The Road to Rose Bend

by Naima Simone

  Carefully, he bent his knees, lowered one arm behind her back and slipped the other under her thighs. He straightened, cuddling her against his chest, and crossed the few feet to the door. Easing his foot out, he nudged it closed, waiting for the click of the lock engaging before returning to his desk and sinking into his chair.

  The harsh cries didn’t abate, and each wrack of her body had him clutching her tighter, holding her closer. Had him whispering useless, nonsensical words against her temple. Had a hand tunneling deep into her thick, coarse-yet-soft curls, cradling her head to his shoulder. His heart—it ached, throbbed. For her. For the heartbreak that echoed in every sob. He wanted to beg her to tell him who hurt her, confess what was wrong so he could slay it like some inept knight with tarnished armor charging in to battle a dragon.

  He didn’t question why that need rode him. Not when this proud, unbreakable woman was...breaking in his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, burrowing into his chest as if attempting to crawl inside him. Her nails bit into his shoulders, gripping him hard. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

  “Shh.” He pressed his lips to her curls, the hand not buried in her hair skimming up her back to cup the nape of her neck. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you, baby girl.”

  “Selfish,” she rasped, drawing her knees up and releasing his shoulders to tuck her arms to her body, almost curled into a fetal position. “Just like he said. Like she said. I’m so fucking selfish.”

  Self-disgust practically dripped from the indictment, saturating her thick voice. Anger on her behalf kindled low in his gut. Using his grasp on her curls, he tipped her head back. Or tried to. She resisted him, but he didn’t let that stop him from contradicting those inflammatory words.

  He bent his head over hers. “There’s nothing selfish about you, Sydney,” he murmured hotly, fiercely, his lips moving against her damp forehead. “I don’t know what just happened or who said something so cruel and un-fucking-true to you, but it’s a lie. Let it go, baby girl.”

  But she shook her head so hard, her nose bumped against his collarbone. “You don’t know...”

  “Then tell me.” He squeezed the back of her neck then slid his palm down her back, stroking it. “Please tell me. Let me...” Take it away. But he didn’t utter that too revealing plea. Instead, he gently rocked her while her cries continued.

  Eventually, she quieted, but her hot, moist puffs of breath bathed his throat. So attuned to her, he caught the slight loosening of her rigidly held frame and relaxed his embrace. But he didn’t release her. Not until she was ready. He’d sit here and hold her however long she needed. However long it required until she felt strong enough to face the world again.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, and he winced in sympathy at the rawness of her voice.

  “For what, baby girl?”

  She exhaled, a tremble quaking through her body. He wrestled the urge to press her for an answer, to demand she let him in. And damn near shook with the effort. But after a long moment, she finally answered. “I didn’t know, Cole. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let you stay today. I wouldn’t have... I wouldn’t have forced my presence on you.”

  What the hell? “Sydney.” He leaned back in his chair, gripped her chin and gently but firmly moved her head back. Unlike before, he didn’t allow her to deny him. Only when her chocolate eyes met his did he ask, “From the beginning. What are you talking about?”

  “I was in the pharmacy,” she began, so softly he lowered his head to catch every word. “I overheard two women talking about you. And about Tonia...and your—your son. I didn’t know how they died. You lost both of them in childbirth. Not an accident. You didn’t get to spend time together as a family. Didn’t get to have him for years. Tonia didn’t get to be a mother. You didn’t get to be a father. You—” She bit down on her lower lip, cutting off the rapid, almost frantic torrent of words. “You would’ve been a wonderful father,” she breathed.

  Cole briefly closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. He permitted the swell of regret and sadness to move through him, unimpeded. Then he exhaled, letting it flow from him. This wasn’t about him; it was about her.

  “During your last months with Tonia, she was pregnant. Those are your last memories of her. No wonder you could barely look at me. Couldn’t bear to be around me. But I was so caught up in my own shit, that it didn’t even occur to me...” She shook her head, jerking free of his grip. “I’ve brought you pain. Inflicted it over and over again.”

