She followed him into the room. The furniture wasn’t new, but it was well kept. The double bed was covered with a neutral-patterned comforter. Two bedside tables. Opposite the bed was a large window with filmy white curtains that let in some light. On the left side of the window stood a small desk, on the other a dresser. A small closet was set into the wall to the right of the door.
“I think you’ll be okay here. I can vouch for the bed being comfortable.”
Amy mumbled “Thank you,” and sat down on the bed as if to test the truthfulness of his words. It was an older bed, the kind with actual bedsprings, but rarely used. It squeaked slightly under her weight. Her smile faded and he saw renewed worry return. Without thinking about it, he sat down on the bed next to her and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away. “You’ll be alright here. You don’t have to be afraid.”
To his surprise, tears glazed her eyes. She bit her lip, as if trying to hold back her emotions. His free hand rose to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. A tear slipped over her eyelid and Dean reached over to brush it away. Everything after that became a blur of sensations and emotion.
She leaned forward, and suddenly he was kissing her, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, clinging to him, almost desperately. Her mouth sought his and he reveled in the warmth. Their breathing accelerated, their bodies pressed close. He pulled her closer, his hand gently cupping the back of her head, the fingers of his other hand still intertwined with hers.
The kiss evoked a near-immediate reaction. His dick surged to awareness, keeping pace with the thrumming of his pulse, the surge of desire that started in his groin and swept upward. She couldn’t feel his hard-on, but he didn’t want to frighten her and so shifted his position slightly. Her hand brushed against his thigh. Just that innocent touch made his cock grow harder, longer.
Amy gasped, the sound muffled as the tip of her tongue explored his lips. Soft, mewling sounds issued from her throat. She disentangled her fingers from his and without hesitation, placed her palm against his thigh, dangerously close to his throbbing dick and balls.
Dean barely stifled a groan. He was at full mast now, struggling to maintain his composure. His hand dropped from her head and stroked the side of her neck, down along her shoulder, and then she twisted slightly. His fingers grazed against the side of her breast and he stopped, dead still. Was he moving too fast? Would he completely freak her out, just when she’d started to relax again?
Amy gasped.
11
Amy
She had never felt so many delicious sensations in her life. Never. It was just a kiss, but the texture of his lips and the feelings he evoked within her with that simple touch nearly took her breath away. The tender, almost cherishing touch of his hand as he skimmed down along her side and rested it on her waist filled her with desire. The feel of his rock-hard thigh beneath her fingertips encouraged her curiosity. If she moved her hand, even slightly, she would brush against his cock.
For the first time in her life, she wanted—really wanted—to go all the way. Such a high-school expression, but appropriate for the moment. She was still a virgin. Her parents had been extremely strict, and then in college it had all been overwhelming. Sure, she’d kissed a boy before, even done a few other things, but sex? She’d never found someone she wanted that with. Not until now.
There had been times when she’d thought she wanted Nick to take things further, but he had always held back. At first she thought it was because he respected her, wanted her to be the one to invite him to take her virginity, but now she knew better. He hadn’t taken her fully, not because he was being a gentleman, but because a virgin would demand a higher price.
Amy suppressed a shudder.
No, don’t think about him. Don’t think about that.
She forced her thoughts back to the present. Dean, sitting here next to her, making her feel so . . . so desired, so needed. She turned slightly, moved her arm, and felt his hardness beneath her hand. At the same time, his hand slid upward, cupping her breast over her bra. Desire ran rampant. She squeezed his cock as best she could through the fabric of his jeans. God, making a man like him feel that way . . . over her? It was incredible.
She deepened the kiss, invited him in, opening her mouth. Their tongues met, explored, and if possible, their bodies pressed even closer. Her ears buzzed as every nerve in her body awakened. For the first time in months, she felt alive. She allowed herself more, to not just observe, but to feel.
His hand slid under the bottom of the bra, gently pushing it upward over her mound. “Is that okay?” he whispered.
Should she stop him? What kind of a message was she sending? But then the warmth of his palm cupped her breast, as if testing the weight of it, his thumb slowly circling her nipple. Amy groaned and pressed herself into his hand. Her nipple came to full attention, the tingling behind it jolting through her body. She leaned into him, inviting his touch. “God, yes.” Her voice was a whisper, almost breathless.
Dean chuckled. His fingers played with her nipple, at first teasing, gently plucking before his palm gently caressed her breast. She wanted to feel his mouth there . . . the wet warmth of his tongue lathing her breast, sending ripples of heat down her spine toward her belly, and then flaming in her sex.
Her hand stroked the length of him, thrilled at the guttural sound that issued from his throat. She let go of his cock and reached for the bottom of his T-shirt, wanting, needing to feel the warmth of his skin against her hand.
Dean made another sound in his throat and then slowly broke off the kiss, nuzzling the side of her mouth, her cheek, and then her ear lobe. His voice was soft in her ear.
“Amy . . .”
