But she couldnt.
Every good thing shed had in the past months had revolved around thoughts of that night, of those letters Dana had long ago committed to memory.
Even though Id love to hear your sweet voice, even if it was only words on a page, it doesnt matter. When I sleep, I share dreams with you. Youre right next to me in this cot.
I hear your breathing, and feel peace; at the same time I ache because youre also so far away. I think loving you, having you in my life, will be like that. A never-ending craving and peace at once.
Dana, say it.
She shook her head again. She couldnt give herself that dream. Not for real.
He rolled her to her back. She clutched the shirt, but shed defended the wrong perimeter.
Putting her legs over his shoulders, he knelt and put his mouth between her legs.
The minute those clever lips touched her pussy, she bowed up, nearly swallowing her tongue. After the surgeries and healing of her physical injuries, thered been no extremes of pain or pleasure, everything a straight, monotone highway, the unrelenting fires of hell her mental horizon. This was cold water in desert heat, a miracle and painful shock at once, potentially dangerous if taken too fast or at too extreme a temperature.
He seized her wrists, held them to her sides. Stop, stop, stop. Those bottled emotions were rising so fast, the pressure capable of detonating within the sexual response, tearing her apart from the inside. Shed be incapable of distinguishing the emotional torment from the physical. But his tongue knew how to drive thought away. He scraped and teased her cunt, plunged his tongue deep, sucked on her labia, rubbed his face against her so she felt the five-oclock stubble on her tender inner thighs and the prickle against her sex as he made wide circles, then tight ones, licked and bit.
Her body couldnt care less about the turmoil in her mind. She worked herself against his mouth now, her fingernails digging into his wrists. Oh, God . . . Her body strained for that pinnacle like an out-of-shape runner. Helping or torturing her, he slowed the pace, lapping at her like a wolf tasting blood, learning her particular flavor.
Her foot pressed into his back, heel sliding over the muscled skin beneath his shirt. She thought of the fountain and how hed laid her on the grass, placing his bare body on hers, the blissful artistry of skin and muscle.
Peter . . . The sad mental cry of loss washed down the tunnel of memory, a flood of anguish wrenched from deep inside of her. The orgasm turned it into a powerful, mind-shattering force, ripping a scream from her throat. She fought against him, fought the climax. She needed to get free. It was too much and she couldnt handle any more. No more . . .
When his hands left her at last, she went back into a protective ball, rocking, the aftershocks still shuddering through her in small jerks. He curled around her again, but this time to hold her tightly, his legs coming up under hers, his wide back curved around her so she was a sea creature safely ensconced in its shell. His breath against her ear became the sound of the ocean, a soft rush that carried her wherever it would. He was stroking her head, a firm, reassuring touch, slow and massaging at once, his thumb caressing the sensitive occipital bone.
Thats it, sweetheart. Let it out.
It was different when someone was holding you, when you mattered specifically to them, not a faceless nurse or VA volunteer being painfully kind. It offered a terrifying glimpse of new possibilities. She couldnt depend on him this way.
That was, unless he didnt give her any other choice. For the first time in months, that thoughtnot having controldidnt bring bowel-loosening fear. In fact, the kind of anxiety that gripped her now dared to include an emotion she hadnt felt in a while.
Hope.
Seven
Peter set Danas suitcase outside the screen door, with a defining smack intended to catch her attention. It did, her head tilting in response. She was backed up into the corner formed by the entertainment center in her front room, her feet braced. He studied her, the set of the chin, the faint quiver in the hands she clenched against herself. All it had taken was the idea of leaving this hole and she was back in panic mode, digging in. Hed already seen enough to know he wasnt going to get her to agree to anything by morning.
But hed also seen she still had fight and spirit in her, and knew in his gut the most important thing was to get her out of this bleak cave. Even if he had to take her right now, in the middle of night, when Christina was sleeping. Hed written a note and left it on the front table, so the nurse wouldnt call the cops. Hopefully.
Im not going with you, Peter, Dana said. Her voice was one octave away from shrill.
I have no interest in being your little project. Im fine here, doing just fine. Yeah, if her lifes ambition was to be a mushroom.
