She struggled a moment more before realizing that she couldn’t get away, that he wouldn’t let her go and she once again slumped against him in defeat. He resumed stroking her hair, waiting for her to speak.

     “I feel so… inadequate.”

     His hand stilled from its stroking and moved to cup her face so that he could tilt it up to him. He brushed her lip with his thumb and then with his lips, lightly. “There is nothing inadequate about you,” he said, and she stiffened in his arms as she misinterpreted his words. He tightened his arm across her lap, his hand holding her hip in place, digging into...