Guardian Cougar (Finding Fatherhood Book 2) (3 page)

Libby looked her over from head to toe before nodding. “I think just about everything will fit. I went for safe things like size medium, based on Jackson’s description. Everything’s maternity, of course, so it should give you some extra room if they’re too snug. Anything can be exchanged or returned, and I’ll leave the receipt with Jackson.”

“Thank you so much for everything. You’ve all been so kind, with the exception of the registrar at the hospital,” she said with a small smile, trying to stave off the urge to cry. Was she always so close to tears, or was it a side effect of exhaustion or even just the pregnancy itself? She had no answer, and she was afraid to probe too deeply. “Would you mind telling Jackson I’m going to lie down for a while?”

Libby shook her head. “Of course not. Have a good nap.”

After Libby had left the bedroom, closing the door behind her, Hannah briefly thought about unpacking the bags and hanging items or folding them into the utilitarian dresser in the corner. Deciding she was too tired to bother, she slipped into the bed, still wearing Jackson’s T-shirt. She could have searched for nightgowns or sleepwear, because Libby was sure to have brought at least a couple, but she found his shirt comforting and his scent soothing as she drifted off to sleep within minutes of her head touching the pillow. It was almost like having his arms around her as she slept, keeping her safe.

***

She woke screaming and thrashing, struggling to throw off the weight holding her down. “No,” she screamed.

“Hannah, it’s me, Jackson. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Her eyes blinked open, and awareness returned gradually. Finally, she realized she was in the guestroom, and the weight pinning her down was simply the blankets that had tangled around her as she’d thrashed in the throes of a nightmare. Her hair was sweaty at the nape of her neck, and her heart raced in her chest. There was a surge of nausea up her throat, and she lay perfectly still for a moment until it had passed. She stared at him with haunted eyes, incapable of speaking for the moment.

He took her hand, his thumb gliding along the back of it as he squeezed lightly. “It’s okay. It was just a nightmare. You’re safe here with me.”

His words, as much as his sincerity, convinced her he was right. She did feel safe with him, and as her eyelids started to close, she squeezed his hand and whispered, “Will you stay?”

His voice was far away as she started to return to sleep, but she distinctly heard him say, “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

The word
forever
drifted through her mind, but she pushed it away. In the vulnerable state between sleeping and waking, it sounded good, tempting even, but it was also ridiculous to feel so secure and drawn to someone she barely knew when she didn’t even know herself. She recalled nothing important about her life, and for all she knew, there was a husband waiting in the wings. The thought accelerated her heartrate again, but not necessarily with excitement. It was more of a dreadful feeling; one she was happy to let go of as sleep reclaimed her once more.

Hannah woke with a sore back, uncertain if she’d slept wrong, or if it was just part of pregnancy. A hot shower helped ease some of the ache, but she was still hobbling a bit as she slipped on a loose dress Libby had brought for her. It was a little large, but it would do, and it was nice to have something that didn’t smell like Jackson. Not because he smelled unpleasant, but because she liked his scent too much.

With her memories a complete blank, and a child growing inside her, fathered by someone she couldn’t remember, the last thing she should do was nurture an attraction to the man who had rescued her. It was the wrong time, and completely the wrong place in her life, but her resolve weakened when she left the bedroom and found Jackson in the living room, a laptop open on his lap. It was an abrupt reminder of how attractive he was, and she paused for a moment to catch her breath.

He looked up at her, worry evident in his expression. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, trying to dismiss the reaction. “My back hurts.” That was true, though it wasn’t the reason she had gasped audibly.

He waved a hand toward the kitchen. “There’s a plate for you in the microwave. I didn’t want to wake you, because you looked like you needed your rest.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. Do you have to work today?”

He nodded, barely glancing up from the screen. “I’m working right now. I’ve rearranged my schedule to be at home for a while, unless it’s something urgent. I’m doing the administrative things for a while, like background checks and electronic security issues.”

She turned toward the kitchen, supposing she should feel guilty for having Jackson rearrange his schedule, though she hadn’t asked him to. Instead, she just felt safe having him there, and she was happy he had a job that allowed him to do so. Hours per day spent alone could quickly drive her mad, especially since she had little to dwell on except trying to spark her memories.

She went to the microwave and reheated her breakfast, eating the pancakes and sausage as quickly as possible so she could rejoin Jackson in the living room. After cleaning her plate, sliding it into the dishwasher beside his, she left the kitchen and returned to the living room. He was in much the same position.

