"You said you wouldn't touch me." He couldn't tell if she was complaining or reminding.

"Unless you asked," he qualified.

There was a long pause and then a harshly croaked truth, "I don't know how to ask."

He suspected she didn't know what to ask for either, but this was a start and he could teach her what she needed to know. He let his hand slide down to the base of her spine, urging her closer. Her flesh was soft under his hands. A silky, delicate, womanly expanse he'd love to run his mouth over.

"Lean into me, baby." She did immediately. He took advantage of her distraction to swing her up in his arms.

Her squeal and grab made him smile. "I won't drop you, Sunshine.""But..."

"No buts." He shook his head at her. His words didn't result in an appreciable lessening of her grip, but since holding him so tightly kept her b.r.e.a.s.t.s squashed against him, he wasn't going to complain. The damp towel was wadded between them. The first thing he did after settling them on the settee was to discard it. "I don't think we need this."

For all that she agreed, her fingers were reluctant to let it go. He grabbed the knitted comforter off the back of the settee and draped it over her. She seemed fl.u.s.tered by the small consideration but let the towel go. He tossed it in the direction of the stove. It landed on the hardwood floor.

"Oh no!" Jenna sat up straight in his lap. He had to duck her elbows as she tucked the throw around her. He recognized that tone. He'd heard it from Mara often enough.

"What?"

She froze, looked at him, the towel, and then back at him before dropping her gaze. "Nothing."

It was obviously something. She was practically twitching. "Out with it, Jenna."

"The towel will stain the wood."

"Ah h.e.l.l." If Jenna felt halfway about household things the way Mara did, he wasn't going to getanywhere until the towel was moved. He slid her onto the settee and grabbed the towel off the floor. With a flick of the wrist he tossed it over the arm of the parlor chair.

A quick glance at Jenna had him checking it again. Her lip was between her teeth and a frown pleated her brow.

Son of a b.i.t.c.h. He took it off the chair and draped it over the handle of the stove. If she didn't like that it was just too d.a.m.ned bad.

He headed back to the settee, unb.u.t.toning his shirt as he went. From the way Jenna shrank back into the seat, he might be letting his impatience show through. He worked on gentling his expression. He needn't have bothered. She took one look at his chest, and all the fear left her face.

"Oh my G.o.d!" Her eyes rounded in horror.

d.a.m.n! He'd forgotten about the scars. "Sorry." He started b.u.t.toning back up.

She was off the settee and at his side, her hands undoing b.u.t.tons faster than he could do them.

"No one told me," she whispered as she parted the halves of his shirt. Her soft hands were infinitely careful on his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears and pity. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Because it didn't matter." And he didn't want it mattering now. He caught her hands and pulled them away from his body.She yanked her hands free and swatted his arm. "Of course it matters."

He looked down to where she'd hit him. Hit him.

This from the woman who ate until she vomited because he'd ordered her to.

She traced the broad puckered scar that cut diagonally across his chest and abdomen. "You got these that night, didn't you?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"My G.o.d." Jenna stared at those scars that covered his hard muscled chest and abdomen. They were broad, newly healed, and had to have hurt like h.e.l.l. She couldn't imagine voluntarily enduring them for any reason. Least of all saving her. She rode the ridges of the biggest as it followed the hills and valleys of the slabs of muscle cutting across his abdomen until it disappeared beneath the waistband of his denims. She'd never thought, not once, that he'd been hurt saving her. Never thought it because she couldn't conceive of a man doing something so unselfish. She placed her palm over the scar, feeling the smoothness of the new skin, the ridges of the perimeter and the heat and strength of the man beneath. "My G.o.d."

He'd endured h.e.l.l for her and had never said a word, asked for a thing. Except last night when he'd asked for her trust. She leaned forward and kissed the smallerround burn just to the left of his breastbone. He could have anything he wanted of her. Anything at all.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Clint's hands on her arms were rough. Not hurting, but not gentle either, as he set her away from him. "I don't want a G.o.dd.a.m.ned grat.i.tude f.u.c.k."

The words. .h.i.t her like blows until she looked into his face. His face was like stone, not an emotion showing.

In her experience the only time a man hid his emotions was when he felt vulnerable. Of course, her experience was limited, and if she called this wrong, she would be paying for it for the rest of her life, but she touched his chest. She didn't think she was calling this wrong.

"Clint." He didn't let her go, but he did frown.

"What?"

"I want to be your wife."

"You already are."

"Your real wife."