  “Sydney, you didn’t know,” he murmured.

  “That doesn’t excuse it,” she argued, her tone sharp. Unforgiving. “Doesn’t excuse me. And today... God, you must’ve stood there suffering, and I was so damn oblivious. So wrapped up in me. My pregnancy. My baby. My happiness—”

  “Stop it.” He didn’t mean to snap at her, but as he recaptured her chin and tilted her head back, he didn’t regret it. Anger, hot and impatient, licked at him, and he narrowed his gaze on her. “You. Didn’t. Know. You’re right about why I had a difficult time being around you at first.”

  Lie.

  Well, not the whole truth. But he for damn sure wasn’t going to explain to her how it wasn’t just her being pregnant that made being around her like walking a quickly unraveling tightrope—complete with the unnerving sense of free fall, fear and a twisted excitement. If only it was just wanting to corrupt that soft mouth and softer body with all the dark, filthy desires that a two-year sexual hiatus had stored up. But it wasn’t.

  She reminded him of the life he’d lost.

  Taunted him with the lust that should’ve died with Tonia.

  But no. He wouldn’t be sharing that with her today.

  Or ever.

  A freshly divorced single mother who had more than enough on her plate with starting over. She deserved more than him fucking her to get his demons out. Because he couldn’t give her anything else. Didn’t have it to give. While his body might’ve reawakened after a long hibernation, his heart... That was still buried under a gravestone with two names etched into it.

  “But,” he continued in the same crisp tone, “I got over that. You’re my friend. And friends show up for one another. They support one another, and yes, sacrifice for each other. We talked about this bad habit of yours. Taking on the blame for other people’s actions. Today was on me. And yes, it hurt. I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t thinking of another time when I’d been there with my wife, looking at my son on that monitor. But to see your smile, your joy, your healthy baby...” He shifted his hand to cradle her face. Swept a thumb over the damp, tender skin above her cheekbone. “I’d do it again. Because whatever I was feeling didn’t compare to that. So do me a favor, okay? Don’t apologize again. Not to me. Never to me.”

  She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t object either. And that horrible starkness had started to disappear from her eyes. Counting it as a win, he snatched up several sheets of tissue from the box on his desk and handed them to her. She accepted them with a murmured “thank you.”

  “Now, tell me who called you selfish.”

  Her lashes fluttered, lowering. She tried to duck her head, but his hand prevented it.

  “Don’t hide from me,” he gently ordered. A shaft of pleasure pierced him when she instantly obeyed, giving him her eyes. What other instructions would she follow? Would she put up a token resistance, or would she immediately, so fucking sweetly, submit? He swallowed, but when he spoke, nothing could erase the roughness of his voice. Lust caused it, and he suspected only lust could ease it. “Who hurt you?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I went to see my mother. I should’ve known better. Ours isn’t the healthiest or most loving relationship. But since things had gone well with Dad, I...”

  “You thought she would be happy for you, and the good news about the baby could be common ground you could build on.”<
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  “Yes.” The tip of her tongue slicked over her bottom lip, and he jerked his gaze from the wanton temptation of it. “I thought... Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. She was happy. Even gave me a gift of maternity clothes she’d bought for me. But then,” she paused, cuddled closer to him in a move that he suspected was unconscious, “everything went so wrong. She mentioned talking to my ex-husband and told me I was only thinking about myself and not the baby and definitely not my baby’s father by moving here. That I was being impulsive, irresponsible and stubborn. Y’know, the usual.” Her mouth curved into a smile that possessed no trace of humor.

  “And I’m assuming your ex agrees?” he pressed, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

  “What?”

  “When you were crying you mentioned a ‘he.’ I’m assuming you were referring to your ex-husband.”

