That extra time had given him the chance to go over the files, pages and pages of childhood events that Risa had told the psychologist about, as well as the psychologist’s diagnosis.
“How did she survive this?” Kira whispered as she read one of the papers. “He told her she was so ugly he couldn’t imagine her passing it on to her children?” Horror crossed her face as she lifted her gaze to Micah. “She remembers when he helped drug her, that he laughed that he’d never be able to sell her. He was lucky to pay someone to f**k her? She had no boyfriends when she was younger, and only a few friends.” She shook her head. “Her psychologist is amazed she doesn’t have to put her on drugs. According to her report—”
“According to her report, ‘Risa is sound mentally, physically, and psychologically, with only a few issues that need to be worked out. Most important is that of her worth to herself as well as to others,’” he quoted. “I read the report.” He may not totally have agreed with it. Risa was wounded, but she was strong. Healing her would require more than dealing with a few issues.
He forced himself to calm as he checked his watch again. He wanted to be there when dinner was delivered. He was going to make certain she ate. She had lost too much weight in the past year. She was still healthy, but he knew it wouldn’t take much longer before that changed. She hadn’t eaten before the meeting this morning, and she definitely hadn’t eaten afterward.
“Risa is our best chance to catch Orion.” Jordan spoke up from where he sat at a bank of security monitors. “If she cracks emotionally or mentally, then there’s a chance he’ll take her and we’ll lose her.”
“She won’t crack.” Micah was going to make sure of it.
“Micah, you might not be able to stop it, kle ng ” Morganna said softly. “She’s twenty-six; she’s had a lifetime to believe the crap her father filled her head with. With the addition of the Whore’s Dust and now Orion, she may not come out of this without scars none of us can fix.”
“There will always be scars.” He flashed her a harsh look. “Her soul is scarred from the inside out, Kira. No one can change that. That doesn’t mean she can’t be happy. It doesn’t mean she’s not a beautiful, vibrant woman.”
Kira knew that Risa wasn’t ugly in any way—she had pretty eyes, a beautiful smile when she bothered to smile—but she wasn’t exactly pretty, either. The girl leaned a bit to the plain side. Her features weren’t distinguishing. She was a woman who would easily be overlooked unless you knew her. But the more Kira got to know her, the more she saw that there was a uniqueness to Risa that made her very pretty.
Kira watched as Micah picked one of the eight-by-ten black-and-white pictures that had been snapped of Risa during their surveillance of her in the past week. Black-and-white did nothing to compliment her, but Micah’s expression was…entranced?
“Her eyes sparkle when she finds a reason to be happy,” he murmured. “And even saddened, there’s a light in them that assures me she will fight to live.” He touched the face in the photo. “Why do you think she doesn’t see herself as pretty?” He lifted his gaze back to Kira as he frowned. “Her smile is filled with warmth, and even in these pictures you can see the need for laughter, for passion, lighting her features.” He tossed the picture back to the table. “How could a father be so vile, Kira? So evil?”
Kira almost smiled. When she looked at that picture, she saw it, too. She saw the life on Risa’s face that Micah had picked up on. She saw the curiosity in Risa’s eyes; she saw the latent passion. She had missed it all before, and seeing it gave the girl a prettiness that couldn’t be denied.
Hell. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder; she had always heard that. In this case, perhaps it was more true than she had ever known.
CHAPTER 7
NIGHTFALL CAME too soon. Risa had never realized how much she’d hated the earlier winter nights until that night. When she was faced with the prospect of getting ready to go to bed with Micah.
She couldn’t do it. Every time she thought of it, she remembered being in his bed the night before, and that farce it had turned into.
But it was dark. She always went to bed early. She got up early. If she managed to sleep at all. Last night, she hadn’t slept, and her body was demanding rest.
Her mind was another matter entirely.
“You’re worrying too much,” he stated as she found herself staring at her computer screen, the numbers in the accounting program blending in front of her eyes. “You’re tired, Risa. Get ready and go on to bed. I’ll come in later.”
She hated that tone. That compassionate let’s-pa ne imper-the-baby tone. She didn’t need him to pamper or patronize her.
She turned slowly in her chair and glared at him. He was sitting back on her couch as though he owned it, the television blaring some news program as those black eyes flicked over her body before coming back to her face.
As though he was remembering the night before. How did he remember it? she wondered. As the total failure it had been on her part?
“Why would I want to do that?” she asked carefully. “It’s barely ten.”
His lips seemed to thin. God, those lips were so gorgeous, and they could kiss like a dream. Like a particularly hot, wicked, sensual dream. She knew. His lips had been on hers, licking at her lips, nipping at them. He had kissed her as though he had meant to devour her.
“You’re so exhausted, you’re close to falling asleep at the computer.” He frowned back at her. “You should be well aware by now that I’m not going to hurt you. Sleeping in the bed with me won’t be nearly so traumatic as f**king me in one, surely.”
Her face flushed. Risa felt the rise of red-hot color washing over her features as she stared back at him in furious amazement.
“That was completely uncalled for.” She jumped from her seat, outraged. “If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your mouth, then don’t speak.”
She fell back on her grandmother’s antiquated superiority. God, was she so lacking that she couldn’t even bear hearing the word from his lips? Fucking. They had f**ked. He had f**ked her. She wanted to cover her ears in the hopes of blotting out the thoughts. Because she didn’t find it nearly as distasteful as she wanted to. The implications of the word brought to mind the sweaty, slick movements of their bodies together. Her cries. His groans. The touch of his hands, the thrust of his c**k inside her.