not what I asked you,” he said, touching her chin. She nestled her hand into his palm, and he resisted the urge to let her hide her face against him. He resisted the even greater desire to fold every part of himself around her, protect her. He couldn’t let his protective instincts take choices from her. He had to channel his decisions toward her right to choose and express herself, even when she was way too willing to give up that right.
He pulled her face back up so she was meeting his gaze. “Not what I asked,” he repeated. “I want to know what just happened.”
She pressed her lips together, and her eyes got an odd light to them. “I…I didn’t…I wasn’t ready, but… If… Are you going to share me with Des?”
“What?” His involuntary shock made her more apologetic.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hesitated. I…My father, he…said my uncle…that a good girl will do what her father says…family… Des is part of your family…”
Jesus Christ. She was sinking like a ship before his eyes, and for a second his stunned reaction pulled him down in the same vortex. They’d done this way too soon. What the hell had he been thinking? This could be major trauma shit, far beyond his layperson ability to deal with it.
“I told…Dr. Taylor we were doing this… She said…” Daralyn closed her eyes, took a breath. “She said to trust you…to know what I…”
She couldn’t say it, but he took it from her. “To know what you want.”
Dr. Taylor had told her to trust him. And she could, damn it. He pulled free of the sucking panic, gave himself a fierce mental shake. Though she was teetering on the edge of a panic attack, her expression shut down in that way that said they’d hit a really bad bump, none of it was unfamiliar ground, even if being at this party was.
Des had noticed how she wanted the bindings Rory had tied upon her left alone. It wasn’t that which had derailed her. It was the touch of someone else, being bound by someone else. Testing it, praying he wasn’t wrong and about to take her deeper into the abyss, Rory wrapped his hand in the trailing ends of the rope, close to her wrists. He also slid his other hand to her nape, putting firm pressure there, holding her still.
Her gaze flitted to his rope-wrapped hand, noted how it held her to him. One breath, two, and he saw the nature of the stillness gripping her change. It moved ponderously from that darkness and back toward him.
“Look at me. Unh-uh. You keep your eyes on mine.”
Her hazel eyes had lifted to his with effort, and then tried to shift away. Not this time. His fingers flexed on her and her gaze came back to his relentless one.
“You know what the most important thing in the whole world is to me?” he asked
“To walk again,” she whispered.
Wow. Another gut punch, because the seemingly obvious answer hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“No,” he said. “Any other guesses?”
Her gaze slid to his chest, and this time he allowed it, though he rubbed the back of her neck with his fingers, a tender stroke. “No,” she said. “But I’d give it to you if I could.”
Was this the way it was with love? Just when you thought there was no room in your heart to love someone more, a simple declaration doubled the size of the organ, made it press into every corner of his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.
“I’m really glad to hear that,” he managed. “One more time. Look into my eyes, Daralyn. I want you to see this one come straight from my soul. So you’ll know how absolutely and totally it’s the truth.”
It took some doing, but she eventually lifted her chin and met his gaze. He made her do that part on her own, but once she obeyed, he helped by adjusting his touch to cup her face, stroke her chin, the line of her throat. He heard the little sob of her breath. She was balanced on the edge of despair and hope, confusion and fear, but she was giving herself into his hands, trusting him to pull her out of darkness.
“Your happiness is the most important thing in the whole world to me.” The raw feeling in his heart made his voice rough.
Her eyes got a little wet. So much pain. He kept touching her face, her mouth. “When