Come Home to Me

by Liz Talley

  “Go get your bath,” he said, releasing her and walking toward the kitchen. “I’ll pour myself a cup and wait on you.”

  Disappointment mixed with confusion. What was that all about? They’d been so close to tipping over the edge and plunging into something wonderful, and then he pulled back.

  She watched him open a few cabinet doors, looking for a mug. Then he picked up the carafe of the French roast she’d splurged on and poured himself a cup. He turned and crooked that eyebrow again. “You going?”

  Summer nodded and headed to the bathroom. The water was almost to the top of the tub. She turned it off and pulled the plug to let some out. As she watched the water lower, she perched on the edge of the tub. Damn, she was so confused. Was Rhett into her? Or not? Did she want him to be? Or not? She remembered the pass she’d made on the beach all those years ago—she obviously couldn’t read him for shit.

  And anyway, what would be the result of dragging him into her bedroom and asking for the full Rhett Bryan experience?

  At best, multiple orgasms. At worst, horrible regret.

  Toss-up.

  She jabbed the plug in the tub, locked the door, and dropped her robe. The water welcomed her, whispering she should soak her cares away. The clink of the fridge shutting in the kitchen screamed, “The fabulous Rhett Bryan is in your kitchen.”

  Tell her what she’s playing for, Ed.

  A brand new . . . mistake!

  Summer sighed and made short work of bathing, even touching up her legs with the razor and intentionally avoiding touch-ups on her bikini area. She wasn’t going there with Rhett. She’d misread all the signs the same way she had all those years ago. Yeah, he’d kissed her just now, but that was it. And it hadn’t even been all that passionate. More flirty and friendly.

  She dried off and pulled on her robe, leaving her hair in the clip. Her only concession to a hot, famous guy in her kitchen was the mouth rinse and swipe of lip balm. Oh, and deodorant. Then she opened the door and nearly ran into Rhett.

  “Eek,” she yelped, nearly running into the cup of coffee in his hand.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. Rhett looked genuinely concerned. “I just wanted to bring you some coffee. Are you okay?”

  Something clicked in her brain. A sort of “ohhhh.”

  “I’m not that fragile, Rhett,” she said, taking the cup from him.

  “I know,” he said, following her into the living area, his voice sounding pretty unconvincing. This was what the kiss on the nose was about. This was why he pushed her away. He thought she needed to be handled carefully because of the date rape.

  “You think I’m afraid of being with you?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t think you’re afraid of me. I just . . . well, I haven’t been with anyone who . . . who . . .”

  Summer sank onto the couch. Guess she would go commando under the robe, awkward as it was. She sipped the coffee and looked up at Rhett. “How do you know you’ve never been with someone who’s been sexually assaulted?”

  “I suppose I don’t.”

  Rhett ignored the recliner and instead sat down beside her. His hands cradled the mug David had given her for Mother’s Day. Pink flowers and a Bible verse decorated the porcelain, which emphasized the daintiness of the mug in Rhett’s masculine hands.

  “More women than you think have dealt with sexual assault. But I’ve worked hard to get past any sexual hang-ups I had. What happened to me wasn’t easy, but when you combine alcohol, rejection, and dumb decisions, bad things happen. So I don’t do those things, and I’ve had some healthy relationships with decent guys who helped me heal. So if you’re worried you have to handle me like a victim, don’t. What happened that night doesn’t define me. It doesn’t keep me from embracing my sexuality.”

  Rhett took a sip of coffee and then looked at her. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, if that was what you were doing. I’m not trying to say you wanted to . . . what I’m saying is if you’re”—she took a deep breath—“holding back because you think I’m damaged, then don’t.”

  “Maybe I was.” He studied her, his pale-blue eyes so intense in the dimness of her living room. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous. I also wanted to . . . to . . . I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I felt like I needed to give you space or something.”

