Ravel

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “She’s beautiful, Tara,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “She’s got your eyes,” she continues.

  “Her eyes are blue. Mine are green.”

  “I meant the shape, dummy,” Tara slaps the air as if this was a playful, happy moment, and now she’s offering her hand to Daphne. Awesome. “It’s nice to meet you. You’ve got a good fella over there.” Oh God, spare us with your good-girl act.

  Daphne, being Daphne, offers her southern charm of a smile and waits until Tara walks past her before curling her lip into a snarl. “She’s lovely,” Daphne whispers into my ear.

  The three of us, well four, are led into a small room where a nurse prepares the tests over the sink. She tells me to open my mouth and takes no time before sticking a swab in and scraping it against the inside of my cheek. She does the same to the baby. “What is this little princess’s name?” the nurse asks.

  “Her name is Emmie,” Tara croons, touching her fingertip to the baby’s nose.

  Emmie, as in Emily? Like my mother’s name? Is she serious?

  “Just beautiful,” the nurse says. “These results will be available by the end of next week. You’ll both receive a letter in the mail.” I can tell the nurse is favoring Tara, making it look like I’m this dick boyfriend who’s trying to ditch my kid on her. What she doesn’t know is that Tara broke my fucking heart.

  After the nurse leaves, I turn to see Daphne hunched over on the chair behind me, her hand holding her head up. “Are you okay?” She’s flushed.

  “Just dizzy. I’m fine.” I wrap my arm around her and help her up. “Let’s go.”

  “Bye,” Tara says. “I’ll call you after we get the results so we can discuss what’s next.”

  I ignore her and walk Daphne out of the office and back to the Jeep where I help her in. “Should I take you back to the doctor?”

  “No, I’m fine.” This isn’t about the concussion. I get it.

  “Daph,” I lean in at her door side. “This sucks for me, too. And you know what else sucks?” She looks up through her eyelashes at me, which makes this so much harder. I fall a little deeper every time I look into her eyes. “The fact that you have an ex-loon hunting you down trying to hurt you, but I haven’t once told you how to deal with him, or that I want you to report the guy and get him put away or something. It’s because I trust that you have a reason for doing what you’re doing. I trust you.” I pull her hand away from her face. “And I’m dealing with this the way I think I should. I’m sorry for adding more shit to your life right now.”

  “The baby looks like you,” she says quietly. I shrug it off. Mostly because I don’t think any baby looks like any adult. I think most of them look like little, bald old men.

  ***

  A quiet night of blank stares and silent thoughts—making me wish I could read her mind—didn’t make for a great time. I want to know what she’s thinking. I want to ask her a million questions, but mostly I just want to know what’s going to happen if that baby really is mine. I can’t blame her if she doesn’t want to be around me anymore. That’s a lot of baggage to take on, even if she were just to stick around as my friend.

  “I’m calling it a night,” I tell her. She’s curled up on my couch with a blanket clutched within her grip. “I made up the bed in the spare room for you.” Last night we both fell asleep on the couch together, so there was no awkward sleeping situation, but tonight, I told her I still wasn’t letting her go home just yet. I need to be able to check on her—make sure she’s okay and stuff. She didn’t argue, but I don’t think she really wants to be here either.

  She looks over at me and forces a tightlipped smile. “Good night.” Not really. I feel like I just lost another battle. It seems like all I’ve been doing lately is losing battles.

  I climb into my bed and stare up at the ceiling like I do every night, hoping I’ll fall asleep dreaming about white paint rather than a bullet hole oozing with blood. Sometimes I think I fall asleep with my eyes open as I try to block out all of those painful images. Tonight, though, I can’t sleep at all. My life feels like it’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, and one small whisper of air would push me right over.

  The sound of my bedroom door catching on the carpet doesn’t alarm me like it would if I were sleeping, but I don’t look over to see why the door is opening. Daphne’s the only one here and I don’t know if I want her to know I’m awake. I feel shitty enough as it is today and I can’t take much more of her pouting before my heart totally explodes.

