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The bed sagged behind her and a gentle male hand slipped under the covers, finding her thigh, drawing slowly up to her hip and then down again to her knee. Mmm. Scott. Delicious shivers followed that tender touch and she moaned softly, encouraging the hand to continue. It did. Rounding her bottom, sliding up her back, over to the side of her breast and then across to her other side.

She'd roll over in a minute, revealing her breasts to
his touch, but first she just wanted to lie there, enjoying the perfect moment. The hand seemed agreeable to her silent choices, moving over her back, down her bottom, around to the back of her leg.

And then the quality of its motion changed. A couple of fingers darted between her legs from behind, entering her quickly, and Kate recognized the touch instantly. Fully awake, she shot up so abruptly that her movement jerked the fingers painfully from her body.

“Don't you
dare
ever touch me like that again,” she choked out, her long hair falling in her face as she clutched her husband's expensive sheets to her naked body.

“Kate, love…” he started, reaching gently to brush the hair from her face with the same hand that had just been inside her.

“Don't say the word ‘love' to me.” That tone of voice would have garnered her a slap in years gone by. At the moment, she didn't care if he beat her to death, she wasn't going to let him touch her that way again.

She'd learned what it was like to have her body loved since she'd last seen this man. It was something she'd never forget. A memory she didn't want diminished by settling for less. For
accepting
less.

Watching her with those all-seeing gray eyes, he nodded, propping himself up on a couple of pillows on the other side of the bed. The unusual retreat confused her.

“It's okay, honey, I understand. Men tend to believe
that physical love leads to the development of emotional bonds, while women need the emotional connection first.”

What?
Kate stared at him. She wanted to get out of the bed, had to use the bathroom, but didn't dare move for fear he'd grab hold of the sheet that was her only covering, leaving her completely exposed.

“How did I get here?”

How did I get naked?
was the real question. It was one she couldn't ask. Because the answer was going to be more than she could bear.

Please, God, tell me he only undressed me. Only fondled me.
She knew Thomas would absolutely have done that much, played with her breasts once he had them naked, teased the nipples to life, getting off on the proof that he could arouse her even during unconsciousness. She didn't want to know—ever—if he'd done more than that. The thought of Thomas mounting her unconscious body made her heart so sick she refused to consider it.

She was on the pill, thanks to the free program at the women's shelter where she'd first found a bed after abruptly leaving her life in San Francisco behind. There would be no consequences, no matter what he'd done. Assuming she got to Carley's today, where her pills were.

The thoughts took only seconds to chase across her mind. She stared at the devil who starred in so many of her nightmares. She had to remember the hard-won les
sons of the past two years. She was strong. Capable. Intelligent and worthy of love.

“How did I get here?” she asked again, her voice more controlled.

“I brought you, of course. When they called me from the station, I went immediately to get you. You were overwrought, passing out from exhaustion. I carried you to the car, brought you home…and…put you to bed.”

His eyes took on that seductively slumberous look she'd once loved and had grown to fear even more than she feared his anger. He'd touched her, the bastard.

“Where are my clothes?”

He pointed. “Over there.”

All she saw “over there” was an empty love seat, where the chaise longue used to be. Okay, so she had to keep her wits about her. At least she'd slept. Her head was throbbing, but it wasn't pounding, wasn't obliterating every coherent thought. On the surface, he had the upper hand. She couldn't very well escape without clothes.

Not unless he made it a matter of life and death.

She glanced back at him, determined now to read him as he'd always read her, to engage in his mental battle and, for perhaps the first time, be a credible opponent. He was physically attractive, this demon she'd married. His hair, still naturally blond at forty, was thick and cut so that it looked sexy and windblown, even first thing in the morning. His shoulders were broad, the sandy hair
on his chest adding to the youthful appearance he retained.