The sound of his voice brought her back to her senses. She straightened, opened her eyes, saw the surprise in his. His hand still cupped her breast. She glanced down, her T-shirt covering half his forearm. She looked back up at Dean, his dilated pupils, the way his nostrils flared, the vein throbbing in his neck. He didn’t want to stop, but he wasn’t going to do anything else without her explicit permission.
She wanted to, but . . . she gave him a small smile. He nodded, understanding, his expression unchanged as he slowly moved his hand from her breast. He gently pulled her bra back in place, and then moved his hand out from under her shirt. She immediately missed his warmth, his touch. He didn’t break his gaze from hers as a small smile turned up the corners of his lips. He placed both hands on her shoulders. “To be continued.”
He wanted more. So did she. But perhaps not just now. She nodded. “To be continued.”
Dean stood and she couldn’t help but look downward at his crotch. His erection pressed against his pants in a clear outline. Realizing that she was staring, she quickly glanced up at his face, blush heating her cheeks. He didn’t seem to mind her staring. “I’ll go take care of Penny. You go call Meg, have her prepare a bag for you.”
Amy nodded, her heart still pounding, her body still tingling with warmth and the sensations of his touch. She hadn’t felt such hope, such excitement in a long time. It seemed like forever. She got the feeling that she could learn to trust Dean, but the emotions were new to her, unfamiliar.
He turned and left the room, calling for Penny. She dug into her pocket and retrieved the phone, her hands still trembling from passion. She took a deep breath, flipped open the lid, accessed the menu and then the contact list, and scrolled down to the second name. Promise House. This would be the first time she’d be away from the shelter since the fire, and that certainly hadn’t been voluntary.
She pressed the dial button. Three rings later, a female voice answered.
“Promise House, this is Meg speaking. How can I help you?”
“Meg, it’s me. Amy.”
The tone of Meg’s voice changed. “Amy, are you alright?” She was concerned. “Are you still down at the police station?”
“No,” she said. “I’m at . . . I’m at Dean’s house. I’ll be staying here tonight.”
There was a long pause before Meg spoke again. Amy could tell that she was forcing a cheerful tone. “Are you alright?”
“For now. I just didn’t want to . . .” She took a deep breath. Meg needed to know. “The man involved in my kidnapping was seen recently in Savannah. That’s what the FBI wanted to talk to me about.” Meg gasped, but Amy pushed on. “I didn’t want to stay at Promise House tonight. Dean has a spare room in his house and told me I could stay here.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Are you using his cell?”
“No, he bought me one of those burner phones. I called to ask if you’d put a change of clothes into the backpack hanging in my closet. Dean will come by in a little while to pick it up. He’ll give you the number for this phone when he gets there.”
“Good plan, Amy. You’re safe with Dean.”
Her body still tingled with the warmth of his touch. “I hope so.”
“Amy, you have people who care for you. Who want to protect you. But I’ll tell you, if you feel that you can’t stay with Dean, you call me or Sloane. One of us will pick you up, pronto. You know that we’ll do anything and everything that we can to help you, and to make you feel safe.”
“Thank you,” she replied, her voice choked with gratitude. “I appreciate that. I really do. You’ll never know how much your friendship has meant to me.”
Meg offered a small laugh. “On that note, I want to tell you that some flowers arrived for you this afternoon.”
Surprised, Amy smiled. “From Dean?” Had he arranged the delivery before all this happened this afternoon? How sweet.
“It came with a little card. You want me to read it?”
“Sure,” she said. She would have Dean bring them back to the house with him when he went to pick up her backpack. She heard the sound of rustling and then Meg’s intake of breath. “Well, what does it say?” She smiled with anticipation.
“ . . . Um . . . I’m not sure if I should read it to you,” Meg hesitated. Her voice sounded odd.
“It’s not that personal, is it?” She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake in accepting Dean’s invitation. Maybe he felt more strongly about her than she did about him.
“No,” Meg said. “But they’re not from Dean. They’re from a man named Nick.”
Her stomach lurched, as if someone had punched her in the gut. Any pleasant feeling evaporated and fear took its place. “What?” She tried desperately to tamp down the rising sensation of panic.
Meg was quiet. “Amy, the card says, ‘We have unfinished business, Love. See you soon’.”
12
Dean
Dean walked back to the guest room to check if Amy was ready for him to go over to Promise House. Walking to the room, he raised his hand to knock on the door jamb and stopped dead in the hallway. Amy was sitting on the bed, gazing through the open door. Her eyes were unfocused and she looked through him as if he weren’t there. Her face white and drawn, her pupils so constricted it seemed like she didn’t have any.
Damn it! She was terrified. Her breathing was shallow, her lips and chin trembling, her hands balled into fists, the flip phone he had purchased for her lying open on the bed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. He bolted into the room, taking her hand in his. It was cold, clammy.
“He knows I’m here,” she whispered.
“Who?” Her hands gripped his and squeezed. He wasn’t even sure Amy was aware she was touching him. At his word, she finally moved, her eyes darting toward the window and then back at him.
“Nick . . . Nick Summers.”
“What? What did Meg tell you?” He looked down at the phone and then back at her. “The FBI agent said—”
“I called Meg to tell her I was staying the night and to ask her to put a bag together for me . . .”