  I figure she’ll tap me or shake me awake if she needs something.

  She doesn’t actually tap or shake me awake. Instead, she lifts the sheets and her legs slide underneath as her body curves around mine. The soft cotton of her shorts brushes up against my bare legs and it takes all I have not to react. Never mind, it’s out of my control. I’m reacting. Does she know I’m awake? Why is she in my bed? Why am I even questioning this? This is what I’ve wanted since the day I met her.

  I feel stiff—unsure of what I should do. Screw that. I know exactly what I should do. I turn over and I fold my arm around her small body, pulling her into me. “You’re awake?” she asks in a hush.

  “Wide awake,” I respond.

  “I don’t care if Emmie is yours. I just don’t know if you’ll have room for me, too.”

  I laugh quietly, realizing what she’s been worried about. “Through all of this, the only thing I’ve been concerned with is losing you. The worst part is, I don’t even have you to lose.” I push my fingers through the loose strands of hair over her forehead. “Whether Emmie is mine or not, it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Nothing could change the way I feel about you.”

  I touch my fingertips to the apple of her cheek, pulling her face closer to mine—studying the curves of her lips before I devour them. “I need you,” she whispers. I close my mouth over hers, tasting her, memorizing her, and finally giving in to how much I need her, too.

  I slip my fingers under her silky shirt in search of bare skin only to find out she’s not wearing a bra. What else isn’t she wearing? My hands continue the investigative work and I quickly find she is, in fact, missing another important piece of clothing. “Did you come in here to seduce me?” I utter into her mouth.

  I think she says yes, but it sounds more like a whimper.

  “Is your head okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s great,” she says, mumbling.

  Feeling every inch of her skin—places I’ve only imagined touching makes me hard as a rock, and I’m not shy about it. As I trace my fingers down the center of her stomach, her muscles tense and her hand flies back to grab the headboard of my bed. God, I’d like to think I have more restraint, but I don’t. I dip my fingers down under the hem of her shorts. “No one has ever touched me like this,” she says.

  I remove my hand, baffled by her statement. “What do you mean? Are you a virgin?” She told me many conflicting stories.

  “No, but—“ I trace lazy circles over her warm cheek, holding myself at bay. Barely. “It was always for him and it hurt. He didn’t touch me the way you were just now. It was never about me.” Besides wanting to kill Trent, now I want to give her what she’s never experienced. I touch my lips to the skin beneath her ear, tasting the sweetness of her skin, wanting to kiss her a little harder. “Show me what it can be like,” she demands.

  I reclaim my spot under the waistband of her shorts and dip my fingers lower until I’m able to slip one inside of her. Her eyes go wide and her mouth falls open. I use slow and gentle movements, moving with her body as it rocks up and down, grinding against my hand. Her soft cries grow in volume as both of her fists clench around the slats on my headboard. She’s wet and she’s pulsating and I don’t want her to finish like this, so I pull my fingers away and pepper kisses from her belly up to her breasts, bringing each perfectly dusty-rose colored nipple into my mouth before continuing up her neck. She releases her grip around the headboard and tugs at my shirt—I sit up and
take it off. I remove my shorts, too, and her hand finds my cock. She tightens her hand and slides it up and down long enough for me to know this could finish me off.

  I tear her shirt up and over her head as she pushes her shorts down to her ankles. Hearing them drop to the ground, I reach around her to my drawer, pull it open and retrieve a rubber. She takes it from my hand and rips it open with her mouth. Holy shit—I didn’t know this was happening. Sweet, innocent Daphne.

  I don’t deserve this, which makes me want her even more. She’s quick and skilled at putting the condom on me. Then she lies back waiting for me to make the next move. I hate that I’m a little nervous. I don’t want to hurt her like that asshole did, but I do have some confidence in my skills. I’ve made enough women scream my name to know what I’m capable of.

