Mirror of My Soul Joey Hill (best books to read for women txt) 📖

He insisted on handling her bath himself so he could do a thorough inspection of her injuries and make sure there were no new 193

Joey W. Hill

swellings, heat or bruises. He remembered her first day here, when she’d turned over control to him. She’d discovered pleasure in the quiet darkness underwater, found that it wasn’t empty and alone at all, but filled with the sensations he could provide and share with her. He recalled her apprehensive wonder, the incredible response of her lithe body. The assimilation of it all by her extraordinarily intelligent mind.

“How do women put up with all this?” He kept up a running dialogue as he

washed her hair, made sure the thick length of it was rinsed clean, made sure he was doing nothing to aggravate her injuries. “I’m not saying I want you to cut it. I love your hair. I’m just appreciative and awestruck at all that’s involved in keeping it beautiful.

You know I’m going to mess it up. I’m going to put some man’s shampoo on it that will make it dry and frizzy, not be the way you like it, so you’re just going to have to tell me how to do it right before I turn you into Medusa.” Putting the sponge down, he picked up a towel and raised her to her feet. And found himself looking into blue eyes that for the first time in days were focused on his face, his mouth. Somewhere deep she might be, but some part of her was listening, if only to his voice.

He managed, barely, to keep his voice steady, casual. “It’s not possible, you know.

You could never be anything but beautiful to me. I might not mind if you looked a little like Medusa to other men though. You get entirely too much attention for my peace of mind. You could have a bevy of Mariuses waiting on you hand and foot to satisfy your every desire, rather than having a cranky Master trying to tell you what to do all the time.”

He pulled a robe over her shoulders, belted it and had to resist the urge to wrap his fingers in the ends, pull her to him and hold her tightly against his heart. “You’re going to need to snap out of it soon, anyway. With Chloe and Gen running Tea Leaves, you know Chloe will be having topless male waiters serve the tea so she can sexually harass your employees.”

Something stirred in her gaze and he picked up on it as if she’d spoken. His heart lifted at even this minimalist form of communication.

“Chloe is doing fine. I’ve had Mac and Violet checking on her daily. Her parents came into town as well. He broke her arm and leg, knocked a couple teeth out. She lost a good bit of blood from the stab wound in her side, but fortunately he didn’t hit any vital organs.”

He didn’t want to tell her all that but knew he had to. She would want honesty, not vague generalities. “Most of her injuries were because she fought him like a Green Beret to keep him away from Natalie. I don’t think her own mother would have fought any harder. He had to beat her unconscious to get away.

“Now, stop,” he reproved, sliding the robe back off her shoulders and replacing it with a comfortable sundress that dropped over her hips easily. Too easily. She’d already been thin. Over a week without more than a few mouthfuls of food and enough water to keep her hydrated wasn’t enough to keep her nourished. He knew it was past time to consider an IV and more in-depth psychiatric care. He couldn’t help but remember Komal’s reference during her last visit to those who never came out of a 194

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trauma or breakdown like this. People who were quietly cared for in expensive, private facilities where they received everything they could need and nothing they cared about, a lifetime as mannequins.

He pushed the thoughts away. It was too early to think like that. This was a woman who made subs long for the privilege of scarring them with permanent burns. Who had given him a run for his money in tennis. Had nearly put a fork through his fingers when he pushed her too far. Who had jumped off a building to save a child.

“Natalie’s mother is going to blame you for a while. And the police department here, or the prison that was holding your father. Even Chloe. Anyone within range of her thoughts, because she almost lost her little girl. But it’s not your fault, not any of it. I know you think if you’d died when you were fourteen, none of this would have

happened.” His throat closed at the flicker of acknowledgement, agreement even, in her face. “But that’s total bullshit and I won’t tolerate it.” He closed his eyes, took a breath, resumed in a more even tone. “Let’s look at it this way. Say you died with your mother and brother. Your dad might or might not have gone free without your testimony, but then or now he would be out there, his mind twisted. He would have struck again.

Something would have snapped him. A waitress that looked like his mother, or the general humidity level or the Dow. And he would have killed or raped.

“But you stopped him. It began and ended with you. You ended it. And now

you’ve earned the right to heal, love and live. You earned it a long time ago, a million times over. So I don’t want to hear you worry about it any more.” He arranged Sarah’s necklace on her, straightening the interlocked ring and cross. “We have a wedding to plan and I’m not doing it all myself. In fact, I think there’s a law that requires the woman to handle all of it. The man just shows up.”

“Never said…I’d marry you.”

The tone, sullen and faraway, made