Abduction (58 page)

"God, Vaughn. I know that."

"I don't blame you, being nervous. Afraid. Of me."

"I'm not afraid of you."

God, what was she doing? Coming near. Reaching out. How could she?

Touching his arm, now.

He flinched. Hardened. The bottomless fissure opening between them yawned wider.

"I'm all right," she said, trying to make her voice soft and even. "Are you?"

He looked like she'd slapped him. Shocked. Then hurt.

Finally, "Me? I'm—"

The way he was looking at her. She wished Conrad had taken her with him.

"Vaughn?" she tried one more time, almost out of hope. "Are you all right?"

"You're really okay?" he asked, ninety seconds behind.

"I'm fine. Really."

"You're crying."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"You haven't answered. If you're okay."

He gave her one of his placid smiles. Small. Soft. Her anxiety started to thaw.

"If you're all right," he said, "then I am."

She smiled at him with palpable relief. No way to doubt the way she softened, the way her eyes went bright. Then—he could hardly believe it, hardly bear the joy of it—

she pressed her body against his and he felt her hands on his back, pulling him to her.

He wound his arms around her like an impossible gift he was bound to return. Dev. So 527

warm and soft in his embrace, against his body. As if they hadn't hurt her. So yielding, as if she trusted him.

They were alone. All alone. No Conrad. They could say anything. Everything.

But it seemed too late, now, to ask, to say all the things he'd wanted to tell her.

Before. And as he stood there, holding her, feeling her arms around him, feeling her body warm and soft under his hands, both of them so quiet, the need to scream, to cry started to choke and wither his impossible joy.

She felt his arms around her, felt his breathing, the rise and fall of his warm chest against her, but after just a few seconds holding her, Vaughn seemed to stiffen. To cool.

In her raw state it felt like he'd shoved her away. She'd known. As soon as Conrad had started in on them, she'd known it would be this way.

The more indifferent his embrace became, the more aware she felt of how nearly naked she was in the little wisp of lingerie Conrad had her dressed in. Feeling a blush creeping over her chest and cheeks, she broke the twin circles. Her arms, then his.

"I'm not afraid of you, Vaughn. I still…"

She smiled, near tears.

"I'm still your friend."

He lifted his hand to touch her face, bringing his fingertips almost to her cheek before pulling back, letting his hand fall slowly to his thigh.

"Can we sit?" she asked, needing to level her gaze with his. They moved to the sofa.

"I think maybe," she said, softly, gazing at him steadily, fear flickering in her eyes, belying her promises that she wasn't scared of him, "it's you who's afraid of me. Or, not afraid, but…"

Guilty. Ashamed.

"What?" he asked, waiting for her to pass sentence. Silently begging her to judge him.

"It's all right. I understand."

She was smiling, a big, warm, smile. And fat tears were swelling clear and brilliant in her eyes and rolling, rolling, rolling down her face.

"What?"

He was trying so hard not to cry.

"You don't want me…close."

He got the feeling she'd edited mid-stream.

"Devan…"

She flinched a little as he said her name. No affectionate diminutive.

"…that's not it."

"No?"

"No."

"Are you still my friend, Vaughn?"

"Your friend?"

He felt faint and jittery. Like he'd been hurt and gone into shock. Her eyes sad and seeking, her lashes wet, but still smiling, so tenderly his heart seemed to strain, she 529

took his hand in both of hers. The contact made his stomach twinge, made his chest flutter. Then, as she sat there, holding his hand in hers, it was like comfort and torture at once. Tender and cruel.

He made himself look at her. It was hard, facing her. But the pain was nourishing.

He hoped she could read his thoughts, that looking at him she could see what he hadn't found words to say yet. Her eyes were so intent on his, seeking, penetrating. So close.

Like she was coming inside.