  “You sure about this?” I ask her because, fuck, I am. I haven’t been with anyone since I left for the tour over a year ago.

  “Very,” she says, with eagerness in her voice. Her arms are around my back, hurrying me over to her. “I want this. You.” No need to say anymore. I guide myself into her, slowly at first, watching different expressions cover her face. She doesn’t flinch or give me any inclination that it hurts, so I drop down more and her mouth opens. With gentle thrusts, I move in and out of her, building her cries to full moans and groans mixed with my name, which sounds like a fucking lullaby coming from those lips. I wrap my arms around her body, squeezing my hands over the curves of her perfect ass, knowing that I will never come back from this. I will remember this the next time I’m stationed in the middle of nowhere.

  Our bodies have found a rhythm, and the hunger within me is growing quickly and uncontrollably, making me move faster and harder against her. She drags her fingernails down my back and over my ass and shit, I don’t know how much longer I can go on. “I’m close,” I tell her. I hope she is too because I need to feel this with her.

  “Me too,” she says breathlessly. I grip my hands around her thighs, using them as leverage. God, her cries are so loud, I can feel the incoming wave of heat pouring off of her. The second I know I can’t last any longer, I fist my hands into the pillow around her head and take her lips in with mine, needing to taste her once more. This is—. I release into her, feeling like I’ve just detoxed all the bad and replaced it with all of her goodness.

  I fall heavily onto the bed, and pull her into me, kissing her head and loving the sensation of her warm skin up against mine. Our breaths are out of rhythm, my heart can’t find a steady beat, and it’s fucking incredible.

  “I definitely can’t be friends with you,” she exhales.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CURRENT DAY

  DAPHNE

  EVERY ENCOUNTER with Trent was filled with physical pain. I expected it with every inch of skin that touched me. Kemper doesn’t cause pain. His touch is like the sensation I get when I’m spinning through the air above the ice. I felt everything—every breath he breathed into me. He may not have been my first, but he made every other encounter before tonight seem insignificant enough to want to forget.

  His fingers are stroking the line between my back and my tailbone, forcing chills down my spine and goose bumps to cover my skin. My breasts are pressed up against his naked chest, and I can’t fathom separating from him or this moment. He’s everything I never knew I always needed. And more.

  “I’m crazy about you,” he whispers.

  I press my lips up against his, showing him that the feeling is mutual. Curling my hand around his neck, I pull myself in against him. We lie like this until I hear his breaths elongate, and I know he’s fallen asleep. I also know this is my cue to leave.

  I carefully slide out from under his arm so I can climb out of the bed and give him the space to sleep comfortably. Trent always said I took up too much room in bed and move around too much, making it hard for him to fall asleep. Those were one of the many reasons I wasn’t allowed to sleep in his bed. I don’t want to do that to Kemper, for fear of tarnishing what just happened, but when my toes touch the floor, Kemper’s arm lifts and loops around my middle. “Where are you going?” he groans.

  “The guest room, so you can sleep,” I whisper.

  He pulls me back down and lifts the sheets until they cover me. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep without you now,” he says.

  I’d heard the saying, “my heart feels full,” before, but I’d never felt it…until now. He doesn’t know Trent made me sleep on the floor. He doesn’t know how many times I was used purely for sex before he’d toss me out of his bed as I clutched myself in pain. I spent so long thinking that kind of emotional and physical abuse was never going to end. I thought fighting through the pain was normal. I heard people say that too. “All relationships are worth fighting for.” No one ever said some relationships are worth running as far as possible from. Someone should say that. I know that now.

  Sleeping in the curve of Kemper’s body is like ingesting a sedative. His warmth covers me like a thick blanket, and even the hardness of his body is like what I’d imagine a cloud to feel like. Well, a cloud made of muscle. This is dangerous. I could get used to this.

