Intimate Whispers by Dee Carney Page A

with Him is always consensual. I always have a choice.” Sort of. She had the choice between madness induced by the voices or giving her body to Him for a few hours of His pleasure. Not much of a choice, but at least it existed.
    “You’re not going to tell me who he is, are you? Despite what he did to you.”
    “It’s not something I can explain.” He handed her the mug when she reached for it.
    “What? You’re into some sort of masochism or something? You think I wouldn’t understand if you’re into some sort of games in the bedroom? Games that leave you hurt and bloodied.” His voice thickened, concern so palpable she looked up. “Do you have any idea of the thoughts going through my mind over the last forty-eight hours? I haven’t slept since I got here, afraid that if I drifted off for even a second, I’d awake to find you gone. Dead. Me, here with you, knowing I should have gotten help, but torn between doing the right thing and respecting your wishes. I sat up and watched you. I watched you cry out in your sleep, I listened to you whimper like a wounded animal. I held you as you cried. Give me something. Something that’ll ease my mind.” Her hands shook as she brought the mug to her lips, swallowing down large mouthfuls of the soup. It no longer tasted like nirvana in a mug, but it filled a hole like nothing else she’d ever known. Placing it on the nightstand next to her when done, she dared to lie on her side. She patted the bed. “I’m tired, Jason, and I’m fine. Lie here next to me for a little while. Let’s get some sleep.” A fire burned in his eyes, so she offered the only salve she could think of at the moment. “Rest with me and let’s talk when we wake up. You can go to sleep now without worrying about me. I promise.” She watched him wrestle with himself, still vacillating between his role as hero and savior and his role as friend. He needed to rest, she could tell. Days-old stubble grew over his face. His clothes were wrinkled and had the faint odor of old sweat on them.
    “You don’t look fine.”
    His surliness brought another smile. “I don’t?” Jason didn’t smile back. “No, you don’t. And I’m not even talking about the wounds on your back. You look sick. Like you haven’t slept in a week. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re running a fever.”
    Pressing her wrist to her forehead disputed his claim. “The Tylenol would mask any fever I might have.”
    “I’m worried about infection, among other things. Please, let me get you some help.”
    She closed her eyes, cutting off sight of his worry. “I’m going to sleep now. When I wake up, I hope you’ll be here resting next to me. I want to pay you back for your kindness when I awake.”
    “Not necessary,” he muttered.
    47

    Dee Carney
    “I know.”
    But she would. If it was the last thing she did, she’d help him get in contact with Thad.
    * * * * *
    He breathed easily in his sleep. Rhythmic sounds she listened to with rapt attention.
    He couldn’t have been comfortable in a shirt and jeans, but always the gentleman, this neighbor friend, exhaustion claimed him before he chose to remove them.
    The new growth on his chin gave him a rugged appeal she could grow used to. And why had she never noticed before now the long curl of his lashes, resting against his cheeks?
    Jason possessed a strong profile. The straight slope of his nose worth running her finger over. A chiseled jawline the stuff artists dreamed of.
    Someone slept in her bed. Rested next to her. Something He would never be capable of doing, nor was she so sure she ever wanted Him to do. But this, having Jason next to her, brought with it a sense of security. A growing feeling of belonging. It wasn’t hers to claim, true, but it hovered there nonetheless.
    She dared to reach out to him, hesitated, but then laid her hand across his abdomen, flat and slowly rising and falling in perfect calm. In his sleep, Jason covered her hand with his own, the