Saving Sara (Masters of the Castle) Read Online Free PDF Page B

corner because—bald, weak, scarred, as pathetic as she had been, barely able to walk, unable even to get up off the toilet by herself—there was no way someone like Jackson could have wanted anything more from her than just to be kind to her. That kind of niceness was an illusion she couldn’t bear.
    The night before she was scheduled to be discharged into Jackson’s care, she had bullied the doctors into letting her go early. For all anyone at the Shadowbrook Den had known, Sara had simply disappeared. In actuality, she’d taken the first Greyhound to Nebraska, where her sister had picked her up and taken her home. And for weeks afterward, she’d cried, but at least then she could lie and say it was because of the pain. She had tried for three years to forget about Jackson. Funny how easily just the sight of him could stir up all those feelings all over again.
    Laying the washcloth down on the sink, Jackson came toward her.
    “Don’t.” But her protest was just a whisper and not very convincing, not even to herself.
    He pulled the shawl from her shoulders, baring the first of all her many scars.
    “Jackson…” She thought she was all cried out, but a new wave of tears stung her eyes and turned him into a watery blur.
    He unfastened the ties of her corset anyway, his hands moving slowly down the front of her dress, loosening it by degrees while each breath grew harder and harder for her to take.
    “You could have at least said goodbye.” It was the only censure he offered, but it released her first tidal wave of tears and sent them spilling down past her lashes and dripping down her face.
    “I knew it. You are angry.”
    “No.” He shook his head. “Just confused. I thought we were friends.”
    They were. That was the problem.
    “Please don’t.” Another whisper, followed by a hiccupy gasp as her dress seemed to just fall away. He helped it down her body, working it loose to her waist and from her waist, over her hips and to the floor. He followed it, gathering the soiled cloth in both hands.
    “Step.”
    She did, holding his shoulder for balance, and he tossed the gown away.
    Her slip of a chemise, so thin as to be transparent , went next, leaving her in stockings and garters. She had no idea what had happened to her shoes. They were probably lying wherever she’d kicked them off in her mad-dash scramble to evade the flames in the dungeon outside. Regardless, nothing she wore now protected her from Jackson’s sight.
    He stood up slowly, his eyes missing nothing—the mottle of ugly scars that twisted her left side, thigh, hip, stomach, breast. She tried to cover herself with her arms, but there was too much to hide. Not that he let her. Taking her wrists, he pulled them away, looked down at her for a long time before raising his eyes back to hers.
    “I’ve missed you,” was all he said, and then he let go of her wrists to cup her chin, capturing her face in his palm, and kissed her. It was as if the twisted ugliness of her skin didn’t even matter. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe this was all another part of the illusion.
    His lips were so gentle , his arm, sliding around her waist and pulling her into his chest, so warm.
    Sara trembled, another sobbing breath shivering her against the solid breadth of him. A big part of her wished she’d never come here. Another part almost wished she could burrow into Jackson’s arms and stay in the illusion forever. He felt strong when she was anything but. He felt safe, and she hadn’t known that feeling in a very long time.
    His cellphone beeped, soft but insistent, and it changed everything. The kiss ended. He caught his breath against her lips, holding himself so tense and still. Briefly, his forehead came to rest against hers. His eyes were closed. His thumbs stroked her face as if he were savoring this. The power of the illusion. He couldn’t possibly be. He was perfect; she was hideous, both mentally and physically. He could have anyone he wanted. She