by Ginna Gray
Gradually, she stopped shaking and relaxed, muscle by muscle. After a while her breathing grew slow and even. Travis smiled and kissed her forehead, but still he held her close against his heart.
For hours he lay awake, staring at the shadowy ceiling, his thoughts and emotions in chaos. He felt...weird. His chest was tight with feelings that were new and a bit scary—a murderous fury that still simmered beneath the surface of his control, disbelief, horror, a gut-wrenching concern. Most of all, he felt a fierce protectiveness toward the woman who slept in his arms.
There had been many women in his life—pretty ones, plain ones, smart ones, dippy ones. He'd liked and enjoyed every one of them. Some he'd even been fond of, but he'd never been possessive of a woman before. Yet the thought of any man raising a hand to Rebecca, or hurting her in any way, made him feel savage, like a primitive man defending his mate.
He tried to shut it out, but the memory of her battered face and the shattered look in her eyes tormented him. He had the uneasy feeling that it always would.
Travis's arms tightened around Rebecca, and he sighed as there in the darkness, with her sweet woman scent all around him and her soft body pressed to his, he realized that he never wanted to let her go.
Chapter Ten
Rebecca surfaced slowly from the deepest sleep she had enjoyed in years. The feeling of complete security was so deliciously addictive she did not want to let it go. Refusing to open her eyes, she made a blissful sound and snuggled deeper beneath the cover.
Something tickled the end of her nose. Sniffing, she scrunched up the tip and wiggled it. When that didn't help, she tried to bat the irritant away, only to have her fingers encounter a pelt of hair. Rebecca frowned. Incredibly, her nose seemed to be buried in the silky stuff.
It was then that she became aware of the firm but resilient cushion beneath her cheek and the wonderful warmth that surrounded her. She blinked slowly, once, twice, then again. When things came into focus, she was looking at a muscled chest covered with a forest of golden blond hair.
"Morning. How do you feel?"
The deep rumble jerked Rebecca awake and sent her gaze shooting upward. Flustered, she found herself staring into Travis's concerned gray eyes, just inches from her own.
It took an instant for her to remember the events of the previous night, but even when she recalled how she had come to be in bed with Travis, her overwhelming reaction was embarrassment. They had lost the impersonal cover of darkness, and she was suddenly conscious of the intimacy of their situation.
Warm and rumpled from sleep, she lay cuddled against him, her head on his shoulder, her breasts nestled against his side. The neck of the enormous sweatshirt she wore draped off her shoulder halfway to her elbow, exposing one white globe almost to the nipple. Sometime during the night the banded hem of the knit top had rucked up above her waist. Below it, her only covering was a minuscule scrap of silk and lace and their bare, intimately entwined legs.
"I—I'm fine," she said, and jerked her attention back down to his chest.
"Are you?" Cupping her chin, he lifted her face for his inspection, his narrow gaze minutely scanning each feature and probing the condition of her injury. Rebecca's heart began to slam against her ribs. His taut face and the fire that simmered in his gray eyes somehow managed to radiate both tenderness and fury.
With a feather-light touch, he ran his fingertips down her injured cheek, his eyes darkening as they followed the action. "If I could have gotten my hands on your ex-husband last night, I would have killed him," he said with such quiet intensity that Rebecca's eyes widened. His gaze lifted from her mouth and fixed on her eyes. "I still could."
A thrill of fear and something else trickled down Rebecca's spine. The old, teasing Travis was nowhere in sight. Set and serious, his handsome face looked carved from granite. Only intense emotion glittered in the gray eyes that trailed over her as though he were searching out her soul.
Not knowing what to say, Rebecca could only stare at him, her heart doing a crazy dance in her chest.
With his fingertips he caressed her temple and the side of her neck, the rim of her ear. His thumb smoothed over a silky eyebrow, her bottom lip. "A woman like you was meant to be cherished," he murmured in a mesmerizing voice. Lowering his head, he placed the softest of kisses on the spot between her eyebrows, another on her nose, another on the corner of her mouth.
Rebecca's breath caught, and her throat tightened. A shiver rippled through her. His tenderness was devastating. She felt as though she were coming apart on the inside.
Shifting, he gently rolled her to her back and braced over her. Her hands spread against his taut chest, unconsciously flexing. "The thought of anyone hurting you makes me crazy," he whispered. Travis's open mouth skidded across her cheek, his breath leaving a warm trail of dew on her skin. He buried his face in the side of her neck and nuzzled.
Rebecca's breathing was reduced to short pants. Her eyes drifted shut. She needed this, she realized with a fatalistic acceptance. Affection, tenderness, a loving touch, the warmth and closeness, the thrill of being desired—they were all things that had been missing from her life, things that her soul cried out for... the only things that could blot out the fear and ugliness she had lived with for so long. The pain.
She craved what Travis was offering—needed it—the way a desert craved rain.
Deep down, though, she knew there was more to it than that. If it had been anyone but Travis offering the solace she so desperately desired she could have resisted. But it wasn't anyone else. This was Travis... and her heart remembered.
