Saint saw her fingers lightly press against her breasts. He should have killed Wilkes. For a long moment he couldn’t speak. He pictured her naked, terrified, drugged, and Wilkes touching her. He fought down his own rage. She didn’t need his fury, she needed to be reassured.
“Jules, it’s all right. Come, look at me.”
Slowly she turned to face him. She saw the compassion in his hazel eyes, and hated herself even more. He was being kind to her because he pitied her. She probably disgusted him. Thank God she hadn’t told him any more.
“I’m all right now,” she said in a tight voice.
Saint forced a smile. “You certainly look fine,” he said. “I like the damp hair. It makes you look like the little mermaid I remember so well. Do you remember all those times I helped you dry your hair so your father wouldn’t get into a snit?”
That drew her out the way he’d hoped it would.
“I remember. I escaped most of the time, but once I didn’t. It wasn’t my hair, it was the sunburn. He didn’t forbid me to swim until I was sixteen. I ignored him, of course. Then it was my brother, Thomas, who helped me sneak out.”
Saint also remembered all the times he’d had to drag her out of the ocean and the bright sun so she wouldn’t look like a broiled lobster. “How is your brother, anyway? I always liked Thomas.”
“He is fine,” she said. And he’s probably the only one of my family who’s sorry I’m dead. “He’s a man now, Michael.”
“Time has a way of adding years,” Saint said.
To his immense relief, she suddenly giggled, a sweet, fresh sound that warmed him and made him relax a bit.
“I’m remembering what you always wore when you went swimming,” she said.
So did he. He should have had more sense, he thought now. Being half-naked in front of a child was one thing, but as he’d learned, it was quite another in front of an impressionable young girl. It had finally struck him when he’d seen her staring with very different eyes at him one afternoon as he’d walked out of the surf.
“You looked like Adonis,” she said now. “Do you still have those frayed, cut-off sailor’s pants?”
“You’re embarrassing me, Jules,” he said. It had seemed so natural to wear only those meager pants when he was swimming with her.
“Why? You’re so beautiful.”
He flushed. The last thing he wanted her to remember was a half-naked man. “Enough,” he said, trying to sound cool and unconcerned. “After lunch, little one, I’m off to buy you some clothes. Unfortunately, I can’t take you with me.”
“Because of Wilkes,” she said flatly.
“Yes. Until I find out what he’s up to, I can’t risk him finding out where you are, or, for that matter, who took you away from him.”
“He doesn’t know it was you?”
Saint grinned. “You should have seen my disguise. I probably looked like a huge black bear, and the most villainous creature imaginable.”
Over lunch they spoke more of their shared past. He knew she had to talk about what had happened to her, but he didn’t want to rush her. Not yet, anyway. And, dammit, he had to figure out what he was going to do with her. But he knew what he had to do. He had to take her home. Oddly, he didn’t want to face that prospect just yet. He realized he wanted to enjoy her company for a while longer. That, he added to himself, and see that she healed inwardly, that she was cleansed of her fears and nightmares.
He ended up send
ing Lydia out to do some shopping for her, because Delaney Saxton called. The Saxton’s four-month-old daughter was on her deathbed, according to a frantic Del.
Saint was relieved to tell Chauncey Saxton that her daughter was just colicky.
“New mothers,” Saint said, grinning at Chauncey, “and new fathers. I’ll bet when Alexandra starts teething, I’ll be spending most of my time here reassuring you that she’s not expiring.”
“I can’t wait until you have your own child, Saint!” Chauncey retorted. “Then we’ll just see how calm you are!”
Unbidden, Saint saw a baby with bright red hair and green eyes. He blinked.
“What’s wrong, Saint?” Del Saxton asked. “You sick too?”
“I’m an old fool,” Saint said. “Now, if you two nervous parents will excuse me, I’ll be off.”