Read Online Don't Look Back by Lynette Eason - Free Book Online Page B

and red, I had to choose between having my throat slit and drowning. Only I didn’t drown. I lived.”
    “Oh, Jamie . . .” He reached out a beseeching hand, but she waved him off.
    She raised a hand. “Don’t. And he’s very, very good at what he does. He’s like a . . . a . . . ghost or something, a shadow that’s always lurking, watching. In spite of what everyone else thinks, part of me knows he’s back. The other part of me doubts my own mind. But,” she grimaced, “the past? It . . . doesn’t matter anymore. I survived. God allowed me to live for some reason. And I won’t apologize for my . . . issues. God and I are working on those.”
    “I don’t want you to apologize. I’m asking you to consider a relationship with me.”
    A knot formed in her throat. “I wish I could consider it. I really do. There are things about me that you don’t know, that if you did . . .” She couldn’t finish.
    Feeling trapped, old, horrifying memories closing in, she walked into the sunroom and picked up a paintbrush. Squeezed paint onto the pallet beside her and dipped the brush. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
    Painting. Her therapy. She inhaled the scent that always calmed her.
    Dakota’s hand covered hers and she stilled, her heart tripping, beating hard. Because of the topic of conversation? His nearness? The flashes of her imprisonment and torture playing through her mind? Emotions rolled, bumping into one another as they surged inside her.
    “Go away, Dakota.” The sobs begged for release. She refused to give in. “Just leave me alone right now.”
    “I don’t want to leave you alone. I want to help you.”
    His soft voice nearly caused a break in her control. She couldn’t figure out why he was so persistent. Any other man would have run without looking back by now. “You can’t help me. No one can help when the memories . . .” Her breath hitched. “Just go.”
    More colors on the palate. Her fingers shook as she squeezed the tubes. Panting, her throat squeezed in. She ignored it, having learned she wouldn’t die from it.
    She just needed to paint.
    A fresh canvas.
    Bristles dipped in whatever color she could reach first.
    Another ragged, whistling breath.
    And still, he didn’t leave.
    Instead, he moved behind her, gripped the brush with her, and held her hand as she slashed the paint across the blank canvas. She registered his presence, vaguely wondered why he didn’t leave.
    Over and over, he kept his hand on hers and followed her movements as she vented, color after color, with no rhyme or reason to the strokes.
    Finally, she let go of the brush, heard it clatter to the table as she sank to the floor. He followed, his arm encircling her shoulders. She let him, leaned into his embrace, exhausted, spent.
    She didn’t even feel like crying anymore as she let his woodsy cologne wash over her, his presence offer comfort and chase the nightmares away. She lost track of how long they sat there, silent, her panting breaths calming, her heart slowing to a normal rhythm.
    Then he spoke. “How often does that happen?”
    She sighed. “Every so often.”
    A pause, then, “Jamie, darlin’, I know you have a rotten past, that there are things maybe you can’t tell me right now, horrifying things I probably can’t even imagine.” His voice had gone husky and she heard him swallow twice. “And that’s okay. I’m just asking that you let me in a little more. Let me past some of those barriers you’ve got up. That’s all. Let’s get to know each other better. Can you do that?”
    She didn’t answer right away because she didn’t have an answer. Then she allowed a rueful smile to play across her lips. “I just did.”
    He kissed the top of her head and her left hand fisted his shirt.
    “I care about you, Jamie,” he whispered. “Just think about it, okay?”
    She nodded against his shoulder, then mumbled, “You know, I don’t know that much about you either.”
    He stilled.