A stroke of his finger over her skin before he released her.

Returning inside, she gave herself a moment to cry and to punch out her rage on the pillows. She hated Noah’s parents right now, maybe even more than the man who’d hurt him.

Heart still thumping after she’d washed off her face, she dug up the sleeping bag she’d bought for a camping trip Becca had organized a couple of years ago. Putting it aside, she changed out of her slip and robe, and into warm microfleece pajamas. By the time she returned to the picnic blanket, Noah seemed totally out of it. Moving quietly, she rolled out the sleeping bag and getting in, turned on her side so she could look at his face.

Even in sleep, there was a tension about his features that said he didn’t rest easy.

Reaching out, she stroked his hair again until the strain seemed to lessen. She kept it up until her own eyes were so heavy and gritty that she fell asleep with her hand lying by his head, golden strands brushing her fingertips.

Noah woke in the hazy gray of early morning, but for once, he felt no sense of constriction, of being trapped. It took him a couple of seconds to realize he was outside in Kit’s garden… and that Kit was curled up on her side in a sleeping bag next to him.

Everything came racing back: what he’d told her, what she’d said, the way she’d touched him.

His heart thudded in a raw combination of anguish and shame and hope. She was still here, so maybe she wasn’t going to kick him to the curb. Maybe.

Moving very, very carefully, he ran a single finger over her cheek. She made a frowning face and snuggled down. He knew he should let her be, but he couldn’t. He had to know how she’d look at him this morning. So he did the same thing again, pressing a little bit harder so it wouldn’t tickle.

This time she didn’t frown, just kind of settled under the touch.

When her eyes opened a few minutes later, he had to fight not to look away. He had to see, because now, while she was unguarded, that’s when he’d see how she really felt. Later, she’d hide any disgust because she was a good person, a kind one. At this instant, she was vulnerable and he’d take advantage of that vulnerability to see… to know.

At first, all he saw was drowsy grumpiness. “I was sleeping.”

“I know.” He kept his hand on her cheek. “I wanted to wake you.”

“You know I’m not a morning person,” came the mutter before she yawned, her gaze clearing.

And then she truly looked at him… and he saw what he’d always seen when Kit looked at him: no shame, no pity, no disgust. Just Kit’s stunning amber eyes looking at him as if she saw something of value in him.

“So?” she said with a scowl. “You woke me. Now entertain the beast.”

He felt his cheeks crease. “I don’t feel sleepy. It has to be at least five hours since we fell asleep.”

“Since you fell asleep.” She poked him in the chest. “I was stroking your hair, remember?”

He did remember. The strokes had been soothing and caressing and just… caring. He’d never had that, never let anyone close enough to show care. “That was nice. Will you do it again?”

“I might.” A sparkle in her eyes, she turned her head to press a kiss to his palm. “But for now I’m going back to sleep.”

He didn’t think she’d be able to fall asleep, but he’d forgotten how often she had to sleep at odd times because of shooting schedules. She was out again in minutes, but that was okay. He could deal now that he’d seen her eyes, seen that she still saw him as Noah, the man she wanted, and not Noah, the boy who’d been helpless in that Cape Cod room all those years ago.

He didn’t know where they’d go from here, but for this one morning, everything was all right, and he could watch Kit while she slept beside him.

Kit groaned as she walked into the kitchen after her shower. “I hate camping.”

“I kind of liked it.” The freedom, the night air around him, the stars above and Kit beside him. It was all he needed.

“Hmph.”

“Come here, Grumpy Guts.” He held up a plate with a fresh waffle doused in syrup.

Eyes lighting up, she hopped up to sit at the counter and didn’t even protest when he insisted on feeding the food to her, taking a bite now and then himself. “Here.” He handed her a mug of coffee when he saw her glancing around for a drink.

“Mmm, my favorite blend.” Breathing deep, she took a sip. “More waffle.”

Laughing at her tone, he opened the waffle maker to take out the one he’d started cooking partway through their demolition of this one. He got most of the second one since Kit declared herself full after a couple more bites.

“Can we talk about stuff?”

He felt his back stiffen at the careful question. “Yeah.” It came out harsh.

But Kit’s question wasn’t what he’d expected, wasn’t about what had happened to him as a kid. “You don’t like sex, but what about the rest?”

“Jesus, Kit, you know I’ve been around the block. I’ve probably done everything they write about in Penthouse and then some.”

Kit scowled at him over the lip of her coffee mug. “If I come up with something you haven’t done, will you do it with me?”

“Yeah, why not?” If she was still willing to be with him, he’d give her everything he could. “But babe, you’ll be eighty before you unearth anything I haven’t done.”

“Uh-huh.” She sipped her coffee. “Have you ever had a massage from a lover, given one yourself?”

He stared at her, blinked. “No.”

A smug smile. “Oh, what’s that I hear?” She cupped a hand at her ear. “It’s the sound of Noah St. John eating humble pie. Why yes, Kit,” she added in a deep voice, “this humble pie is mighty delicious.”

“Smart-ass.” He grinned. “I thought you were talking about sex stuff.”

“It falls on the spectrum—that’s why they call them massage parlors.”

“Are you going to offer a happy ending?” She was right; it all came down to sex.

Another scowl. “I’m not that kind of girl.” A pointed finger. “And you owe me a massage tonight.”

He went to reply, shut his mouth when he realized that a massage would give him permission to put his hands on Kit. For a while at least, it wouldn’t be about sex. It would just be about touching her, and he wanted to do that. He’d always wanted to touch Kit. “I guess I’d better buy some oil.”

Chapter 34

Kit had no idea what she was doing. Noah needed a counselor, but since he refused to even consider going to see one, they had to stumble through this on their own. Part of that meant reading everything she could online about abuse survivors. She did that during the day while Noah hooked up with David and Abe to go see a set of drums David was thinking of buying.

The first thing that became clear was that Noah’s belief that as a male, he should’ve been able to protect himself, wasn’t unusual. According to the help sites and forums, even small boys picked up and internalized the wider world’s ideas about “real men.” How those ideas had savaged Noah broke Kit’s heart.

In his case, his parents’ actions had further solidified his beliefs. Robert and Virginia had made him feel like he was the one who’d done something wrong, boarding school a punishment. “Bastards.”

Breathing past her fury, she continued to read.

When Becca called her midway through the day to ask her if she wanted to hang out, Kit said, “I’ll take a rain check this time, okay? Thanks for thinking of me though.”

“Of course! I know breakups can be hard.”