Still holding his hand, holding his gaze, coming close. He could feel her warmth, not jut her hands, but her body, her breath coming faint against his skin. Then, his heart hammering, he realized. And a second later her sweet soft lips parted and touched his mouth. Dev. So tender. So warm. He almost groaned. Or sobbed. It was the sweetest little kiss, her lips just touching his with their soft heat, but everything in him rose to meet the tender press of her mouth, as if she was drawing him into her. A moment ago he hadn't been able to touch her cheek, but now he curved his hand at the back of her neck and she deepened her kiss. With her mouth she took him in, warmed and welcomed him. Caressed and soothed him. For a moment.

But the dark things in him were too big, too hungry. Sadness crept over her tender warmth, and he could already feel her cooling. Retreating. She ended the kiss.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You don't want me. To…"

"Dev."

Finally he lost the fragile grip he'd kept on himself since she'd told him Conrad had left.

"God, Devan. I hurt you."

Her gut contracted.

"No. Vaughn. You were so…"

There were no words for the warm feeling swelling through her. The way she thought of him.

"You never hurt me."

"I mean. What I really mean. " He was crying. "I raped you."

His words stripped something from her. Now he was sobbing, his body shaking fitfully.

"Oh, Vaughn…"

She shook her head. He lifted his red, flinting eyes to hers. She reached out and tried to touch him, but he flinched back.

"Vaughn. No. You didn't."

She touched his forearm, stringed with fist-clenching muscle. He flinched. No relief, no hope sparked in his eyes. They just went on leaking tears.

"When?" she whispered. "When do you think you did that to me?"

The way he was holding her gaze, she got the feeling it was a kind of self-flagellation. That hurt—that looking at her was his way of punishing himself.

"Every time," he choked out. "Every time I was inside you."

"Don't." She was crying now. "Please don't say that. I know it's been…strange…but I want…I want to remember…us. It was us, Vaughn."

He stared, incredulous, tears pouring down his cheeks.

"Vaughn."

She didn't know what to say. He looked so broken. She stroked his cheeks. His jaw, rough with stubble. Wanted to comfort him. Sooth him. He stiffened when she kissed his eye and his lashes painted her lips with his tears, and he stayed stark still as she kissed the other eye, his brow, his cheek. She bowed her forehead to his chest, felt the fluttery swell and hollow of his wrenched breaths. She pressed her whole body against him, put her arms around him. Like embracing a statue being exploded from the inside. His chest swelled and shrank in irregular, shuddering breaths, but he wouldn't let himself go.

"Vaughn, I swear. I'm with you, I look at you, touch you, all I remember, all I feel, is that you're my friend. You're...we're…"

She was out of words, putting her mouth to his to fill the gap. To let him know. To stop his hurt. To make him see. Everything she had for him was good and warm.

It was a soft kiss and he was shaking, his body trembling under hers, and when she pulled back and looked at him he looked so scared, so hurt, but she was sure she could get him through. Make him see. Petting him, stroking his hair and his face, she kissed him again, everything in her rising up warm and soft, eager to drive away his guilt.

He let her. Let her slip onto his lap, let her lips part his, draw his between. He was trembling but yielding as she drew her fingers down through his hair, caressing his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Yielding when she coaxed his hands to her waist. They never moved from where she put them, but finally, finally he was kissing her back.

Never seeking but sweetly answering her lips, her tongue.

When Devan stopped and looked at him Vaughn gazed at her, uncertain, his eyes still red but the tears stopped. When she smiled at him, really hopeful and brimming with tender warmth that could be happiness if he could be happy, he gave her back a tentative little smile.

"Touch me," she whispered, dying to feel him, his want in this.

It felt like forever, waiting, wondering if he would. But after long, anxious seconds, she felt his big strong hands touch lightly down on her back. Again she kissed him, and again he met her mouth with his, and as she caressed his jaw, his cheeks, touched his ears, feeling for the first time that she could explore him, learn him with her fingers, his hands went under the little nightie and slid soft and hot along the length of her back, along her spine, over her shoulder blades. An innocent, gentle touch. But it warmed her, softened her.

