“You just got here. You’re going to run away rather than talk to me?” There was no condemnation in Nate’s voice, just disappointment. “Laura’s in the stables with Megan, but give them some time. Megan knows more about what Laura has been through than the rest of us.”
Those words and the dark tone of Nate’s voice stopped Javier in his tracks. He turned to face his friend, some of his anger bleeding away.
“What are you telling me?”
* * *
LAURA PATTED THE
mare’s velvety muzzle, fighting to hold back her tears. “I just want my life back. Some days I feel like this will never end, like the damage that bastard did will define my life forever.”
She was thinking not only of threats against her life, but of Klara, too—the little girl she’d been forced to bring into the world and wanted desperately to protect.
Megan reached out, put a hand on her shoulder. “I want to tell you something.”
As they walked to the next stall and the next, Megan told Laura how she’d been only fourteen and in juvenile detention for shoplifting when a group of guards started taking turns raping her. The assaults had happened almost daily and had gone on for weeks, until she’d told a member of the facility’s medical staff. But by then she’d been so broken that she’d spent the next decade fighting heroin addiction.
Laura felt sick for her—men brutalizing a child like that. Still, she would never have imagined that the polished young woman who walked beside her had been a victim of something so violent or a heroin addict. “I’m so sorry, Megan.”
“I was busted for heroin possession and went to prison, where I found out I was pregnant. They took Emily away from me an hour after she was born. I lost her to Child Protective Services. It took a long time and a lot of hard work to get her back.” Megan’s voice quavered. “But now I have Emily. I have Nate. I love my life. I’m happier than I ever thought I could be. And one day you’ll feel that way, too. They’ll catch these bastards, and you’ll be able to put all of this behind you.”
Megan couldn’t know she was treading on Laura’s deepest pain—giving birth to a baby in captivity and having it taken from her.
Tears blurred Laura’s vision, her throat tight. “Thank you. I hope you’re right. The men who hurt you . . . I need to know. Did they pay?”
“Yes. Three are dead. One is serving life in prison, and he won’t be raping anyone else. Marc shot him when he tried to kill Sophie, severed his spine.”
The same men had tried to kill Sophie?
Why did Laura know nothing about this?
You’ve never really taken time to get to know your coworkers. That’s why.
It was a mistake she intended to remedy—as soon as this nightmare was over.
“I know you must feel alone in this, but you’re not.” Megan smiled “Jack, Nate, and I want to be here for you. Your I-Team friends are here for you. They really care about you, Laura—Sophie, Kat, Joaquin, Matt, Alex. All of them.”
Laura felt touched to the core that Megan had trusted her with all of this. It couldn’t have been easy. “Thank you.”
They finished their tour of the stables, and then it was time for Megan to meet Emily’s bus at the gate.
Laura found her way back inside the house and headed up to her room, unable to take her mind off what Megan had told her, her head aching again, her body chilled from spending so much time in the stables. She was thinking about taking a hot bath when she remembered there was a sauna off the gym. She changed into her robe, grabbed a towel, and headed downstairs. She was passing the library when she heard it.
Guitar music.
She stopped, listened.
It sounded like classical Spanish guitar, the music darkly passionate with a melancholy feel that put an ache in her chest. It started slowly, then gathered momentum, notes spilling from the strings in a rich torrent, braced from beneath by deep, powerful chords that sounded like a pulse or a heartbeat. She pushed open the library door a crack—and saw Javier.
He sat on a sofa opposite a lit fireplace. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, his head bowed slightly, guitar in his arms. The fingers of his left hand moved over the frets, while those of his right moved over the strings, rich sound resonating from the polished wood. Then his hands fell still, and the music stopped.
He was looking at her. “Laura.”
Forgetting that she was wearing only her bathrobe, she walked over to sit on a plush sofa across from him. “I didn’t know you played guitar. Please. Don’t stop.”
His gaze fixed on hers, he began to play again from the beginning. Music filled the library’s two floors, its emotion drawing Laura in, holding her. How he could be responsible for all those notes, all that sound, she didn’t know. His eyes slowly drifted shut as the music began to build, his brow furrowing, the intensity on his handsome face growing as he gave himself over to his playing.
Laura had seen that naked passion on his face before, only then he’d been holding her, kissing her, making love to her. He’d been . . .
No. Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself.
