Fuck him, he thought as he glanced over. Sissy was sitting up in the bedding, blond hair tangled, cheeks pink like she was a little warm from having been curled up. The white T-shirt she had on was entirely modest … except when the letch part of him began to speculate what was under it.
She seemed totally shocked as she looked at him. “I figured you … couldn’t … see…”
While her voice drifted, he could feel her eyes on his body—and she was looking at just about everything he had. “Let me get dressed first,” he told her roughly.
But she didn’t move, and that meant he couldn’t: She’d caught him on the side view, so if he dropped his hands to pick up his sweats, he was either going to flash her his ass, or give her a lateral full monty.
Which, considering how he was hung? Would still give her a hell of an eyeful.
“Sissy, look away, would you.”
God, it was impossible not to remember the last time he’d said those words to her … down below, after Devina had worked him over and the remnants of the abuse were all over him.
Don’t look at me!
Now he was ordering that for a different reason: He still had her best interests at heart, one hundred percent. The problem was, his body wasn’t connecting all that well to his brain at the moment.
Because he had the horrible conviction that she might, possibly, like what she saw.
She certainly wasn’t screeching away in horror. In fact, it seemed as though she were—
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
Jim closed his eyes. Prayed for self-control. “Listen, you need to—”
“Let me see you …” She cleared her throat. “Please, just let me…”
“Sissy, it’s not going to happen. We can’t—I can’t …” Such a load of horseshit that was. His c**k was starting to wake up, and fully operational was so not what this situation needed. “Listen, you need to go back to your room. Or I’ve got to go—”
“I got cheated, Jim. I was taken too soon—don’t make me spend an eternity wondering what it’s like.”
For the second time in however many hours, he found himself thinking, She couldn’t possibly have just said that to me.
The groan that rattled up through his chest was an expletive if he’d ever heard one.
“Why do you think I’ve come in here every night?” He could hear the sheets shifting on the bed as if she were sitting up even further. “I’m hoping … praying … that you’ll…”
His breath was starting to get harsh, his body getting waaaaay far ahead of him—and the reaction was as strong as it was quick. Which suggested something he really hated to look at too closely: Yeah, he’d gotten her out to save her. But he also wanted her.
Now, to be fair, the latter had been a very recent development. It hadn’t started until he’d gotten a sense of how much she’d aged down below—he’d never been into chippies before, and he sure as hell wasn’t starting now.
She was a woman, though. After all she’d been through, she was a child no longer.
“Are you going to make me say it?” Her voice grew small. “Jim?”
“Don’t ask me this. For the love of God, don’t ask me this.”
“Why, Jim?”
He really wished she’d stop using his name. “I can’t … it’s not right.”
“Why?”
Releasing one of his hands, he scrubbed his face. “You know why.”
“Are you in love with someone else?”
Strange question. “No.”
“Do you … want me? Jim?”
More rustling, and Jesus, he could just imagine the sheets falling down to her hips, pooling around her waist. Except in his OMG fantasy, she wasn’t wearing anything more than he was, and her br**sts were—
“You’re going to kill me,” he moaned.
“That’s not what I want to do right now.”
“Sissy—”
“Who else can I go to? Who else is there? If not you … then who?”
Well, now, put like that? It made him want to castrate the balance of the male population in Caldwell. Make that New York State as a whole … or maybe the eastern seaboard.
Do not look over at her, he told himself. You look at her once and you’re—
The sound of her crying softly brought his head around. Oh, f**k him. She’d put her face in her hands and was trying to keep her dignity as much as she could.
“You don’t want me,” Jim heard himself say. “Not really. You just think you do.”
At that, she dropped the shield of her palms. “Don’t tell me what I feel or think. You don’t know me like that.”
“I know from stress.” Christ, did he ever. “I know a shitload about wartime stress, and you and I may be sitting in this house without bombs falling on our heads—but make no mistake. This situation we’re in is hard-core—and if you don’t have a serious case of PTSD after what you’ve just been through? I’m the f**king Easter bunny.”
“What does that have to do with—”
“People do not make good decisions when they’re under extreme pressure. When they’re in our shoes, people do not do the right thing.”
“But what if it is the right thing.” She met his gaze head-on. “Who are you to say it isn’t?”
“I’m the other half of it. And I know more about this than you do.”
“Because I’m a virgin.”
“Because you have never been to war. And I’ve lived in it for twenty years.”
“So then you know … sometimes people don’t come home.”
Well, hell. He kind of wished she wasn’t as smart as she was.
Moving fast, he yanked on some sweats and discreetly folded his erection up flat, tying the thing down with a savage yank. Then he pulled on a muscle shirt and went over to the bed. Sitting beside her, he reached out and tucked some of her straight hair behind her ear.
“I’m sorry.” He dropped his hand. “But I have to do the right thing by you. I can’t live with myself otherwise.”
Her gaze clung to his. “Then just kiss me. Just kiss me and I’ll go. It’s the only thing I’ll ever ask of you.”
He started to shake his head, but as her eyes glossed over with tears, she broke him in half.
“Don’t cry,” he said in a voice that cracked.