  “Yes,” she admitted after a brief hesitation. “That’s been Daniel’s favorite word to describe me lately. For not remarrying him and giving our baby a two-parent home. For moving a thousand miles away. For preventing him from being a father. I tried explaining to him—and my mother—why I needed to do this. Not wanted to. Needed. But neither of them understood.”

  “Try me.”

  She blinked. Stared into his eyes, and he leaned his head back or risked drowning in those espresso depths. He focused on the lingering pain there, clutching that like a lifeline.

  “I told my mother I was suffocating. She probably thought I was being dramatic, but I couldn’t find another word to describe the slow, steady death of my independence, my dreams, my voice. Myself. It’s not Daniel’s fault, and I’m not blaming him. He never lied to me, didn’t pull a bait and switch. But I pulled one on him. I never complained when he wouldn’t let me contribute toward the household bills, and I became financially dependent on him. I didn’t object when his career took precedence over mine. I didn’t utter a word when my opinions didn’t hold as much weight as his. I didn’t put up even a token protest, but inside? Inside, I was quietly raging. Resenting not just him, but myself for staying silent. For being so desperate for affection, to be one of a two, to belong to someone, that I was willing to lose my own identity to have it. But in the end, I guess my survival instincts kicked in. I needed more. Needed to be more than just an extension of Daniel. Needed more than settling for companionship instead of love. I couldn’t. And in the process, I hurt a decent man.”

  “He might’ve been decent, but he was also older. Jesus, Sydney, you were twenty when you met him. Still had milk on your breath when you married him. Of course you changed. No, not changed. You grew.”

  She stared at him, then snickered, and the sound, after her heartbroken sobs only minutes ago, warmed him like the morning sun breaking through the elms surrounding his family’s inn. And when a small, but real smile curled the corners of her mouth, it required every bit of his control not to trace the edges of that smile with his lips.

  “Milk on my breath? That’s disturbingly...specific.”

  He snorted. “You understand what I’m saying, though. Your ex had already figured out who he was, what he wanted out of life and how to get there. He doesn’t get to penalize you or hold a grudge against you because you did, too. Or because it didn’t include him.” Since his hand already cradled her cheek, he gave in and caressed the blade of her cheekbone. Allowed himself that minimal touch. “The lawyer in me argues that you only owe him unfettered access to his child within the bounds of a custody agreement. The man who just held you while you cried your broken heart out wants to tell him that you two are divorced, relationships fail all the time, vagina the fuck up, be a father to his baby and move on.”

  “Vagina. The fuck. Up. Seriously?” The grin slowly spread over her face, lighting her eyes until the dark brown glowed.

  She chuckled, and damn if he didn’t feel like he’d won the election for mayor all over again. It’s because I hate to see women cry, he reasoned, glancing down to grant himself a break from the impact and power of her beauty. But unfortunately, his gaze landed on her mouth. That lush, sinful tease of a mouth. Jesus. He was in trouble.

  He shrugged, pretending that he hadn’t just been envisioning her dragging her lips over every bare, hard and aching inch of him.

  “Have you ever kicked a man in the nuts? He’s down in seconds flat, crying for his mama. A vagina is much stronger than a dick.”

  Her shocked choke preceded a loud crack of laughter that rebounded off the walls of his office. He grinned in response. A gift. He’d given her that gift of laughter. And even if he was condemned to hell for his inappropriate lust, the husky sound of her hilarity would be well worth it.

  Her chuckles softened, eventually ebbing away. She smiled up at him, covering the palm still cupping her face, and turned into it. Placed a sweet kiss in the center.

  His gut clenched so hard the muscles twinged in protest. Heat swept through him like flames exposed to oxygen, culminating in a rock-hard erection that had him praying like he hadn’t since the doctors pushed him out of that delivery room. Praying that she didn’t shift the wrong way on his lap and find out just how much that kiss affected him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He didn’t ask for what; didn’t need to. “You’re welcome,” he said, just as softly.

