She was sobbing now, her arms tight around his neck. “I know. I know it did. That’s the way,” he murmured, and simply picked her up, sat on the grass, and cradled her against him. “It’s about damn time.”

He rocked her while tears that were hot and desperate flooded out of her and soaked his shirt. Cold? he thought as the firestorm of grief whipped through her. There was nothing cold in her but the fear of emotional pain.

He didn’t tell her to stop, even when the sobs shook her so violently it seemed her bones might snap. He didn’t offer promises of comfort or solutions. He knew the value of purging. So he simply stroked and rocked, cradling her while she wept out the pain.

When Anna stepped out on the porch, Phillip shook his head at her, stroking still. He continued to rock her as the door shut again and left them alone.

When she’d cried herself dry, her head felt swollen and hot, her throat and stomach raw. Weak and disoriented, she lay exhausted in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You needed that. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who needed a crying jag more.”

“It doesn’t solve anything.”

“You know better than that.” He rose and, helping her up, pulled her toward his Jeep. “Get in.”

“No, I need to—”

“Get in,” he repeated with just a hint of impatience. “I’ll go get your purse and your jacket.” He lifted her into the passenger seat. “But you’re not driving.” His eyes met her tired, puffy ones. “And you’re not going to be alone tonight.”

She didn’t have the energy to argue. She felt hollowed out and insubstantial. If he took her back to the hotel, she could sleep. She’d take a pill if she had to and escape. She didn’t want to think. If she started to think she might feel again. If she felt again, if any part of that flood of feeling came back, she would drown in it.

Because his face looked grim and entirely too determined when he strode out of the house with her things, Sybill accepted her own cowardice and closed her eyes.

He didn’t speak, simply climbed in beside her, leaned over to secure her seat belt, then started the car. He let the blessed silence hang throughout the drive. She didn’t protest when he came into the lobby with her or when he opened her purse for her key card at her door.

He took her hand again and led her directly to the bedroom. “Get undressed,” he ordered. As she stared at him with those swollen, red-rimmed eyes, he added, “I’m not going to jump you, for Christ’s sake. What do you take me for?”

He didn’t know where the flare of temper had come from. Maybe it was looking at her like this, seeing her so utterly wrecked and defenseless. Turning on his heel, he marched into the bathroom.

Seconds later, she heard the drum of water in the tub. He came out with a glass and aspirin. “Swallow. If you don’t take care of yourself, someone else has to.”