James pushed himself up and took her in his arms. “Hush. It’s nothing to cry over.” He was still being strong for her. It was his past. His pain. And although she was only confronting it now, she knew he was still affected by it all. It was probably the real reason he never wanted to marry or have children. How could she fault him for his apparent choice? It was no real choice at all. If one was never shown love, how could one show love? Yet here he was, holding her. Calming her. Reassuring her that his past didn’t signify. But to hell with that, his past was important. It did matter. He needed to know that he mattered.
“If you won’t cry,” Joan blubbered, “I’ll cry for you.” She hiccupped. “I’m sorry your mother never hugged you. I’m sorryyou never learned how comforting a family could be. I’m sorry they didn’t show you love.” Indignation gripped her heart. There had never been a place for such anger carved out in her heart, and maybe one day she would feel differently, but in this moment, she found something she had never expected. “I hate them for that.”
“It’s all in the past. Long gone now. It’s not worth your tears.” Again, he was soothing her. His tone was like a balm to her wounds, when really it was his pain and she should be consoling him.
Her heart was heavy within her. Her throat ached from holding back her sobs, and her already puffy eyes burned from what tears she had allowed herself to shed.
The emotions were all too much.
She pulled her face away from his chest, furious for him, at him, at his parents. At anyone who could neglect a child for no reason. She threw her arms around his neck, desperate for the truth to sink into him. “Youareworth my tears, James.”
Chapter 16
“In God’s name let us go on bravely.”
—Joan of Arc
YOU ARE WORTH MY tears.He couldn’t stop the words from repeating over and over again in his head. People didn’t cry over him. Sure, some women were disappointed when he didn’t bed them for a second time or when he stopped seeing them altogether. But no one cried for him like this, as if she knew him and cared about him. As if she wanted to ease some pain in his life. A pain he was loath to acknowledge. Surely he was old enough now to have overcome the drama that was his childhood.
“Are you in pain?” she asked, her hands moving over his ankle.
That light touch sent a small spasm up his leg, and he wasn’t sure if it was pain or pleasure.
“I’m fine.” He needed to say something—anything—to get her hands off of him. To get her attention off of him.
“You don’t look fine. You look pale.” While she spoke, she moved her hands up his leg toward his knee. “Is your knee all right?”
“Yes,” he grunted.
“What about—”
“I wouldn’t go any further than that Joan, unless you’re looking for an extension to what happened last night.”
With a deep blush, gradually she pulled her hands down from his thigh where she was only a few inches away from his swelling cock.
“Something isn’t quite right. You seem strained.”
Damn this woman. He was strained. Straining at the seams where his arousal was testing the fabric of his falls. But she was still mumbling to herself, “Must be your other leg then.” And then her hands were on his ankle. Intent upon finding his source of pain. Let her look.
It felt nice to have such a gentle caress with no sexual motivation. And while she sought, he thought.
Joan hardly knew him. Her aggregated knowledge consisted of the fact that he was a rake, he was a loyal friend, and he could give her pleasure.
Yet…even as he thought about her, he knew there was something deeper. Something beyond the facts. From their initial attempt at communication, there had been something there enabling them to understand each other. He understood her. What motivated her. How her mind worked. And absurdly, she seemed to have the same abilities where he was concerned.
“We should get back,” he said gruffly, not commenting on her tears from earlier. If she wanted to cry, he would let her. But he wasn’t going to go any further down that road of emotions with her.
He watched as she ducked her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She nodded, with her chin still tucked against her chest. James almost felt a stab of guilt in his chest as he watched her stand up.
Letting her take a few steps, he breathed in relief needing some space from her. Her and all her caring. Yes, he could do with less of that.
With a grumble, he rose to his feet. Pain jolted up his ankle more intensely than he would have predicted, and he knew he wouldn’t make it all the way back unassisted.
“Joan.” At her name, she turned around with a glimmer of hope, and it was torture for him to say the words, “I need you—”
She rushed toward him.
“—to help me.” He pointed down at his foot. “I might have turned my ankle.”
