Hidden Currents (17 page)

“I would,” he said gruffly. “Never fool yourself into believing I’m a nice man, honey. If given the chance, I wouldn’t kill him clean, let’s just say that. He’d suffer, and I know a lot of ways to make a human being suffer a very long time before welcoming death.”

He bent forward and pressed a kiss along the angry raw line, a soft brush of his lips moving against her skin. He transferred his gaze back to her thighs, his touch gentle, his hand trembling as he took care not to hurt while he continued washing, and she wanted to cry for both of them.

“Some things are better for you not to have to know about me, honey. I think my thoughts on Gratsos and how I would like to see him in agony before he dies might be one of them.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but there was no humor in his mind and she knew he wasn’t joking with her.

Elle took a breath, her fingers tightening on his shoulders to hold herself up. “Has he destroyed both of us?”

His gaze jumped to her face again. “Absolutely not. That son of a bitch doesn’t have the power to destroy us, Elle. We’re down, but we’re not out. We’ll be getting back up stronger than ever.”

His mouth curved in a humorless smile, but it caught at her heart. “I was already this way long before Stavros came into our lives. I just never let you see the real me.”

“I like the real you,” Elle whispered.

His eyes went warm. He reached up and shut off the water. “The antiseptic is going to sting, honey.” He wrapped her in a soft towel and blotted the water from her, trying to keep from touching any of the wounds, but it was impossible.

“You’re not hurting me,” she assured. Her body shuddered under the brush of the towel, but she held on to him and kept her chin up.

“You don’t have to protect me, Elle. I know it hurts, I’ve been there, remember?” No one had washed his wounds or sterilized them. Flies and mosquitoes had flocked to the raw, seeping injuries and feasted. He pushed the thought away quickly, but knew by her swift inhale that she’d caught a glimpse. He fought back the need to pull his mind from hers, to hide his past and the monster it shaped from her.

“Don’t,” Elle said. “Please don’t. I need you. I need this. I need to know you survived and became someone useful and I need to see you as you really are, so I have some hope.” She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes as she confessed. “I don’t have much hope in me right at this moment. You’re a deputy, you’re not a monster. You’ve chosen to help people, not hurt them. I need you so much right now, Jackson. Don’t hide from me.”

He brought both of her hands to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. “Whatever you need, princess, you know I’ll do it.” He led her to the bed and gestured for her to lie down on her stomach so he could apply the antiseptic and bandage the worst of the still weeping wounds. His gut was in hard knots. He may have chosen to be a deputy on the surface and wear a badge, but deep down where his soul was, he was capable of things Elle should never have to think about. In his way, he was as violent and twisted as Stavros.

Elle’s breath hitched in her throat. “You’re not. Don’t think that. You’re not.”

He hoped to hell she was right.

7

JACKSON came awake, gun in his fist, his gaze already searching the room for a target. He didn’t move, aware of Elle curled beside him, wearing only his shirt and bandages. The noise had come from her, a small distressed sound that was heartbreaking. He let his breath out and slipped the gun back beneath his pillow, turning carefully so as not to brush against her wounds.

Elle sat up abruptly, hands going out defensively, striking at some unseen attacker, her breasts heaving beneath the thin shirt as she fought for air. She twisted her head, searching frantically around the room before dropping one palm on his chest.

Jackson. He’s here.

Her voice, so thin, filled with terror, along with the stark panic on her white face, gave him a chilling moment. Fingers of fear slid down his spine and his belly knotted in response. He glanced at the German Shepherd lying across the doorway. The dog was alert, fully aware of Elle, but giving off no alarm. Jackson relaxed.

“Look at Bomber, honey. He’s highly trained. He’d alert us if there was an intruder.”

“I heard his voice. Whispering to me.” Her hand crept to her throat, fingers stroking restlessly, as if her throat was sore. Even her voice was strained, as if it hurt to talk.

“What did he say?” Jackson sat up and pulled her into his arms to steady her, careful to keep from rubbing his body against hers, afraid he might hurt her.

Elle frowned. “I was thinking about you. How safe you made me feel and then I couldn’t breathe and I heard him whispering in that voice—purring with satisfaction like he always did.” Both hands fluttered at her throat. Her voice sounded distant, thin, very scared.

