shrugged. “Yeah, it was a crappy joke. I was frustrated, because I don‟t want you to be worrying about things you don‟t need to worry about. Is there anything about last night that suggests I don‟t want to be with you, a hundred and twenty percent?”

Nothing except her own mind, telling her there was no way anybody could want to be with her. Not now, pitiful, weepy, dirty…

That word, the way it kept springing on her like a monster out of a closet, took her out of the chair and away from him, though she practically tripped over him. She moved quickly to the open window, drawing in deep breaths.
No. I’m done with this.

Please stop.

She focused on the pond that formed a center point for the townhouse development and tried to imagine herself in that boat again. When he laid his hands on her shoulders, she shuddered. “I‟m sorry.”

“You‟ve nothing to be sorry about.” Rather than making her face him, he put his chin on top of her head, folded his arms around her so she could hook her hands on his forearm, hold on as he swayed them back and forth, giving her a rhythm that helped calm her. “Chloe, other than last night, you haven‟t talked to anyone about all of this, have you? The things you‟re carrying around inside you, about Marguerite‟s father, and what happened to you when you were nine?” He kept his voice soft, so it didn‟t make the anxiety in her chest worse, though it didn‟t abate. “Have you cried about it, really let it out?”

She tightened her chin, shook her head. “I thought… You know, when it first happened, I thought I was all right. Getting better, at least physically, gave my mind something to do. Then afterward, when the nightmares started happening, I was so determined to do and be the way I was. But with every month my body got better, the nightmares were growing in my mind, taking away who I was, a piece at a time.” He murmured something incoherent, but he stroked her forearm. “You remember that first night, when I told you that you didn‟t have to handle this alone? Chloe, why are you trying so hard to do it that way?”

She‟d let her head sink down on her chest, her arms folded against her under his grasp. Most of the time she didn‟t even realize she‟d taken what she‟d dubbed “the dead bird pose” until after it happened. She‟d first noticed it as the way she woke from her nightmares, defending herself unconsciously. Recognizing it now brought forth that familiar desolation. “Because I feel like it‟s my fault,” she whispered.

“What?”

Okay, she was wrong.
This
was the most forceful she‟d ever seen him. He turned her in his arms, lifted her chin to make her look at his enraged and amazed features. It just widened the crack inside her further. “I know, don‟t say it. It‟s a stupid cliché, feeling that way. This isn‟t supposed to be me. I can control it, take care of it. I‟m not a

…dirty whore, or slut, something not worth living. So disgusting, no one would want me. I have light inside me, and that light will drive out the shadows.” Her fists clenched against his chest. “Only it‟s not, and the dark is winning, which must mean it‟s right…” That did it. Her chest was tearing open again, so that she had to bend over it fully, hold herself as he followed her down to a hunched crouch on the floor, sheltering her.

“That‟s what he said to you, isn‟t it?”

“When he was chasing me in the woods, and he couldn‟t find me, that was what he was saying. And then Marguerite‟s dad, he said things like it too. Brendan, I know I shouldn‟t…they were horrible, terrible messed-up people, but they want me to be messed up too. How can I know they‟re wrong, and yet they still have this power over me?”

Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, he pulled her into that comfortable triangle formed by his lap. His hand burrowed under hers, her heart beating rapidly beneath his palm. He massaged, small circles, his other arm doing that rocking thing again. She had a fleeting thought that he would be the best father ever. If he had a girl baby, she‟d be a daddy‟s girl all the way.

“It‟s all right. I‟m here. You‟re not any of those things.”

“I know.
I know.
I‟m supposed to know it, right? So why does it feel like a lie? Why is it, when these things happen, that the first thing you feel is so alone? Like evil just closes around you, so nothing feels connected to you?”

At her lowest moments, she‟d decided that was what hell was, total loneliness. She had to stop thinking about this. She knew better. She was going to lose it entirely in a moment, and Brendan would have to call for strait jackets and restraints. Come to think of it, he probably had some upstairs.

“Hey, shh…” He kept up that rubbing as she hiccupped and strangled her way through the minor panic attack, murmuring to her until she could take shallow breaths.

“Easy, baby. Are you listening to me?”

When she nodded, he slid his fingers up her sternum to tease her cheek, bring her gaze to his worried face. “You know how, when kids are little, and an adult does something wrong to them, the adult will say, „this will be our secret, don‟t tell anyone‟?”

She nodded. Her eyes closed because it was easier, but she held on to his voice.

“It‟s no different when you‟re an adult. When someone hurts you, it‟s like they put those same kinds of shadows in your head. Those shadows tell you that you‟re all alone, that there‟s no one who can help, that you shouldn‟t burden anyone.” He kept touching her face, but she still couldn‟t look at him. It was okay, though, because he also kept talking. “Chloe, the world is full of people who milk every little setback, become emotional hypochondriacs. You‟re not that kind of person. From that one night at the wedding I could tell you‟ve made so many people happy. You‟ve been so generous with your love. You can‟t see how much we want to help you, but I think that‟s because you‟ve let those bastards close your eyes, make you believe for some idiotic reason that you don‟t deserve it.”

He went from quiet and soothing to righteous fury, and every word cut through that chitinous layer, finding his way to her beneath, so when he feathered her lashes with a thumb, coaxing her eyes open, she couldn‟t look away from his fierce regard.

“Where the hell is that coming from? Think about it. Why don‟t you deserve it? What one fucking thing did you do to deserve being attacked when you were a child, and then as an adult?

