Twenty-five
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AFTERWARD, HE DIDN’T get up and leave her as she thought he might. Instead he held her, her body curled in against his chest, one leg hooked over his calf. His hand stroked her hair and his warm breath heated the top of her head. Despite all the scrapes and bruises that littered her body, she’d never felt safer.
He may have been a monster, but right now he was a gentleman.
He spoke into her hair. “There’s something you promised to tell me.”
Her muscles tensed. “I did?”
“Yes. You promised me you’d tell me where your fear of touch had come from.”
She forced a smile. “I think I’m over that now.”
“Yes, I think you are, but I still want to know. You know everything about me—every dark, disturbing detail. I want to know about your past, too. I want to know about the
