“Bad water, bad food. I don’t know what caused it, but I could barely walk. There were two Brazilian guides with us. They tried to make the trek more comfortable for me. Cam had just made the decision to turn back. He wanted to get me to a hospital. We’d only been in the jungle for three days.”
Her voice died on a strain. She brought her hand up to his neck and curled her fingers around his collar, as if she needed the anchor he provided. Her fingers were ice cold. He kissed her forehead. She snuggled deeper into his lap, pulling her legs up, her nose pressed into his neck as if she wanted to crawl inside him. He wrapped both arms around her and held her tight, wanting to make her feel safe enough to talk to him.
“We got up and headed back the way we came. Up ahead of us appeared eight men with automatic rifles and dirty fatigues with the arms ripped off the uniforms. Our guides tried talking to them. They shot the guides. Both of them. Right there.”
Her body tensed and she buried her face deeper against him.
“They grabbed us and tied our hands together with hard, prickly ropes. We walked for a long time.” Her fingers at his throat held his shirt in a death grip. “We got to this camp. The ground was muddy, it smelled of rotting food and decay. The buildings were shabby wood huts that looked like they’d been constructed from pallet boards. We were shoved into one of them. There were three other Americans in there. They’d been there for days.”
Brandon wanted to tell her to stop talking, to stop reliving the horror, but he knew she needed to get it out. No wonder she had nightmares.
“He was trying to get me help. He was begging a guard to get me a doctor. Fresh water. The other Americans were telling him to keep his mouth shut, but he wouldn’t listen.” She sobbed and wrapped her arm around his neck, nearly choking him. “They shot him.”
Bella’s story tore Brandon’s heart open, and he held her as tightly as she clung to him. He’d seen what those men could do without blinking an eye, but he’d been trained to deal with it. He’d gone through months and months of training before dealing with those kinds of men. And it was still awful. It had taken years to stop the memories once he was out of the Special Forces. Bella was such a sweet, compassionate woman. So tender. How would she ever heal?
“We were there for nearly a month,” she said, her voice hoarse, strained, as she held back more tears. “It was a Viper Team that came in the middle of the night. We didn’t even know they were there. They killed the guards and took us away. Cam never came home.” She choked on a sob. “He’s still down there somewhere in that horrible place. No burial. Nothing. All because of me.” She buried her face in his neck as more racking sobs seized her.
“No. No, Bella. It’s not your fault.” Brandon pulled her arm from his neck and held her by the shoulders so he could see her face. Her eyes overflowed with tears, her nose red. “Baby, look at me. Look at me.” He waited until she raised her eyes. “Sweetheart. Cameron’s death had absolutely nothing to do with you. I’ve been down there. I know what those animals are like. If it wasn’t then, it could have been later. They kill indiscriminately. Because they can.”
A spark of hope ignited in her eyes, as though she desperately wanted to believe him.
She should be at home, going through post-hostage counseling. She probably thought she could deal with it on her own, that she could take care of herself. He pulled her back into his arms and cradled her like a child. “Nothing is your fault, baby. Nothing.”
“I killed my stepfather when I was twelve.”
Chapter Eleven
Brandon went very still, but his heart beat so hard in his chest he expected it to break a rib.
“The courts said it was self-defense. Cam said it was self-defense. But I wanted him dead. I had for a long time. But I waited too long. I waited until after he’d beat my mother to death.”
Brandon’s head pounded as blood rushed to his temples and thrummed against his skull. What hadn’t this woman been through? And he’d thought her major problem was a broken marriage? It was almost laughable how naïve he’d been about her past emotional trauma.
“Cam took me in. He was only twenty-two years old. He had to quit college and work in order to afford to care for me. He put his life on hold for years until I got married. I wanted to free him so he could have his own life. Then, less than three years later, I’m back on his doorstep.”
That only made Cameron a few years older than me, Brandon thought. The man must have loved his niece like nothing else in the world. No wonder she defended him so staunchly. But that did not excuse the man for taking Bella to Central America or any of the other horrid places she’d gone with him.
“Bella, baby. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, giving her any peace he possibly could. “As soon as we get home, I’m going to find someone who can help you. You need professional counseling. Someone who knows how to deal with this. Baby, why did you come out here to be alone?”
“I went to a couple group sessions. But those people...” She shook her head. “One had been a hostage at a bank robbery. Another had been kidnapped and raped. They did all the talking. Their problems weren’t anything like mine. I thought I could deal with it if I had time alone to think.”
Brandon held her away from him and met her eyes. She was calming, her tremors subsiding to small, sporadic aftershocks. “We’ll find you someone to talk to, baby. Someone who can help you. With everything.” She held his gaze with bloodshot eyes, and he waited for a response, some acknowledgement that she needed professional help and that he’d do all he could to find it for her. Her eyelids slowly closed, and her shoulders slumped. He’d never seen a woman so emotionally beaten in his life. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead. Tucking her head under his chin, he promised, “You’re going to be all right. I promise.”