It surprised her how much she wanted to curl up on the couch with him and lay her head on his shoulder. The urge to do so was strong enough that it prompted her to select the recliner instead. She sat in it and popped the handle, moaning when her back stretched slightly and provided a small measure of relief.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t grin or tease her about the small moan. He just said, “It’s a comfortable chair, isn’t it?”

She nodded, closing her eyes as she snuggled into the leather. “I might never leave. I’ll just stay in the chair the rest of my life.”

He handed her the remote, and she turned on the television, mindlessly flipping through shows while he worked. It was amazing the things she remembered. She could identify several of the actors by name, and she remembered one of the period dramas she ran across, though they were at least two seasons ahead of where she’d been watching. It was frustrating to know she could remember the details of the Victorian-set drama, but couldn’t remember her own identity or past. She didn’t even know her last name, who her parents were, where she lived, or how she’d come to be in the ocean. Most importantly, she didn’t know who had fathered her baby.

Her son kicked her at that moment, and she rubbed the spot gently, feeling a surge of warmth sweep over her. Knowing her son deserved to know about his father, she closed her eyes and tried to remember anything about her past. She started with her most recent memories, focusing on the ocean and trying to force even a small image from her brain as to how she’d gotten there.

The harder she strained, the more her breath increased, and she felt slightly dizzy, but she kept trying. Finally, she had a flash of being in an inflatable raft, recognizing it as the kind sometimes used as a lifeboat on a private yacht. She had a sensation of floating, and her hands were icy, prompting her to look down in real life, where they gripped the remote and the chair arm in a white knuckle grasp. She had this vaguest memory of bailing water out of the raft with a water bottle, and then it was gone. That was all she got, and that effort left her shaking, sweating, and fearful.

When she had regained composure enough to look at Jackson, she found him staring at her, lines on his face revealing his concern. She gave him a wan smile.

“Are you all right?”

“It’s my back,” she said again, clinging to the excuse because she couldn’t explain why she’d had such a strong reaction to just trying to jar a simple memory. It seemed safer to stick with the physical ailment.

He put his laptop on the coffee table and stood up, coming closer to her chair. “Get up and lean over.  I’ll rub your back for you.”

She trembled at the idea, uncertain if it was anxiety or anticipation. Whatever it was, it didn’t deter her from following his suggestion, though she felt a little shaky as she got to her feet. As suggested, she gripped the arms of the chair and bent forward, exposing her lower back for his easier access.

The dress was thin and did little to muffle the heat of his hands against her back. He rubbed carefully and slowly, cautiously applying pressure to the most rigid spots on her back, but never escalating above a gentle massage. She relaxed as he continued rubbing, her breath escaping in a pleasurable sigh as she embraced the soothing touch of his fingers on her sore spots.

They might have stood there for twenty minutes or ten years. She wasn’t certain, because she lost track of time and lost herself in the soothing sensation. She wanted to mutter a little protest when his hands pulled away, but from the corner of her eye, she saw him flexing his fingers and realized he was probably sore from rubbing her. With a regretful sigh, she stood up slowly, relieved to find her back didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had before. Planning to thank him, she turned to say that, but found herself closer to him than she had expected.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, the firmness of her abdomen rested against his taut six-pack, and she stared up at him with her mouth open, surprised by the proximity and her reaction to the touch of his body against hers. It didn’t actually surprise her so much as arouse her, and she stared at him with uncertain eyes for a moment before stretching her head and going on tiptoe to brush her mouth against his. It was pure instinct, and she obeyed.

With a moan of his own, his arms went around her, and he threaded his fingers through her hair, bringing her mouth closer to his. It was a soft kiss, but hinted at the hunger he felt. It mirrored her own, and she molded her lips to his as she ran her tongue across the seam of his mouth, gently pressing her way inside to stroke his tongue with hers.

His arms tightened around her, and he pulled her body more firmly against his as the kiss deepened.

For a moment, all she felt was overwhelming pleasure, but then panic started. She was trapped, and his arms, which had been a welcoming support, were now a restrictive prison. She turned her head away from him and thrashed, trying to escape. She pulled away, and panic took over. The next few minutes were a blur as she struggled and lashed out, desperate to escape.

Finally, fatigue conquered her anxiety, and she sagged against him. At some point, she had turned in his arms again, and her back was pressed to his chest. As her breathing returned to normal, she realized he was holding her, but not tightly. It was more of a protective embrace, as though he’d been trying to keep her from hurting herself.

She winced when she saw the deep gouges in his arms, left there by her fingernails. “I’m sorry,” she said in a raspy voice.

His arms gently left her, as though he was reassured she was now in control and didn’t need to be regulated to keep from hurting herself. “It’s all right. You can’t help how you react. I was just afraid you were going to wound yourself.”

