I scurry to the top of the bed, huddling in the pillows. He whirls toward the bed, bracing his fists on the end of it to look up the length at me. “I haven’t touched you.”
His tone makes me want to put the pillows between us, but I don’t, knowing it might anger him more. I’d seen it so many times with my father. The more I defended myself, the angrier he got.
“I know,” I venture. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He throws his hands up this time. “Stop fucking apologizing. I didn’t ask you to apologize. What I need from you is proof you understand I’m not going to hurt you. Have I done so in the weeks you’ve been with me?”
I shake my head, a spike of guilt cutting through me. “No, you haven’t. I’m so—I mean, you’ve been nothing but kind. This isn’t about you.”
His eyes are hard. “Explain.”
I swallow and wet my lips. “I have never been around a man who can control his anger, or at the very least not direct it at me. Every time you get upset, I expect you to take your fury out on me. It’s not you. With the memories coming back, and the wedding, and you being so…” I wave at his nudity. Every freaking glorious inch of him. “I’m overwhelmed.”
It’s a shit explanation, but it’s all I have to give.
He stalks away, and more glass hits the floor in a crash. This time, I stay still, watching him warily. But true to his word, he doesn’t approach me or make demands of me.
The spike of guilt turns sharper, digging in like a splinter. I dry my face on the blanket, leaving a makeup smudge, but I don’t care. Then I carefully climb off the bed, moving slowly to approach him.
When I reach him, he stills with his back to me. I reach out and touch the back of his shoulder gently. He doesn’t move and doesn’t even seem to be breathing. For a second, I want to take my hand back, return to the bed, and hide under the covers until he decides what to do with me. But I don’t.
The memories came back to me, but along with it are the memories of him. The one where he cut loose the bindings Sal had tied me down with. And how he gently lifted me into his arms and carried me out of there. Since then, he’s been with me constantly, caring for me, helping me recover. I have to remember those facts—not just the trauma but also the blessings.
I lay my hand flat against his warm skin and run my fingers across his wide shoulders. He seems impossibly large. He has since the moment I met him, but naked and angry, he seems bigger.
When he doesn’t shove me away, I hesitantly put my other hand on his skin, marveling at the width of his shoulder blades under my palms. Then I curve them out over the tops of his shoulders to his biceps. As I do this, I step into his back and press my lips to the rigid length of his spine, and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
He sweeps me into his arms before I can even react to his turning to face me. Once again, he carries me to the bed as if I weigh nothing and sets me down on the rumpled covers. I wait to see what he’ll do, not wanting to anger him further.
Some of the tension seems to have left his shoulders, though, and he’s no longer clenching and unclenching his fists like he can’t wait to pummel something. He gathers me back into his arms and moves me onto his lap. My head barely reaches his chin, and I must tilt it to look up at him. It’s easier to try to gauge his mood when I can see his face. Not that he gives much away.
“I won’t hurt you,” he tells me for the hundredth time.
In answer, I press my forehead into his chest and breathe him in, letting the smoky scent of him take me back to the night we met. The night I gained the tiniest glimmer of hope. The night that changed everything.
He gently eases me back onto the bed and settles between my thighs. I tense under him, but he makes no move to take off my panties, nor does he rub against me even though I can feel the hard length of him everywhere.
I have the tiniest moment to wonder what he’s going to do when he leans down and kisses me gently. It’s more than the kiss he gave me at the altar only a couple of hours ago. Somehow, even though it’s just his lips against mine, it contains the promise of so much more.
“Touch me,” he orders. “If you don’t want me to rip off this underwear and bury my cock inside you, touch me now.”