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Scooping her up wasn’t the easiest task when she was rigid. She didn’t move a damn muscle—not to fight, not to help. Fear froze her solid and talking to her wasn’t getting him anywhere. “Jenna, look at me. Look at me, beautiful.”
For fuck’s sake, was that her teeth chattering?
Swearing a blue streak under his breath, admittedly not helping the situation, Connor swept her back into the bedroom and put her carefully on the bed. He turned the lamp on, barely restraining himself from hurling it across the room.
She blinked like an owl, still wouldn’t look at him.
“Eyes!” he snapped.
The sharp edge of his tone turned trembles into shudders. Connor blew out a slow breath, reminded himself this wasn’t a bratty sub acting out for attention. If he was tired down to the bone, so what? Physical and mental exhaustion wasn’t a valid excuse, wasn’t a shadow of a good reason, to lose his fraying temper with a half-pint woman who currently wasn’t even consciously awake.
Asshole.
Shadowed eyes lifted hesitantly to his. Inside them lived a girl he didn’t know. This was the girl he caught fleeting glimpses of when panic drove her into madness. How hard, he wondered, did Jenna work to keep this wildness under control? Especially now, faced with strangers and situations she wasn’t prepared for, how did she cope with this hellion fighting inside her?
Connor edged a hip onto the mattress, held his hands up, palms out. Moving slowly, he reached to cup her cheek. Her skin was stone cold. She didn’t move, but the pulse in her neck was visibly erratic. “Jenna, I think it’s time you woke up now. Do you understand me?”
Had the fucker who’d trained her into his whipping bitch written a fucking manual on how to command her? Key words to control her every move?
“Abra-ca-fucking-dabra,” he muttered bitterly, stroking the strong jut of her cheekbone with his thumb. “Neither of us is going to like this, baby, but you have to snap out of this shit.”
Jenna just stared at him.
“Okay then. Jenna,” he commanded in his deepest, most effective Dominant voice. “Wake up, now!” It wasn’t quite a shout, only a decibel off, but it resonated in the room and shut Jenna down like flipping a switch. “Fuck. Bad idea, you moron. Shout at the traumatized woman, what a bright idea.”
He tapped her cheek. Shook her, ever mindful of the condition of her body. Set his hand on the top of her thigh and pinched the pathetic muscle as hard as he could stand.
Those damned eyes told him she’d had all that and worse in the past.
Hurting her was beyond the realm of possibility. He physically couldn’t bring himself to slap her, to cause her yet more pain. Arguing with the heart desperate to have her wake and smile at him, Connor summoned the doctor to the forefront of reasoning and took a good, hard look at her.
She wasn’t in pain or distress. No thrashing or struggling.
“Sleep it off, baby. Maybe that’s the only thing to do.”
Muttering to himself, Connor switched off the light and climbed into bed beside her. He debated for several moments, then threw all caution to the wind and tugged her inert form on top of him, hissing as her icy skin made contact with his warm flesh.
It solidified his decision, and he dragged the covers over them, tucked them in tight. Hugging her closer was an impossible dream, so he draped one arm carefully over her back where he knew it wouldn’t hurt her and held her hip with his other hand.
Her heart drummed against his chest. Cold as ice, stiff as a corpse, her only movement was the short, shallow breaths of the prey animal. Eyes open, staring blindly. Waiting, watching, poised.
Connor closed his eyes, discovering his own comfort in holding her. The words of the song she loved ran through his head, and he hummed the tune under his breath. A little off-key—he’d never be a singer—but the depth and soul of the melody was clear enough.
Jenna shivered as warmth began to circulate through her. Her skin lost the nasty chill, her muscles relaxed. Connor kept humming, smiling to himself as the weight on him grew heavier, more malleable.
Risking a peek, he studied her face in the dim light of the television and sent up a prayer of sincere thanks to anyone listening.
Face tranquil, breathing easy, Jenna slept.
Connor wasn’t far behind.
*
“You remember the rules for eating, right?”
Smothered in the T-shirt she adored and refused to relinquish, Jenna sat at the kitchen table and nodded. They’d been over the eating rules several times, especially when she forgot to abide by them.
Connor kept telling her it wasn’t her fault when she forgot she wasn’t supposed to eat like a dog with her hands behind her back and her face in the bowl or on the plate. He didn’t shout at her if she guarded her food with her arms, back raised, teeth showing.
