by Kaylea Cross
She drifted off, turned her face into his chest and nuzzled him with her cheek. Rayne thought he might stop breathing. Fatigue had lowered the protective shield around her. Without her mind dictating every move, she was responding more naturally to his nearness. He knew she had no idea what she was doing to him. His cock was already hard but thankfully she was too sleepy to notice. He had to put her in her own bed, now.
She jerked awake as he lifted her and peered up at him with startled eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Putting you to bed.” She relaxed slowly, her sleepy brain processing the words. Raising her arms around his neck, she sighed and pressed her face against his throat. He fought a groan and hurried to her bedroom, where he turned back the covers and set her down, helping her between the sheets. She stretched a bit, her supple body arching against the mattress like a cat. He blinked at the innocent display. She was driving him crazy.
Moving fast, he tucked her in and smoothed the hair from her face. “Sweet dreams,” he whispered.
The woman made him ache inside. God knew he’d never get to sleep now.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning Christa curled up on the sofa on the screened-in porch, her journal in her hands. Writing down bad experiences was supposed to be good therapy, according to the social worker who’d visited her in the hospital. She flipped the page, absently reached out to scratch Jake’s ears as he sat warming her feet. Maybe if she vented her trauma onto the paper her nightmares would stop and she could sleep without waking up in the middle of a panic attack. Maybe she could sit here without her spine tingling, as if someone were lurking outside, tracking her.
The front door banged open and she jumped, the book flying to the floor. Post-traumatic stress disorder, they called it. P.T.S.D. It made her feel like a head case, especially when people stared at her like she was some skittish, trapped animal, like Rayne was doing now as he approached the couch.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He bent and retrieved the journal, and she fought the urge to snatch it from him before he handed it to her.
“No problem,” she said, feeling stupid. He’d been so good to her last night, massaging her pain away and comforting her until she dozed in his arms, then tucking her into her own bed. She tried to stop the nervous movement of smoothing the bent pages, keeping her head downcast to disguise the purple smudges of exhaustion under her eyes.
“What’s that you’re working on?”
“Just a journal I’m keeping. I’m supposed to write down some things before I go to my first counseling appointment.” She let out a relieved breath when he didn’t question her further.
“I wanted to ask you if you’re okay with Bryn coming for dinner tonight.”
Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Oh. Sure. Do you want...I mean, should I go somewhere while you...?”
His brows drew together. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’. You don’t want her to come over?”
“Sure I do. I only thought maybe you’d want a quiet evening to...catch up.”
“We already did last night.”
Okay then. “Do you need some help with dinner?”
“Nah, I’ll pick something up.” He edged Jake aside to sit next to her and stroked a thumb over her cheekbone, making her skin tingle. “You okay?”
“Just tired, I guess.” That was the most pathetic understatement in the history of humankind.
“You should go take a nap then. And if you want to spend all day in your pajamas and sleep every two hours, then go for it.”
What she really wanted was to sleep through the night like any normal person. She was so sick of dreading going to bed, afraid of falling asleep when she knew perfectly well she’d wake up with a scream lodged in her throat and her heart slamming out of control. Maybe if she could exhaust herself during the day with long runs or something her brain would be too tired to create more nightmares.
He pushed to his feet. “Will you be okay here while I head to the gym? I’ll pick us up some groceries on the way home. You want anything?”
He was leaving her alone? Despite herself she sent a skittish glance around.
“Hey. Do you think I’d even consider leaving you here if I didn’t think you’d be safe?”
Of course not, and she was being clingy. He’d already explained to her how difficult it would be for her stalker to cross the border into the States, and she had to get used to being on her own again. “No, thanks. Think I’ll try and take a nap.”
“Okay. I’ve got my cell phone on me if you need anything. Won’t be long.” He kissed the top of her head and left her sitting there with Jake.
****
Energized from pumping so much iron, Rayne loaded the grocery bags into the rental car and was climbing into the driver’s seat when his cell rang. Please don’t let Christa be in trouble. When he saw his mother’s number on call display he sagged, then winced.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he answered. He hadn’t called her in over a week, which he was going to hear about.
“Hi, handsome. I’ve left a few messages, but you never called back.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’m out of town right now. Everything all right?”
“Oh yes, fine. Where are you?”
He sighed, knowing what she’d say. “Down at the beach house.”
A telltale pause ensued. “Oh, really? I didn’t think you had holidays till August.”
Busted. He’d promised to fly home for a visit during his next vacation time.
“Well, this kind of came up at the last second. I have a friend who...she was attacked.”
“Oh, that’s awful! Is she all right?”
“She will be. But the guy who attacked her is still loose, so I’ve brought her down here with me until things cool off at home.”
He could practically hear the gears turning in his mother’s head before she answered. “So you two are dating, I take it?”
“No, Mom, we’re not dating.” He fought the urge to roll his eyes, even though his mother was safely on the other side of the country and couldn’t see him.
“You’re not?”
