Her body was limp in my arms as I maneuvered us under the blankets. My muscles still trembled from how hard I'd come, but I managed to get us situated and comfortable. I slid my arms around her and pulled her close as she curled up against me, her head on my chest. The gesture looked so natural for her that it made my heart hurt. I stroked her dark hair as her eyes slowly closed. The deep ebony black falling around her shoulders was new, but hair color didn't matter to me. Whether her hair was the bright blue she'd worn when we'd first met or her natural color like now, she was the same woman.

No, I amended. She wasn't the same, but it had nothing to do with her appearance. She'd changed her hair color and removed her eyebrow and bellybutton piercings, but not because I'd asked her to. She'd done it because she was feeling more comfortable in her own skin. It was funny. Most people assumed that, because of the way she dressed, she had to be confident, not caring what others thought. I knew, however, that while some of her appearance was personal preference, some of it had been her way of shielding herself from being hurt again. A disguise.

Anger flared up inside me and I tightened my arms around her. I hated knowing that she'd spent the first thirteen years of her life being abused in ways that I didn't want to imagine. The problem was, it didn't matter whether or not I wanted to think about the past or not. Images were already seared into my brain. She'd told me only a fraction of what she'd suffered and it had been worse than anything I could've dreamed up. I wasn't a naïve person, far from it, but I never would have thought someone could do such awful things to a child. Especially the child’s mother. I supposed it was more the difference between concept and reality. Knowing it on an intellectual level was one thing. Loving someone who'd actually had those things done to her was quite another.

Love.

I smiled as my fingers lazily trailed up and down her spine. I'd thought I'd been in love with Lara Roache, so much so that I'd been ready to marry her. When I'd found her in bed with another woman, I'd been devastated, heart-broken. I knew now, though, that what I'd felt for Lara had been only a fraction of true love. Losing Lara had made me swear off relationships, determined that I wouldn't put my heart out there until I found someone I thought was worth the risk.

Then I'd fallen in love with Jenna Lang, this strong, vulnerable, amazing woman. I wasn't entirely sure how it had happened. I wasn’t looking for love. In fact, I'd been close to giving up. Not just on love, but on everything. I'd had family, friends, a thriving business doing what I loved, and no-strings-attached sex with gorgeous women...and it hadn't been enough.

I kissed the top of Jenna's head. I knew she sometimes felt like I'd rescued her, helped her heal from her past, but she had no idea that she'd saved me just as much. I might not have been subjected to the horrors of her past, but I'd essentially stopped living and I hadn't even known it until I'd met her.

I'd heard all the clichés, but I'd never truly understood any of them until Jenna had come into my life. It had been like I'd been asleep all my life until I saw her. Like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky. Seeing in color instead of black and white. Like the freshest breath of air. Water for a dying man. Every cliché I'd ever heard.

My chest ached with the strength of emotion coursing through me. It hadn't just hit me fast, it had hit me hard. After Lara, I'd tried telling myself that I'd be careful the next time I met someone I might care about, but I'd had no choice in the matter. I'd fallen for Jenna so quickly that it had almost frightened me, and it had been torture holding back when all I'd wanted to do nearly from that first moment was kiss her until neither of us could breathe. I'd seen how fragile she was beneath that tough exterior and hadn't wanted to scare her off with the depth of what I felt.

Even so, I knew people thought we were moving too fast. I'd only known her for four months and I'd already asked her to move in with me. What I hadn't told anyone was that, if I'd had my way, I would've kept her with me after what happened with Christophe. I'd known before then that I'd loved her, but that had made it clear to me how much.

When I thought about how close I'd come to letting her get hurt, to losing her, I couldn't breathe. I’d never have forgiven myself if Christophe had harmed her. I didn't even want to think about something worse than an assault.

I wrapped my body more securely around her, loving that she trusted me enough to let me hold her while she slept. I was so grateful that she'd agreed to move in with me. I needed her to be there, needed to know that she was safe. And I needed her here for me. She made me a better man, a stronger man.

I didn't know what I'd do if I lost her, but it wouldn't be good. I wasn't sure I could survive it. Or if I'd want to. In a short time, she'd become my life, and I could never go back to the way I'd been.