Page 65 of Her Passionate Hero

“You really don’t like it when I wear my hair up, do you?” Her voice was husky from sleep. It went straight to his cock.

“Mi Cariña, you have been fighting a headache since we visited your mother, haven’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

“You already told me wearing your hair up in a bun, or whatever that hairdo is, just makes your head hurt more, so take your fucking hair down. This is not about me, it’s about you.” Her already big blue eyes got even rounder.

“Am I Jane?”

“Is this a Tarzan reference?”

She gave a quick head bob as she pulled pins out of her hair. He could give a shit what she called him as long as she wasn’t hurting. He watched as she carefully put them into a certain pocket in her purse. He wasn’t surprised she was so neat and tidy.

“There, are you satisfied?”

“Not quite.” He pulled her close, then pushed his fingers through the wheat, ash, and gold strands and massaged her neck and scalp. She went soft against his front and whimpered. Dalton walked up to her side of the car, peeked in the window, then walked away. Good man.

“Hunter, should you be doing this?” she almost moaned the words, her Czech accent thick.

“Making you feel good? Yes, I should always make you feel good. That’s my job.”

“There are things you don’t know,” she whispered against his chest.

“Don’t start with the happy horseshit,” he said softly.

His heart warmed when she giggled.

Now that she was soft, warm, and pliant, he wanted to ask her again why she had sent him away, but instead, he decided to enjoy the moment. It felt too damn good not to.

“I won’t start. I just need to enjoy this moment. I need it.”

“Good girl.” He stroked her hair until he reached the center of her back. He did it again and again until her trembling stopped. “Do you know how big of a piece of my world you were back then?”

She looked up at him. “Your letter said I was, but after dad, I stopped believing. I wanted to believe so badly, but I stopped.” She pressed her head against his chest. He could feel her tears through his white t-shirt.

“You shouldn’t have, Cariña. It was always true. Even now, what I wrote is still true. It was just you and Mamie and LL. And it was you and Mamie who made me feel clean and good about myself. But I… But down deep, I always felt dirty. Always.”

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

“Why? I would have remembered if you weren’t clean, so it wasn’t that. And you were always so good. You did good and were so nice to me. How could you ever see yourself as dirty?”

“I never told you about when I was younger. I didn’t want you to think less of me. I should have known it wouldn’t have mattered to you, but I was ashamed.”

She cupped his cheek, her thumb tracing the crease in his cheek. “Tell me.”

“Mamie isn’t really my grandmother, did you know that? She was the neighbor lady across the hall.”

“No, mi Cariño, I didn’t know that.”

Something eased at her whispered endearment.

“Tell me,” she encouraged.

“I remember things when I was really young. I mean really young. I was probably only two. I knew who my parents were even though there were three men and three women in the apartment. There were four other children living there and a baby, too. I remember they all got food, but when I was given food, my father would slap it out of my hands. I went hungry a lot. I never understand why this man hated me.”

“And your mother?”

“She got slapped or hit if she gave me food, so she just stopped. It was one of the other men who would give me food. He would yell at my father. Eventually, he left with one of the women and two of the children. Even though it wasn’t as cramped in the apartment, it got worse.”