She owed this to herself, she thought, shivering to the feel of his tongue's wet caress. All of her life, in a secret part of her heart, she'd wanted this man, wondered what it would be like to be loved by him. Now was her chance.
It would just be a lighthearted summer fling; she knew that. Travis was not the type to settle down. But, surely if she went into it with her eyes wide open, she could handle a brief affair. Even if she ended up with more heartache, it would be worth it. It had to be, because she hadn't the strength or the will to call a halt. At the moment the affection and tenderness that Travis offered were as necessary to her survival as air to breathe.
In mindless absorption Rebecca closed her eyes and slowly tipped her head back, offering up her arched throat to his lips and tongue and nipping teeth.
He accepted the invitation, strewing the white column with kisses and love bites, mouthing the tender skin beneath her jaw.
Fire tingled along Rebecca's nerve endings. She was awash with feelings, bombarded with sensations. Rational thought and reason fled. Pain and terror ceased to be. For that moment in time nothing existed for her but this lush swell of feelings. She became a purely sensual creature, and all that mattered in the world, all that was real, all that had meaning, was the exquisite pleasure he bestowed on her, the alluring warmth and closeness of their straining bodies.
She shifted restlessly, her arms sliding around him. "Travis," she whispered. "Travis."
His lips touched hers, a brush of fire that scorched her right down to her toes. A small moan seeped from her throat, and she started to tighten her embrace, but before she could, he jerked away.
"No, I can't do this. I won't," he gasped in a rough voice.
"Travis...?"
"We have to talk, Rebecca."
Jackknifing into a sitting position, he tossed back the cover and threw his legs over the side of the bed.
The stunning rejection rendered Rebecca immobile. Hurting too much to cry, or even to speak, she watched him snatch up his jeans, step into them and yank up the zipper. He stuffed his bare feet into his shoes and scooped up his shirt on the way to the door.
"I'll go make coffee," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. "When you're ready, join me in the living room."
For several minutes after he had gone, Rebecca gazed at the empty doorway. Pain radiated outward from the tight knot in her chest, suffusing every cell in her
body. She could barely breathe.
Finally, moving like an old lady, she climbed from the bed. On the first step her foot encountered something soft, and she looked down at one of Travis's crumpled white socks. She had to bite her Up to stifle a moan. Holding herself erect, she headed for the bathroom, each jerky movement slow and careful. She felt fragile—brittle inside—as though the least wrong move would cause her to shatter into a million pieces.
The reflection that greeted her in the bathroom mirror drew an anguished sound. She leaned close to the glass and inspected the damage, probing the puffy flesh gently with her fingertips. The swelling had gone down somewhat but the area around her eye and cheek and down the side of her jaw was a livid purple. Experience told her that in a day or so it would turn greenish black and yellow and look even worse.
No wonder Travis had pulled away. She looked hideous. Rebecca closed her eyes and sighed. What man wanted a woman who had been abused and degraded?
No! No, she wouldn't think that way, she scolded her reflection. Not anymore. She was a person of worth and dignity. She would not let Evan's brutality devalue her humanity. If Travis or anyone else thought otherwise, that was their problem.
Pride lifted her chin, and she turned away from the unsightly reflection. After adjusting the faucets, she stripped off the sweatshirt and panties, stepped into the shower and turned her face up to the spray, wincing as the water hit her face. Clenching her jaws, she willed away the tears that threatened. She had survived without Travis all these years; she would continue to survive without him.
Half an hour later, Rebecca entered the living room. Spying Travis taking mugs down from the cabinet, she paused and bit her lower Hp. She dreaded facing him, answering his questions, but she had no choice. After last night she owed him an explanation.
Turning, he saw her, and Rebecca took a fortifying breath and started forward. He slid a steaming mug of coffee onto the counter when she seated herself on a bar stool.
"Thank you," she murmured, not quite meeting his gaze. Grateful for something on which to focus, she picked up the mug in both hands and sipped the scalding liquid.
"Sure," Travis poured a mug for himself and joined her. Swiveling sideways, he sat facing her, knees spread wide, feet hooked over the bottom rung of the bar stool. He propped his elbow on the counter and studied her somberly through the steam rising from his mug.
Acutely conscious of his scrutiny and her appearance, Rebecca cupped the mug of coffee in her hands and stared down at the shiny surface. She scarcely noticed the blistering heat against her palms. She had combed her hair back from her face and the thick mane hung down below her shoulder blades in a tumble of wet curls, soaking the back of her yellow sundress. Other than applying a bit of moisturizer, she hadn't bothered-with makeup or beauty aids. What was the use?
Tram had used the time to clean up as well. The smell of soap and shampoo and shaving cream drifted to her across the small distance that separated them. Once again he wore his favorite attire, which consisted of threadbare but clean cutoffs and nothing else. His shiny hair still bore the brush marks of a recent blow-dry.
"There was no bike accident when you were a kid, was there?" Travis said, breaking the strained silence. "Those marks on your back....your ex-husband put them there, didn't he?"
Rebecca fingered the handle of her mug. She considered lying, but after a second's hesitation, she nodded.
"And that scar at your temple?"
She started, and shot him a look, her eyes wide.
