Page 100 of Receiving His Mercy
Then he spun to her and she took a half-step back. He frowned. Then he walked to her, this time moving slowly with his hands held out. As though he thought she might be scared of him.
That was so far from the truth . . .
“I’m not scared of you,” she told him bluntly.
“Good, because you’re the last person who should be scared of me.” He grasped hold of her hips and lifted her straight into the air.
Jeez, he was strong.
He set her down on the kitchen counter. Then he placed his hands on either side of her.
Déjà vu hit her and she knew that he was thinking the same thing as he smirked. “Now we can get back to that sort of fun later. I think we skipped a few steps that we need to take.”
Um, what?
Now she was confused.
“I know I’m intense,” he said in a soft voice as he cupped her chin with his hand. “I know that I’m bossy and maybe overwhelming. There will be times I do or say the wrong thing. You should never be scared to tell me anything, though.”
“You’re admitting that you get things wrong?” she said. “Are there pigs flying?”
“Ha-ha. I can admit when I’m wrong. It doesn’t happen often . . .”
She gave him a mock-punch to the chest and he pretended to stumble back, rubbing his chest. “Ouch. Vicious.”
Caren shook her head at him. “You’re crazy.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She sucked in a breath. “No, I’m not.” Her response was automatic. She wasn’t used to thinking about herself as beautiful.
“Yes, you are. If you saw yourself through my eyes, you’d see that you’re fucking stunning. You take my breath away. And you are not weird. You are not a burden or crazy or too much work. Or any of that shit that is likely going through your head.”
How did he know that she often worried she was all of those things?
The man could practically read her mind.
“Travis, it’s not normal to shower several times a day because you feel dirty.”
“And why do you feel dirty? Caren?” he pressed.
“When I was really young, before I learned to take care of myself, I didn’t know about . . . about keeping myself clean. Or my clothes. I had all these beautiful clothes . . . it’s strange, really, that she bought all those clothes then never bothered to dress me or wash them. I don’t get it. I would have swapped them all for a full cupboard of food. Anyway, my teacher drew me out of class one morning and asked me when I’d last had a bath. I told her that I couldn’t remember, that I didn’t know howto work a bath. She had a strange look on her face as she stared at me. I think it was pity, now. But back then, I thought she was upset with me. I started to cry. My parents were called in.”
And her mother had been so furious.
She’d made her bathe and shower, then taught her how to use the washing machine.
So she never got called to the school again over concern that her daughter was dirty.
God. She hated that word now.
Dirty.
“Fucking assholes,” he muttered. “And your father didn’t care?”
“He’d have to notice in order to care about something,” she replied. “He didn’t even bother to come down to the school, just Mother came.”
He shook his head in disgust. “Every child deserves at least one loving parent. Someone to protect and take care of them.”
