Salvation (18 page)

“They don’t. I mean, they won’t. I just forgot about them. I haven’t seen them since...before, and they surprised me. But please don’t put your shirt on.”

He still looked dubious, but he pulled the shirt back off.

“You can come back to bed with me if you want,” I said, since he just stood in the middle of the floor, watching me. “Unless you want to get moving on the day.”

He took his coffee and came over to the bed, where he propped up on a couple of pillows. “Are you sure?” he asked, studying my face.

“Yes. I’m sure. I’m not punishing myself or anything. I was just taken by surprise. I wasn’t thinking of you as having them, so... I guess, if I thought about it, I maybe assumed you’d gotten them removed like the ones on your arms.”

“I thought about it, but it’s such a long process, and there are so many. It just didn’t seem worth the trouble. But I can get them removed if you need me to. I don’t want anything on my body to trigger bad memories for you.”

“You don’t have to get them removed. Seriously. Do they...” I almost didn’t ask the question, but then I decided to risk it. “Do they trigger bad memories for
you
? Of when you were...you were acting like one of them?”

He sighed and reached out a hand to brush my hair back from my face. “They used to. Sometimes. That’s why I got the ones on my arms removed. I didn’t want to see them every time I wore a short-sleeved shirt. But now I think I’ve just gotten used to them. They’re just what I expect to see when I look at myself.”

“Go around looking at yourself naked a lot, do you?” I asked, with a quiver of my lips. Just talking about it was making me feel better.

He laughed outright. “Absolutely. I’m a fine specimen of a man, you know.”

His voice was dry. Obviously ironic. I put my coffee on the nightstand and scooted closer to him. “You
are
a fine specimen of a man,” I murmured.

I pushed back some lingering resistance and reached over to trail my fingers over his chest, very lightly. I felt like my fingers were trembling a little, but I didn’t let that stop me.

I felt the smooth skin, the scattering of hair, the peak of one of his nipples, and then I brushed along the largest tattoo.

I made sure not to hesitate or change my expression. I knew his eyes never moved from my face, and if I’d shown even the least reluctance, he would have put a shirt on immediately and then made appointments to get them all lasered off.

But I didn’t want him to have to do that for me. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated and admired him exactly as he was.

His breath hitched slightly as I brushed my fingers back to his nipple. “Is this language Albanian?” I asked, moving my hand up to the words with lettering I didn’t know spanning in spaces just above his collarbone. “

“Yeah. Just generic words like ‘strength’ and ‘honor’ and stuff. We had whole brainstorming sessions with the team about what kinds of tattoos I should get.” He gestured toward the tattoo on his bicep. “The double-headed eagle is the coat of arms for Albania. I was supposed to be a guy really committed to his roots.”

“Some of them look higher quality than others.”

“Yeah. My cover had me in prison for several years, so a lot of these are supposed to have been done in prison.”

“What about this one?” I asked, stroking the line of his chest down to the large stylized animal on his chest. “Is it a tiger?”

“Yeah.”

“Why a tiger?”

“It’s an animal that hides and then strikes.”

I thought about this and then looked up at his face, my hand resting on his chest. “That’s not you, Gideon.”

He gave me a little smile. “I think maybe it is.”

“I don’t think so.”

We lay together in silence for a few minutes, me stroking his chest and him stroking my hair. Then he asked, in a different tone, “Did you want to talk about last night?”

I swallowed hard, since the flashes of memory from the night before made me feel a little sick. But he deserved my honesty—as much of it as I could face—so I said, the words stilted. “I didn’t want to be with that...that guy.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It was like it wasn’t even me. I was just so upset about...about...”

“About me? Being with Maria?”

“Yeah. I know I had no right to be upset, since I told you to date. But I couldn’t stand it. And I couldn’t stand never being able to be like that myself. I wasn’t thinking. At all. But I guess maybe I somehow tried to force myself to...” I shuddered. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found me.”

“I knew you were upset. I should never have left you on the sidewalk by yourself.” His voice sounded rough, the way it did when he was getting emotional.

