“He’d discovered that when she lied, she made a tiny frown just before the lie came out. It was as if telling a lie hurt her. She’d had that look when she’d said she had nothing more to tell. She sat up on the bed, and he handed her a robe. He couldn’t let her touch him. Not after what he’d felt when he let her caress his face. Her hand had been soft, gentle. Comforting. For one moment he’d just savored being caressed by her. He’d needed her touch. And he knew the danger of that. Miss Winsome wo...uld try to use caresses to con him, just as his mother used to try to use touch to control him. His mother used to embrace him before and after having him whipped and brutalized. As a child, he’d been too pitiful to reject her hugs, her kisses. Even when he was bleeding, his body screaming in pain, he needed her to hold him. He wanted to believe that her touch meant she loved him and would stop hurting him. Eventually he realized that it was all part of his mother’s vicious game.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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