"Because you think handing over your body is going to make up for a few scars?"

The derision in his tone flicked her like a whip.

"No." She was no reward for anything. She took a step back. He didn't let her go. Just held her with an ease that sent flickers of panic racing up her spine. He wanted his pound of flesh. She could understand that."I don't have anything else to give you." She took a steadying breath. "I can never thank you enough for what you did." She tightened her grip on the throw and squared her shoulders. It took everything she had to meet his gaze. "You can have anything you want of me."

"Anything?"

His face, his voice, his grip-all three were as implacable as the man himself. Her stomach sank. There was no end to the demands he could make, but she'd given her word. "Yes."

"Then I want your trust."

She couldn't have heard him right. "What?"

"I want your trust."

"But I've done everything..."

But she hadn't. She'd refused him last night.

His finger under her chin brought her gaze to his.

"I don't want your obedience, Jenna."

She didn't believe that for a minute. "I don't understand."

His thumb stroked cross her lower lip. It was a strangely possessive, yet soothing caress.

"I want you to trust me to take care of you." He tugged the throw from around her. "Starting now."

Chapter Ten.

"I don't have anything else to give."

He'd been p.i.s.sed right up until she'd whispered that truth. She'd held his gaze and offered him everything she had, leaving herself vulnerable in a way that he couldn't conceive of ever making himself vulnerable to anyone.

And he'd been b.a.s.t.a.r.d enough to throw her offer back in her face, attacking her where he knew it would hurt the most.

She believed herself worthless. It was like an open wound on her soul, and he'd gone for it right off, getting his own back with his usual efficiency. And she'd stood there, taking it like she deserved it. Like any of that nonsense was the truth. He'd never hated himself more than when he'd seen that flicker of acceptance in her blue eyes. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forgive himself. If he lived to be two hundred, no one would ever put that look in her eyes again.

"Sunshine?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to catch that throw?""What?"

"Either you catch it or it's going to hit the floor."

She didn't move. "I don't know what you want."

"Do you want to be naked in front of me?"

She shifted and avoided his gaze before finally admitting, "I want to please you."

"And do you think your body pleases me?" He caught the throw from behind. As long as she stayed pressed against him, she was covered.

"No."

He hadn't been expecting that. "I wouldn't have guessed from the way you're always taking your clothes off."

The glance she cut him was purely defensive. "Men like that."

"That's the truth."

"It makes them feel powerful."

If he wasn't mistaken, that was a shot, though it was delivered in the softest, gentlest, most inoffensive tone possible.

"Now that's where you're wrong." He snuggled his fingers into her hair, shaping his palm to her skull, supporting her head when she tilted it back to look at him. "The sight of you naked would drop any man to his knees.""Not you."

"Especially me." She made him weak in all kinds of ways.

"Not last night."

That was an accusation. "Last night was different."

"How?"

"You weren't ready."

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his chest. "Please tell me what you want."

"I want you."

"Now?"

"Yes."

She took a step back and released the throw. He caught it and tossed it across the settee. She stood before him, hands folded in front of her, a blush rising from her chest. She hadn't blushed last night, which meant she was feeling vulnerable now. Which meant she wasn't hiding behind a shield of docility. He was seeing the real Jenna. He dropped his shirt to the floor. She stared, her eyes going to his scars, following them down, dipping below the waistband of his pants, widening before flashing back up to measure the width of his shoulders.

He imagined he must look pretty intimidating to someone like her.

He held out his hand. "Trust me, Jenna."She placed her small hand in his larger one, her skin fair and delicate against his, her magnificent b.r.e.a.s.t.s jiggling with each step she took as he backed to the settee.

He sat while she stood, her weight balanced carefully on her feet, poised for flight. With a tug he pulled her into his lap. Her hip cuddled his c.o.c.k. Her shoulder nestled under his and the soft scent of roses teased his nostrils. She turned her torso into his, put her arms around his neck and raised her mouth. He shook his head. "No."

"What?"

"I don't want you giving me what you think I need."

She frowned. "You want me to just sit here?"

"I only want you to give me what you feel."

"But I don't feel anything."

"Ever?"

"No."

"Now that's a d.a.m.ned shame."

"Am I supposed to?"

He brushed the damp fall of hair from her forehead.

"If I do my job right, you should feel a whole h.e.l.l of a lot."

She shifted, weighing his words. "But you'll let me use my cream."He couldn't blame her for not taking chances. "If you want the cream when the time comes, I'll use it."

"Promise?"

"I promise."