Chapter Twelve
Morgan found a therapistnot too far from their town. She started off with three sessions a week, for which Hannah paid. Morgan did her best not to argue about it. She didn’t want to burden her cousin, but she didn’t have insurance yet and wasn’t making much money until she could move up from practicing to accepting her own clients.
Every time she completed a visit, she felt drained. Inevitably, she’d end up wherever Ryder was. If he was working at the bar or at his house, she’d find him and spend the rest of the evening soaking up his laid-back manner. His presence was a comfort in her life.
“So, you have therapy homework?” he asked after the second week.
“Yeah, things I’m supposed to work on for myself.”
“What is it this week?”
From her perch on the arm of the couch, she watched him painting the living room wall, mesmerized by the sound and the smooth motion of the roller. “To be nice to myself.”
“That’s it?” Pausing, he looked over his shoulder at her.
“Yep. It’s not meant to be hard. Or, should I say, not a tremendous amount of things to work on at once. It’s hard, though, to break the habit of putting myself down.”
“You’re amazing, though, so it should be easy work.”
Morgan stared at the back of his head, letting the knowledge of his words sink in. His unwavering belief that she was worthy, that she wasn’t intrinsically bad, meant more to her than she figured he knew.
“I don’t know how you do that, but thank you.”
Turning again, he gave her a soft smile. “You mean tell the truth?”
She felt herself blush. “It’s only the truth as you see it. To me, I’m damaged goods.”
The paint roller made a wet smack as Ryder dropped it on the cloth-covered floor. “Damaged?”
“I mean, yeah, after what happened to me—”
“Please stop right there.”
Clamping her mouth shut, Morgan’s eyes widened when Ryder came closer to her.
“What happened to you doesnotmake you damaged.”
“But, he, I mean, I was a virgin, and he took—”
Before she could shatter the way she feared she might, Ryder pulled her to her feet and gathered her in his arms. “My God, I had no idea you felt somehow that what that bastard took, what he did, somehow reflected on you.”
“Well, yeah.”
“No, Morgan.” Stepping back, he rested his hands on her cheeks. “Absolutely not.” Tipping his head, he kissed her gently.
Tears dripped off her chin. She didn’t know how to deal with him being more amazing than she’d thought. “Why are you so perfect?”
“Jesus, Morgan, I’m not perfect. You know what a pain in the ass I can be.”
“Nope, you’re just a perfect human. You have such a big heart, and you’re so kind.”
“I’ll accept that I’m perfect for you, but that’s it.”
“I’ll take it. That way, I can keep saying you’re perfect all I want.”
When he kissed her again, it was deeper, more passionate. She loved how he was opening up with her, how he tried new things each time they kissed. It was almost undeniable that he would be adventurous once they moved forward sexually. And she couldn't wait.
His tongue circled hers, his lips slanted across her mouth possessively. His heart thrummed against her when he held her tighter, the scent of paint and his masculinity filling her with desire. Ryder was everything she’d ever wanted and didn’t even know it. She ran her hands up his back, under his shirt, and felt his heat pouring into her. He nibbled her lips, and she gasped in a breath.
