Passionate Kisses

by Various

  Things weren’t perfect, of course. Cade had returned to LA on the red-eye the night before, but between dinner with him and Derek and his flight, she’d had him over for a private talk. She’d taken Derek’s advice and told him how much he’d hurt her with his words all those years ago.

  He’d said, “I was upset, Cams. I don’t even remember saying that.” But she’d noticed him fidgeting in his chair, which suggested he had more going on in his head than he let on.

  She didn’t want to trust the dream she and Derek had shared. Maybe it had shown them the truth. Maybe it hadn’t. But Derek’s love gave her the confidence to forgive Cade, whatever the extent of his involvement, and to forgive herself. She and Cade hadn’t become bosom buddies after their talk, but Cade had left her with a hug, and she’d be willing to bet she’d get a birthday card from him this year. They had a long way to go, but the journey to reconciliation had begun.

  Having a modicum of success being honest with Cade inspired Cami to talk to her mother about her fear that her mother had never truly forgiven her. They’d gone out for coffee this morning. Cami had attracted some stares with her helmet and the cane she used while rebuilding the strength in her legs, but the awkwardness had nothing on the way she’d felt challenging her mother’s love the past eight years. She hadn’t thought anything could be said to erase her certainty that their relationship was a facade, but her mother had proven her wrong. “Your father would have forgiven you in an instant, sweetheart,” she had said. “How could I not do the same?”

  If only she had the courage to tell her mother Derek wasn’t just a serious boyfriend who had materialized out of nowhere when she’d been in the hospital, but also the man who had cut her off two weeks ago. Then again, maybe it could wait. About two seconds after meeting Derek in the hospital, her mother had started dropping hints that she’d been Cami’s age when she and Cami’s father got married. She’d never asked the name of the person who’d cut her off on the road that day. Maybe she never would.

  Things could be better—maybe someday they would be—but for the first time in a long time, she had more dreams than doubts, more love in her heart than guilt. And she had Derek to thank.

  She locked her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss. Pushing off from the stool, she tried to stand and lean into her man, but his strong hands pressed her down.

  Pulling back from the kiss, he reached toward the counter for her helmet, then lowered it onto her head so carefully she felt like a precious treasure. He had strong broad fingers well suited to working with unforgiving construction materials, but as he fastened the helmet under her chin, his touch was incredibly soft.

  Only after he nodded with satisfaction at the perfect fit did he take her hands and help her from the stool. Thick clumps of her hair compressed under her flip-flops as he pressed the cane into her hand and led her from the bathroom. She refused to look down. With the helmet on, she could look in the mirror and almost imagine she had hair like a normal person. Seeing her lush locks on the bathroom tile would ruin the illusion.

  When he turned her toward her living room instead of where she really wanted him to take her, where she’d been waiting for him to take her for days now, she dug in her heels.

  “Derek.” She made her voice firm, proving how much she’d taken to heart his encouragement to be more confident.

  He stopped and raised his eyebrows in question.

  “You’re going the wrong way. Bedroom’s this way.” She took one step back, then two, dragging out his arm by their linked fingers. But his feet remained planted.

  His face turned to stone, soft affection sheered away by something dark and serious. “I know where I’m going, sweetheart.”

  She had no doubt about that. He never made a move without projecting absolute confidence. Derek always knew exactly where he was going and what he wanted. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to want her in a physical sense, not since she’d been DG. He kissed her like he loved her, but never took things any further. The rough-around-the-edges guy pushing her to toughen up mentally had been tiptoeing around her physically. She’d had enough. Her libido demanded some rough treatment.

  “And I know where I’m going.” She let his hand go and turned her back on him to face her harvest-gold bedroom with its lace curtains and girlie-girl wicker furniture. It was tidy for a change, thanks to her mother’s obsessive cleaning. Derek had never set foot in it, even though he’d been to her apartment every day this week. She couldn’t wait to see her big, tough man laid out for her on her brass, full-size bed with its frilly skirt and floral-print shams. His naked skin would look deliciously tan against her white down comforter. She would stop at nothing to achieve that sight. Tonight.