  “That’s nice of you, but again, Hunt took away my innocence, but he didn’t steal the pleasure I take in sex. I’m not saying it was easy the first few times, but I persevered.”

  “Persevered sounds terrible.”

  Summer gave a light laugh. “Touché.”

  “So . . . ?”

  “So . . .” she echoed, wondering if his so meant what she thought his so meant. “We have a few hours to, uh, have coffee?”

  He stared blankly.

  “Please don’t make me kiss you, and then you say something about how I’m a terrific girl and I’ll make some man a happy man someday, and then you say—”

  “I’m not, but I did some research about intimate relationships with rape victims. The author said to allow the victim to set the boundaries. And then there was something about touching exercises,” he said, and damned if he didn’t look absolutely earnest.

  She envisioned Rhett on the Internet trying to find the right way to be intimate with a rape survivor. It was both amusing and touching that he cared so much.

  He’d tossed the ball on her side of the net, so she stood, unbelted her robe, and with one wriggle of her shoulders, her robe fell to the floor.

  The move could go either way. Rhett had no doubt seen dozens of nude women with tight bodies and high breasts that had never nursed a baby. Summer had a slight belly and her thighs were thicker than what she would have liked, and there was the fact that she’d not bothered to touch up her bikini area. Why hadn’t she at least given the area a cautionary swipe of the razor?

  Rhett’s mouth did a little open/shut thing, but his eyes fastened on the abundance of flesh, his gaze sliding down her body. But he didn’t move.

  If this was going to happen, it was up to her. “I love the sound of touching exercises, but the boundary is you can touch only what is uncovered.”

  “I can handle that,” he said, pulling her to him.

  She fell gracelessly into his arms, but she didn’t care much because his lips found hers. Greedily he kissed her, like she was water and he was thirst.

  And it was good. Very, very good. As in the man knew how to kiss a woman until she lost her breath . . . along with her good sense. Desire coated her like warm honey. She wanted to stay there forever, yet she wanted to push him harder, drive them both to the point where the real world fell away and there was only pleasure.

  “You smell so good,” he whispered, dropping tiny kisses along her jawline while his hands explored the hills and valleys of her body. “You taste even better.”

  His mouth found hers again as she twined her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through the silky hair at the nape of his neck. She’d dreamed of this so many times, but her fantasies couldn’t come close to the wonder of actually being in Rhett’s arms.

  “Bedroom?” he asked after ripping his mouth from hers. Dilated blue eyes lazily searched her for an answer. He looked hotter than anything she’d ever seen. Heavy breathing, tingly feelings, and the erection pressing against her side told her he was as into her as she was him.

  “Please,” she said, sliding her hand up to cup his raspy jawline. “I want this.”

  He slid her to the side and rose, pulling his shirt overhead and tossing it onto the recliner. Hewn muscles and golden skin made Summer nearly drool as she shoved off the couch and started down the hall. She heard the clunk of his shoes hitting the floor and the jolting sound of the man removing his jeans as he followed.

  When she opened the door to her bedroom, she turned. Rhett caught her against him, his boxer briefs clearly outlining his arousal. He looked like a dream standing in her little hallway.

  R
hett looked down at her cradled in his arms. “Are you sure?”

  Summer leaned forward and kissed the indentation at the base of his throat before rising on her tiptoes and kissing the cleft in his gorgeous chin. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to have you, Rhett Bryan. I can’t be any more sure.”

  He kissed her then, a sweet, tender, hot, molten kiss that made her curl her toes against the worn floorboards. Pulling back, he looked down at her body, lightly glancing the curve of her breast before sliding a hand down to her hip. “You’re beautiful.”

  His words curled round her like a tender melody. He’d once told her she was pretty, but this time she believed it. The reverence of his touch, the way his gaze hungrily engulfed her, and those sweet words became the tempo for what would happen on her rumpled sheets.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Summer,” he whispered against her neck.

  She smiled into his golden hair. “I’m not asking for forever, Rhett. I’m happy with Sunday morning.”