Her eyes moved lower and she wasn't surprised to see that he was as naked as she—and not the least bit concerned with modesty. His penis lay against the bed of hair spreading across his pelvis, hard and ready for the sex he'd tried to initiate.

She'd never been so repulsed in her life.

“I
have to call Carley.” Kate sat up straighter in Thomas's bed, clutching the sheet more tightly around her, thinking of her ally. She wasn't all alone this time around. Someone else knew that Thomas was deranged—evil. Somehow she had to get out of this house.

“Done.”

“You called Carley.” Why didn't that surprise her?

He nodded, a small grin softening his mouth. She'd once melted at that look, had pressed her lips eagerly against that mouth, as anxious as he for their tongues to meet, mingle, start the foreplay that would inevitably lead to his invasion of her body.

She'd given up expecting to enjoy the event years before. He'd always told her that her lack of pleasure had been her own fault. And what had she known? She'd been a virgin when she entered Thomas Whitehead's bed. He was the one who'd had all the experience.

“What did you tell her?”

Arms folded across his chest, he shrugged easily.
“That you were sleeping. That I was calling so she wouldn't worry. She'll expect you to phone her soon. We need to make arrangements to collect Taylor.”

Her heart started to pound. Who'd told him her son's name? Or that Carley had him? Her son had not been mentioned, other than with Amy Black, when they'd discussed possible DNA samples. At Carley's insistence, she'd given her story only to Amy, who'd agreed to let Kate keep her son out of the fray for as long as she could.

What had Carley thought of her being here, sleeping in Thomas's bed? Did her friend know they were dropping all charges against him?

Thomas sat there with that smile on his face, looking like every girl's dream of a charming, kind, rich husband who wanted only to please the woman of his heart. And anyone who could see him now would fall for the act. He could commit murder and sit naked in his bed with his murdered lover's best friend and smile as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Collect Taylor? He'd said they were going to collect Taylor?

She couldn't do that. Even if it meant she never saw her beloved son again. She had to protect him from this maniac.

“Come on, baby, it's been two long years. What do you say we…uh…reunite, and then we'll handle everything else together….” He leaned over as he spoke, ran the back of his fingers over her nipple in a way he knew
would get him the response he wanted. It hardened instantly.

Kate hated herself for that.

She let him play with the same breast that had fed their son all those months, wondering which would be worse—lying there, spreading her legs for Thomas; or risking his immediate wrath if she tried to reject him.

History pretty much told her she wouldn't succeed. She could take it gently, like she was doing now, not fighting him as his hand slid across to her other breast, teasing that nipple into a tautness that matched the one he'd started with. Or she could resist and take it hard, fighting him while he jerked her legs apart, pushed himself into her with one harsh thrust and cursed at her until she was raw and praying for his orgasm so it would all be over. But one way or another, she was going to have to take it if she hoped to get dressed.

With a soft tug of the sheet she was still holding, he silently demanded complete access to her breasts and Kate released it, watching as if from afar as his finger stroked the tip of one breast. He pressed his tongue against her, nipped tenderly while his hand played with her other breast.

She couldn't think. Couldn't remember. Falling back against the headboard, she lay there, propped up, an object for him to conquer. His mouth moved to her second breast and his hand slid lower, caressing her stomach, continuing down.

He was going to be dipping his fingers between her
legs momentarily, pushing against her inner thigh, demanding she spread her legs. And then it could be another hour before he spasmed inside her with his final orgasm. Thomas had an armory of creative ways to touch a woman, kiss her, enter her body.

“No, please.” The whimper came from someplace deep inside her. He wouldn't care. Sometimes she'd wondered if Thomas got more personal pleasure out of her resistance than he did her compliance—even in the early days, when she'd been a willing participant in anything he'd suggest, pretending orgasm after orgasm in her attempt to be even half the woman her adored husband thought she was.

“What?”

Blinking, Kate came back to the present to see the fiend's soft blue gaze on her. Her nipple puckered anew as the room's cool air touched the wetness left by Thomas's mouth and tongue. His hand stilled on her crotch.

