Drake Sisters 05 - Safe Harbor

time on her behalf—and at her.
    "I-I was humiliated that I c-couldn't control it." She paused, drawing in a deep breath and forcing herself to stop the stuttering. Her sisters had helped a day or two earlier, and if she just stayed calm and talked slow, she'd be all right. "Someone like you, Jonas, someone so in c-control of everything could never understand what it's like to be so out of control—so afraid of everything. I don't think I've ever seen you afraid of anything or anyone."
    She wasn't looking at him, and her voice, so small and forlorn, broke his heart.
    "Maybe not, Hannah, maybe I don't have a hope in hell of understanding what you go through, but shutting me out isn't going to help. I want to be there for you. I want you to trust me."
    Hannah glanced at him, her eyes wide, tears swimming, but not falling. "I trust you, Jonas."
    He shook his head. "No you don't. Not really. You thought I'd make fun of you, didn't you?"
    She pressed a hand to her stomach. "I hate it. I hate you seeing me so—so—
    cowardly ."
    "Is that how you see yourself? A coward?" He kept his voice gentle, when he wanted to throttle her. She was the last person on earth who was a coward. Why did she persist in seeing herself in such a negative light all the time?
    "You know I am. You even called me a rabbit when you were in the hospital."
    "I was drugged up and mad as hell. Someone shot me, Hannah, and you and your sisters were in danger. I knew you were giving me your strength. You sat there day after day getting pale and weaker as I grew stronger. It made me crazy. I still get crazy when I think too much about it."
    He leaned close, framing her face with his hands, and told her the truth as he knew it.
    "I'm supposed to look after you. That's the way it works in my world. Maybe it's chauvinistic or whatever the political term is, but I like looking after you and your sisters. I don't want it to be the other way around, especially when I can see you fading away."
    He ran the pad of his finger down her cheek, traced the shape of her lips and leaned in to brush the softest of kisses over her mouth.
    Startled, her lashes lifted and her gaze collided with his. Her heart nearly stopped beating. One little touch and she was nearly in meltdown, forgiving everything, every insult, his overbearing, arrogant ways. Forgiving him for leaving her alone, frightened and angry for the last four days.
    "Kiss me back, Hannah," he coaxed, an ache in his voice.
    She heard his raw need and her body responded, even when her brain told her there was some mistake. His mouth was sheer magic—just as he was. Dark and sensual and so soft when everything else about him was hard. No one kissed like Jonas, she was absolutely sure of it, his tongue sliding along hers until she was lost in his taste and scent and his pure masculine sensuality.
    His hand cupped her face, thumb sliding over her skin, his body moving closer, arms tightening with possession. He was gentle, tender even, and she felt cherished—
    wanted and cherished.
    Jonas lifted his head and looked at her, into her large blue eyes. A man could get lost there, trapped for all time—and he had. He didn't even care. He didn't want to escape.
    Her lashes were blond, but thick and curly and so damned feminine it made him ache inside. Her skin was the softest thing he'd ever touched. She was so soft, so fragile.
    And the look on her face, she looked frightened of him, but she wanted him. He saw it there, right along with the fear.
    He could deal with her fear. He just had to go slow, not letting her see he wanted to devour her, share her skin, lock himself inside her until all the troubles of the world dropped away and he found peace again. He just had to stay in control—and wasn't he famous for control?
    He traced her classic bone structure with the pads of his fingers, trying to absorb her into his own skin. No one had bone structure the way she did—it was one of the things that made her so famous and sought after. Her skin was every bit as soft as it looked, so flawless he was always amazed to see the sprinkling of light freckles across her small, straight nose. Her mouth was lush, made for kissing, made to bring a man straight to his knees, to bring him more pleasure than he ever deserved. He'd had enough fantasies about her mouth to fill a library.
    He shifted his weight, and brought his head the scant few inches separating them to take her mouth again. What had he been thinking about