“It’s okay,” he urged. “You can tell me.” She clenched his hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Dean placed his other hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. Slowly, she released her grip and allowed him to take her hand gently in his again.
“She told me I had gotten some flowers.” She looked down at her hands and offered a shaky laugh. “I thought they were . . . anyway, I told her to go ahead and read the card.”
“What did it say?”
Amy told him, her voice shaking.
We have unfinished business, Love. See you soon.
Anger surged through him. The bastard! He couldn’t let Amy see he was upset. Dean calmed the ire and immediately sought to reassure her. “He doesn’t know me, Amy. He doesn’t know where I live. If he’s watching Promise House, he’s not going to find you there.”
She lowered her head and her shoulders slumped forward. “What am I going to do?”
Amy withdrew her hand and brought her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees. She stared into space again, as if she’d forgotten he was there. She mumbled, talking to herself, her fear slowly transforming into panic. Her breathing accelerated. Wild trembling took hold of her body.
Dean reached an arm around her shoulder, the other hand cradling her head against his chest. He half talked, half hummed, offering soothing words. Telling her everything was going to be alright. Trying to convince her that not only did he believe it, but so should she.
“It’s going to be alright, Amy. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
He shifted his position, his hand moving to cup her cheek, then he tipped her chin upward until she could see his eyes. “I’m going to keep you safe. I promise.” His gaze moved to her mouth, half open, lower lip trembling. Damn, he wanted to stop the trembling.
Moving as slowly as he could, he leaned down and kissed her. It was just a brief touch of his lips, but she didn’t back away. Instead, she leaned into him, as if wishing she could disappear inside him. She pressed herself closer, her nose gently touching his neck. He felt her breath on the base of his neck and couldn’t help sensations of arousal that she evoked within him.
No. She didn’t need that now.
He could just imagine her fear . . . no, no, he couldn’t. He had never been in such a vulnerable position. Kidnapped? Held blindfolded and bound in a shipping container, knowing that you had no control over your destiny? Knowing that you were to be sold as a sex slave? No, he couldn’t imagine it, not even close.
But, God. He wanted to somehow provide her with a sense of comfort, to show her that he cared. That he would do anything to keep her safe and out of harm’s way. That her small circle of friends would also help in any way they could.
“I’ll protect you, Amy. You have my word on that . . .” He kissed her again, this time on her forehead, wanting to comfort her, wanting to convince her, through his physical presence, that she was safe with him.
He moved to kiss the top of her head. He inhaled the fragrance of strawberries or raspberries, some type of fruity-scented shampoo. She smelled fresh, like summer, compelling a surprising surge of protection through him. He lifted his head and placed his chin against the top of her head, just enjoying her closeness.
“Thanks, Dean, but . . . but we don’t know each other that well. I don’t want to drag anyone, especially someone as nice as you, into this mess.”
“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” he said. “One more friend, a confidant of sorts, wouldn’t hurt, could it?”
“In this case, it could.” She sighed. “Dean, I’m damaged goods. I’m—”
“You’re not damaged, Amy. You went through a traumatic experience, but it doesn’t define you. It’s just going to take some time to recover.”
“Fat chance of that,” she said. “It’s taken me months just to get to the point where I can go sit at the park or be introduced to new people, like you.” Her eyes burned. “To accept an innocent invitation for dinner at a friend’s house.”
He didn’t move a muscle, afraid that if he did, he would startle her away. He couldn’t bear to lose her touch right now, while she was baring her soul to him. “But you’re doing it,” he said
softly.
She made a sound deep in her throat. “When I was sitting in that container, waiting to be rescued . . . waiting for what seemed like forever, I promised myself that I . . . if I ever got out of there alive, I would . . . well, let me just say that it’s hard for me to trust, to express myself with others. I still feel so . . .”
He waited for several moments, but when she didn’t continue, he spoke again. “Vulnerable?”
She nodded.
Though he couldn’t see her face, her inner turmoil was obvious. He still refused to move. Dean sighed, not sure how to respond. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been dealing with, Amy, but you don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore.”
What could he say to her? How could he convince her of the depth and sincerity of his words, that he would do whatever she needed, whatever he had to do to help keep her safe? Learning to trust again was difficult even in the best of circumstances. She was guarded and rightfully so.
“The truth is, I like you, Dean. But dragging you into this, making you a part of this . . . I can’t do it to you.”
She was going to leave. He couldn’t let her worry about him. He was fine. “You’re not dragging me into anything,” he assured her. “I want to be here. With you. I want you to know that together, we can face whatever’s coming. And I do it willingly.”
She dropped her gaze, looking away. “There’s so much about me that you don’t know.”
“And I could say the same thing about me,” he said. “And that’s just it, isn’t it? Everyone has their deep, dark secrets. None of us is perfect, Amy. All I’m asking is that you give this a chance. Give us a chance. I’m not going to rush anything. You set the tone. You determine the pace. If you want to be friends, we’ll be friends. If and when you’re ready for something more, you just let me—”
Burning the Past (Southern Heat Book 3) Page 7
