She smoothed the borrowed shirt over her bare thighs and stepped back. “We have a lot to talk about.”
In a strolling circuit around the room, she traced the curvature of the King Louis furniture, fidgeted with the knick-knacks, and sniffed the bouquets of fresh flowers. How extraordinary it felt to have her there, in the same room, sharing the same air. He could watch her for hours, the graceful way she moved, the elegant arch of her throat, the flicker in her eyes when she looked at him.
She paused in front of the sheer ivory curtains. He could tell by the way she stared out at the gray-stone architecture of Fifth Avenue that her mind was in another place. Her words confirmed it.
“Three years ago, you walked into my tattoo shop. An hour after you left, my lover and dearest friend, Noah Winslow, was killed.” She turned to face him. “And I was kidnapped by his murderer.”
He reached out for the bed and sat, his pulse at full throttle. “Who took you?”
“I’ll get to that, but first you need to understand Nathan’s role in this.”
Noah Winslow had been the boyfriend. There was a worn card in his wallet with the contact info for Winslow Investigations…for Nathan Winslow. A brother? “He’s the fucker who told me you were murdered.”
She snapped up her chin, her eyes hard as aquamarine glass. “Insult him again and I’m out of here. Do you understand?”
He needed to know who abducted her and what the soon-to-be dead motherfucker did to her, so he focused on that instead of the man she so vehemently defended. He nodded.
“Good.” She took a deep breath. “Noah and Nathan were brothers, and I’m the reason Nathan lost him. The fact that he hasn’t killed me himself speaks volumes.”
“How—”
She held up a stiff finger, but it was her glare that shushed him.
“Nathan saved your life by lying about my death. The man who enslaved me put hits on anyone looking for me. Though there was no one. Friends or family, that is.” She paused as if to let that set in.
Yeah, he had definitely stopped looking for her.
“I think you’re beginning to see, but here’s the big one, Jay. Nathan sabotaged his mission, at a great financial cost to himself, and risked his life to carry me out of a prison where I was shackled, beaten, and raped by a man. The man I’ve been running from since I was eighteen. The man I’m still running from.”
27
Charlee watched as the gravity of her situation settled over Jay, contorting his face and tightening the muscles in his neck and arms. That was the moment she realized he’d fully perceived she was in danger.
She didn’t regret telling him truth, but worry slid through her and knotted in her stomach. Would he reject her? Would he compare her to the piano girls? Or would he go ballistic again? “What I tell you cannot be repeated. You could endanger my life, and yours.”
He jumped to his feet. Given his sudden tenseness, she’d anticipated his rage. What she hadn’t prepared for was him moving toward her in three ground-covering strides and enfolding her in a crushing embrace. “Oh God, Charlee. You’ve lived that nightmare since you were eighteen?”
His arms pinned hers at her sides, and his face pressed into her neck. A warm, low crackling fire kindled in her core and spread through her body. Roy had never held her that way, which meant he hadn’t stolen her capacity to trust hugs, and return them.
“Since I was sixteen. Nine years ago.” She held her breath, the explanation sticking in her throat. She steeled her spine against the images of memory. Nathan told her rape victims blamed themselves, but she wasn’t a victim. “He imprisoned me for two years.” A smile twitched her lips as she recalled her proudest moment. “I escaped on my own that first time.”
When he raised his head, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and squeeze him as tightly as he squeezed her. Since she couldn’t do that, she held firmly to his eyes. Their brown depths were murky, but the emotions swimming in the deepest parts begged for answers, for help, and for things she didn’t want to address.
He saved her from the painful questioning. “Are you okay?” His breath pushed against her lips. “Can I hold you like this?”
Life was jaded like that, throwing them together when he couldn’t tolerate affection and she was desperate for it. “Yes. I really like it.”
He dropped his forehead to hers. “Thank God, because—” A shuddering inhale. “This is going to sound really forward, Charlee, but I want to kiss you. I’ve dreamed of it for three years. I’ve enacted it in my head so many times.” He straightened. “Jesus, I sound creepy.”
Creepy? Maybe a little. It was a harmless creepy. His hard body pressed against the length of hers. Not a forceful weight. Instead, it propped her up, supported her. “A fantasy, huh? I can’t compete with that.”