“What?” he asked again.

He knew damn well she didn't want what he was doing to her. She'd told him so many times in the past she'd been like a broken record.

“I asked you to stop.”

He didn't say anything, just continued to peer up at her, his breath on her breast, his hand a pressure between her legs.

“I…we…have so much to discuss,” she stammered.
We haven't even seen each other in two years, you bas
tard. I don't know you. I certainly don't love you. You don't own me. And I don't want your fucking body anywhere near mine.
“I'm confused. A-a-and tired. I…can't…concentrate on…this…right now.”

Bending to her breast, he licked her nipple once. Looked up at her. Licked it again. “Your body begs to differ with you.”

“Thomas, cold air of any kind makes that happen. Whether I'm getting out of the shower, walking outside in the wintertime—” breastfeeding “—or having sex, it does that. It doesn't mean I want you to do this right now. I don't.”

“You didn't object last night….”

Oh, God. Don't tell me I already have his sperm swarming around inside me.
Normally she could tell and this morning she still felt—dry.

“I was asleep!”

“I mean before that, at the station.” His eyes were wide, clear, as he stared at her. “When I walked into that interrogation room, you practically fell into my arms. And once you knew I was there, knew you were safe, you gave in to the exhaustion overwhelming you and left it up to me to get you home and into bed.”

“Last night I was out of my mind with exhaustion, yes, but with confusion, disorientation and grief, as well. I'd just been through more than eight hours of questioning, hearing too many things I couldn't cope with. I—” She stopped. She'd told him more than she'd ever intended.

He knew the truth of their relationship. He
knew
why she'd run away. And Leah's death was proof that she'd had just cause. How could he possibly believe she'd fallen willingly into his arms the night before? He'd grabbed her in a way she couldn't have resisted without a lot of physical and mental effort. She'd been fresh out of both.

She'd never planned to leave that station with him. Still wasn't sure how that had happened.

“So what are you saying?” His eyes had narrowed.

Kate stiffened, prepared for the onslaught. But she was glad she'd spoken. She might not be able to prevent his invasion of her body—she could scream and no one would hear, try to get away and he'd catch her. But she didn't have to lay down her spirit for him to rape, too. She'd rather take his abuse fighting than lie there submissively. The physical pain would ease eventually. It always did. It was the mental and emotional anguish of submission that never seemed to heal. She'd learned that in the past two years.

“I'm not prepared to do this.”
I don't love you! I despise your touch! I wish you were in hell which is where you take me every time you get near me!

The pressure at her crotch deepened—and then vanished. Thomas pulled the sheet over her breasts, sat up. “Then we don't do it,” he said, his tone as congenial as it had been the time his mother had tried to force a living-room couch on her that she'd abhorred and Thomas had supported her desire to refuse the gift.

Of course, he'd abhorred his mother, so it hadn't been any great sacrifice on his part.

Lifting the seat of the new bench at the bottom of the bed, he pulled out Carley's beautiful silk suit, wrinkled from the previous day's wear. “You can put this on until we have a chance to get your things out of storage.”

Staring, mouth open, Kate said, “You stored my clothes?”

He stopped on his way to the bathroom. Turned to look at her. “I always hoped you'd come back.”

When the door shut behind him, Kate quickly stood, pulling on the clothes so fast they tangled. She should feel relieved. Satisfied, if perhaps confused.

She should.

But gazing at that closed bathroom door, wondering what diabolical new tactic the man behind it had concocted, all Kate felt was sick.

 

As soon as she heard the shower, Kate went downstairs in the home she'd lived in for years, looked briefly for the purse she'd borrowed from Carley and, not finding it, walked out the front door empty-handed.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Winchester, ma'am.” Sammie, her husband's chauffeur, appeared from the side of the house, almost as though the front door had somehow been rigged.