“It wasn’t your fault! It was all me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His arm loosened, and he raised himself slightly on the pillow. I looked up at him and saw his face was dead serious. “But I did. I...” His face twisted slightly. “I canceled on you Friday evening on purpose. I was feeling frustrated and selfish and...I guess, kind of desperate. So I was pulling away from you on purpose. I kept myself from calling you all week. I wanted for you to realize what it’d be like if I wasn’t around. I wanted you to get jealous about the idea of me with someone else. I thought...oh, Christ, it’s awful, but I somehow thought it might prove something. I wanted you to be upset.”

I stared at him, surprised but not really angry, since he looked so guilt-ridden. “So you didn’t have other plans on Friday?”

“No. I didn’t have plans. I sat at home all evening, thinking about you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I saw your face last night when you saw me with Maria. I knew how you felt, how much it hurt you. It was exactly the way I would feel if you were with another man. And I knew then I’d accomplished nothing but hurting you, and I’m so sorry for that.”

I shook my head, trying to process what he’d said. “No, I don’t think you did anything that bad. You didn’t hurt me on purpose.”

“I did. I justified it by saying it might prove we should be together, but hurting you can never be right. I was just being selfish. And I can’t help thinking, if you weren’t already upset about my pulling away, you wouldn’t have reacted so...so dramatically last night.”

“Oh.” I closed my eyes, so his expression wouldn’t distract me as I sorted through what he’d just said. He was actually right about that. I’d been so on the edge last night from his distance throughout the week that it hadn’t taken much to push me over. “But it was still my fault. And you’re going to have to do a lot more before you hurt me as much as I’ve hurt you.”

“You haven’t hurt me,” he insisted. When I started to argue, he continued, “Not ever on purpose. I know you’ve always given me as much as you possibly can.”

I slid my hand up to his shoulder. “I wish I could give you more.”

“Well, I wish I could give you more too. So we’re in the same boat.”

I smiled at him, since he seemed so pleased with his answer. It felt like we’d resolved something important, and I tucked myself under his arm again.

“I was really jealous,” I admitted, after a minute of just lying together. “When I saw you with Maria last night. I don’t want any other woman to be with you. No one but me.”

He brushed a kiss against my hair. “Good. No one but you, it is.”

I smiled, enjoying a sense of relief, of satisfaction—one that didn’t feel as wrong as it would have the day before.

“And just to be clear, no other man gets to be with you either, right?”

I gave a huff of laughter. “Right.”

“Good.”

Feeling a swell of feeling for him and wanting to answer it in some way, I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on one of the inked words on his chest. He brushed back my hair, which had fallen over onto his chest, and then lifted my head so he could very lightly kiss my lips.

It didn’t last long enough to make me nervous, and it was nice. Made me feel close to him.

“Your hair is a little out of sorts this morning,” I teased, smiling and reaching over to smooth down some of the strands that were sticking straight up.

He chuckled. “I’m not sure you should be talking about someone else’s messy hair.”

I gasped and jerked my hands up to my own hair, which I could feel was wildly tangled and probably looked awful. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded. “Is it bad?”

Laughing, he pulled me back down into the crook of his arm. “It’s beautiful.”

“You are such a liar.”

“But I always tell the truth about you.”

I felt strangely touched by his words and pressed another little kiss on his shoulder. I was starting to idly stroke his chest again, strangely mesmerized by the images, when my eyes drifted lower and landed on a very noticeable bulge beneath the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

My hand froze, and my whole body tightened. His arousal was very obvious, although he didn’t appear to be bothered by it.

“Are you okay?” he asked, in a different voice. I knew he’d realized what I’d noticed.

“Yeah. Are
you
okay?” I felt jittery and anxious, but not nauseated the way I’d expected at such an obvious sign of sex.

“It’s just an erection.” He sounded mild, careful.

“I know. But you can’t do anything with it, so I don’t want to torture you or anything.”