  Sashaying with a cane wasn’t easy, but she did her best. Tossing what she hoped was a come-hither look over her shoulder, she said, “Join me, if you’re man enough.”

  Pretending not to care if he followed or not, she propped her cane against her glass-topped bedside table and sank into her comforter. When she glanced down the short hall connecting her bedroom to the apartment’s living area, she saw Derek standing with hands on hips, his eyes turned up to the ceiling as if praying for strength.

  Acting the seductress strained the boundaries of her comfort zone, but seemed to be working. Her discomfort would be worth it once he gave in and gave her what she wanted more than anything: him. All of him.

  She’d driven herself crazy, remembering their one time together. It couldn’t have been that good. Nothing outside of dreams could be that good. She had to satisfy her curiosity, find out if making love with Derek could make her see stars, or if that had been her imagination. Had he really flooded her with more love than her body could hold? Had a few magical nights in his bed really been worth going into a coma for?

  She toyed with the flimsy collar of her button-up shirt. “You think it’s warm in here?” she asked, tracing her finger along her collarbone.

  His gaze pinned her to the bed. Shaded by the lack of lighting in her hall, he looked dangerous, hungry.

  “Oh, hell,” he said, and in three strides, he made it to the bed and crawled over her, stopping on all fours.

  Her chest heaved with anticipation. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his mouth down to hers. “Miss you,” she breathed before she kissed him.

  He didn’t return her kiss with as much enthusiasm as his gaze had promised. His kiss was…uncertain. This Derek was a far cry from the man who had made her blush with his aggressive advances when she’d been DG.

  “What’s wrong?” she muttered against his lips.

  Hissing a curse, he turned his face away. He framed her face with his hands, but held the rest of his body off her. “I can’t do this.”

  Her stomach rolled. He was going to break up with her. Before they’d even had a chance to see where they could go together. “Wh—what do you mean?” Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

  “Look at you,” he said.

  She gasped. He’d just finished assuring her she was beautiful to him and now he “couldn’t do this” because of the way she looked? Her fledgling confidence was no match for a hit like that. She pushed on his chest, needing to be anywhere but beneath him.

  “Shit, I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” He nuzzled her cheek.

  She hid her face. If only she could roll off the bed and vanish from his sight. Of course, she’d have to escape the cage of his arms first, a cage that made her feel ridiculously safe despite her rising embarrassment.

  He made a fist and thumped the bed a few times. “I’m fucking this up—shit. I’m sorry.”

  She recognized his tone, harsh with anger—at himself. He meant the apology for upsetting her as well as for the cursing. She wished he wouldn’t apologize for cursing. She liked it because it reflected his passion and roughness, two of the things she loved most about him.

  She forgot her embarrassment. “Don’t apologize for who you are. And you don’t have to apologize for fin
ding me unattractive. I know what I look like right now—”

  “Cami.” He cut her off and pressed his forehead to her helmet. “That’s not what I meant. Not at all.” He blew a breath out his nose. “You’re hurt. That’s what I meant. The things I want to do to you—” He gave his head a shake. “You need rest. You need sleep. You’re still taking meds for migraines, for crying out loud. You don’t need me pawing at you.”

  The knot of dread in her chest uncurled, and in her sudden relief, her stomach jumped with the urge to laugh. What the heck. She let out a good, hard laugh. She’d been doing that a lot lately, laughing, enjoying life, having fun with Derek and Haley and even her mother and Cade.

  “You think sex will hurt me?” she asked, laughing harder.

  His jaw tightened, but after a second, the seriousness melted from his face, and his eyes danced. Then he laughed too. Derek serious was a sight to behold. Derek smiling and laughing caught her body on fire.