  So he pulled her into the room and she locked the door.

  He didn’t waste time with checking out her cluttered room or asking her any further if she was certain she wanted this. His arms came around her, his lips found hers, and again she was lost in the music of Rhett.

  His body was hard and warm, pure sunshine curving around her. The hands that found her ass hauled her tight to him as he devoured her lips, her neck, her earlobe. Heat pulsed inside, storming her with need.

  She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. Her hands could find no rest. She caressed the broad shoulders, the sandy curls on his chest, the broad plain of his back. At that moment Rhett belonged to her, and she would play him like she played her music . . . with utter pleasure.

  Rhett pulled her onto the bed, and she fell atop him, finding it a happy coincidence that all the hard places lined up with her soft ones. She kissed the cleft of his chin again, giving a little wiggle to make sure certain parts of him made delicious friction on parts of her that needed . . . delicious friction.

  “I want this to be good for you, Summer,” he murmured, his fingertips stroking the plump breast resting against his chest. “I want to go slow, but I’m losing it here, baby.”

  Summer shifted to her side, sliding her hands down, skimming his tight stomach, tracing the erection straining his boxers. “How about we not worry about anything other than pleasing each other? We can go slow next time.”

  “Next time? You have plans, do you?” His mouth covered hers as he rolled her onto her back. Again the parts lined up. She moved, sighing at how good he felt atop her. Delicious weight, salty skin, and the essence of the boy she’d been waiting for her whole life.

  “Mm-hmm,” she murmured as he trailed a hand down her side, making her belly jump. He dropped his head and kissed the top of each breast.

  “A good performance always deserves an encore.”

  Rhett groaned his approval against her breasts, filling his mouth with better things than words. Then Summer lost her ability to flirt . . . to talk . . . to make sense of anything other than Rhett making love to her on a Sunday morning. Because it had been a long time since she’d had a man’s hands on her, since she’d had a man’s mouth on her, since she’d felt the fullness of a man inside her.

  And it damned sure would be a long time until she found another man who made her feel so alive. Like a song, the notes fell in place, the harmony unfolded, and when the deafening crescendo came, there was only beauty.

  And Rhett.

  For Summer, that was enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  November, present day

  Rhett woke to afternoon sunshine and a strange room. But then he remembered where he was and who the warm lump next to him was.

  Summer.

  He flexed his toes and stretched his spine, savoring the slight crack of his back. They’d made love until they were exhausted and then dropped into sated, dreamless sleep. He’d not dreamed of blood-slicked roads or silent screams. Instead he’d fallen into a satisfied state of unconsciousness. For the first time in forever, he’d awoken without a pit of despair in his stomach.

  He knew having sex with Summer wasn’t some magical pill that healed him. He wasn’t that corny, but still he couldn’t ignore how good he felt at the moment. The sex had been hot, but afterward as they lay there, murmuring funny stories, sweet, warm limbs intertwined, a strange comfort covered him like a blanket from his past.

  Carefully, he slid his arm from beneath her shoulders. She groaned and then made a funny little piglet sound before snuggling back into the depths of the down pillow. His arm tingled with numbness, and part of him wanted to roll her onto her back and taste her sweetness again, but a glance at her alarm clock told him her son would be home soon.

  And the knot of complication formed.

  He climbed from the bed, careful to not wake Summer. The last few days had been hard on her, and a good stretch of sleep was what the doctor ordered. Along with a couple of orgasms. He’d been happy to deliver those.

  Rhett picked up his boxers, softly shut the door, and dressed in the dimness of the living room. Before he sneaked out, he picked up her robe and draped it over the back of the dining room chair. As he turned to go, he caught sight of a folder on the table. Several handwritten sheets of music hung out. He lifted the flap and looked at the title. “Carolina Boy.”

  The haunting song came back to him as he read the lyrics, and he remembered how beautiful and strong she looked up on that stage.

