Maya Banks - Giving In

And then Jensen was right in her face, kneeling on the floor next to her chair. His hand jerked her chin so she was forced to look at him and away from the man who was now seated, alone, several tables away from theirs.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded sharply. “Damn it, Kylie, breathe. You’re going to pass out if you don’t start breathing now.”

She tried to obey the forceful command even though it humiliated her beyond measure that he was witnessing her falling completely apart. But her lungs were frozen, her chest so constricted she hadn’t a hope of breathing.

An anxious-looking waiter immediately appeared, offering his assistance, asking if she needed help. Jensen turned on him, his face a black thundercloud.

“Leave us,” he barked. “She’ll be fine.”

Would she? She didn’t feel fine. She didn’t feel as though she’d ever be fine. A wave of despair hit her and the room swayed around her. She knew she was precariously close to blacking out.

“I have to go,” she croaked out. “Now. I have to leave. Now ,” she said again, with more emphasis.

The words were hard to form around her starving lungs, the knot in her throat making her voice hoarse and raspy.

Jensen did a quick scan of the room, following the direction of where she’d been staring when she’d freaked out. Shame rolled over her, wave after humiliating wave.

“Who is he?” Jensen asked in a menacing tone. “What the hell did he do to you?”

The barely controlled violence in his voice made her shudder. Black spots danced in front of her eyes and she tried again to pull in a breath, anything to ease the horrible pain in her chest.

“No one,” she croaked. “He just looked like . . .” She trailed off helplessly and to her further horror, tears slipped down her cheeks. “He reminded me of someone. Please, can we just leave?”

“The hell I’m letting you drive home in your condition.”

He got up, tossed several bills onto the table, then pulled her to her feet, instantly propelling her toward the entrance, not stopping until they were outside, fresh air blowing over her like the most soothing balm.

Some of the tightness eased. Her horrific fear began to subside, leaving stark embarrassment in its wake.

“Breathe,” Jensen ordered even as he barked an order to the valet to get his car.

She sucked in breath after breath, gulping at the air greedily until finally the tightness eased and the spots receded. The world had stopped its sickening swaying, but as she tried to step away from Jensen and his hold on her, her knees buckled, and with a muttered curse, he hauled her right back up against his side, his arm anchoring her there so she couldn’t move.

His warmth bled into her icy cold skin. Permeated the arctic layer surrounding her.

“My c-car,” she stammered. “I can’t leave my car here.”

“Fuck your car,” he said rudely. “You aren’t driving anywhere tonight. I’m taking you home. We’ll get your car tomorrow after the meeting.”

THE drive to Kylie’s house was strained and silent. Jensen cursed a blue streak every time he glanced sideways to her pale face and tortured eyes. She sat rigid in her seat, hands clenched together in a ball in her lap. Her gaze was directed forward, like she was in some trance, not even taking in his presence.

She’d scared the fuck out of him in the restaurant. And then his fear had quickly turned to rage when he realized that the man seated several tables away had scared the holy hell out of her. He’d wanted to go beat the man into a pulp, but then she’d said he only reminded her of someone. Since the man was older, he could well imagine just who he’d reminded her of and he swore all over again.

His instinct was to take her home. His home. Where he knew he could protect her from anything that could possibly hurt her. But she wouldn’t take that at all. She’d likely dissolve into another panic attack, and the one had already put a vicious strain on her.

So he’d take her home. To her home. But damn if he was leaving her in this state. She wouldn’t want him there, but too fucking bad. No way he was leaving her to endure her private hell alone.

Kylie needed someone, though she’d never admit that. She saw it as a weakness, and she was a woman who’d die before allowing others to see her perceived weaknesses. Damn it, didn’t she realize that everyone needed someone at some point in their lives?

And he wanted to be that person she needed even though he knew he was all wrong for her. He wasn’t the man she wanted, that much was obvious. But she did need him. He knew it as well as he knew anything else. Unwavering certainty.

He just had to crack those walls and peel back the layers to the vulnerable, fragile woman behind that iron façade.

It wouldn’t be easy. He wasn’t stupid enough to ever assume that. But nothing good or worth it was ever easy. And he knew in his gut that no matter how crazy it might make him, she was worth it.

He had to tread lightly though, and consider doing something he’d never been willing to do before. Especially for a woman. Let go of his tightly held control and hand over that control—or at least the semblance of control—to her.

It was a new experience for him. One he wasn’t altogether sure was to his liking. It would be hard for a man like him, used to being in control over every aspect of his life. But Kylie needed security. She needed . . . confidence. She needed to be able to trust him, and if he was going to gain that trust, he was going to have to do the bending for them. Because she wouldn’t. She’d refuse to bend until she finally broke. And she was nearing that point with every passing day and every sleepless night. Because if she was sleeping then he was a monkey’s uncle.

He’d be willing to bet everything he owned that her past intruded on her dreams on a nightly basis. He’d seen the evidence far too many times. The bruised shadows in her eyes and under them. Her paleness. The fatigue that beat relentlessly at her, that he could sense with her every breath.

Tonight she’d sleep and she’d sleep knowing she was safe. Because he wasn’t leaving her in this state. No way in hell.

And so he readied himself for the ensuing confrontation, knowing she’d object to his presence in her home. Her space. Perhaps the only place she truly felt safe. But no, that wasn’t true either, because in sleep, even in her closely guarded sanctuary, her dreams tortured her.

Not tonight. Not if he had any damn thing to do with it.

When they pulled into her drive, he got out before she could say anything at all and walked around to open her door, not waiting for her to accept his outstretched hand. He simply reached in, gently took hold of those icy cold fingers and pulled her from the car.

Her gait was unsteady and so, as he’d done outside the restaurant, he pulled her into the safety of his side, tucking her underneath his shoulder as he walked her to her door.

He knew she expected to brush him off once they reached the door. Issue a stiff, polite good-night and perhaps even a stilted thank-you for his help. But then she’d retreat inside and back to her private hell, shutting the door, barring him from her domain.

Fuck that.

He plucked the keys from her hand and unlocked the door, ushering her forward, making sure he was with her the entire way, and only then did he close the door and lock it.

“Jensen,” she protested. “I’m fine. Thank you, but I’m okay now. It was stupid. And embarrassing. But I’d rather be alone right now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’ll see me right now,” he said grimly.

Even as he spoke, he directed her toward what he guessed was her bedroom. Her house, as he’d suspected, was the picture of tranquility. Her haven. Not a single thing out of place. A study in calm and peace.