  I wake up to Kemper on his side, combing his fingers through my hair, looking at me like—

  “Morning, beautiful,” he croaks. His morning voice is incredibly sexy. “How’s your head?”

  I want to tell him I’m dizzy and a little lightheaded, but I keep it to myself since it isn’t from the concussion. It’s from the thoughts of him and me—me and him, swirling together like the fluorescent watercolors of a sunset. “Never better,” I utter, smiling lazily. He kisses my smile, and I fall back down into my pillow, which is not nearly as comfortable as his chest.

  “It’s Saturday. We’re both off. If you’re up to it, I’m taking you to the beach.” Jacey told me to take as much time as I need to get better. I know she’s being overly appeasing so I come back, but I know I can’t go back there. Trent would come back for me.

  “The beach?” I question.

  “You up for taking a little road trip for the weekend?”

  “Maybe,” I wink and nudge my shoulder into his chest.

  “Myrtle Beach it is.” He steps out of the bed, wearing nothing. Nothing looks good on him. Good God. There are fine lines between all of his muscles and crooks in his pelvic area making a v-shape angle pointing to his impressive goods. He knows I’m staring and I think he’s waiting for me to get up and give him the same view, but while he’s not so modest, I am. I wrap the sheet around myself as I slip my clothes back on. I’m surprised I’m not in pain this morning. It always hurts the morning after, but this morning, I feel lovely…like butterflies are flying in circles over my head kind of lovely.

  “What’s in Myrtle?” I ask him. I’ve lived in North Carolina my whole life and never made the three-hour drive.

  “Me and you,” he says, leaning back over the bed, placing a kiss on my forehead. “I just want to run away for a couple of days. I think it would be good for both of us.” He couldn’t be more right, and I could stand to run away for forever.

  “I’ve always wanted to run away,” I tell him, meaning that more seriously than my smile is letting on.

  “I filled up your Jeep yesterday, so we’re good to hit the road.” He slips into a pair of boxers and a torn pair of camouflage shorts before pulling a white t-shirt over his head. White against his tan is delicious.

  “I need clothes,” I tell him.

  “I beg to differ,” he says, running his hand up the side of his morning stubble. “Man, you drive me crazy, but we’ll swing by your apartment on the way.”

  ***

  Our three-hour ride consisted of my bare feet tapping on the dashboard, my hands flying in the wind, and singing the wrong words to every country song that came on the radio. He didn’t know any of the words, and must not be all that good at making them up, so he just glanced over at me every chance he got, smiled and made me want to sing even louder.

  Si
nging under the sun with the wind in my face brings me to a level of happiness I didn’t know existed. I’ve never felt this happy before and the farther we get from Jacksonville, the freer I feel.

  “You grabbed a bathing suit or something along with your clothes, right?” he asks, eying me at a stoplight. “Not that I’m opposed to skinny dipping, but beach rules…”

  “Maybe,” I grin at him. I tug at the thin string holding my bikini in place, showing him the fabric.

  “Damn, girl,” he howls into the wind. He’s so unusually happy right now—the happiest I’ve ever seen him. He’s carefree and not so much the Marine who just came home from deployment broken-hearted. I love it.

  He whips into the lot of a motel on the beach. “This is the place I usually crash at when I come here. It’s got clean sheets and a sick view.”

  “Beach first,” I say, hopping out of the Jeep.

  I lead us down the sandy boardwalk to the hardened sand. Kicking my sandals off, the vision of Kemper taking his shirt off takes my breath away. Everything was dark last night, so I could only feel everything I longed to feel, but seeing him this morning and now in the sunlight, shirtless, muscly and perfect is something I’ve longed to see.

  “Your eyes might get stuck like that,” he tells me, catching my gaze.

  Even though I think I’d be okay with that, I blush and turn away, feeling silly for staring. It’s like I’m sort of seeing him for the first time again, which causes new nerves to ignite in my belly. While it feels like we’ve gone through so much already, everything is still so new. So good.