offending their families by scaring them off. Some of their parents wouldn’t have thought twice about taking care of him.”
“Grant? Grant who?” Jackson demanded.
“I won’t let you get in trouble.” She set her jaw.
“I promise you I won’t. But I need to do something—you didn’t let me have Donald.” There was such ferocious anger in his request that she worried about him.
“No!”
“Cara mia, please.”
She bit her lip, undone by the softly spoken endearment. Sometimes she forgot that Jackson’s father was Italian, but right now, she could very well believe that this man came from a land that believed in vengeance and an eye for an eye. “I can’t prove it.”
“You don’t need to prove it to me other than by your words and I am the only one who matters.” He was holding her so close, so very close, but she wasn’t afraid. There was just some part of her that refused to place him in the same category as other men. Did that make her a fool, or was she being given a precious chance to fight the lessons of the past and seize something glorious?
“Grant Layton.” It was too hard to resist the temptation to tell the one man who’d ever cared about her.
“Thank you, piccola. Thank you.” His embrace tightened, his potent masculinity surrounding her.
Close contact didn’t scare her. It was only when anything sexual happened that she was that fourteen-year-old again, backed up against the door of the cupboard, with the handle digging into her back. Her mind had been black with fear and betrayal as the object of her teenage crush had destroyed her innocence before it had a chance to blossom. But perhaps her childhood heart might’ve recovered from that, if something worse hadn’t happened.
Jackson’s hand moved up and down her spine, soothing strokes that relaxed her. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You had to know,” she whispered. “I won’t steal your happiness to find my own. I’d run with Nick before I’d do that.” He deserved better than a woman so damaged she’d resigned herself to a lifetime of loneliness.
“You’re traumatized.” He kept stroking her. “We can get you counseling if you want.”
She started shaking her head before he could finish. “The thought of exposing my thoughts for a stranger to pick through…no. I’d rather trust you with my secrets.”
He was silent for a long time and she thought that she’d asked too much of this man who guarded his emotions so carefully. He’d offered her a pragmatic bargain. There had been no mention of gentler, softer feelings.
“I am honored.” His heart thudded under her cheek. “But, I might not be the best choice. I want you.”
“Will you force me?”
“Never.”
“In my heart, I’ve always known that.”
Jackson was stunned by that calm acceptance of his promise when he was starting to see that Taylor had experiencedonly fear and violence from the men in her life. She hadn’t said anything to indicate further abuse, but if the young maintenance man had noticed her developing beauty, what had other, older men noticed? And what had they done to his sweet Taylor? He stifled his questions for the moment, aware that she was emotionally wrung out. “How?” he asked instead.
A pause, then, “You might hurt me with indifference and coldness but you’d never physically abuse me.”
He winced at her honest response. “I’m not indifferent to you.” But he was a cold man. He’d had to become one to survive his solitary childhood and then Bonnie. The last blow had been the loss of his child.
He needed Taylor’s fire as his anchor against the coldness swallowing him alive, needed her to be the candle in the darkness that brought him back home. And though he’d never let her know, he needed her love. Because he did, he fought for her. “I will always be there for you, but I know of a therapist who specializes in sexual trauma.” He’d made it his business to find out that information
“Grant? Grant who?” Jackson demanded.
“I won’t let you get in trouble.” She set her jaw.
“I promise you I won’t. But I need to do something—you didn’t let me have Donald.” There was such ferocious anger in his request that she worried about him.
“No!”
“Cara mia, please.”
She bit her lip, undone by the softly spoken endearment. Sometimes she forgot that Jackson’s father was Italian, but right now, she could very well believe that this man came from a land that believed in vengeance and an eye for an eye. “I can’t prove it.”
“You don’t need to prove it to me other than by your words and I am the only one who matters.” He was holding her so close, so very close, but she wasn’t afraid. There was just some part of her that refused to place him in the same category as other men. Did that make her a fool, or was she being given a precious chance to fight the lessons of the past and seize something glorious?
“Grant Layton.” It was too hard to resist the temptation to tell the one man who’d ever cared about her.
“Thank you, piccola. Thank you.” His embrace tightened, his potent masculinity surrounding her.
Close contact didn’t scare her. It was only when anything sexual happened that she was that fourteen-year-old again, backed up against the door of the cupboard, with the handle digging into her back. Her mind had been black with fear and betrayal as the object of her teenage crush had destroyed her innocence before it had a chance to blossom. But perhaps her childhood heart might’ve recovered from that, if something worse hadn’t happened.
Jackson’s hand moved up and down her spine, soothing strokes that relaxed her. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You had to know,” she whispered. “I won’t steal your happiness to find my own. I’d run with Nick before I’d do that.” He deserved better than a woman so damaged she’d resigned herself to a lifetime of loneliness.
“You’re traumatized.” He kept stroking her. “We can get you counseling if you want.”
She started shaking her head before he could finish. “The thought of exposing my thoughts for a stranger to pick through…no. I’d rather trust you with my secrets.”
He was silent for a long time and she thought that she’d asked too much of this man who guarded his emotions so carefully. He’d offered her a pragmatic bargain. There had been no mention of gentler, softer feelings.
“I am honored.” His heart thudded under her cheek. “But, I might not be the best choice. I want you.”
“Will you force me?”
“Never.”
“In my heart, I’ve always known that.”
Jackson was stunned by that calm acceptance of his promise when he was starting to see that Taylor had experiencedonly fear and violence from the men in her life. She hadn’t said anything to indicate further abuse, but if the young maintenance man had noticed her developing beauty, what had other, older men noticed? And what had they done to his sweet Taylor? He stifled his questions for the moment, aware that she was emotionally wrung out. “How?” he asked instead.
A pause, then, “You might hurt me with indifference and coldness but you’d never physically abuse me.”
He winced at her honest response. “I’m not indifferent to you.” But he was a cold man. He’d had to become one to survive his solitary childhood and then Bonnie. The last blow had been the loss of his child.
He needed Taylor’s fire as his anchor against the coldness swallowing him alive, needed her to be the candle in the darkness that brought him back home. And though he’d never let her know, he needed her love. Because he did, he fought for her. “I will always be there for you, but I know of a therapist who specializes in sexual trauma.” He’d made it his business to find out that information
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