golden skin paled considerably. He immediately shifted to sit beside her. “April?” When she didn’t turn he started to reach out, then pulled back. “Will you look at me?”
She turned to face him, a measure of respect reflected in her eyes, making him glad he’d kept his word. “What did I say? Does the idea that someone would want to help you frighten you?”
April read only true concern in his eyes. She saw no trace of ulterior motives. She ignored the tiny voice that whispered it probably wouldn’t make a difference if she did. She wanted to confide in him. She needed to.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault really, you couldn’t have known.”
“What’s not my fault? This is the second time I’ve seen you freeze up like that after I’ve said something. Tell me what it is that bothers you.”
“It’s silly really. It’s just that …” She let a smallsigh escape, steeling herself to face the memories that would surely come with the explanation.
“What, April? I can’t prevent it from happening again if you don’t tell me.” He curled his fingers into his palm to keep from stroking her face. “You can trust me.”
She pulled back just slightly and he shifted away a few inches, sensing this was difficult for her.
“My, uh … my father used to call me that.”
“Call you what?” Confused, Jack broke off, going over what he’d said to her just now. She could only mean one thing. “You mean
mi cielo
? But that’s a fairly common Mexican endearment, why should it bother you?” He saw her slump a little, as if someone had released a knot in her spine. “I’m sorry. Has he passed away?”
“No, he’s very much alive. And yes, it was a term of affection he used with me. But that was a long time ago.”
Her tone softened, as if she were very far away. The sense of loss, of grief, was so real he’d been sure her father had died. There was a world of hurt in her voice and in her posture, and Jack felt a sudden rage made stronger by its impotence.
He might not be able to slay the dragons of her past, he knew, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to try and comfort her now. “Will you trust me to touch you?” She stared at him, obviously a bit surprised by the request. He didn’t realize he’d heldhis breath until she dipped her chin in the barest of movements.
He ran his palm lightly over her hair, traced a finger along her cheek, then gently pulled her into his arms, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. She resisted at first, but he whispered in her ear, “It’s okay, April. Let someone hold you. Let me hold you.” He felt an incredible sense of joy when she slowly relaxed in his arms.
He suspected she needed to talk about it, maybe even wanted to. But he was loath to do anything to end this respite. He gently smoothed the loose strands of her hair, wanting desperately to know what she was thinking, remembering. What had her old man done to her? And what about her mother?
A dozen other questions popped into his mind and he silently cursed the inquisitive journalist that was as much a permanent part of him as his arms and legs. But he also knew his need to uncover and understand what had happened in her past went deeper than the basic instinct to get to the root of a story.
“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” he murmured against her hair, the soft fragrance enveloping him in a calming, soothing embrace. The slight tightening of her arms before she moved back was the only indication she gave that she’d heard him.
“I really should be getting back.” Her voice was still hushed, as if she’d been sharing secrets meant for his ears only.
“April, wait.”
She scooted to the edge of the couch and turned to face him again, her expression not quite the professional mask she was obviously struggling to wear.
“We still need to decide what to do about my fee.”
She looked as if she’d been slapped. He’d wanted her to stay longer, so he’d
She turned to face him, a measure of respect reflected in her eyes, making him glad he’d kept his word. “What did I say? Does the idea that someone would want to help you frighten you?”
April read only true concern in his eyes. She saw no trace of ulterior motives. She ignored the tiny voice that whispered it probably wouldn’t make a difference if she did. She wanted to confide in him. She needed to.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault really, you couldn’t have known.”
“What’s not my fault? This is the second time I’ve seen you freeze up like that after I’ve said something. Tell me what it is that bothers you.”
“It’s silly really. It’s just that …” She let a smallsigh escape, steeling herself to face the memories that would surely come with the explanation.
“What, April? I can’t prevent it from happening again if you don’t tell me.” He curled his fingers into his palm to keep from stroking her face. “You can trust me.”
She pulled back just slightly and he shifted away a few inches, sensing this was difficult for her.
“My, uh … my father used to call me that.”
“Call you what?” Confused, Jack broke off, going over what he’d said to her just now. She could only mean one thing. “You mean
mi cielo
? But that’s a fairly common Mexican endearment, why should it bother you?” He saw her slump a little, as if someone had released a knot in her spine. “I’m sorry. Has he passed away?”
“No, he’s very much alive. And yes, it was a term of affection he used with me. But that was a long time ago.”
Her tone softened, as if she were very far away. The sense of loss, of grief, was so real he’d been sure her father had died. There was a world of hurt in her voice and in her posture, and Jack felt a sudden rage made stronger by its impotence.
He might not be able to slay the dragons of her past, he knew, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to try and comfort her now. “Will you trust me to touch you?” She stared at him, obviously a bit surprised by the request. He didn’t realize he’d heldhis breath until she dipped her chin in the barest of movements.
He ran his palm lightly over her hair, traced a finger along her cheek, then gently pulled her into his arms, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. She resisted at first, but he whispered in her ear, “It’s okay, April. Let someone hold you. Let me hold you.” He felt an incredible sense of joy when she slowly relaxed in his arms.
He suspected she needed to talk about it, maybe even wanted to. But he was loath to do anything to end this respite. He gently smoothed the loose strands of her hair, wanting desperately to know what she was thinking, remembering. What had her old man done to her? And what about her mother?
A dozen other questions popped into his mind and he silently cursed the inquisitive journalist that was as much a permanent part of him as his arms and legs. But he also knew his need to uncover and understand what had happened in her past went deeper than the basic instinct to get to the root of a story.
“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” he murmured against her hair, the soft fragrance enveloping him in a calming, soothing embrace. The slight tightening of her arms before she moved back was the only indication she gave that she’d heard him.
“I really should be getting back.” Her voice was still hushed, as if she’d been sharing secrets meant for his ears only.
“April, wait.”
She scooted to the edge of the couch and turned to face him again, her expression not quite the professional mask she was obviously struggling to wear.
“We still need to decide what to do about my fee.”
She looked as if she’d been slapped. He’d wanted her to stay longer, so he’d
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