“I…” She didn‟t know, damn it, but that was how she felt. “I don‟t know. But why…if I didn‟t deserve it,
why
did it happen? Why?” Her voice came out a shrill, thin cry. Pain for her wounded his expression, made her crumble further, but he gave her an answer, in a low, determined voice that cut through every fear, told her she wasn‟t alone, that he wouldn‟t let her be alone, no matter how much those demons tried to make her feel that way.

“Nothing, Chloe. Not a damn thing. Well, I take it back. You
did
do something.” At her look of surprise, he nodded. “Evil wants us to skulk in the shadows, be afraid of everything, of being happy and loving. So yeah, maybe your love of life and beauty attracted it. But you said to hell with it anyway—as a freaking child—and lived your life according to what you knew was right and true to your soul. As a result, when evil came for Natalie, you stepped into the line of fire and fought it. You didn‟t run. You fought as hard as you could, and because he was able to take some of his venom out on you, it took him that much longer to reach the eruption point with Natalie, giving Marguerite more time to get to them.”

“You make me sound brave and amazing, and I‟m not.”

“You are,” he said, and his expression told her he‟d brook no argument. “You are brave, amazing, beautiful. If you were a muse, you‟d be Joy. Pure joy. They didn‟t take that from you, Chloe. I‟ve seen a hundred glimpses of it in the past couple days, and it shone like the stars the night of Marguerite‟s wedding. There was so much happiness in the air that night, evil didn‟t even have a chance of breathing there.” As she dropped her head to his chest again, hiccupping over another tiny sob, he let out a breath, went back to the soothing murmur. “You let your physical injuries be treated, and gave them time to heal. Now it‟s time to do the same for your mind and heart. Marguerite‟s close friend Komal was a counselor for abused children for years. I bet Marguerite would be more than happy to arrange a few sessions for you. Doesn‟t that sound like a good idea?”

She managed a sniffle, a dubious lift of her shoulder. After a pause, he caressed the curls gathered around her face. “Okay, think about it some. I won‟t hassle you about it further. For now. If you say it.”

“W-what?” She sniffled ungracefully again, resenting the few tears that had squeezed out. Reaching up to the table, he found a napkin holder and brought a napkin back to her nose, massaging it to take the moisture away. It reminded her of Tyler with his handkerchief, as well as his words.
There are many things that men don’t do any more
that they should. Particularly for women.

“Tell me what you did to deserve this, other than being insanely brave.”

“I can‟t.” It was just a word. She should be able to say it, even if she didn‟t feel it, just to fib her way past his demand, but that wall of darkness rose, like a dark sea, threatening to engulf her. “I can‟t.” And that, more than anything else, told her he was right. She needed help. She knew she wasn‟t alone, yet her mind refused to let her believe anything else, as if her rational-irrational selves stood on either side of that wall, and her irrational self was the one holding her heart and soul hostage.

“Tell me, Chloe.” He shifted her in one flexible movement, those lean swimmer muscles stretching her out on the linoleum beneath him, warm from the morning sun.

Sunlight filled her eyes so her sense of him came through touch as he slid the T-shirt up her abdomen. The tips of his fingers brushed the lower curve of her breasts. But they were not his goal. When he leaned down and pressed his closed mouth directly against her clit, no teasing or warning, her breath shuddered out of her aching chest. “Oh.”

“Tell me.” A whisper in her ears, filtering through that dark wall. His tongue made a lazy circle, dipped lower, dipped deeper.

Her young body, with the imprint of his lovemaking so fresh on it from last night, was already moistening her, preparing her for him. He increased that wetness, taking his knuckles between her labia, pressing up. The hard emotions knotted up in her chest and yanked on something lower, making it impossible to focus on why she had to hold out, what she was fighting.

“Tell me. One word, Chloe. What did you do to deserve it?” He shifted, his body between her legs, amazing her at how he took over this moment.
I know what you want and need…
He stretched out full length on her, holding her down. With no need to guide himself, he shifted his hips, found her and eased his cock into the opening of her pussy.

Steel velvet flesh gave enough to fit her shape as he pushed in through that wall, physical and emotional, and connected her to him, sinking deep, pulling her out of that dark well and bringing her to him. She opened her eyes because his hand was cupped over her brow, giving her a shield from the sun‟s bright beams, though she could still feel the heat coming through his palm. Once opened, she couldn‟t close her eyes against what she saw in his hazel eyes. He wasn‟t making a demand of her, standing detached from her. He was there with her, suffering with her pain, holding her hand, wanting her to say it so that he could take both of them to a better place. She held the key.

“Tell me, Chloe. Say it.” He stroked, a deep, deep thrust that had her body rising to his, a withdrawal that made her tremble, all her nerve endings stretching toward him in pleasure. “Beloved. Brave girl. Beautiful angel. Sex goddess.” A small hiccup of laughter moved in her heart, and that bump in the road threw the darkness off. As if he knew, his eyes smiled, though it didn‟t lessen their intensity. “Fair maiden, a gift to us all. A child‟s soul and a woman‟s heart. You know it, Chloe. Don‟t let them take the gift from you, from all of us. What did you do to deserve it?” Her response was a moan this time, because he was so damn good at this, so stubborn and seductive at once, his cock teasing everything to life, pushing through that dark wave, making her fear it would crash over her, topple her, but if it did, he was already there, in it with her. He wouldn‟t let her go. He had her now, was connected in a way no one ever had been.

“Chloe, tell me.”

She realized then that she did want to look in that closet. Because whatever Brendan was—a woman‟s slave, her protector, the man willing to get on his knees to be what most men wouldn‟t contemplate—his heart made him what she wanted and needed. What she‟d felt last night and right now. Someone who made her feel like her needs were his sole desire to fulfill, her pain something he‟d do anything to heal.