Page 17 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“Let me go! Let me go!” Panic squeezed her throat so the words became a whine.

“Nope. Got a few hours before I clock back on, and I’m sleeping those hours away. Suggest you do the same, Tabby Cat.”

And they said she was crazy. Obviously, her presence in his life was contaminating him because he had no marbles left in his pouch. No one called her nicknames, absolutely no one, yet he had the gall to give her two?

She bucked, squirmed, slapped at him with the hand he couldn’t restrain. She heard him stifle a moan, felt his cock stir beneath her, and froze. “Please, Grit. Let me go.”

“Seems to me,” he murmured, releasing her wrist to grasp the nape of her neck, “people been letting you go do your own thing for too long. Following your own code, your own rules.” The strong fingers hit a spot that created an ache in her belly. He gripped her harder for a few long seconds, then began to knead the tense muscles. “Forgot one thing, Tabitha. There are other rules in the world, different laws; you’ve broken several of mine since the first time we met. Consider this your timeout.”

Timeout? Indignation coiled inside her like a cobra, hissing and ready to strike. Did he not realize she could gut him in a heartbeat, would do so if she just…

Those fingers massaged up into her hair, moving over her scalp in a way that blanked her brain. As though her body belonged to someone else—someone who wasn’t literally scared to death by the prospect of any kind of intimacy—it capitulated.

“That’s a good girl. Just relax. Lay your head down, take a deep breath.”

Orders. She hated taking fucking orders. She lived her own life, performed her job her own way. She chose the contracts she took. She executed bad people however she wanted. She ate pizza for breakfast, requested room service at two a.m., took naps for several hours through the day—because that was her choice.

Not Dominic’s. Not Rita’s. Not Rory freaking McCabe’s.

So why was her ear pressed to bare skin? The steady, unflustered beat of his heart buh-bumped in a soothing rhythm, merging with the stroke of his fingertips through her hair.

“Why are you doing this?” she mumbled.

“Because anyone with as much as energy as you needs a break now and then. This seems like the perfect time.” The arm around her waist loosened, then his hand began to run up and down her spine in long, slow sweeps. “If I wanted to hurt or incapacitate you, I’d have done so already. Close your eyes, little tiger. Catch some Zs with me.”

No. No, this was too open, too vulnerable. Even though she held the dominant position by being on top, it was clear Grit was competently in charge. “Damn Dom.”

His chuckle was low and amused, rumbling up into her. “Is it that obvious, or have you been stalking my private time in Phoenix too?”

“I…” Tingling ran under her skin, over it, wherever his hands touched. Even through her clothes, her body responded to the gentle caresses. “I hear it in your voice. Primal power…” She moaned softly, her head tilting against her will as his fingertips manipulated a spot around her ear. “The demanding… tone. Just like Jasper.”

“A compliment, indeed.”

“Don’t take it that way. He’s an asshole.”

“He’s one of the best men I know. He’s your brother; you love him.”

Tabitha snorted, barely able to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head. “Doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole. Can’t love him. Can’t love anyone. All alone.”

“Do you want to be alone, Tabitha?”

She shook her head. Her brains were leaking out of her ears; she knew she was in a stupid predicament, but it was nice to be held. He’d taken the time to cover her with the duvet, something no one had ever done for her, that she remembered. “Don’t know how to be anything but.”

“Not for much longer,” Grit promised. “Trust somebody else other than yourself for once, little tiger. Trust me, and close your eyes. I’ve got you.”

“No sex,” she whispered, her breath leveling out. God, she was tired. She felt heavy and cumbersome, all her weight melting over him as decades-old tension oozed from her muscles. “I don’t want it.”

“That’s a shame on so many levels.” His chin rested on top of her head. “Sleep only, I promise.”

It was disconcerting how easily he suppressed her anxiety. More, how easily she succumbed to simple touch. Warmth from his body; the glide of his hands over her back, through her hair… the hum of his voice in her ear.

Little things in the grand scheme, yet so foreign to her.

Human connection was an alien concept—she’d learned that hands on her meant someone intended to do her harm.

“Stop thinking,” Grit told her. “Switch that busy brain off.”

Before she could tell him that was an impossibility, her eyes fluttered closed as he skimmed his fingertips across a point on her neck, over and over again.

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