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“Easy, baby, it’s me. It’s just me. It’s Ed.”
Ed. It was Ed. He wouldn’t hurt her. She was at his house. Not with that sick bastard.
“Sick,” she croaked out.
Picking her up, he carried her to the bathroom. She threw up over and over until there was nothing left in her stomach. He held her hair back. When she was finished, he gently lifted her and sat her on the counter.
“Can you sit by yourself, baby?” he asked gently.
“Yes. I’m . . .” She stopped herself from saying it.
“You’re learning,” he said to her.
She frowned. “I’m not a dog to be taught a lesson.”
He grasped hold of her chin. “No, you’re my girl, who needs to learn to not brush her needs away.”
She sucked in a breath. His T-shirt was coated with sweat and sticking to her. She felt disgusting.
He must have realized that because the look on his face softened. “Poor baby.” He put some toothpaste on her toothbrush then handed it to her.
After she brushed her teeth, he wiped her face. Then he grabbed another cloth and wet it. Putting her hands on her thighs, palms up, he put the cool cloth on her wrists.
She sighed in pleasure as the coolness helped her heated skin. He did the same with another cloth on the back of her neck.
“I’m going to get you a new T-shirt. Are you okay sitting there? You don’t feel dizzy?”
“No. I can get down.”
“Just sit there for a moment longer. Please, for me.”
It was the last part that had her nodding. He wasn’t a man who said please a lot. Not that he was an asshole. He was just used to getting his way.
When he returned with a clean T-shirt, she was feeling drained. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“Hush. What did I say about waking me up when you had a nightmare?”
“You’d be upset if I didn’t wake you up.”
“That’s right. Will you let me help you change your T-shirt? Nothing more.”
“I . . . I can’t.” He’d see her scar.
Something filled his face. Disappointment? She hated to think she had disappointed him. But then he gave a decisive nod.
“I get it.”
She reached out and grasped his hand. “No, you don’t. Me not wanting you to see me like that . . . it has nothing to do with you. It’s tied to my past.”
“To do with your nightmares? The man that hurt you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Will you tell me?”
“I . . . I . . .” Shit. Why was this so hard?
“It’s okay, Georgie-girl. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”
