she kept right on crying.
It was killing him.
Ry couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand to see her in this much pain and know he was probably the cause of it. The Carrie he knew was strong. The little girl who had mourned for her parents had grown into a self-contained woman who would feel diminished and embarrassed by giving in to tears. She’d consider it a weakness. Unlike some women he knew, she would never resort to weeping to manipulate a man or get her way. If she cried, then she was hurting. Hurting bad. It took him back to that horrible time when the only thing he could do to help her was be someone for her to hold on to in return.
Wincing as a bare foot met with a piece of gravel, he carried her into the house, kicked the front door closed behind him and headed for the living room.
Still holding her in his arms, he sat down on the sofa, then settled her onto his lap as her long, sleek body curled into his and clung.
And felt his guilt over the scene at her apartment settle like a festering thorn.
Only the full moon peaking through the huge picture window to the west illuminated the room, casting them in soft shadows and cocooning them in the intimacy of the night. Despite feeling like the horse’s ass he was, he was very aware of her slim hip nestled into his lap, far too aware of her warm breast pressing against his chest through the thin red silk of her blouse. But most of all, he was conscious of how badly she needed the very person who had driven her to this state to be her friend right now. A friend…not a man whose first and basic instinct was to comfort her in the most elemental and pleasurable of ways.
It broke his heart to feel her slim shoulders tremble, to feel the warmth of her silent tears on his skin. So he just hung on tighter. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he combed his fingers through her silky hair and made soothing sounds to settle her.
Her eyes were red and swollen when she finally lifted her head and pressed the heels of her hands to her eye sockets. He watched in silence as her throat convulsed and she made a concentrated effort to pull out of her funk.
“Hold on a sec,” he said and, easing her off his lap, walked out of the room. When he returned, she’d done when he’d known she would do, what he’d known she needed a moment alone to do. She’d used the time to compose herself.
He handed her a glass of water and a box of tissue.
“I am too—” a hiccupy shudder broke up her words “—too pathetic to draw breath.”
Despite her misery, he smiled. “And you’ve reached this conclusion all by yourself? Or did someone or something nudge you in that direction?”
She sniffed, then blinked and after a long drink of water, tugged a tissue from the box and blew. “Someone and something,” she said, mopping up the beautiful mess she’d made of her face and reaching for another tissue.
He didn’t even hesitate. He sat back down beside her and drew her onto his lap again. She snuggled into him like a sleepy kitten, looping her arms around his neck and nestling her head under his chin. Her breath was warm against his chest, her fingers cool where they linked together on his bare shoulder.
He circled her hips with his arms and propped his chin on the top of her head. “Want to just hit me and get it over with?”
“Hit you?”
“For being such an ass.”
“Well, you can’t help what you are.”
“Um…ouch.” But he was grinning at the return of her spunk as he rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “I’m sorry for making you cry like this.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you.”
He didn’t know which emotion was stronger. Relief or bafflement. “So…you wanna tell me about it?”
“What? So you can say I told you so?”
There was more resignation than anger in her words. And suddenly he knew. Beldon.
“What did he do to you?” he asked with barely leashed rage. “If that rat bastard so much as laid a finger on you against your will, I will personally see to it that for the foreseeable future, the good doctor won’t be able to manage even simple daily tasks—such as blinking, breathing, or eating—without the aid of a professional health care specialist.”
She sniffed out a little laugh. “Relax, Rambo,” she said quietly. “He did nothing to me…but by the way his nurse looked when she came slithering out of his bedroom, I’d say he managed to do plenty to her.”
He only heard one word. “Bedroom? What were you doing in Beldon’s bedroom?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Nothing. I did nothing in his bedroom. After you left, I went over to his apartment with every intention of going to bed with him…but there wasn’t any room for me there. It seems that ‘Nelson’ Beldon had a very packed schedule today,” she added acidly. “Seduce the town virgin in the afternoon, take his nurse to bed at night.”
Ry opened his mouth. Closed it. What would have come out was a short, concise expletive that would have succinctly summed up his opinion of Beldon but would have shocked her virgin ears.
“What’s wrong with me?” she began, with such a puzzled, pained look his heart did a little more breaking. “What’s wrong with me that I can’t attract a man who will stand up to Travis or even have enough strength of character to—”
“Hey,” he said, cutting her off. “There is nothing wrong with you. Absolutely nothing.”
The breath she let out was long and heavy. It nestled her left breast deeper into his ribs, made the fine hair dusting his pecs flutter, made his skin burn.
“Then why can’t I find someone to love me?”
Oh, God. He closed his eyes, felt the liquid warmth of a single tear spill onto his chest then trickle down to catch on his nipple. Despite her misery, he flashed on an image of her mouth lapping against his skin, licking that tear away.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to force the image from his mind…fought not to think about how lush and soft she was, how the only thing separating her skin from his was a layer of silk and a thin thread of common sense that was unraveling with the same speed as the blood rushing to pool at his lap.
“Is it…is it that I’m not pretty enough—”
“Stop,” he interrupted hoarsely. Then dug deep for the right things to say, the right thing to do, when every red blood cell in his body screamed at him to show her right here, right now, just how pretty she was. Just how pretty he could make her feel. And how good he could make both of them feel.
“Beldon’s a jerk, all right? Don’t let what he did or didn’t do diminish the person you are. If a man loves a woman, how she looks is not what’s important. It’s who she is. It’s her mind. Her heart. It’s how she lives her life.”
She sat up slowly, met his eyes with a slow blink of uncertainty, then smiled sadly. “I get it. What you’re saying is that I’m the quintessential blind date. ‘I’ll set you up with Carrie. She’s got a great personality. So, she’s a little too tall. A little too thin. Her breasts aren’t—”’
“Stop it. You are not too tall or too thin. You are perfect. Your breasts are beyond perfect,” he said without thinking…then couldn’t help himself and lowered his gaze to the front of her blouse where the plump fullness of the breasts in question pressed against red silk. And then he couldn’t stop looking as he gave in to a moment of intense, uncontrollable madness. “Your breasts are…dream worthy. Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve dreamed about—” He stopped abruptly, a weak wave of sanity returning with the thimbleful of blood that found its way back to his brain.
He closed his eyes. Let his head fall against the back of the sofa. Swallowing convulsively, he