“I wonder if she’s still alive,” Misty whispered, and Bryson leaned over the back of her chair to see which picture she was looking at.
“No. Sadly, she isn’t alive. Though he took up with her after you, I’m hoping that maybe you will have some information on her. Did you ever see her around?”
More fear shot through her. She could have been this woman, one of the ones whom Jesse killed when he was done with her. Every day she was thankful to have escaped.
“I don’t remember her. There were several women, as you know, that he brought in while we were still together, but her face isn’t one I remember. And I don’t think I would forget. I don’t think I’ll forget a single thing from that time in my life.”
“No, I don’t think you will, either. I only hope that over time, you will start to heal, and eventually it will all be nothing but a vague recollection, without any measurable sting.” Bryson laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She focused back on the picture. “She’s so pretty here. Why does he do this? Why does it make him feel like a man? I just can’t understand it,” she said. She’d received broken bones, been raped, violated, and chained — and she’d been one of the lucky ones. How could this man get away with so much, ruin so many lives?
“She was loved by her parents, and missed greatly. I don’t know why he does what he does, but he won’t ever touch you again, Misty. That time is over — it’s in the past. If we didn’t have to dredge up the past, making you go through this day after day, you’d be so much closer to healing. I’m so sorry.” Bryson took his other hand and clutched her other shoulder, letting her know he was right there.
Needing the contact, needing some sort of connection, Misty placed her fingers over his. She was closer to tears at this moment than she’d been while giving a detailed account of her own torture. Seeing another victim made it all so much more real.
He hadn’t stopped torturing women after Misty had gotten away. He would never stop. And he would eventually get her. She didn’t know how or when, but he would. She’d tried to think otherwise, but she knew that now. Still, she’d made the right choice in giving her deposition, and she had no regrets.
“Come here,” Bryson said, pulling her from the chair she felt glued to. Before she even thought of stopping him, he drew her against his hard chest, wrapping his strong, comforting arms around her back and holding her close.
She couldn’t help but take what he was offering. There wasn’t a price attached to this gift he was giving her. No expectations. He was just trying to make her feel as if there was another person in this huge universe who was with her, if only for this tiny moment in time. She allowed herself to feel something other than fear and sorrow, and she melted against him.
Sighing when his hands moved slowly up and down her back, soothing, gentle, letting her know he was there to help — a friend, in fact — Misty found herself sinking further and further down a path she shouldn’t take. But isn’t that what she wanted? Didn’t she need a friend? Still, how would she know? She’d never, ever had one.
There had never been anyone in her life she could lean on. No one to comfort her and make her feel better when life was at its darkest, no best friend to giggle with and tell her secrets to, no person to cry with when it felt as if the world were ending.
So, yes, she wanted a friend, but as Bryson’s hands skimmed over her shoulders and ran gently through her hair, she knew it would also be nice to have more than a friend. It would be nice to feel his touch on her na**d skin, to feel his lips slide across her mouth.
A sense of guilt for harboring such thoughts assailed her, but her desire was stronger. She hadn’t thought she’d want a man again — not after what Jesse had done to her — but this was desire. It was more than desire. This emotion was unlike anything her body had felt before.
It didn’t seem possible, but her body melded completely with his, and she had no idea where she ended and he began. If she just lifted her head from his chest, would he kiss her?
As she pushed against him in her desperation to get closer, she felt the clear evidence that he wasn’t unaffected. But despite the way his arousal was pressing against her stomach, his movements remained gentle, his hands soothing. As her body heated further, her muscles tensed, and her mouth opened, he did nothing more than rub gently along her spine.
Would he ever kiss her? She was afraid to find out. Afraid that he would kiss her back — and afraid of the rejection when he didn’t. If he could hear the thoughts running through her head, he’d know for sure that she had lost it, and he’d check her into a psych house.
But then he moved his hand to her neck, sending shivers through her, and his fingers grasped her chin.
He leaned back. “Misty,” he whispered, sending instant heat to her core, a pulsing, molten heat nearly burning her from the inside.
“Yes,” she said, not knowing whether she was saying yes to a kiss, or yes to her name.
He looked into her eyes for a moment longer before he groaned, then his head leaned forward and his beautiful lips took hers, making her knees sag as passion spiked to a boiling point in her hungry body.
One arm remained around her back, pressing her tightly against him as his other hand cradled her face and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding easily inside her willing mouth.
Their moans mingled as he caressed her lips, plundered her mouth, stoked her ever-building flames of desire. She didn’t know how much time passed — seconds, minutes, hours. Time was irrelevant. As long as she was in the safety of his arms, she was unhurt. Untouchable, except by him.
When he pulled back, she grew confused and disoriented, and she felt as if her body belonged to someone else.
“I have to leave, Misty,” he said, both hands on her arms, steadying her as she tried to clear the fog from her brain, tried to focus her eyes on his flushed face.
“What?” Her thoughts were muddled.
His eyes were on fire, and she could finally focus enough to see them.
“I have to leave now, or I’m going to lift you in my arms, carry you to your bed just a few yards away, and make love to you all night.”
What was wrong with that? She didn’t get a chance to ask. He groaned and looked away.
“You’re a witness under my protection. I can’t do this.” He was speaking as if through pain.
Respect. That’s what she was feeling — utter and total respect for this man. His job was important to him. She wouldn’t be the person to interfere with that.