  “Sweetheart,” he said when their laughter trailed off. “You’re asking for it.”

  “You’re right. I am.” She trailed her hands down his chest and fiddled with the button on his jeans, not undoing it, just flirting with it. She wanted him, and he knew it, but he’d have to make the first move.

  His throat moved with a swallow. “How do you feel? Do you have a headache?” He watched her intently, concern replacing his mirth.

  “I feel good.” When the meds wore off she always got a spectacular headache, but she’d learned just when to pop the pills to keep the throbbing at bay. “But I could always feel better.”

  His mouth curled up at the corner. Then his eyes darkened. He made a sound low in his throat that made her body pulse in interesting places. Then he kissed her. Gentle at first, gradually ramping up the intensity, as if giving her a chance to tap out if anything got to be too much.

  Like that was going to happen. She urged him on with her hands, skimming them up the warm skin of his back under his t-shirt, holding on because his kisses sent her reeling with desire. She urged him on with her legs too, bringing her knees up to cradle his hips as he lowered them.

  “Yes,” she sighed. She’d needed this since the moment she’d been torn away from him too many hours before dawn last Tuesday night. She had a feeling she would never stop needing this.

  He nibbled at her lips. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Then he kissed his way down her neck while their fingers tangled as they both tried to unbutton her shirt. She gave up and let him do it, and after a minute, he had her peeled out of her top.

  Bruises from the seatbelt colored her collarbone and ribs with sickly yellow. He traced them with his rough fingers, tickling over the healing skin, making her shiver. While he looked her over, she watched carefully for signs of guilt. She saw it in the set of his jaw, dampening the heat in his eyes. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. She hated when he beat himself up, and seeing more of her injuries seemed to make it worse.

  But oh, it felt good when he rubbed his palms up her ribs and cupped her breasts through her lacy bra. A moment later, his mouth covered one nipple. He drenched the fabric, then sucked at it, pulling a moan from her. She forgot her doubts and rocked her head back in pleasure, only to be distracted by her helmet denting her ear and the strap tugging at her throat.

  She growled and reached for the latch.

  “No.” His fingers closed around hers, moving her hands away.

  “My head is surrounded by pillows. I won’t get hurt.”

  “The doctor said it stays on twenty-four-seven. I’m not taking any chances with you.”

  He was probably right, but that didn’t keep her from arguing. “I can’t feel sexy with it on.”

  “You look sexy with it on.”

  She snorted.

  He smiled a devastating smile, the guilt well hidden.

  “It’s uncomfortable.” The protest was half-hearted. She had Derek in bed with her, finally. She could tolerate a little discomfort.

  He slipped her bra straps down her shoulders, following the path with kisses. “I’ll take your mind off it.”

  He flicked his tongue over her, this time without the barrier of her bra. Electric pleasure raced from her breasts to her womb. Her back bowed. Derek’s hands on her shoulders kept her head motionless. Panting and on the verge of climax just from his wet kisses on her sensitive peaks, she pushed at his head, coaxing him to put his mouth somewhere even better.

  He obliged with a wicked grin.

  Unintelligible mutterings fell from her lips as he gave her just what she needed.

  She would die from the pleasure. It was too much. Not enough.

  He added his fingers to the mix, bringing her to a powerful peak.

  Strangled cries came from her as she soared.

  While she regained the ability to breathe, he came up and kissed her jaw, her chin, her lips. She clung to him, rubbing and squeezing the thick muscles of his back and arms through his shirt. His jeans chafed her belly where his erection made a hard ridge.

  “Off,” she said, tugging at his waistband.

  He stretched out beside her and traced a lazy finger over her belly and hip, making no move to obey.

  “This, too.” She lifted the bottom of his shirt, exposing his firm stomach. Oh yes, she’d be licking every square inch of that caramel-colored skin.

  He finagled the material out of her hand and smoothed it in place, shaking his head no.