"You didn't think I'd noticed that one, did you?" Smiling sadly, he reached out and smoothed his fingertips over the hair that hid the thin white line.
"No."
"I notice everything about you," he said, so softly that Rebecca experienced a strange stab of panic and quickly looked back down at her coffee.
When she did not reply, he stroked the back of his forefinger down her jaw, beneath the injury. "I still can't believe that you put up with this kind of treatment for six years. Why, Rebecca? Why didn't you just leave the bastard?"
She looked at him then, and despite all she could do, her eyes filled with tears and her lips quivered. "It's difficult to explain," she said in a small, aching voice.
"Try."
"At first I...I kept hoping things would change. Get better. Instead they just kept getting worse. There were periods when Evan was pleasant, even affectionate, and on the surface things were fine. Those times always followed a beating. They lasted days, sometimes even weeks." Rebecca's mouth twitched. "In counseling I learned that it's called the 'honeymoon period,' and it's part of the cycle of abuse. After a while, though, the tension begins to build again and inevitably erupts in violence."
"When I met Evan, I thought that I'd finally found someone to love who would love me back. I wanted that so much." Her voice broke on the last word, and her chin started to wobble. She looked up at the ceiling and widened her eyes to hold back the tears. They spilled over anyway, and she wiped them away with her fingertips.
"And then there was... there was my father," she went on doggedly. "Evan was the son he'd always wanted. Daddy never quite forgave me for being born female, you know, instead of the son and heir that he'd wanted. The only time I ever truly pleased him was when I married Evan. I couldn't quite bring myself to face his wrath if I ended the marriage."
She took a sip of coffee and fought for control. After a moment, she waved one hand. "Anyway, abusive husbands tend to keep their wives on such a tight leash and so totally dependent on them for everything that leaving is almost impossible. Evan kept a close, constant check on me— where I went, who I saw, how long I stayed. He made sure that I had no close friends in Dallas, so that I would have no one to turn to for help. He doled out money to me in small amounts, as though I were a child. And of course he wouldn't hear of me having a job. I had charge accounts at all the best stores, but getting my hands on enough cash to even purchase a bus ticket out of town was almost impossible."
"Yet in the end you did leave. How did you manage it?"
"Things got so terrible I had no choice. I had to get away. So I pawned some jewelry and.., I, uh... I returned something of value—a gift from Evan, actually—for cash. I used the money to get out of the state and file for divorce. For two months before I came here, while I waited for the final decree, I lived in Reno in a shelter for abused women. I knew that Evan would be searching for me. All I could do was pray that he wouldn't find me until I was free."
"Good grief, Rebecca." Travis's gut clenched at the thought of Rebecca biding out in one of those places, scared and alone, among strangers in a strange town.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face. Briefly, Rebecca's gaze met his, then skittered away. She pressed her lips together and stared down at the cooling mug of coffee.
"Don't look so horrified, Travis," she said, and the defensive edge to her voice made, him wince. "It wasn't a bad place. I got a lot of help there—from the counselors and from the other women. Their support and encouragement gave me the courage to examine the past and come to terms with it and get on with my life."
"Look, I'm not bad-mouthing women's shelters. I know they fill a need and that they do good work, but why did you have to go to one? Good grief, Rebecca, you have friends who care about you. Why didn't you just turn to Erin and Elise from the start?"
His jaw clenched when once again her gaze flickered to him, then darted away. Ah, man.. .he hated it when she did
that. He always had. When they were growing up, it had irritated the living hell out of him when she wouldn't meet his eyes. He'd thought they were beyond that. God knew, she hadn't been this skittish around him since the night she arrived. Dammit, look at me, he raged silently.
"I couldn't ask Erin and Elise for help. I..." She bit her bottom lip and stared at her hands. "I just couldn't. Not then."
"Why not?"
"I... I was too ashamed."
She spoke so softly, at first Travis thought he had
misunderstood, until he took a good look at her downcast profile. "Ashamed!" He spewed out a string of blue language before regaining his much-lauded control. "That's just about the most foolish thing I've ever heard you say. Now you listen to me, Rebecca Quinn. You haven't done anything wrong. The one—the only one in all this—who should feel shame is that sorry ex-husband of yours! Not you! You got that?"
She flinched at his outburst but managed a wan smile. It didn't quite reach her eyes, Travis noticed. "Yes, I know that now. Intellectually, I always have. But what you don't understand, Travis, is it does something to you..." She put her hand over her heart and patted her chest. "... in here, on the inside, to be abused. You feel so... so worthless, so guilty. So ashamed," she added in a painful whisper. "You keep thinking that you must have done something wrong, or that you must be a terrible person to deserve that kind of treatment. It's humiliating and degrading. You don't want anyone to know, least of all your family and friends."
Travis gritted his teeth. He knew all that, dammit. Back in college, when he'd studied for a career in law enforcement, he'd read profiles on abused women. Typically, they were gentle women, shy and often insecure. Most, for one reason or another, desperately needed love.
He knew the scenario of dominance she described was typical, also. Given what he had learned of Rebecca's childhood, she had undoubtedly been ripe for a sadistic bastard like Evan Hall.