Despite the music, or perhaps because of it, she couldn’t stop the flow of emotion within her. A lump in her throat, she found herself unable to take her gaze off him as the music reached its climax, the power of it sending a shiver up her spine, stirring something behind her breastbone. As he plucked the last few notes from the strings, the sound reverberating through the room, she found herself blinking back tears.
He opened his eyes, his gaze locking with hers.
“That was . . . beautiful.” She swallowed hard. “You have real talent. How long have you been playing?”
The same hands that had once worked magic on her body plucked idly at the strings, loosing strands of melody. “I started after graduating from BUD/S. I needed a way to kill time and clear my mind, something to do during downtime. I took a few lessons, played when I could, took the guitar with me on deployments when I was able. At one point, Nate threatened to break it over a rock.”
Laura couldn’t help but smile. “He wouldn’t say that if he heard you play now.”
Javier’s gaze traveled over her, a puzzled expression coming over his face. “You’re ready for bed already?”
“I thought I’d go sit in the sauna and warm up.”
“Pretty cold out in the stables?”
It was then Laura noticed the shadows in his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
He looked away, strummed the strings. “Nothing’s wrong. I just have a lot on my mind. Enjoy the sauna.”
The words were out before she realized it. “Why don’t you join me?”
CHAPTER
10
JAVIER STRIPPED DOWN
to his skin, grabbed a towel from the shelf, and wrapped it around his hips, tucking the loose end in tightly, a sense of heightened excitement humming stupidly through his blood.
This isn’t about sex,
pendejo
. Think you can handle it?
By asking him to join her in the sauna, Laura wasn’t inviting him to make out. He needed to get that through
both
of his heads before he stepped out of the bathroom and joined her. For her, the sauna was just a social activity. In Dubai, she’d told him how her family—grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and even close friends—often sat together naked in the heat, a way of keeping warm and healthy during the long, dark Swedish winter. Knowing this had helped Javier understand why she’d been so comfortable with nudity, showing not a hint of shame.
She was probably naked now, lying back on the teak benches, utterly and beautifully bare, her hair fanned out around her, her arms stretched languidly over her head. A memory of silky, long legs, full breasts, and sweet curving hips sent a jolt of heat to his groin, threatening to turn his towel into a tent.
You might as well be her brother—or her grandpa.
And then like a nightmare it hit him—an image of his
abuelos
sitting naked in the sauna with the rest of his family, smiling at them all, their faces like wrinkled apples, their bodies . . .
¡Que mierda!
Holy fuck
!
A shudder ran down his spine.
He took a breath, blew it out, and opened the bathroom door, the heated floor warm against his feet as he crossed the room and stepped into the sauna.
Relief and disappointment hit him when he saw she wasn’t naked. She sat in one corner, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her body, concealing her from her breasts to her upper thighs, her legs stretched out on the teak bench, her ankles crossed, her hands lying relaxed in her lap. Her eyes were closed, her hair hanging in a single, pale mass over one creamy shoulder, steam making the ends curl.
He closed the door behind him, the bright scent of warmed wood filling his nostrils. He couldn’t help the way his pulse jumped at the sight of her, nor could he fight off a sinking sense of sadness. The Laura he’d imagined lying naked on the bench like some Nordic sex goddess had been the woman he’d met in Dubai. The Laura who sat there now, looking almost fragile by contrast, her back pressed into the corner, was the woman who’d survived eighteen months of brutality.
A woman who’s been hurt like she was hurt needs a lot of time and love to heal.
Nate’s words came back to him—not just words, Javier reminded himself, but insight based on experience. What Nate had told Javier about Megan had left Javier feeling like an asshole—for blowing up at Nate, for not knowing more about Megan, for getting too caught up in his own shit.
The whole world seemed to be wounded, broken, hurting.
Javier put that out of his mind and sat across from Laura, close enough to see her face clearly in the semidark, but not close enough for contact. He stretched out his legs as she had done, the wood warm and moist against his skin. “This reminds me of summertime in Humacao—hot and humid.”
She didn’t open her eyes but smiled. “What was the name of that frog you told me about, the one that used to sing you to sleep when you were a little boy?”
She looked completely tranquil, her words spoken in a sleepy voice, but Javier could see the rapid thrumming of her carotid and knew she was anything but relaxed.
“El coqui?”
He did his best to whistle its call, so like a bird’s.
“Yeah, that one.” Her lips curved in a soft smile.
“El coqui.”
Javier couldn’t help but grin. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
She smiled again, a sad smile this time. “I remember everything.”