“It was a dream. Just a bad dream, Elle. You’re going to have plenty of them.”

She moistened her lips. “I don’t think so, Jackson. He knows how to find me. He said he’d kill you in front of me, and that it would take a long time for you to die.”

He wrapped both arms around her trembling body. “It was a dream. He thinks you’re Sheena MacKenzie. There’s no way for him to trace you, honey. And I don’t die so easy, remember. Even if he did come after us, he wouldn’t expect me. He has no way of knowing what kind of man I am, but you do.” He nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. “You know what a bastard I am.”

A single sob escaped and he felt the shudder that ran through her body. Jackson buried his face against her neck. “You’re safe, Elle. You’re here with me and you’re safe. Just lie back down and try to sleep.”

She shook her head adamantly. “I’m afraid to close my eyes. When I do, he’s there.” Her voice was the sound of despair. “I swear, Jackson, I’m having panic attacks like Hannah has. I’ve never had one in my life, but I can’t breathe and my heart is beating too fast because you went to sleep and I couldn’t feel you in my head anymore.” She wrapped her arm around his waist and pressed her body tightly against his, uncaring of her injuries.

He tipped her face up, brushing at her tears with his lips, tasting them. He followed the trail to the corner of her mouth and stopped when he felt her recoil. “What is it?”

“I’m embarrassed to tell you.”

A ghost of a smile softened the line of his mouth. “I don’t think we have much more to hide from one another. You know more about me than anyone and I think I know more about you.”

“It’s still embarrassing.” Elle found some of the tension leaving her body. Something about Jackson made her feel strong when she knew she wasn’t.

“Be brave.”

“The minute you went to sleep and left my mind, all these images poured in. Of him. His mouth on mine.” She touched her fingers to her lips. “I didn’t want to remember, to taste him, or feel him on me, so I looked at you, at your face. Your mouth.” Faint color stole into her cheeks. “I imagined what it would be like to kiss you. What you would taste like. What your lips would feel like against mine.” She blinked back tears and rested her forehead against his. “Just like earlier, I couldn’t breathe, Jackson. I felt his hands on my throat squeezing the life out of me and I could hear him whispering that he would kill you in front of me. His voice was so real.” She lifted her head and stared into his eyes, wanting—willing—him to believe her.

Jackson looked down at her for a long time without speaking, his eyes fathomless. His hand came up to the nape of her neck, curled and rested there with a hint of possession. Elle’s heart began to pound. He dipped his head down toward hers. Slowly. Giving her time to move. She didn’t, but he felt her body tighten. Tasted fear in her mouth.
I can’t.

“This isn’t about sex, baby,” he whispered, his lips against the corner of her mouth. “This is about you and me. How I feel. How I taste. So you don’t have to imagine—you know. And any time you need to erase his memory, you have another one to put in its place.”

His scent was pure masculine. His aura surrounded her, merged with hers. The colors were darker than most people’s, but he didn’t try to hide that from her. His lips, featherlight, touched her skin, brushed against the corner of her eye, feathered down her cheek to her mouth. Each stroke of his lips was light, breath on skin, soft yet firm. She could feel herself, held so tight inside, muscles locked and corded, terror ruling her, melting with each individual kiss. So light as to almost be nonexistent, unhurried, leisurely even, as if they had all the time in the world—as if there were only the two of them and no one else in existence. With each touch of his mouth on her skin, the tension slipped away, kept melting until she felt almost boneless, until she lifted her arms and circled his neck and leaned closer.

Jackson’s mouth settled on her. He didn’t pour lust or even love into her mouth. There were no demands, no pressure, just that featherlight brush of an artist—a poet—masterfully plying an instrument so that she wanted to weep with joy. She felt him in her mind, filling every dark place with care, with strength, with a slow-burning passion that made her feel alive, when she’d been dead for so long.

His kiss deepened, slid seamlessly from one to the next, his hands sliding up to her face, framing her, holding her,
cradling
her as if she was the most precious treasure in the world. Her melting continued, as if the intense heat he generated thawed the ice-blue glacier inside her. Her mouth moved on his, wanting more—even needing it.