Don't let your imagination run away with you,
Kate reminded herself. She had enough problems without seeing things that weren't there.

“Thank you, Sammie. It's good to see you.” She'd always liked him, although she was under no illusions. Sammie was Thomas's man, through and through.

Not that she'd ever thought the chauffeur actually liked or even respected Thomas. He was one of the few who saw her husband for the cold calculating man he was. But Sammie received a large paycheck for his loyalty.

With a quick nod, she started down the walk.

Kate had often suspected the other man often laughed all the way to the bank.

“Can I drop you someplace?” He was her husband's age and, though his hair was mostly gray, he was in good physical shape. He stood on the cement directly in front of her.

“No, thanks,” she said, squinting up at him as she stepped around him.

He was in front of her again. “Mr. Whitehead told me to make sure I took you wherever you wanted to go,” he said. “You wouldn't want me to get into trouble with him, would you?”

Two years ago the plea would have worked. That was back when Kate took responsibility for her husband's abuse and had done whatever she could to protect others from it.

“I'd guess your orders were more like ‘don't let her out of your sight,'” she said, walking on. “And no, I don't particularly care if he gets angry with you or anyone else. I'm a free woman and I choose to leave, now and on foot.”

He was in front of her again, his hands out as though he needed to intercept her, but wasn't sure how. “Please, ma'am, you can go wherever you like, just let me take you. It's a mile walk into town from here.”

“A five-mile walk is not unusual for me these days, Sammie,” she said, smiling at him. She picked up her pace as she reached the front gate. “I'm going now,” she added, opening the wrought-iron door on the right side of the sliding gate. “Tell Mr. Whitehead I'll be in touch.”

“But—”

“You come near me, Sammie and I'm pressing charges.” Her tone stopped him. Probably because he was so shocked to hear it coming from her.

Kate didn't much care why the chauffeur finally gave up. She just thanked God he had. She'd gained a lot of strength in the past two years, but coming home had thrown her back into the feelings and fears of the woman she'd been when she left. Confusing her. Scaring her. Weakening her. For the next hour, skating in and out between trees in the surrounding neighborhoods, traveling by backyards, snagging Carley's skirt as she climbed over a rock wall, Kate willed the shaking in her muscles to stop.

You don't have to worry,
she kept telling herself, although the mantra didn't seem to be doing much good. She
didn't
have to worry. She wasn't going to fall prey to his abuse again. She had an edge this time.

She knew how to run. And she had a job to do.

There was a little boy who'd woken up this morning
without his mother's smile to greet him. She had to get to Taylor. She'd worry about everything else once she'd held her baby close and let him know that his world was safe.

 

It was after noon by the time Kate arrived, barefoot and blistered, at Carley's back door. She'd had to circle around the neighborhood and come in from the opposite direction when she'd noticed Sammie in a car she didn't recognize, parked in a driveway down the street.

Trembling, hungry and tired, she knocked on the door.
Please, someone be here.

The door flew open immediately, as though the occupant had been on the other side waiting for her.

“Kate! Thank God you're here! Come in.”

Benny Winchester, a short balding man with glasses and the readiest smile she'd ever seen, stepped aside and then, after closing the door behind her, took her into his arms for a very welcome hug.

“Carley's been frantic to hear from you,” he said a couple of seconds later as he stood back, looking her up and down. He was dressed just as she'd always seen him, in dark casual slacks, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his muscled forearms, and loafers.

“Thomas took the purse she gave me,” Kate told him, able to find a wry smile in spite of the stress she'd been carrying alone. “And the money she also gave me was in it.” With a tilt of her head, Kate met Benny's
gaze, relaxing more than she had in a long, long while. “I can't thank you guys enough for everything you're doing, Benny. I'll pay you back, I prom—”

“Don't even say it.” Benny cut her off with a shake of his head. “You've been a member of Carley's family a lot longer than I have,” he said. “We're all in this together. For better or worse.”