* * *
LAURA COULDN’T IMAGINE
why she’d asked Javier to join her. She’d been at an emotional edge after talking with Megan, and his guitar playing had touched her, confused her, made her remember things she wished she hadn’t. And when she’d seen the sadness in his eyes . . .
Regardless of why she’d done it, he was here now.
She kept her eyes closed, knowing what she’d see if she opened them, knowing that seeing him would bring back bittersweet memories. Just waking up beside him this morning had left her feeling desolate—and they’d both been clothed. It was better not to open her eyes, not to remember, not to see.
Maybe if she pretended to doze . . .
But even with her eyes closed, she could smell him—salt, musk, spice. And then it didn’t matter that her eyes were closed. Scents conjured memories, her mind filling with images. Dark eyes gone smoky soft. Full lips wet from kissing her. The beautiful brown skin of his nearly hairless chest. The broad expanse of his shoulders. The planes and ridges of his pecs and abdominal muscles. Big hands that knew how to please. Strong arms that had held her all night long.
Her throat grew tight, an ache filling the dark cavern inside her.
And her eyes opened.
He wasn’t watching her. His eyes were closed, his face turned toward the door, his features in profile, a day’s worth of stubble dark on his jaw. He wore a towel around his hips, his muscular chest bare, his arms . . .
She sucked in a breath.
Oh, God!
Scars.
Almost without realizing it, she was on her feet. She sat beside him, her gaze fixed on the angry, red lines that carved up the right side of his torso. “Oh, Javi.”
His eyes opened, his gaze following hers. “It’s all healing really well.”
She couldn’t imagine what it had looked like before.
He pointed. “I took a round to the liver. It shattered some ribs. I lost a lot of blood. Here’s where they got me in the lung. Took one to the shoulder, too—not much more than a graze. And then there was my leg. I came close to losing it.”
Laura glanced down, watched as he lifted the edge of the towel, and had to fight to hide her own shock. A deep valley was carved into his upper thigh, dark red scars showing where surgeons had tried to put him together again. It was clear a bullet had ripped through him at an angle, rupturing the muscle and blowing much of it away.
She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew he’d come terribly close to dying.
“You must have been in so much pain.” She ran her fingertips over the scars on his chest, saw the suture marks, the incision lines still raised and puckered in places. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His voice was soft, deep. “I’m fine now.”
At those words, she looked up and found her face inches from his.
From there, it was so easy.
The light brush of lips over warm lips. The slow slide of his fingers into her hair. The hard press of his chest as he sat up straighter, turned her in his arms, and kissed her.
It was a sweet kiss, slow and tender, the heat of it sliding through Laura like honey, warming some empty, dark part of her. Her heart gave a hard kick, a rush of tangled emotions washing through her, filling her chest, making it hard to breathe—elation, nervousness, pleasure, alarm, raw need.
Taken aback by the force of her own reaction, she gave in to the moment, focusing only on him, letting herself feel. The press of lips against lips. The teasing flick of his tongue. The thrumming of her own pulse. Sweat-slick skin against skin. The soft mingling of breath, steam, pheromone.
Ignoring the warning in the back of her mind, she parted her lips, let him inside her mouth, his taste exploding across her tongue, his scent filling her mind. She caught his face between her palms, pressed her lips harder against his, needing more of him, the stubble of his beard rough, his heartbeat thudding against hers.
It seemed a lifetime since she’d been kissed. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched like this. She’d forgotten how gentle a strong man could be. She’d forgotten what it was to
want
a man. And it felt to her that she was being kissed for the first time.
But this was no sloppy kiss between teenagers. Laura knew this man, and he knew her. Everything about him was familiar to her, his scent, the feel of his skin, the way he touched her rousing memories.
She slid her hands down his neck to the hard curves of his shoulders, his lips moving to press kisses against the pulse at her throat, his muscles shifting as he slid a hand down her spine, the damp towel falling away from her skin.
Oh, God!
Her stretch marks.
* * *
JAVIER WASN’T SURE
whether he was in heaven or hell.
He’d told Laura he wouldn’t make sexual demands of her—and he wouldn’t. But being close to her like this, holding her, kissing her, was making it a lot harder for him to keep that promise than he’d imagined. He’d made love to this woman, kissed and tasted every inch of her, been inside her. He couldn’t help but want her. He’d just begun to believe this was going somewhere when Laura went stiff in his arms.