“No, we’re just friends.” Which was a lie and he knew it. But his mother sure as hell didn’t need to.
“I see.” Her tone said she clearly didn’t. “Has Bryn met her?”
Un-oh, this wasn’t good. Ever since he’d invited his mom to come and spend a few weeks at the beach house all those years ago, she and Bryn had been close. They still frequently e-mailed or called each other and they’d be gossiping like old hens about this in no time. “Yeah, they met yesterday, and Bryn is coming over for dinner tonight. I’m picking up the groceries now.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Say hi to Bryn for me will you, sugar?”
The Southern Belle drawl didn’t fool him one bit. He’d bet his last dime his mother would be speed-dialing Bryn the second he hung up. “I will.”
“Listen, Rayne, about this girl—”
“What about her?” He couldn’t help the note of irritation that crept into his voice. He was sick of everyone questioning his motives when it came to women.
“Don’t be upset,” she soothed. “I’m worried that you might be getting involved in a dangerous situation, that’s all. I mean, you said her attacker is still on the loose—”
“Mom, I was in the Marine Corps and now I’m a cop, in case you’d forgotten. And I guess that’s the difference between me and other people. I don’t just up and leave someone I care about when they need me.”
The gasp on the other end of the phone confirmed he’d hit way below the beltline with that one. He mentally swore and let out a sigh. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Your father had his reasons for leaving, Rayne.”
All these years later she was still defending his actions? “Whatever.” As far as he was concerned, there could never be a good enough reason for a man to desert his wife and young son. Period.
“Maybe it’s finally time you talk
ed to him about it, honey.”
“You know what, Mom? I don’t really want to talk about him at all, so why don’t you tell me what’s new in Charleston?” That was as clear as he could make it.
She brought him up to speed with the goings on in his hometown and he laughed at her new jokes, relieved she’d let the matter of his dad drop. For the moment.
“You’re going to call Bryn now, aren’t you?” he said as the conversation finished.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” she gushed. “Maybe I will.”
“Uh-huh. Don’t think about pumping her for information, Mom, because there’s nothing to tell about Christa and me.”
“Why, honey,” she managed to sound affronted, “your personal life is your business. I just wanted to say hello.”
Oh, uh-huh. Like he was born yesterday? “Okay then, take care and thanks for calling. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Any moment now Bryn would be answering her phone to face a barrage of questions.
Back at the cottage he set the groceries on the kitchen counter. “Christa?” No answer. Maybe she was sleeping. But when he checked her bedroom the door was open and the bed empty. Frowning, he checked the rest of the house, relieved when he heard her footfalls on the back porch steps. She pushed open the screen door and poked her head inside. The sight of her there, safe, long hair tousled from the wind, hit him straight in the gut.
“I bought you some flowers. You like tulips, right?”
She stared at him for a second. Then, for the first time in days, she smiled. Actually smiled.
“I love them.” She came over to sniff the burst of pink, yellow, purple and red petals he held out. “They’re so beautiful, Rayne. Thank you.”
The pleasure on her face from such a simple gift made his heart do a funny little something in his chest.
“I can’t remember the last time anyone gave me flowers.”
It was a crime, that’s all he knew. “Glad you like them.”
She helped him put away the food and set about gathering ingredients for dinner. “By the way, Bryn called a few minutes ago to say she couldn’t make it tonight.”
Oh, come on. Could Bryn and his mom be any more transparent? No doubt this was their idea of letting them have a “little time alone together” hoping a romance would spring to life, and then Bryn could report the juicy details back to Charleston, and his mom could fantasize that her son had at long last found the mother of her unborn grandchildren.
“So I thought I’d cook us dinner instead,” Christa was saying. “How does ham with grilled pineapple and scalloped potatoes sound?”
Fucking awesome. “Sounds great. Want some help? I’m not exactly a gourmet chef, but I’m still young enough to learn.”
She laughed. “That’s okay. Why don’t you go and relax for a while and I’ll have dinner ready in an hour or so? Maybe take a walk on the beach and work up your appetite.”
He didn’t need anything to work up the appetite bothering him most. She did that without even trying. But he wasn’t sure if she was asking him for space or not. “By the look of that sky there’s a storm coming. I’d better get us some firewood.”
“I love storms,” she breathed and headed for the window, gazing out at the water. Already the wind was picking up, gusting against the old windowpanes. “There’s nothing better than watching a storm from inside a nice cozy house, listening to the rain pelt the roof and the wind rattle the windows while the waves crash on the beach.”
Rayne could think of something a hellluva lot more wonderful than that. He scanned the horizon with her, wondering what she was remembering that could put such a nostalgic expression on her face. “I’d say we’ve got another couple hours before it hits. We can curl up beside a nice warm fire when it does.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Hell yeah, it did. He gave her shoulder a squeeze, leaving her to do what she would in the kitchen. By the time he’d split and stacked the logs, set the fire ablaze and completed a few other chores around the place, she had whipped up the potatoes and ham and a chocolate mousse for dessert.