The moment she participated, the moment she took from him, her throat closed, as if fingers tightened relentlessly and her lungs burned for air. Panicked, she tried to pull back, tried to pry the unseen hand from her neck.

Jackson didn’t back off. “Open your eyes, baby. Lift your lashes and look at me.” The words whispered against her mouth, into her mouth, his lips never lifting from hers.

Elle snapped open her eyes and found herself staring into his. She’d never noticed the intensity of the color, how they looked like black obsidian. There was absolute resolve in his eyes, a dark promise of protection and something else she wasn’t certain she wanted to see—the need to destroy her enemy.

“Now breathe with me. Just the two of us. No one else is here. Draw the air into your lungs, Elle, and breathe with me.”

His hand slipped from her face to slide down to her rib cage, his palm resting there while his other hand pressed her palm to his rib cage. She felt his breath. In. Out. The mechanics of it and his mind tied them together, bound them, made them one so that her body automatically followed his and she drew the air from him. His mouth to hers. She felt her throat relax. Felt her lungs draw the life-giving element deep inside her. She tasted Jackson. Felt him in her. Knew he was real and solid and would fight at her side, stand in front of her, protect her back, whatever it took to keep her safe.

“How did I doubt you?”

“How did we doubt each other?” Jackson corrected gently. He brushed his lips across hers one last time and lifted his head. “We’re in this together, Elle. You have to think of us as a unit. If you do that, we’ll make it.”

“Right now, I think of us as sharing the same skin,” Elle admitted. “I know you need space, Jackson, and I really appreciate you staying in my mind.”

He held her, listening to her quiet weeping until Bomber pushed his head against both of them in an effort to comfort her, too. He patted the dog’s head. “How strong are you? Do you feel like a midnight”—he glanced at the clock—“well, three a.m. walk? Are you up for it? We can take a couple of chairs and go sit and watch the sun come up.”

“But you need to sleep.”

He shrugged. “Actually, baby, I took a leave of absence from work. I was due a lot of sick days and personal time and figured now was a good time to take them, so we can sleep during the day and stay up all night and live like a couple of vampires, minus the sucking necks, although later, when you’re up to it, we might include that in our nighttime activities.”

“Would you really dread my hair for me?” Elle lifted her head from his chest, tired of crying, tired of feeling out of control. She could be afraid, she could even be mean or angry or feel the need to find Stavros and put a bullet in his head, but she had to stop bursting into tears. She’d turn Jackson’s life upside down and he wouldn’t utter one word of complaint.

He lifted the mass of tangled red hair. “I don’t think we have to do much to get it done. You’re one giant dread already.” He stood up, padding across the room in his bare feet, his jeans low on his hips, the top button not done.

Why had she noticed that particular detail? And why had her mouth gone dry? She couldn’t ever want a man to touch her again, not like that.

Jackson turned his head, looking at her over his shoulder, his eyes two black, merciless pits. “When I touch you, Elle, you’re going to feel love. You’ll be ready some day and when it’s right, we’ll love each other.”

She hated what she’d become, what Stavros had made her. She had to give him something. “I’ve always loved you, Jackson. From the first moment your mind connected to mine, I loved you.”

“Hell of a time to tell me, baby,” he said, coming back to her and leaning down, his hand spanning her throat in a brushing caress. “But thank you. I don’t know how the hell I got so lucky, but I’ll take it.”

“I’m the lucky one.” And she was. She had Jackson. She had her sisters waiting for her, ready to help and support her. She had an entire village of people who had watched her grow up and wished her well. So many other young women weren’t as lucky. They had no one to help them through the trauma of rape and assault.

Jackson gripped her hand and tugged. “Come on. Let’s go watch the sun come up.”

Elle stood up slowly, letting the sheet fall away, standing in his shirt and her bare skin. “Why haven’t you asked me why I don’t let you wash my hair?”

Jackson released her and padded over to the drawers to pull out a pair of drawstring sweatpants. He handed them to her, his gaze moving over her with a disarming gentleness she’d never have associated with him. “You’re not ready. When you’re ready, you’ll tell me.”