She stopped their kiss, gave him a look and another smile. His breathing had changed. Sped up. And now the way his lips were parted made her think of want, not fear or shock. When he smiled back at her, an eager joy drove back her sadness, her fear that it was all over for them. Wanting to feel more of this happiness, more of his touch, his body, she pulled her nightie up over her head and dropped it on the sofa beside him.

When she kissed him he was shaking again, his breath coming hard and shallow.

His chest felt so hot and strong against her body, and she pressed closer, loving the feel of the swell and retreat of his chest as he breathed, the quick thud thud thud of his heart against her body. Kissing, she willed him to touch her, to curve his hands against 533

her bottom, slide them down her thighs, run an index finger along her calf, bring a palm to her belly, cup, cradle, caress her breast.

But he just held her. Close. One hand at the back of her waist, the other between her shoulder blades. Tighter and tighter. For a moment she went breathless; she could feel his hardness rising, pressed between them. Harder and harder he held her against him. And then he took his mouth from hers and she felt his breath wisping over her cheek and ear, playing with her hair.

"I can't, Devan. I'm sorry. So sorry."

He went on holding her so tight it was a little hard to breathe, his chest convulsing in little spasms as warm drops fell on her bare shoulder and rolled down her arm.

After a long while he lifted her gently from him, rose, and disappeared into the bathroom, and Devan thought she heard stifled sobs before the sound of the shower rose to cover them. While she changed, while she waited for Vaughn to emerge from the bathroom, Devan composed speech after speech to undo his guilt, to assure him he'd brought her nothing but comfort and pleasure. She'd tell him that if he weren't sad, she might be happier, right now, than she'd ever been before. That if the memories of it weren't ugly to him, she'd look back on everything that had happened there as a kind of dream. Strange and perfect. But when he finally appeared, he was unapproachable. In the same room with her he was miles away, hidden behind an impenetrable wall. Hour after hour every movement seemed to be away from her, every flicker of his eyes avoided her gaze, and not a syllable left his lips.

Afraid that anything she might say or do, any little word, any tiny touch would only hurt him, make it all worse, she gave him his berth, even though she wanted so badly to feel him, to talk with him. Finally she broke her vow of silence and solitude to tell him in a soft voice that she was going to bed. Then she turned and left him staring into the fire. But just as she reached her door he spoke.

"He comes tomorrow. The driver. Tomorrow, you'll be home."

She'd been in bed four hours. She'd exhausted herself crying, but sleep refused to take her. All she could think of was all the things she should have said to make Vaughn understand, forget his guilt, and that tomorrow they'd hike through the forest to some rendezvous point, get in the driver's truck, and after that she'd never be alone with him again. And once they dropped her off, she'd probably never see him again.

Feeling time slipping away from her, Vaughn slipping away from her, she slid from the bed and crept to his room. The door was open. Inside it was dark, but she thought she could make out his form under the covers. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and it was hard to breathe evenly and quietly as she moved toward his bed.

"Dev?"

The sound of her name cradled in his soft, deep voice almost made her start crying again. The covers rustled and in the dark his form rose up.

"Please," she whispered. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

It was still and quiet for a long time and she was gathering up all her strength to quietly accept his refusal without letting him hear her sob. But then she felt his fingers brush against her wrist and curve into her fingers, coaxing her toward the bed. She slid 535

under the covers and melancholy joy flooded through her as he curved an arm around her waist and cuddled up behind her. Even though it stirred her and made her sad, at the same time the warmth and nearness of him soothed her; she was asleep before she could think to herself anything more than that this was the last time she'd feel him hold her.

When she blinked awake the early morning light seemed to have been stained by sunflowers, and somehow she couldn't even remember her sadness from the night before. Vaughn was beside her, his eyes closed, his dark lashes making her think for some reason of a sleeping child (and sleeping children aren't guilt-wounded). Behind him the window threw yellow light on the whitish bedclothes and put a shimmering halo in his dark hair, the down on his earlobes and his upper arms caught the sun, so he seemed to glow, and she had the funny idea they were angels on a luminescent cloud.