him. He couldn't hold her still long enough to snap the handcuff around her wrist. Afraid she would hurt herself, though she gave no indication of pain, he leaned over her and said her name. "Alaina."
She didn't seem to hear as she thrashed. Then she started to beg. "Please, no. Please, no."
His stomach wrenching, Mitch made one last effort to secure the cuff and nailed it. Relieved, he rolled away from her and to his feet.
Alaina curled into a protective ball on her side, shuddering as she covered her face with her free hand. Her breathing was harsh and uneven.
He watched her, a sick feeling in his gut. Getting the hell out of that hotel room suddenly became imperative. "There's something I have to do," he said, then cleared the shakiness from his throat. "I'll bring back food."
She made no sound, her eyes tightly closed.
Before he left, he crossed to the phone and ripped the cord out of the wall. Though he doubted she was in any shape to try to make a call, he couldn't take the chance.
When the cool air outside struck his face, he stopped and drew it into his lungs, seeking its calming effect.
She'd thought he was going to assault her.
The knowledge made his head whirl, and he tried to process it. Had she glimpsed the flare of lust in his eyes? Because he acknowledged that, for a moment, his thoughts had veered in that direction. How could they not? She was an attractive, spirited woman with enormous appeal. Had their gazes met across a crowded room, on neutral ground, he would have been drawn to her in an instant. In the past few weeks, while watching her with her son, he had noted her attractiveness, but it had been of no consequence. She'd been an assignment, a job. How striking she was didn't change his objective.
Perhaps that was why the physicality of the moment against the door had caught him so off guard. He hadn't expected to have those feelings for her. He wasn't even sure now why he had.
One thing he did know for sure: The wild fear in those gray-green eyes of hers would haunt him for the rest of his life. And his heart ached with the knowledge that he had terrorized her.
Standing near the door for several moments, he listened for weeping, but if she made any noise, he didn't hear it.
Finally, he pocketed his hands and walked away.
* * *
Alaina lay with her eyes closed, one hand fisted against her chest, the other cuffed to the headboard. Her muscles were so taut, they ached, but she couldn't get her body to relax. She focused on breathing, telling herself that she was okay, that he had not hurt her, that he'd had no intention of hurting her. Still, memories pummeled her. Layton tearing at her clothes, shoving himself into her. The terror was fresh, as if it had happened yesterday rather than fifteen years ago. She had worked hard over the years to keep the memories at bay. Counseling had been a tremendous help. But perhaps more effective: There had been more important things to do, a child to take care of, someone whose very survival depended on her maintaining her grip.
But now Jonah might be lost to her. And there was nothing ... nothing she could do to stop the inevitable. Soon, he would know. Soon, he would meet his charming father, a man who could sell a side of beef to a vegetarian. That man would tell the vulnerable fourteen-year-old boy that his heartless mother had stolen him away, denying him a life beyond his wildest imaginings.
Despair was a live thing, writhing inside her, and she fought to control it.
As her raging heartbeat slowed and her breathing calmed, she turned her attention to the cuffs securing her wrist to the headboard. Jerking against them, she found them to be steadfast. The movement also sent a surge of pain into her injured shoulder. She rubbed the soreness absently, considering her options.
They were beyond limited. In fact, there was only one: Go to D.C. and face the past.
Chapter 12
Addison Keller stood at the sink, staring
She didn't seem to hear as she thrashed. Then she started to beg. "Please, no. Please, no."
His stomach wrenching, Mitch made one last effort to secure the cuff and nailed it. Relieved, he rolled away from her and to his feet.
Alaina curled into a protective ball on her side, shuddering as she covered her face with her free hand. Her breathing was harsh and uneven.
He watched her, a sick feeling in his gut. Getting the hell out of that hotel room suddenly became imperative. "There's something I have to do," he said, then cleared the shakiness from his throat. "I'll bring back food."
She made no sound, her eyes tightly closed.
Before he left, he crossed to the phone and ripped the cord out of the wall. Though he doubted she was in any shape to try to make a call, he couldn't take the chance.
When the cool air outside struck his face, he stopped and drew it into his lungs, seeking its calming effect.
She'd thought he was going to assault her.
The knowledge made his head whirl, and he tried to process it. Had she glimpsed the flare of lust in his eyes? Because he acknowledged that, for a moment, his thoughts had veered in that direction. How could they not? She was an attractive, spirited woman with enormous appeal. Had their gazes met across a crowded room, on neutral ground, he would have been drawn to her in an instant. In the past few weeks, while watching her with her son, he had noted her attractiveness, but it had been of no consequence. She'd been an assignment, a job. How striking she was didn't change his objective.
Perhaps that was why the physicality of the moment against the door had caught him so off guard. He hadn't expected to have those feelings for her. He wasn't even sure now why he had.
One thing he did know for sure: The wild fear in those gray-green eyes of hers would haunt him for the rest of his life. And his heart ached with the knowledge that he had terrorized her.
Standing near the door for several moments, he listened for weeping, but if she made any noise, he didn't hear it.
Finally, he pocketed his hands and walked away.
* * *
Alaina lay with her eyes closed, one hand fisted against her chest, the other cuffed to the headboard. Her muscles were so taut, they ached, but she couldn't get her body to relax. She focused on breathing, telling herself that she was okay, that he had not hurt her, that he'd had no intention of hurting her. Still, memories pummeled her. Layton tearing at her clothes, shoving himself into her. The terror was fresh, as if it had happened yesterday rather than fifteen years ago. She had worked hard over the years to keep the memories at bay. Counseling had been a tremendous help. But perhaps more effective: There had been more important things to do, a child to take care of, someone whose very survival depended on her maintaining her grip.
But now Jonah might be lost to her. And there was nothing ... nothing she could do to stop the inevitable. Soon, he would know. Soon, he would meet his charming father, a man who could sell a side of beef to a vegetarian. That man would tell the vulnerable fourteen-year-old boy that his heartless mother had stolen him away, denying him a life beyond his wildest imaginings.
Despair was a live thing, writhing inside her, and she fought to control it.
As her raging heartbeat slowed and her breathing calmed, she turned her attention to the cuffs securing her wrist to the headboard. Jerking against them, she found them to be steadfast. The movement also sent a surge of pain into her injured shoulder. She rubbed the soreness absently, considering her options.
They were beyond limited. In fact, there was only one: Go to D.C. and face the past.
Chapter 12
Addison Keller stood at the sink, staring
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