They ate at the kitchen table while Rayne told her stories of his past vacations at the cottage with Nate and his family. “I met Bryn my second time down here. She was with a group of hot girls Nate’s sons and I were hitting on, and we found out her father’s some high-ranking politician in Beirut. We took her home with us, so she could talk politics with Nate, since he and my dad both did a tour there. Apparently our dads know each other. Small world, huh?” He popped another forkful of ham into his mouth. “She goes there to visit her dad every summer.”
“What does she do for a living?”
“Social worker.” He helped himself to more potatoes. Lord, what the woman could do with just what he’d brought home from the store. “Depressing as hell if you ask me, but she likes it. Anyway, every year we’d come down and terrorize her boyfriends. We’d follow them around on dates, scare the guys off. We had so much fun.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Poor Bryn.”
He gave her a smile and held up his glass for a toast, forced himself to ignore the bruises on her face and how they’d gotten there. “But so far this is my most enjoyable vacation here yet.” Their glasses met with a muted clink.
Christa sipped her wine, then they cleared the dishes into the sink. The wind was beating at the cottage now, the rain splashing against the windows in fat rivulets. She was staring out the window above the sink at the waves slamming into the sand, as though caught in a trance.
“I’m going for a walk,” she announced.
He blinked. “Out there? You’ll get soaked.”
“I know.”
Her first laugh, now this first sign of enthusiasm in days... how could he stop her? But he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.
She bundled up in her coat and sailed past him out the screen door, the blast of wind slamming it behind her. Rayne leaned against the jamb as she skipped down the stairs and into the storm. He stood there, spellbound, almost hypnotized by the sight of her there on the beach with the wind whipping through her unbound hair. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed as if she was feeling the storm. At the smile lighting her face he felt a swell of pride, watching as she lifted her arms above her head and twirled, the gale swirling around her, the cuffs of her jeans wet from the pounding surf.
She was healing, the storm washing her soul clean.
****
Down amidst the crashing surf, Christa breathed in the salty air and laughed out loud, the sound swallowed by the elements. She had never felt so free, so exhilarated. The storm reinforced something wild within her spirit, something that could never be torn from her, something that had survived the threats, the fear and the attack. She felt so alive, the rhythm of the sea pulsing in her veins, the wind charging her soul. She let the rain drench her face, let it wash away the bruises and the scars like a cool, gentle hand. He could never break her spirit, never take this part of her away.
A tentative, languorous peace stole over her. She turned to face the cottage, the glow of the fire illuminating its windows, beckoning to her. Rayne was waiting there for her. She was wet and cold, but somehow soothed by the violence of the storm.
She made her way back up the beach, the warm light spilling from the cottage seeping into her like mulled wine. Up the steps she climbed, her wet jeans cold and weighted around her lower legs, her hair heavy and soaking down her back, her bare feet chilled.
Rayne pulled the door open like he’d been waiting for her, and her heart tripped all over itself.
“You look like you drowned out there,” he said with a laugh, reaching down to pick up a towel he had gotten for her. “Come here. You must be frozen.”
Her eyes drank him in. When he held out his arms to her, towel in hand, she moved toward him without hesitation and let him dry her hair in sure, relaxing motions.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” he murmured from behind her,
hands working steadily. She felt transfixed by his voice. She closed her eyes. “Christa?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Mmm.”
He chuckled. “I brought you some warm clothes to change into. Go ahead and put them on.”
Without protest she began peeling away the wet layers.
****
To give her more privacy he left the room and was rummaging in the fridge when the first piece of soaked clothing hit the floor. He stilled, instantly forgetting what he was searching for, and closed his eyes. This was torture. Thwap. That sounded like a pair of wet jeans landing on the polished hardwood. He imagined her standing there with nothing on but her underwear, bathed in firelight, the curve of her hips ... he almost groaned.
“I’m ready,” she called.
Covered from neck to ankle in the sweats he had found for her, her sodden clothing drying near the grate, she was sitting on the couch toweling her hair when he walked in. His gaze landed on the lacy lavender bra and panties lying on top of her jeans, and stuck there.
Damn, he was half hard just looking at her freaking underwear. “I made you some tea. Milk and sugar, right?”
“Yes, thanks.”
His eyes strayed to the curve of her breasts hidden by the thick shirt, and all he could think about was that they were naked under there, and what color her nipples would be if he pushed the material up high enough. Milk and sugar. Milk and sugar.
With a mental shake he headed into the kitchen for the creamer and sugar bowl. When he came back her almost sated expression and languorous posture as she sprawled out on the couch made her look like a woman who’d spent the past hour having really, really good sex. It drove him crazy.
She took a sip of the tea he handed her and closed her eyes. “Mmm, perfect.” He wanted so badly to lean down and kiss those gently curving lips. He’d imagined that same sleepy, contented expression countless times, but always after he’d blown her mind in bed. Or in the shower. Or on the kitchen table. He pulled in a deep breath. “Wow. That must have been some walk.”
