Imperfect Rebel by Patricia Rice

Author:Patricia Rice
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2013-02-22T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Cleo shook her head and wished she had the strength of Hercules. She needed to throw something, and one Jared McCloud would make a good javelin.

She stalked into the shuttered front room as he opened the door. A gust of wind nearly hurled the door after them. "This isn't your fight, McCloud. Linda is beyond reasoning. Social Services is apparently threatening her welfare check, and she's blaming it on me. I'm the one standing to get hurt here. If you just mosey on out, we won't miss you."

Jared caught her wrist, turned her around, and hauled her against his chest so that her knees nearly buckled. She wanted to slide down and melt on the floor. She didn't like being manhandled like this. She didn't even like people touching her.

She wanted support so badly she wanted to wrap her fingers in his shirt and hang on for dear life.

"Don't lie to me, Cleo. You can be as honest as you like, and I won't run, but don't ever lie." Dark eyes bored holes right through her. "Tell me you know how to handle this. Tell me you really wish I was dead and gone, if that's the truth. But don't say it if you don't mean it."

Now was a fine time for the comic to turn into Stallone and get tough. She wanted to scream at him in rage, pound him with her fists, drive him out of her life so she could go back to her steady plodding method of picking out one step at a time. But who could fight Stallone?

Instead, she twisted free, dropped on the couch, and buried her face in her hands. Where was the black rage when she needed it? Only fear and worry and total uncertainty boiled up inside her.

"I can't think," she whispered. "I want to hit somebody. I want a smoke. I want oblivion. I want to tear Linda apart. But I can't think."

Jared stood uncertainly in front of her for half a minute, then dropping down on the couch, he pulled her hands from her face and held them. Cleo looked anywhere except at him, but the strength pouring from his tough, hard palms warmed her.

"You can think. That's your whole problem," he said steadily as she glared at the shuttered window. "You can think of too many things and none of them are good. Stop thinking for a minute. Just sit there and wipe the slate clean. I'll hold you, if that will help."

The strength for fighting was gone. Kismet had gone home with a rapist, and she was here dithering in fear. She needed a knife, not cosseting.

"All right, hit me," Jared said with a sigh, pulling her into his arms. "Get it out of your system. Then we'll talk."

She didn't hit him. She collapsed into his arms instead. Burrowed there like some small terrified animal. Heat and strength enveloped her. Hard muscles held her up so she didn't curl into a ball and cry. She just

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