her a sideways glance. Was she worried he’d jump her again? Force her into an intimacy she didn’t want? She hadn’t tried to pull away earlier. She hadn’t protested or acted afraid. But who knew what was going on in that head of hers—he sure as hell didn’t these days.
Maybe the past two years had taught her compliance. To lie still and accept a touch, a kiss, even if it wasn’t what she wanted. To not make waves. To not open herself to fists or boots.
His stomach soured and clenched at the thought. If she’d accepted his touch, his mouth, if she’d pretended to welcome them because she’d been too afraid to say no…
“Look, it won’t happen again, okay? You don’t need to worry that I’m going to jump you.” The reassurance broke from him without thought. When her face went still and empty, he grimaced and shoved an uneasy hand through his hair. “You don’t need to worry that I’m expecting anything from you. I’m not. You’re safe with me.”
“I’m not worried, and I didn’t think that what happened earlier changed anything between us.” Her response was stiff, almost dignified.
What it wasn’t was relieved.
Tag frowned. Why didn’t she seem relieved? Shouldn’t she be thankful that she wouldn’t have to fight off his unwelcome advances? He shifted awkwardly. How could he make the situation less stressful for her? What she really needed was someone to talk to, someone who knew what they were doing when it came to dealing with traumatized women.
She needed a professional. Not a clumsy as fuck asshole like him.
“When we’re done here and back in San Diego, you should look into finding a …someone you can talk to…someone to help you work through…everything.”
From the flash of hurt that crossed her face and blazed in her eyes, he’d fumbled that suggestion pretty badly. Christ. He’d never felt so out of his depth.
“Relax.” While the pain on her face had faded, there was a definite snap to her voice. “I don’t expect you to keep offering me your shoulder to cry on.”
Something flickered across her face again, something almost mournful.
Damn it…he was making a mess of this.
“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered.
“No?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Then what did you mean? Because trust me, I’m aware that what happened earlier was an aberration, and that you want nothing to do with me. You can stop worrying that I’ll start stalking you after we return home.”
Tag scowled. “I just meant that you should think about seeing someone. You know, a professional. Someone who can help you deal with what happened to you.”
Someone who knew what they were doing. Because he sure as hell didn’t.
Her eyebrows drew together. “You mean a grief counselor?”
“Well, sure.” He fumbled the rest of the explanation out. “But maybe someone who counsels women who have been abused too.”
Her eyes rounded slightly, as though he’d surprised her.
“You’re talking about a therapist, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“For abused women…” she added slowly.
“Well, yeah.” While he’d spent his time in the therapist chair, as HQ1 required, he’d never felt the self-examination helped. Hell, it still felt like a crock of shit after all these years. People were perfectly capable of working through their issues on their own. But this was different. This was Sarah. And he didn’t have a clue how to help her deal with what Mitch had done to her.
Would counseling help? Maybe not. But it sure as hell couldn’t hurt. And she needed someone to talk to. Someone who understood what she was going through. Someone to help her push through it.
Obviously that person wasn’t him.
“Abused…” she said again. Her gaze narrowed and fixed on his face. “What exactly did Mitch tell you?”
I conditioned her for you. I taught her to shudder every time she’s touched. To flinch. To cringe.
He twitched, his throat tight and aching.
“Just that he…hurt you.” The admission was tight. Full of sorrow and rage.
“Hurt me,” she repeated beneath her breath. She scanned his face intently. “How?” When Tag simply shook his head, her gaze narrowed even further. “As in rape?”
When he flinched, her face softened. Understanding flooded her eyes. She paused, her gaze going slightly distant, like she was thinking about something.
“Do you remember that move you taught me? How you told me to go straight for a guy’s balls? To kick up into the crotch as hard as I could?”
Frowning, Tag nodded. What did that have to do with the fucking price of tea in China?