Silence stretched so long he thought she’d fallen asleep. He stroked her hand that he held against his chest, willing her pain onto himself, to release her from its grip and let her have peace.
Her head turned, and she skimmed her lips against his jaw in a tender caress. “Brandon, I’m glad you’re here.” Then she tucked her head back beneath his chin.
That little fist squeezed his heart. His throat was thick with emotion when he rasped, “I am too, baby.”
~*~*~
Isabella woke alone, curled in a tight little ball on the couch. Hot oil popped and sizzled. The scent of baking berries teased her nose. She snuggled deeper into the thick, fluffy sleeping bag that held Brandon’s masculine, elemental scent. Her body was drained. Physically, emotionally. Her eyes burned behind sandpaper lids, and a dull headache throbbed against her forehead.
She felt Brandon’s presence next to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Not after she’d spilled her guts, her entire life’s story.
“Dinner will be done in about five minutes.” Gentle fingers pushed the hair from her cheek. His voice was soft as he asked, “You need some aspirin?”
She nodded, refusing to open her eyes. She felt him move away, heard him opening the first aid kit, the bottle, pouring out the pills, snapping the lid back on, closing the first aid box, pouring water from the jug on the counter. How could he be so nice after everything she’d told him? How could he still be taking care of her after all that? After her crying jag? How could he still care after she’d become such a weakling woman? She loathed that she hadn’t been able to keep her emotions under control, that she’d clung to him, needing his support, his tenderness.
“Here, baby. Sit up. Take these. You’ll feel better after you eat. I’ve got a special dessert baking for you.”
He’d changed his shirt, she noticed, as she scooted up against the armrest of the couch. She’d probably snotted all over the last one. Before Cam died, she never cried. Not since the day her mother’s body had been put into the ground had she shed a tear. Now she couldn’t seem to ever stop. How could she have any moisture left inside her?
She took the tablets and water from him and downed them. When he stood up, he leaned over and kissed her forehead before going back to cooking. The tears welled up again. With angry swipes, she pushed them away.
Get a grip!
It was over. It was all out in the open. No more secrets. She should feel relived, but she felt worse.
Brandon returned with two plates of food and sat down after she scrunched her knees up, making room on the couch for him. “Here.” He handed her a plate of grayling and mashed potatoes. The sight of it nearly turned her stomach. “You’re going to eat that, Bella. I know you probably don’t feel like it, but after the afternoon you had, you need the energy. Besides, only good little girls that finish their dinner get dessert.”
The teasing gave her the urge to scream. How could he joke with her now? How could he even look at her? She’d never even told Bart about her stepfather, and she’d thought he loved her once upon a time.
When he reached toward her, she flinched.
“Hey, sweetie,” he said softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Look at me.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t want to see the censure, the disapproval.
His big, warm hand cupped her chin and lifted her face until she had no choice but to look at him. He smiled at her. His beautiful brown eyes were gentle, welcoming. “It’s all right. I’m here for you.” She searched his features for any sign of disgust. Saw none. Only caring. “Understand?”
Nodding, she covered his hand with hers and guided it to her cheek. “Thank you, Brandon. Thank you for—” Her throat tightened, cutting off her words.
“Eat your food, Bella. It’s getting cold. Dessert will be done in ten minutes.”
She forced a smile, but it came easier than she thought it would. The fish was delicious, and she was surprised to realize she was actually hungry.
After she’d cleaned her plate, he served her a steaming bowl of a delightfully sweet blueberry concoction over sweet biscuits. She moaned in delight and smiled at him. “I know what you should do now that you’re jobless,” she said between bites.
“What’s that?”
“Open a bakery. This is wonderful.”
He chuckled. “It’s biscuit mix with extra sugar and blueberries with sugar. I don’t think it’s exactly a culinary masterpiece.”
“It is, trust me. I’ve eaten desserts all over the world. This, by far, is the best I’ve ever had.”
“You’ve been stranded out here too long. If I served you this at home you’d turn up your nose at it.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re supposed to just say ‘thank you’ and accept a compliment.”
He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to turn me into some proper gentleman?”
“I think you could use the help.” She scraped her bowl clean with her spoon and then wiped out more of the sticky purple goo with her finger and licked it off.
Brandon laughed. He was glad she was coming out of her funk. The way she’d looked when she woke up had frightened him. “Oh, now that’s lady-like.”
“And once again, you’re rude. May I have some more please?” she asked sweetly with a smile that melted him.
Handing her his bowl, he grinned. “Finish mine. I’ll get more. Good thing I made a truckload, the way you eat.”
She stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry.
“Careful what you do with that tongue, it might give me ideas.” He waited to see what, if anything, would be her comeback.
“Take off your shirt and lets pour a bowl of this on you. I’m sure I could make great use of my tongue.” Her head whipped around and her eyes widened, as if surprised she’d spoken the words aloud.
He’d heard, all right, and his body reacted accordingly. Fast. Hard. Damn hard. “Really. Into food kink, are you?” He had to keep it light. She wasn’t ready. God, he was going to combust.
Her face turned a beguiling shade of pink, and she turned away, giving him her back.