  He should’ve removed his hand at that point. Should’ve gently helped her stand and insert distance between them. Should’ve done anything but lift his free hand to cradle the other side of her face. Or rub his thumbs over the corners of her mouth where they still turned up a little with the residue of her smile.

  Or lower his head, inhaling her breath. Tasting the sugary sweetness of some treat and her own unique flavor on his tongue. Her low gasp ghosted over his lips, and hunger roared in him to take that directly from the source.

  Only a slight shift of his head and that almost negligible distance between their mouths would disappear. He would finally know if she would allow him to lead her in a wet, erotic dance. Or if she would seize control, demand what she wanted in a carnal tangle of lips, tongue and moans. Or maybe, she would fall somewhere in the middle. A hot give-and-take, a sexy exchange of power where they both dominated and surrendered.

  Fuck, he wanted to find out. Needed to...

  He slid his thumb so it rested beneath that plump bottom lip. He pressed the skin there so her lips parted wider for him, and he could glimpse the pink tip of her tongue...

  “Cole.” The loud, firm knock on the door followed his name.

  As if some celestial being with a screwed-up sense of humor dashed him with a frigid bucket of water, Cole stiffened then jerked away. Stunned. Horrified. And hard...aching.

  Jesus Christ.

  He’d been about to kiss Sydney.

  What the fuck was he doing? His heart scrabbled for his throat, and it throbbed there, hindering his breath. Trapping any words he could’ve—should’ve—said.

  The same shock that crackled through him flared in her eyes. Followed quickly by a flash of hurt that her lashes hid in the next second. She stood, and just as the next rap echoed on the door, she rounded the desk.

  Joints as rigid as a wooden soldier’s, he rose as well, the imprint of her body still branded into his arms, chest and thighs. Her orchid scent still filling his nostrils. Her breath still teasing his lips.

  Moving on autopilot, he strode past her and approached the door, pulling it open.

  Caroline Jacobs, the town’s ballet school owner and a council member, smiled up at him. “Hi, Cole,” the pretty blonde greeted. “I was beginning to think I’d missed you. I’m heading downstairs for the meeting and thought we could go—oh, hi, Sydney.” Her smile dimmed as she glanced at the silent woman behind him. Then her gaze was back to Cole, curiosity gleaming in her brown eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re fine,” Cole assured her, reac
hing over to his coatrack and nabbing his suit jacket from the hanger. “I’m ready.”

  He slipped into it, well aware that he was stalling, prolonging the moment when he would have to turn and face Sydney. He needed to apologize. Dammit. What if she believed he was low enough to take advantage of her vulnerability? She’d come to him to comfort him, to apologize, to confide in him. And he’d wanted to dirty that beautiful mouth.

  He could barely look at her.

  Couldn’t stand himself.

  “Sydney, are you going to the town council meeting?” Caroline asked.

  Was she being polite? Or asking to find out why Sydney was in his office? Guilt had him twisting in suspicion.

  “I hadn’t planned on it,” Sydney said. “Town politics isn’t really my thing.”

  That stung. And felt fucking personal. Not that he didn’t deserve that dig. But still...

  “Well, the meetings are open to the public just in case you change your mind,” she added before switching her attention back to Cole. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes, I am.” Bracing himself, he finally turned but Sydney had stepped past him, giving him a full view of her gorgeous curls. He fisted his fingers, the phantom caress of the thick strands still tingling against his palm. “Sydney, I—”

  “No worries, Cole,” she said, tossing him a smile that struck him as too bright. Too false. “Have a good meeting.”

  Murmuring a goodbye to Caroline, she slipped out of the office, and her name lodged in his throat along with the apology he owed her. But with Caroline standing there, staring up at him expectantly and that same curiosity lingering in her eyes, he allowed her to leave. Swallowing a sigh, he moved forward, and pulled the door shut behind him.

  “Let’s go get this meeting started,” he said, forcing a cheer into his tone that escaped him at the moment.