Dangerously in Love by Michele Kimbrough

said I was beautiful. Never heard that before, either. He gave me candy, he said, because I was sweet. All he wanted in return was to touch me. I’d never been touched like that before. So between the ages of seven and fifteen, my mother’s brother molested me—right in my own house. From then on, I thought that any man who wanted to touch me like that loved me. That was the warped mind of someone who’d never known what love really was.”
    She watched Hill lean back a little. She went on, “As I grew older, I realized there was an imbalance in my life—something off-kilter. It kept me tilted slightly in the wrong direction. It shifted my life’s trajectory.
    “When I met Adam, he was sort of like my uncle—charming and sweet with his words. Slick with his touch. I bought it all—hook, line, and sinker. So I guess my answer to your question is, I married what was familiar. I’m not sure love had anything to do with it.”
    Hill hadn’t anticipated such openness, especially as a response to a question he’d hardly expected an honest answer to. He was making conversation as he always had—his foreplay to his foreplay . . . the preface to the prequel. This was something new. No one had opened up to him like this. Not even Samantha.
    Now he was afraid to touch her—not for lack of wanting, but for compassion. He wanted to hug her, hold her, and comfort her. But he felt like a bull in a china shop—like his slightest move would bring all the fragile dishes to a shattering end.
    He watched her fidget with her wedding ring and noticed how she avoided looking at him as she spoke. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to respond? He had no idea.
    He got up and stood by the window, staring at the passing train through the pouring rain. After a long silence, he turned to look at her, making sure she was okay. She sighed loudly.
    “I don’t know why I said so much,” she said. “Maybe it’s because you remind me of them. Mostly, my uncle.”
    I remind you of a child molester?” Her words stung. He’d been called a lot of things and compared to many people. But never had he been relegated to a class of degenerates like incestuous molesters.
    “You remind me of how disarming he was.”
    He stared toward the window, shaking his head.
    “I didn’t mean it in an offensive way,” she said apologetically.
    “Is there any other way to take it other than offensively?” he scowled as he returned to the arm of the couch.
    “I just meant that he had a way of making me feel safe. You make me feel safe, Hill.”
    “But your uncle’s sense of safety was a lure to harm you, Cate. I don’t want to harm you. I have no intentions of hurting you. I’m not like him at all.”
    “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have simply said that I feel safe with you—because I do,” she said softly as she watched him guzzle the rest of his beer.
    Their food arrived, and they spent the rest of the evening in near silence, with the exception of a few courtesies—like
pass the kung pao, please
and
thank you
—not much else was said.
    She got up and went to the bathroom, and he put on a movie,
A Perfect Murder
starring Michael Douglas and Gwyneth Paltrow. He collected the beer bottles and the cartons of Chinese food and took them into the kitchen, discarding the bottles and stowing the leftover food in the refrigerator.
    When he returned to the den, Caitlin was lying on the sofa in a camisole and silk shorts. He stood there staring at her until she caught him.
    “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I wanted to get comfortable.”
    He rubbed his head with his hand and took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to seduce him, or if she was genuinely just getting comfy. He sat in a chair that was angled away from the sofa and turned up the movie.
    “This is one of my favorite movies!” she exclaimed. “My favorite part is when he sees her walking down the street, and he steps out of the car. She’s