“Was that a little matter of not thinking before you spoke?” He sat back down at her feet and adjusted his jeans that were about to strangle him.
Her face flamed red, and she studied her dessert with so much interest he would have thought it held the meaning of life.
“I know I wouldn’t mind licking blueberries off your chest,” he said lightly as he put a spoonful of the goopy dessert in his mouth. “But then again, I’d like licking you just for the sake of licking you.”
“Stop it,” she groaned and rolled her eyes. “Is that all you think about?”
He laughed. “You started it. Is that all you think about?”
“No, you started it.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
She raised her gaze to meet his. Damn, she was pretty. Even with red-rimmed eyes puffy from crying, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her eyes were like green flames, shining with so much heat in them his breath caught.
“I think about other things, too. But yes, I’ve thought about it. With you.”
He swallowed hard. She’d finally broached the subject willingly. “Thought about what, exactly?”
“Sex.”
“And?”
“More sex.”
She was killing him. He was sure she was doing it on purpose too, teasing him this way.
“But that’s all it can be. I’m not looking for fairy tales and happily ever after. I want you, Brandon. I want you inside of me. But once we leave here, that’s it. Finito. No promises, no heartbreak, no regrets.”
He leaned toward her, intent on her lips, needing to taste her. Then her words hit him like a two by four to the head.
Finito?
He reversed his motion and sat back, staring at her. She looked…expectant.
He stood up and calmly set his bowl on the counter in the kitchen, picked up a sweatshirt sitting on the back of the couch, and walked out the door, quietly shutting it behind him.
With long, angry strides, he went straight to the water’s edge. He stripped out of every stitch of clothing, waded into the frigid water up to his waist, and then dove. The air temperature hovered in the low forties. The water was colder. It worked better than any cold shower he’d ever forced on himself as a young man in need of cooling off. But it didn’t erase the bewildered look on Bella’s face from his mind.
She’d get over it.
He surfaced when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. The sun had set, the fading light of dusk calmed him a little, and his body contracted with shivers. If she thought for one instant that he was going to let her prove her theories of men correct by tempting him into her bed, she had another think coming. Yes, he wanted her. Almost desperately. But there was no way he would let her categorize him with her wonderful Bart.
He’d be damned if he was some vacation fling.
Heading back toward the shore, swimming hard, his furious indignation returned two-fold. So what if he’d had a few quick affairs the odd times he’d taken holidays in the past decade? He was a man. Men had to do what they had to do. He’d had more one-night stands than affairs. He was a healthy male. What would one expect? So why was he so angry with Bella? Women, he supposed, had needs, too.
Shivering, he walked up the shore and quickly pulled on his clothes. The mosquitoes were faster, though. They got him on the thigh, the butt cheek and shoulder blade before he was fully covered. The little vampires only helped to spur his temper.
After what he and Bella shared this afternoon, how could she think he’d just service her? After the turmoil of talking about her past, she shouldn’t be wanting sex. Or maybe she would. She’d had a catharsis. Her adrenaline had been pumping, she’d cried harder than she probably ever had in her life. God, he hoped she didn’t cry like that often.
Brandon headed off at a brisk stride, fighting his way through the willow brush along a tiny game trail that ran alongside the lakeshore. He knew from his life in the field that aft
er a particularly harrowing encounter, the sex had been good, fantastic even. It was like the cherry on top of the sundae.
But he didn’t want to be her cherry. He wanted to be the steak and potatoes. The main course. The staying power. He’d thought that after this afternoon she’d come to realize she could open up to him and he’d be there. Forever. But she wanted to have sex, only sex, more sex, and then finito.
He’d told her he’d help her find a good counselor. She hadn’t disagreed. “Well, tell me, Miss Independent, how the hell am I supposed to do that if you’re not around?”
He spun, nearly tripping on an exposed tree root, and headed back toward the cabin. The mosquitoes swarmed about his head. He’d gotten two bites on his forehead, and the one on his ass itched like mad. Scratching through denim didn’t help.
“So what am I going to do?” he asked aloud.
First, he wasn’t going to sleep with her. No, wrong. He was going to sleep with her, but he was not going to have sex with her. So the little guy better behave himself. He was a grown man, not some horny teenager.
He nodded, agreeing with himself. Did mosquitoes have venom? Were they making his mind melt? No, that little redheaded wood sprite in the cabin was the one doing that job.
Second, he needed to prove to her that he was nothing like Bert, or Bart, or whatever the hell the jerk’s name was.
She was so worried about the whole child thing. Yeah, he’d wanted kids. When he’d thought about settling down, he’d actually thought more about kids than about the wife. But things change. He’d really meant what he’d said: Couples got married for love, not procreation. It was the twenty-first century, not the twelfth. He’d take her any way he could. Kids or no kids. The thought of growing old with her was so calming, so soothing to him, that nothing else mattered.
Sure, his mom would be disappointed about not having grandchildren, but maybe he could get Sheila and Case to bring little Carol up next summer for a vacation. Mom could play grandma to her as much as she wanted.
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