Yet she was terrified of him, even though she knew he would not hurt her.
Finally, moving in a slow, deliberate motion, he spread his arms out to his sides, watching her closely.
“Ginny, you’re safe with me. Nothing will happen to you here that you don’t want. Would it make you feel any better if I told you that I won’t touch you unless you give me permission?”
“That would be a novelty,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked anyone for permission to do anything.”
“Then this will be memorable.”
Ginny’s eyes widened. He sounded so serious. If it was anyone but Steve…
As if sensing her skepticism, his mouth quirked upward in a faint smile. “A new beginning, Ginny. Don’t you think it’s time we tried something different? Nothing else had worked in the past.”
Firelight was reflected in the deep blue of his eyes, diffusing the shadows. Drawn by powerful emotion, trembling with the need to be close to him and the fear that still lay just beneath the surface, Ginny put out her hand.
Steve’s fingers were warm and solid as he curved his hand around hers. He held her firmly but not tightly, and when she withdrew her hand he didn’t try to hold on.
“Ginny, fear won’t end until you face it, until you conquer it. I know.”
“You can’t know! You can’t know how terrifying it is to feel so vulnerable, to feel as if it could happen again at any time! That I’m helpless to prevent it.”
He studied her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “Tomorrow I will teach you how to use a gun.”
“I know how to shoot.”
“Yes, but you should know how to hit what you’re aiming at. There’s a difference.”
Despite her nervous confusion, she smiled. “Trust you to put things in perspective.” She paused, then added, “Do you think knowing how to shoot will make me feel safer?”
“It will make me feel safer,” he said dryly, and when his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, she found herself laughing at him.
“If improving my aim makes you feel better, then I’ll make the sacrifice, I suppose.”
“Ever the martyr, green-eyes.”
This was safer ground, a familiar banter that put her back on solid footing. Ginny’s tension eased.
By the light of the fire, with blankets spread upon a cushion of moss, they ate their evening meal, the customary beans replaced by a delicious stew Steve had thrown together in the huge iron pot over the open fire. Fresh vegetables were scarce, but there was usually an abundance of fresh meat. Ginny had learned long ago how to cook decent meals over an open fire, usually frijoles and corn tortillas.
Relaxed, she sat with her legs curled beneath her, leaning on a thick wad of blankets propped against a rock. The night sounds grew louder, only slightly muffled by the constant din of falling water. The air was crisp and damp enough for her to pull an edge of the blanket around her shoulders.
Steve came to sit close, facing her with his legs bent under him. He was near enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint scent of the soap he’d used earlier and hear the soft rasp of his breathing.
“Ginny,” he said when she tensed, “I only want to be close to you.”
Awkwardly, she sat in stiff silence as he lifted her bare foot in both his hands and pulled it onto his lap. A faint smile crooked his mouth, and she stifled a moan of pure pleasure as he began to massage the aching tendons of her foot.
“A technique I learned from an old Chinaman I knew in San Francisco,” he replied when she dredged up the energy to ask where he had learned such magic.
Blissfully relaxed, Ginny closed her eyes with a sigh as Steve continued to massage her foot in strong, circular strokes. His fingers worked up to her ankle, kneading the calf of her leg with sure efficiency. Then he turned his attention to her other foot.
The fire hissed and popped, and in the distance she heard the low howl of a coyote. The cry trembled on the night air as if suspended, then faded, muffled by the constant drum of falling water.
It had been so long since she’d felt this at peace, with the music of the night around her and Steve’s hands working magic on her tense muscles. All of he fears began to subside, replaced by a growing confidence that he would not hurt her, that he would do as he said and protect her as best he could.
“Um,” she murmured when he asked if she was relaxed, and heard him laugh.
“I’ll assume that means yes.” Deftly, his hands moved up her leg, gently kneading the skin of her calf, then skimmed higher to massage her thigh.
Ginny offered no protest. It was too easy, lying there with Steve, his hands familiar and yet foreign to her now, gentle despite the rough calluses that still marred palms and fingers. Had he gotten those calluses in the mines? It was painful to envision him forced to such brutal labor, agonizing to think that he might have died there.
Oh, she was such a coward, when Steve had survived the ultimate horrors of enslavement and degradation without disintegrating into a weak, sniveling wreck. Never before had she yielded to the kind of fear that had gripped her these last weeks.
The pressure of his thumb against her inner thigh was firm, sliding beneath the loose calzones she wore, rotating with slow stroked that were sweetly tender. She opened her eyes, gazed at his downbent head as he concentrated on what he was doing.
This was a different Steve than she had ever known before.