  Burying his face against her neck, he breathed her in and continued petting her, in no apparent hurry to move things along.

  Unacceptable.

  She tunneled her fingers under his shirt to stroke his chest. He moaned, soft and low, but when she popped the button on his jeans, he gently removed her hands.

  “Make love to me.” As if he didn’t know what she wanted.

  “I just want to take care of you, right now, sweetheart.”

  Something felt off. Her shoulders tensed. “You just did. Very well, I might add. Now I want all of you. Like before. I want us to take care of each other.”

  Their gazes caught and held. His overflowed with desire and love, but something dark lurked beneath, something more than the guilt she’d reluctantly gotten used to. He hid his face against her neck again, but not in time. She recognized the something else. And she didn’t like it one bit.

  * * * *

  “You’re punishing yourself.”

  Derek couldn’t get enough of Camilla’s sweet, smoky voice. Hell, he couldn’t get enough of her. Even after seeing her every day for almost a week, he still counted the minutes at work until he could get off and meet her, like a kid with a crush. But he didn’t like what she’d just said.

  The judge had ordered him to pay a fine and attend an anger management class. The punishment was only part of his sentence. The rest of it was seeing Camilla’s bruises, hearing her soft groans when she moved too quickly for her healing body, and longing to stroke her gorgeous hair, knowing it would be months before he could do it again. He had enough punishment without feeling the need to add to it.

  He hushed her and said, “Let me.”

  Her creamy skin felt like cool satin under his roving hand. He loved touching her, loved having this access to her body. Jesus. Her taste, the sound of her cries, the trust in her sated gaze... She was every bit as innocent and every bit as wild as she’d been those nights in his room. And now that they could truly be together, he figured he had far more to be thankful for than to regret. He didn’t need more than that. He didn’t need what his body craved. Just being with her was enough.

  But she had other ideas. She pushed him onto his back and crawled over him. Straddling his waist, she looked so damn beautiful his breath stopped in his throat. She’d started to put some weight on, but she was still thinner than she’d been in his bed those nights. Her breasts had lost a cup size, but still perfectly filled his hands. Her formerly athletic body had become almost waifish. A strong wind might blow her away. But she had strength in her gaze.


  “No. Let me.” She plucked his hands off her hips and pressed them into the bed at his sides as if she wanted him to keep them there.

  He fought a grin and failed—seeing her exercise her newfound confidence turned him on like nothing else. Curling his hands in the comforter to keep them still, he let her pet him. He was hard as iron under her hot, wet center, but he fought the urge to lay her down and drive himself into her welcoming body like he had that one, amazing night.

  Half an hour ago, he’d have said he couldn’t wait to get her alone, demanding more than kisses. But now that he had exactly that, his body had become a battleground. His head and his dick wanted to give her what she asked for—give it to her through dinner time and into the night, then hold her while they slept in her bed, then give it to her some more before he had to leave for work in the morning. But that shrinking lump in the pit of his stomach flared to new life at the thought.

  Camilla didn’t just look delicate. She was delicate. Even with her helmet on, a single bump in the wrong place and she might have a seizure or go back into a coma. Fuck, she could even die.

  He wasn’t punishing himself. Just practicing common sense. She needed time and rest.

  She needed gentleness from him, not the kind of sound fucking he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  If he gave in to what she wanted, he couldn’t guarantee her safety.

  His dick would recover, but if he did anything to even remotely prolong her recovery, he’d never be able to live with himself.

  So he gritted his teeth and endured her insistent explorations, knowing she’d drive him wilder and wilder with every caress, and knowing he’d lie there and take it, because to do what she made him want to do would endanger her.

  She skimmed her hands under his shirt, massaging his abs. Inching up to his pecs, her fingers brushed his nipples, and he sucked in a breath. His dick became even harder. It ached with the need to claim her. His whole body strained to make love to her. But he just gripped that damned comforter and thought about air handlers to keep from acting on his urges.