“I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Javi. I just . . . I can’t.” She drew her towel around herself and tucked the end back into place, pulling away from him so fast she almost fell.
He reached out, caught her, his gaze locking with hers.
In her eyes, he saw genuine panic.
¡Puñeta!
“No,
bella
, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Heart still pounding, he fought to rein in his need for her. “I shouldn’t have—”
She held out a hand, pressed a finger to his lips. “Please don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything. It’s just that . . . It’s . . . hard to explain.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations.”
But she seemed to think she did.
She sat down by his feet, one arm across her breasts as if to make certain her towel stayed in place. “I . . . I’m just not ready for this. I’m not sure I ever will be.”
Did she think he was upset with her?
“Hey, it’s okay. You hear me? It’s okay.”
Any rage he felt was set aside for Al-Nassar and his thugs. Seeing her like this—unable to enjoy being touched, trembling out of fear when she should be trembling for a much different reason—made him wonder how easy it would be to break into the supermax facility and kill Al-Nassar. The prison was located here in Colorado outside Florence. And certainly Al-Nassar deserved it. The
hijo e la gran puta
had stolen something precious from her.
He willed himself to lock that anger down, to listen to what she was saying.
“You were the last man I was with before . . .”
God, he wasn’t sure he could handle hearing details of what had been done to her.
If she can live through it, you can listen to it,
cabrón
.
But she didn’t go there.
“When you left that morning, a part of me wished we’d exchanged numbers or e-mail addresses. I thought I’d use the postcard as an excuse to track you down. I thought I’d have time to . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut, turned her face away from him.
He’d felt the same way. He’d thought there’d be time, too.
But then she’d been gone.
“Dubai was special to me, Javi. You’re special to me.” She opened her eyes. “Being close to you like this after all these years . . . The way you make me feel . . . I want to get closer to you, and that scares me.”
So he hadn’t been misreading her signals when he’d thought she was enjoying kissing him. That was good to know. “Hey, you’re safe with me. I would never push you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
“I know.” Her expression grew troubled, her hands moving to shield her lower belly. “But it won’t work. I’m . . . I’m different now.”
When she’d first told him she was different, he’d taken her to mean that she had changed emotionally. But something in the way she’d just said it, the way her hands seemed to shelter her pelvis, made him wonder whether she’d suffered physical wounds—some kind of mutilation or internal damage that made sex impossible or painful. He knew that some of the tribes in the area where she’d been held practiced genital mutilation on girls, a brutal way of ensuring chastity. And he’d heard of more than one woman maimed by rape, their insides battered to the point where sex was agony and motherhood impossible.
Could something like that have happened to Laura?
¡Carajo!
The thought made his skin shrink, something twisting in his gut.
Forget breaking into prison. Maybe he could ambush the prison transport and kill Al-Nassar before he reached Florence.
Laura went on. “As much as I wish we could go back to how things were in Dubai, I just can’t. You’d only end up getting hurt. I couldn’t bear it if I did something to destroy our memories or our friendship.”
He dropped his feet to the floor and moved to sit beside her, taking her hand in his, caressing her fingers. “That is
not
going to happen. Do you hear me,
bella
? No matter what he did to you, no matter how you’ve changed, nothing—and I mean
nada
—can change the way I feel about you.”
And how do you feel about her?
He wasn’t sure. He only knew he couldn’t leave her alone with this.
“Thank you.” She gave him a wobbly smile, squeezed his hand. “I should go.”
And in a heartbeat she was gone, leaving Javier alone in the heat.
* * *
LAURA LAY IN
the dark, her tears spent, an ache in her chest. She’d pleaded a headache and had gone to bed early, certain that Nate and his family would enjoy some time alone with Javier. Besides, she needed to think, to make sense of what had happened in the sauna, of what she had
allowed
to happen.
She ran her finger over her lips, conjured up the memory of Javier’s taste, his scent, the sweet heat of his tongue teasing hers. Her pulse spiked, warmth sliding through her. But the rush of pleasure was short-lived, only to be followed by an overwhelming sense of emptiness.
She’d always been afraid that having sexual contact with a man would make her think of Al-Nassar and leave her feeling revulsion. She’d avoided men for that reason alone. But that hadn’t happened today. She hadn’t thought of that bastard once while Javier had been kissing her. Maybe the fact that she and Javier had been lovers before her abduction somehow made a difference. Or maybe Javier was such a fantastic kisser that it was impossible to think of anything else once his mouth touched hers.