She nodded, feeling miserable. “I couldn’t control it. I just needed to escape.” Slowly, she turned around again to look up at him, biting her lip. “My brain knows you won’t hurt me, but it was just instinct that overpowered everything. I don’t know why I freaked out.”

His expression was grim for a moment, but then it cleared. “It’s all right. You’ve been through a lot, and I just wanted to make sure you’re safe.”

With regret, she brushed her finger near one of the scratches on his arm. “Instead, I hurt you. I’ll leave if you want me to. I don’t think I’m safe to be around.”

He shook his head, putting a bracing hand on her shoulder that felt oddly impersonal, and she was bereft at the loss of the connection she’d had with him just a few minutes before. “You’re not going to hurt me. I heal quickly, and I can handle a few scratches. If there’s somewhere you’d rather be, I’ll take you, but please don’t leave just because of this and to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

Tears flooded her eyes, and she collapsed against his chest. “I wish I could say the same,” she said in a thick voice, damp with tears. She hated feeling so helpless and lost, and as she leaned against him, his arm carefully around her in a loose fashion as he rubbed her back, she decided she wouldn’t try to pursue more memories. Whatever her brain had locked away, it was probably better not to remember. She just needed to start over, as though she had been born yesterday when he had pulled her from the ocean. Sometimes, some things were better left forgotten.

***

Later that night, Jackson lay in bed. It was after eleven, and he should have been asleep, but his mind was constantly worrying at the day’s events. After her anxiety attack, she had seemed calmer, spending the day relaxing and watching mindless television, with a surprising air of serenity. She clearly needed more help than he could provide, so he made a mental note to arrange a meeting with Tina Gordon tomorrow after her obstetric appointment.

Tina was the therapist they contracted with to provide victim support and advocacy for some of their clients who had been harmed in a violent way. After the way she had reacted to his kiss, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind Hannah had been through something violent, and each time she tried to remember it, or got a flash of it, she was at risk of another attack, where she might hurt herself. He hoped Tina would have some strategies to help her manage the process.

His body stiffened when he heard a faint whimper coming from the guestroom, followed by a louder sound of distress. He slid from his bed, taking a moment to slip on pajama pants before leaving the bedroom and moving down the hall to where his guest slept. She didn’t sound as if she was doing much sleeping now, and he didn’t need his acute sense of hearing to know that. His cat was fully at attention, pacing restlessly as it responded to the reek of fear and misery pouring from the room, tainting her pheromone signature.

He should have knocked, but he was anxious to reach her, so he just opened the door and slipped inside, not bothering with the light, because he had keen eyesight thanks to his shifter side. He identified her immediately, and she was thrashing on the bed as though fighting off an unseen adversary. His breath caught in his throat, but he pushed back his own reaction and strode forward, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed as he reached out a hand to wake her gently. “Hannah, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”

For a moment, she seemed lost in the images in her brain, but then her eyes snapped open. They were wild for a brief second before recognition appeared, letting him know she finally realized who was sitting on the bed with her.

With a small sob, she sat up and threw herself in his arms. He held her without thought and certainly without protest. Even under the circumstances, he enjoyed feeling her body curve against his, though he wished he could take away the tang of fear underlying her natural scent. He rubbed her back and whispered soothing words as she slowly calmed down, her breathing returning to normal. When she seemed completely calm, he pulled away slightly so he could look down and see her eyes. “Are you okay now?”

She nodded, though she looked uncertain.

“Did you remember anything?”

After a brief pause, she shook her head. “I don’t know if any of it was real. It was all so disjointed. Mostly, I just felt trapped and fearful. I can’t remember any actual visual memories that felt any more or less real than the rest of the nightmares.”

“Do you think you can sleep again?”

She nibbled on her lower lip as she tightened her arms around him. “Maybe, if you stay with me.”

The temptation of holding her in his arms all night without being able to act on it sounded like a special form of torture, but he pushed aside his own needs and nodded as he carefully eased her back onto the bed before lying on top of the covers, wanting to reassure her. “Of course I’ll stay if that’s what you need.”

It hovered on the edge of his tongue to tell her he’d give her anything she needed and do anything for her, but he was concerned the words were too much too quickly, and they might send her spiraling into fear again.

To be honest, the intensity of his feelings sent a spiral of fear through him. He briefly envied his friend Lucas who, as a bear-shifter, instinctively knew his mate’s identity. That seemed to be a trait unique mainly to bear-shifters, and he wished cougars benefited from it too. It would make life simpler to one day smell your mate’s pheromone signature and know she was perfectly compatible with you. There wouldn’t be the uncertainty and doubt that accompanied attraction otherwise.