He let out a breath of amusement and tilted his head down to press a kiss into my hair. “I’m not in a tortured state quite yet. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Oh. Okay.” I wasn’t sure what to do, and I was afraid to move my hand. It’s not like I never had sex before. I had a decent social life before everything happened. But I couldn’t even let myself think about sex now, since it fired up all my demons, and I was so afraid of triggering that fear or wounding Gideon’s feelings.

“You need to tell me if it’s too much too soon,” he said, lifting my head so I was looking in his eyes instead of at his groin. “Whenever you’re close to me or you touch me, I’m going to get turned on, but we can make sure it isn’t in your face. Shit, that came out wrong. I mean—”

I giggled. “I know what you mean. I really think it’s okay. I don’t want you to have to hide it from me.”

“Okay. Good.”

He looked so relieved and gorgeous and rumpled and sweet that I couldn’t resist the compulsion to stretch up and press my lips against his. He tangled his fingers into my hair and took over the kiss, not using his tongue but teasing my lips in a way that felt delicious.

He pulled away before I did. “Okay. Any more of that, and it’s going to get torturous. I’m going to take a shower.”

As he walked out of the room, I sighed and stretched out on the bed. It wasn’t even eight-thirty, and I felt like I’d already accomplished a lot.

***

A
couple of weeks later, we went on a hike on a Sunday afternoon.

It was a gorgeous, sunny day, and we had a really good time. We laughed and talked and enjoyed the weather, and nothing unpleasant seemed to come up.

I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a good day—without fear, bleak memory, or confusion getting in the way.

We’d finished the trail and were walking down to where Gideon had parked the car when I reached over and took his hand, wanting to be close to him, to feel connected to him physically—as connected as I felt in other ways.

He was telling me about a ludicrous training session they’d had to sit through at work, outlining twelve different strategies for conveying respect to people that were each illustrated with a diagram. He didn’t stop his story when I took his hand, but I saw his eyes dart over to my face. He didn’t react in any other way, and he didn’t pull his hand away.

I laughed at his descriptions, and we were both smiling when we reached the car. He walked with me to open the passenger door.

When he didn’t move, I looked up at him questioningly. My breath hitched as I caught the expression in his eyes.

I felt an intense surge of what could only be attraction. It was physical, but it was more than that. He was handsome and masculine and strong—like he belonged in the outdoors—but he was so much more than just that. And I wanted him. All of him. I wanted him in every way.

“Not to change the subject, but I think I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmured, slipping his hand out of my grip and using both hands to cup my face. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered, washed with a flush of heat.

He leaned down until his lips met mine, brushing against them gently, as if he were testing my responses. I reached up eagerly to wrap my arms around his neck. He made a guttural sound and deepened the kiss, and it wasn’t long until I was drowning in it, in
him
.

I was gasping when he pulled away enough to rest his forehead against mine. When I pulled myself together enough, I managed to say, “This is a really good day.”

He gave a breathless laugh and pulled me into a tight hug. “I think so too.”

***

A
couple of weeks after that, the main trial of the Albanians began.

Since the guys who’d raped me had pleaded out, I wasn’t really part of the case. I was on the witness list, since I could testify about the last night Gideon spent in that row house, but I was told I’d only have to do it if absolutely necessary for the case. I really hoped I wouldn’t have to. I know a lot of victims need their day in court, but this trial wasn’t about seeking justice for me, so I didn’t plan to attend any of the trial if I could help it.

Gideon had to testify, though. He was a pivotal part of the case against the boss and the gang’s most important movers. And I knew it was really hard for him.

The evening after his first day of testimony we weren’t planning to get together. I had an early meeting the next morning, and he thought he’d need to spend time preparing for the following day in court.

He sounded so battered when he called afterwards, however, that I decided to go over to his place after all. It took some prying, but he finally admitted that he didn’t think he’d done a good job on his testimony that day.

It was close to nine-thirty, and we were sitting on the couch together, a silence falling over both of us after he finished explaining what happened. He was stretched out mostly sideways on the couch, and I was leaning against his chest. One of his arms was wrapped around me, and I was playing with his hand with both of mine, stroking his palm and wrist the way he’d sometimes done for me.