When he heard her voice break, saw her too-cold hands grip themselves, he fought his protective instincts for patience. Control. When shed gripped the hem of her sweatshirt, not wanting him to see what was beneath it, that had been bad enough, but when he stripped off her sweatpants hed seen the left leg. The scar tissue so twisted and virulent, from knee up to her thigh, a few pings on her shin. And the way shed shaken under his touch, wanting touch so desperately, but so afraid of it, too, feeling everything he touched as if she was reliving it again.
The longer he stayed quiet now, the more her hands shook. It was epidemic, sweeping through her body. As he approached, she tensed, shrank back against the television. She could feel the floors vibration, or had detected his scent, his heat. Putting his palms on either side of her, he intensified it.
Just go away, Peter. Please. Please dont do this to me. Dont destroy that good memory of our night together with some pathetic attempt to pretend there can be more now.
Maybe there couldnt ever have been. I mean, what do we have in common, really?
Except sex.
He leaned in. Look up at me.
I cant see you. Whats the point?
Because I told you to do it. And because you can feel whats coming off of me. You know whats in my eyes, Dana. What do we have in common? Maybe not much. Hell, my mother was a Yale graduate, and my dad was a Texas roughneck, working rigs out in the ocean. When they died, when I was fifteen, they were as crazy in love as ever. People arent jigsaw puzzles, Dana. Sometimes people dont fit until they rub up against each other, chisel the rough edges and the shields away. The more they want it to work, the more willing they are to do that rubbing.
She tightened her arms across herself. I dont want to try, Peter. I dont want anything. I just want you to go.
He stared down into her face; then he nodded, straightened. Okay. Ill just do one more thing. He went to the front door, found what he was looking for and returned. Moving to the side table by the couch, he flipped open the top of the decorative box so it clattered loudly against the cheap wood.
Danas head went up. What are you doing?
Im burning these letters. You dont want anything, so they dont mean anything, right?
I mean, if whats in them isnt strong enough to weather one of us getting hurt, whats the point? Hell, I guess Im glad it wasnt me who got blown up, because you would have ditched my ass in a heartbeat.
Peter, we dont have a relationship. Im not going to tie you to me because
Youre not going to do anything to me, sweetheart. I came here on my own. If theres any tying to be done, Im the one wholl be doing it. Lighting the edge of one envelope, he waved it to let the smoke drift her way.
Her face transformed. She hadnt thought hed do it, obviously, but he hadnt realized shed charge across the room toward him, a thin scream tearing loose from her throat.
She hit the coffee table full throttle, slamming it against the sofa as she stumbled forward.
Shit. Dropping the paper into the metal ash bucket hed brought in, he leaped for her, catching her right before she fell onto the glass top. But she twisted, making him follow her down as she writhed to the floor, turning on him like a wild animal.
Those arent yours. You cant burn them. Stop. She scrambled to her feet, trying to fight past him, trying to get to them, even though she was facing a different direction, disoriented. The expression on her face was horrific. Twisted, desolate, enraged. Hanging on grimly and praying Christina was a heavy sleeper, he raised his voice to catch Danas attention.
Dana, settle down. I didnt burn them. Theyre fine. Listen to me, damn it. She stopped, panting, her clawed fingers clutching his arms, her muscles still banded in full resistance. She was so weak, though. Her attempts to push against him were comparable to village kids hed playfully wrestled in Afghanistan. The thought snapped his control and he brought her to her back on the carpet, looming over her.
I burned some blank stationery Christina left on the table. But goddamn it, I will not leave you here. I dont care if I have to fucking carry you, kicking and screaming, between here and Baton Rouge. I will do it. Youre not staying here. This isnt living.
I dont want to go. Doesnt that matter? Freedom, freedom, freedom. Thats my safe word to let me go and fuck off. She snarled it in his face, and then lost it, all those nerves strung tight beneath him spasming as she disintegrated into a full-blown thrashing, screaming tantrum. He had no choice but to pin her full-body, keep his hands cupped behind her head so that she couldnt slam her skull repeatedly against the wood floor. She beat at him, tried to kick, sank her teeth into his shoulder through his T-shirt. Like one of those terriers hed written her about. Small, tough and honest.
She was broken into a hundred pieces, and couldnt see to pick any of them up. But he could see every one of them. He would figure out how to bring them back together.