When he broke away this time, his breaths came in ragged bursts. His chest heaved and it was clear he was battling his urge to give in.

“I distinctly remember you saying you were going to take me home and make me feel all better,” she said.

“Christ, P.J. Are you sure? This is too important. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

She stroked her hand over his jaw. “Please.”

It was the please that seemed to do it. He pushed himself up from the couch and then reached down, sliding his arms underneath her, and plucked her from the cushions.

He strode toward his bedroom and shouldered the door open.

“Get the light,” he directed.

She swiped her hand along the wall until she found the switch and then flipped it up, flooding the room with light. He carried her to the bed and gently set her down.

“We have to be careful,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt your leg. Let me take off your pants first.”

Her leg was the last thing she was thinking of. She wanted him close. Wanted to replace the memory of Nelson and Brumley with Cole. Just Cole. He’d chase away her demons. She was sure of that.

He carefully slid her sweats down over her hips and down her legs, taking care not to bump her wound. His fingers grazed her skin, setting fire to her senses. A thousand chill bumps danced across her thighs and midriff when he let his hands glide back up her bare legs and then under her T-shirt.

He pulled upward, baring more of her, and she lifted her arms over her head, a signal that it was okay for him to take the shirt too.

Now left in only her bra and panties, she trembled as shadows lurked in her mind. She forced her attention to Cole, refusing to allow anything to ruin this moment. But even so, a chill settled over her.

Her scars were there for him to see, and they were still raw looking. Ugly. Marks put there by other men.

“Tell me what you want, P.J. You’re calling the shots here. Tell me how to please you.”

“I’m cold,” she whispered. “Make me warm, Cole. Please take away the cold.”

He stripped out of his clothing and carefully lowered his body to hers. He stroked her hair away from her face and kissed her, long and leisurely.

He broke from her mouth and pressed a tender line from her lips down her jawline and to the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. More goose bumps broke out, but this time she didn’t feel the same chill she had before.

His warmth bled into her, soothing away her fears and giving her soul deep comfort.

Holding her tightly to him, he rolled so they were resting on their sides. His hand smoothed down her arm all the way to her fingertips and then on to her hip before slowly gliding upward again, this time going underneath her arm, over the curve of her waist and to her breast.

His pace was slow and lazy, as if he had all the time in the world. He seemed determined not to rush her, and she realized for the first time how hard her rape had to have been for him as well.

Even now, despite the slow pace he’d set, his jaw was tight, and she could tell it was difficult for him to go this slow and be this patient. In that moment, she fell even harder for a man she was already well on her way to completely falling for.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”

He groaned softly as his lips melted over hers. Their tongues met and tangled. Hot and wet. Breathless and needy.

His hand moved downward, between her legs, sliding through her wetness, teasing and caressing in gentle strokes.

“We have all night, baby,” he murmured. “Let’s not rush. I want to make sure you’re with me every step of the way.”

She sighed and snuggled closer to him, wanting and needing that flesh-to-flesh contact. Her leg protested fiercely when she slid it over his, but she didn’t care. Nothing was going to ruin this moment for her.

He made his goal to touch every inch of her skin. No part of her body went untouched. He licked and kissed his way from her toes all the way to her eyelids. He gave extra attention to her breasts, teasing and toying with the nipples until they were straining upward, begging for more.

But it was when he traced the lines of each one of her scars and then followed his fingers with his mouth, sweetly kissing every puckered inch of the wounds, that her heart squeezed and she found it hard to breathe.

He was telling her without words that her scars meant nothing to him. He didn’t shy away from them. Didn’t recoil over their ugliness. He made certain there was no doubt in her mind that he accepted every single part of her.

God, but she wanted to cry. She wanted to let go of the grief that had plagued her for so long. She felt safe with Cole. Her harbor. Her shelter. The one person she could turn to and he’d never think her weak.

His palms glided warmly over her body. His fingers stroked and his mouth made love to her all on its own.

She was senseless with need, and pleasure was molten lava in her veins. More potent than the strongest drug.

She was in a haze, her surroundings blurred. She felt her legs being parted, felt the twinge of pain as her injured leg protested the movement. Then a hard body covered hers and panic splintered through her consciousness, bringing an abrupt halt to every pleasurable sensation she’d been fully immersed in.

She reacted blindly, desperate to defend herself. She’d never allow anyone to hurt her that way again. A sob escaped, loud, like thunder in her ears. She fought desperately, pain lancing up her leg until she cried out.

She rolled, trying to get away, and she fell onto the floor, the blanket from the bed tangled around her feet. She nearly blacked out from the pain after landing on her injured leg. Or maybe she had.

It was as if she were two completely different people. One who embraced the idea of making love to Cole as if nothing had ever happened to her—one rooted solidly in denial—and the other? Still trapped on that couch in Vienna, powerless against the effects of the drug while two men raped her body and mind.

And the one currently winning the battle for self-preservation was that terrified, brutalized victim that she’d tried so hard to forget existed for the last six months.

When some of the overwhelming panic dissipated and she became aware of her surroundings once more, she was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped protectively around her body as she rocked back and forth. Tears were streaming down her face and she was helpless to stop them.

Oh God. What had she done?

A blanket fell over her shoulders and was pulled tightly around her until she was covered. Eventually some of the awful shaking ceased and warmth began to bleed back into her body.

She was lifted, cradled against a hard chest and then set on the edge of the bed, that blanket still securely wrapped around her.

“P.J. P.J., baby, it’s all right. You’re safe. Nobody can hurt you here. It’s me, Cole. Okay? Open your eyes. Look at me, honey. Look at me so I know you’re all right.”

She blinked and then tried to focus on his face. He was kneeling in front of her, and she could barely make out his features for the tears clouding her vision.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked out.

“Oh God. Don’t apologize, baby. Never that.”

He moved to sit beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. She burrowed tightly against him, seeking more of his warmth. She pressed her face into his neck and closed her eyes. She wanted to die. She was horrified by what had happened. She wasn’t even sure what had happened. One minute she’d been wrapped up in the beauty of their lovemaking and the next she’d been so filled with panic that she’d completely freaked out.

She clung to him, humiliated by the tears that wouldn’t end. She was shaking from head to toe, and the memory of that night was so vibrant in her mind that no amount of wishing would make it go away. She could still smell her own blood, remembered how it felt, slick and sticky against her. She started to gag, and Cole gripped her tighter.

“Deep breaths, P.J. In and out. Real slow. Come on. Breathe with me.”

He pulled her away so she was forced to look at him, and he stared intently, mimicking the inhaling and exhaling he wanted her to do.

“Tell me if you’re going to be sick. I’ll take you into the bathroom.”

She shook her head blindly, determined not to let herself lose more control than she already had.

Gradually her pulse slowed and her breathing steadied. The shaking stopped and the panic eased. The images faded into the shadows and the smell of blood left her.

But the tears kept coming, slipping over her cheeks as she stared numbly at Cole.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. Because what else was there for her to say? What guy wanted to have sex interrupted by a major meltdown and then have to ask the woman if she needed to be sick?

And God, she’d been the one who’d pushed! He’d wanted to wait. He hadn’t thought she was ready. He’d wanted to take things slow. She’d been so sure. But it was just more of her refusal to accept what had been done to her. If she didn’t think about it, then it didn’t exist. Only now, the past had come back to bite her on the ass in a major way.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for ruining everything.”

He looked furious, and he shook his head emphatically. “You aren’t apologizing for this. It’s me who should be apologizing. I knew you weren’t ready for this and I should have put a stop to it. I’m a complete asshole for even contemplating making love to you so soon after what happened.”