Читать книгу Out Rider - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 13

CHAPTER SIX

WHY DID SHE suddenly want to burst into tears? Dev blinked a couple of times, forcing back her reaction. Was it the compassionate expression on Sloan’s rugged face? The burning look of care in his narrowed blue eyes? The sensation of Sloan invisibly wrapping her within his strong, safe arms even though he was sitting several feet away from her, sprawled out, relaxed, but focused on her? The sensation was so real Dev closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers tightening around the slender stem of the wineglass. She hadn’t had that much to drink. But maybe her stomach was empty, so she was more susceptible to alcohol.

But the real truth, whether Dev wanted to admit it or not, was that she thoroughly enjoyed Sloan’s easygoing, comfortable company. He was the direct opposite of Bart Gordon, who reminded her of a wild animal on the prowl, hunting for his mate, willing to do anything to make her his. Her gut clenched and she kept her eyes closed, trying to will away the terror that never seemed to leave her. It would steal upon her at odd times. Unexpected ones. Like right now. She should be happy to be with Sloan because he always lifted her spirits. He was kind. Unselfish. Interested in her, but allowing her, from what she could sense, to pace whatever it was between them. He didn’t push her like Gordon had. He didn’t close in on her, making her feel claustrophobic, which she was. Maybe it was because on bad days when her father wanted to drink heavily, he’d push her into the clothes closet in her bedroom and lock the door.

To sit in that darkness...the dankness...the lack of fresh air. Dev lost count of how many times she’d cried softly so she wouldn’t be heard. Because if her father did hear her, he’d come and rip the door open, bellowing down at her, telling her to stop crying. Big girls didn’t cry, he’d scream at her. Suck it up. Wipe those tears away. And he promised to come back in a little while—which was hours later—and let her out.

Dev felt herself begin to unravel, lose control, and she couldn’t do that. Sloan really didn’t know that much about her. And he’d probably lose respect for her. In the Marine Corps, Dev had tried so hard to keep it together. But her commanding officer was an alcoholic, too, and it was as if she’d stepped back into being a seven-year-old shoved into a small, dark, smelly closet. The only light leaking in was beneath the door and she’d stare at that light, willing herself to watch it, because it meant hope. Hope that her drunk father would eventually come and let her out of the closet. And God help her if she peed her pants because she couldn’t hold it any longer. Or if she got so thirsty she couldn’t cry any more tears. Those years were horrifying for Dev, and being in the military, she’d sought freedom from them.

Only she’d traded them for an alcoholic CO, Major Terrence Paddington, who had scared the hell out of her. He didn’t like or trust the women in his company. He didn’t care she was a highly trained dog handler who was good at what she did. He didn’t like women in combat, pure and simple. And he tried to keep her safe so that his blemished record wouldn’t look worse than it already did. No one wanted a woman to die in combat. That was a huge no-no. A black mark on her CO’s personnel jacket. And Dev had felt like she had been in that terrifying closet once again: trapped. Only with Major Paddington, he wanted to keep her imprisoned in that invisible closet for her entire deployment.

Dev began to see an overall pattern in her life: one of being crammed and hidden away by men. By the time Gordon had come along, she’d simply wanted to be out in nature, enjoying fresh air, the sun on her face, and doing her job tracking. But Gordon... Oh no, she could not cry! Dev’s fingers curved inward into her palm as she sat there, head tilted forward, her mouth compressed to stop the memories.

The memories came, anyway. But she could feel that invisible blanket sliding across her shoulder, warming her, protecting her, and she knew it came from Sloan. He sat there quietly and she felt no urgency to speak. Her throat tightened. A desperation surged through her like a clenched fist ramming up from her wildly beating heart, into her throat, past the forming lump, and leaping into her mouth. And then...

“I hated Gordon always watching me,” she began in a desperate tone. Dev kept her eyes shut, not wanting to see what lay in Sloan’s eyes. Just the sensation of that immaterial embrace of his, that sense of utter safety surrounding her, allowed the words to tear out of her, never heard by another human being until now. “I could... I felt...his eyes... His eyes were always on me. I swear to God, I could feel this hot, burning sensation on my back when he came in and found me. I felt his eyes following me and the feeling that came with it...” Dev shuddered, the words jamming up in her aching throat.

“I—I could feel him wanting me. It was dirty. It was...awful. It was sexual, and he scared me. I tried to deal with it. I told myself it was in my head, that I was imagining things, that is was me, not him. I tried to convince myself that it was me.” Her voice broke.

Dev felt the beaded coolness of the condensation on the outside of the wineglass beneath her fingertips. She focused on it because the emotions writhing within her threatened to overwhelm the dissolving control she had over them. “But it wasn’t me,” she said. She hung her head, chin against her chest, fingers tightening around the stem. “Three months went by and he would quietly come into a room where I was and come up behind me... God,” Dev whispered unsteadily, wiping her eyes and opening them, staring sightlessly and straight ahead. “He never announced himself. He would always find me when I was alone, in a back room, when no other people were around. He was stalking me. Waiting. I didn’t know why, except I felt so damned scared my brain would freeze.”