her hair.
“You seem to have some practice at this.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I got ladies coming in and out of my house all the time, just for
this special service. Haven’t you noticed?”
Jensen laughed, a hiccupping little sound that caught at his heart and tugged on it—like
she’d just reached inside his chest and wrapped her fist around it, pulled. As he
tossed the towel over his shoulder, he realized it wasn’t just rain on her face.
Wiping the tears away, he cupped her cheeks in his hand and wished there was something,
anything he could say to help.
But nobody knew better than he that words didn’t take grief away.
So instead, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to her brow.
A sob ripped out of her and her arms came around his waist.
“You go ahead and cry, baby,” he whispered, pulling her against him and guiding her
head against his chest. “You just go ahead and cry.”
* * *
They were on the couch.
Jensen didn’t remember even coming over here, not really.
She had some vague memory of needing to see him, then a flash of him opening the door,
being in the bathroom as he rubbed a towel over her wet hair. She’d been cold, so
cold.
Then, just breaking.
It was like all the tears she’d kept pent up inside for years … years … had just come ripping out of her. Like somebody had just taken a knife and sliced
her open and all that pain had to get out.
It was still there.
Even now, empty of tears, but the pain still lingered.
Her throat hurt and her head ached and her eyes were all gritty and raw.
Curled against his side, her hand clenched in the faded fabric of his University of
Kentucky T-shirt, she stared dully at the cross he wore and tried so very hard just
to not think.
That pain kept snaking up to nip at her, like a little demon, taking awful, tormenting
bites at her and she just couldn’t stop it.
He pressed his lips to her temple and then he eased her to the side. Jensen closed
her eyes and pressed her face against the cool, soft leather of his couch, breathing
in the scent of Dean and leather.
The floorboards creaked and she felt the couch give way under him a minute later but
she didn’t have the energy to look at him until he slid his arm around her waist.
Look at me, baby.”
She turned her head and stared at him, scowling. “I don’t much care for the term baby ,” she said, lying through her teeth. Normally, she didn’t. But there was something
about the way he said it that made her not mind so much. He could probably call her dollface or cupcake
or any number of cutesy names and she wouldn’t mind. As long as she didn’t hear him
doing it with anybody else.
A smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Whatever.” He lifted his hand and she saw the rag just before he pressed it to her
brow. She all but whimpered in relief at the cool, damp feel of it against her skin.
“Your head hurting?”
“Like a bitch,” she said.
“Want some water?”
She nodded and he pushed a bottle into her hands.
“You’re pretty good at taking care of people,” she said. “Sure you shouldn’t have
gone into medicine instead of law?”
“I prefer to specialize … keeping it to a select few people.” He shifted on the couch
and guided her until she had her head in his lap. The position was incredibly intimate
and heat gathered inside her, even as a blush spread to her face. Part of her thought
about turning in to him, pressing her mouth to his lean belly, maybe exploring a little
lower.
Sex was good for headaches, she’d heard.
But another part of her felt too raw. Too exposed. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to
get horizontal with him when every nerve ending she had, every emotion was so completely
wide open. She was already teetering too close to a precipice with him, one she’d
easily avoided with any and every lover she’d ever had.
“I…” The word formed on
“You seem to have some practice at this.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I got ladies coming in and out of my house all the time, just for
this special service. Haven’t you noticed?”
Jensen laughed, a hiccupping little sound that caught at his heart and tugged on it—like
she’d just reached inside his chest and wrapped her fist around it, pulled. As he
tossed the towel over his shoulder, he realized it wasn’t just rain on her face.
Wiping the tears away, he cupped her cheeks in his hand and wished there was something,
anything he could say to help.
But nobody knew better than he that words didn’t take grief away.
So instead, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to her brow.
A sob ripped out of her and her arms came around his waist.
“You go ahead and cry, baby,” he whispered, pulling her against him and guiding her
head against his chest. “You just go ahead and cry.”
* * *
They were on the couch.
Jensen didn’t remember even coming over here, not really.
She had some vague memory of needing to see him, then a flash of him opening the door,
being in the bathroom as he rubbed a towel over her wet hair. She’d been cold, so
cold.
Then, just breaking.
It was like all the tears she’d kept pent up inside for years … years … had just come ripping out of her. Like somebody had just taken a knife and sliced
her open and all that pain had to get out.
It was still there.
Even now, empty of tears, but the pain still lingered.
Her throat hurt and her head ached and her eyes were all gritty and raw.
Curled against his side, her hand clenched in the faded fabric of his University of
Kentucky T-shirt, she stared dully at the cross he wore and tried so very hard just
to not think.
That pain kept snaking up to nip at her, like a little demon, taking awful, tormenting
bites at her and she just couldn’t stop it.
He pressed his lips to her temple and then he eased her to the side. Jensen closed
her eyes and pressed her face against the cool, soft leather of his couch, breathing
in the scent of Dean and leather.
The floorboards creaked and she felt the couch give way under him a minute later but
she didn’t have the energy to look at him until he slid his arm around her waist.
Look at me, baby.”
She turned her head and stared at him, scowling. “I don’t much care for the term baby ,” she said, lying through her teeth. Normally, she didn’t. But there was something
about the way he said it that made her not mind so much. He could probably call her dollface or cupcake
or any number of cutesy names and she wouldn’t mind. As long as she didn’t hear him
doing it with anybody else.
A smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Whatever.” He lifted his hand and she saw the rag just before he pressed it to her
brow. She all but whimpered in relief at the cool, damp feel of it against her skin.
“Your head hurting?”
“Like a bitch,” she said.
“Want some water?”
She nodded and he pushed a bottle into her hands.
“You’re pretty good at taking care of people,” she said. “Sure you shouldn’t have
gone into medicine instead of law?”
“I prefer to specialize … keeping it to a select few people.” He shifted on the couch
and guided her until she had her head in his lap. The position was incredibly intimate
and heat gathered inside her, even as a blush spread to her face. Part of her thought
about turning in to him, pressing her mouth to his lean belly, maybe exploring a little
lower.
Sex was good for headaches, she’d heard.
But another part of her felt too raw. Too exposed. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to
get horizontal with him when every nerve ending she had, every emotion was so completely
wide open. She was already teetering too close to a precipice with him, one she’d
easily avoided with any and every lover she’d ever had.
“I…” The word formed on
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