  A few words to music execs, a call to a good manager and agent, or even a bug in the ear of a country music artist could net Summer another look. If this song lay in this folder without anyone seeing it, it would remain mere ink on paper. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. There were several messages, nagging reminders of the world he’d left behind. Soon, he’d have to face that world. He couldn’t hide in Moonlight much longer.

  Spreading the sheets out on the table, he snapped a picture of each of the sheets, his heart warming at the doodles on the side of one sheet. He pushed the sheets back together and tucked them into the folder. Summer had said she didn’t want his help, but surely if she could get a shot at doing something more than playing backstreet bars and ramshackle honky-tonks, she’d take it. Writing music and singing was her dream . . . even if it was a deferred one.

  At the very least, he could give her a chance. If someone was interested, she could decide whether she wanted to pursue the opportunity or not.

  He pushed out the front door into the cool November day, marveling at how pretty the marsh looked when the grasses faded to straw and the hardwood trees preened with fall color. Even the Nest didn’t look as tired against the blue sky.

  He climbed the back steps to find Grampy Pete sitting in the broken Adirondack chair smoking his pipe.

  “That chair looks like it might fall apart at any moment. You should wait for the new ones I ordered,” he told Grampy.

  “I ain’t worried about it. If it falls, it falls.”

  Rhett headed toward the sliding glass door, intending to fix a sandwich. He felt ravenous. Good sex did that to a guy.

  “I told you to leave her alone,” Grampy said.

  Rhett paused with his hand on the handle. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been at Summer’s for half the day. Her boy’s at church. I can add two and two together. Been doing that for years.”

  “I like Summer.” The words seemed lame for what he felt for her. She wasn’t just some lay. She was his friend and he cared about her. And he’d asked before he slept with her. Lord knows he’d never press her for something she didn’t want.

  “Everyone likes Summer, but they don’t sleep with her. You’re going to be leaving soon. I’d say probably right after Thanksgiving. Maybe before, since I know the day don’t mean much to you. No offense, but you’ve never been a sentimental boy.”

  “It’s not like that,” Rhett said, turning toward the man who’d alw
ays been his compass.

  “What’s it like? She lives here and is raising a boy. You live in LA and you’re building a career. You ain’t taking her with you. She wouldn’t last two months out there. And the kid’s dad is here. Summer needs a man who will stay with her. You ain’t staying, so you shouldn’t have gone knocking on that door.”

  Irritation rose in Rhett. “You don’t know what I’ll do. You’re making assumptions.”

  “No. I’m speaking the truth. You’re mixed up about a lot of things and looking for answers. You’re using Summer as a distraction. Look, I understand. She’s pure goodness, and everyone wants to have some goodness in their life.”

  Rhett sat down on the chair next to his grandfather. The old wood shifted with his weight, and Rhett prepared himself to fall, but the chair held. “I’m not using her.”

  “Then what are you doing?” The words were little darts finding their target.

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “But you will.”

  The words dug deeper into his soul. “I won’t.”

  “There’s one thing I know about that woman—she has a thing for you. Always has. Oh sure, she acts like she don’t. She don’t bring you up, but when the topic of conversation arises, she gets this look before she pretends she don’t care nothing for you. But I read people well.”

  Rhett took a deep breath and wondered how he could explain what Summer was to him. She’d helped him breathe again. Hell, he felt better than he had in forever.

  His grandfather puffed on the pipe, letting the silence sit between them. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I don’t think you’d intentionally hurt her. You ain’t the kind to use and run. You’re a good boy, Rhett. I’m not sure you still believe that, but you are.”

  Something squeezed in Rhett’s chest.

  “You came back to remember that, to rediscover that part of yourself you hid because being good doesn’t always make you successful out there. In that world you live in, being good gets you stepped on, pushed aside, relegated as weak. You came home because you needed to get centered and get back who you used to be. Thing is, you never lost that. That’s why that Beverly woman galled you so much.”