A Lover Awaits

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Someone needs to be. They’re just a couple more helpless creatures who didn’t deserve to be treated badly.”

  The fervor in his tone got to Phoebe, made her wonder if he was only talking about these birds.

  ...a couple more helpless creatures... How many had he encountered in his life?

  Wanting to know more about him, she asked, “So did you rescue animals as a kid?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Any of them make good pets?”

  “Not for long.” Leaving the cage, he secured the door. “My old man had no use for animals except for the money they could provide him. Never had any respect for their lives.” His tone bitter, he said, “Then again, he had no respect for human beings, either, not even for his own family.”

  “Parents can be difficult,” Phoebe admitted. “It wasn’t until my dad knew he was dying that he tried to have a real relationship with me.”

  Simon crossed in front of her to the screened wall, where he stared out at the swamp. He stood there, silent, arms crossed over his chest. And Phoebe figured he was closing himself off again.

  So when he said, “My old man died hating us...Boone and me,” she was shocked.

  And what an awful thing for him to believe. “I’m sure he didn’t hate his own sons.”

  “How could he not? We were responsible for his death.”

  Back still to her, Simon spoke tonelessly, but Phoebe sensed the smoldering emotions beneath the calm surface.

  Certain Boone had said something about their father dying when they were kids, she asked, “How old were you?”

  “Nearly twelve.”

  “Kind of young to take on such a terrific responsibility.”

  “Boone and I were always old beyond our years, as far back as I can remember. We had to be...for our mother’s sake.” Simon faltered, making her think he wasn’t going to discuss it further, then said, “He was the worst kind of abuser.”

  Phoebe closed her eyes and swallowed hard. For as much grief as she’d felt over her mother and Audra being mentally abused by men they’d loved, she’d never had to face bruises or broken bones, and she was certain that’s what he meant.

  Moving closer to Simon, she placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “He never was.”

  Even with nothing more than the moon illuminating the porch, she could see enough of his face to know that his jaw was working. Because he wanted to say more? Or was he clenching it against the memory?

  “It was always Mama’s fault.” His voice turned rough. Edgy. “His losing a job...getting drunk... losing his temper. The old man always put it on her...sometimes with both fists.”

  Her stomach clenched at the image that conjured up. “That had to be tough on a couple of helpless kids.”

  “We tried to stop him, but he only beat her worse, until we stopped him for good.”

  The night suddenly closed in on Phoebe. Dear God, she was starting to wonder what he’d meant by his and Boone being responsible for their father’s death. Surely nothing literal, though...

  Finding it hard to breathe normally, she whispered, “What happened?”

  Again, he didn’t jump to clue her in. Of course he was reluctant. The memories had to be painful. But she was certain he wanted her to know or he would never have let the conversation go this far. He was opening up.

  Why?

  Even as she wondered, Simon started slowly. “He didn’t like the way Mama made the chicken that night. Too spicy, he told her, made his gut ache. More likely it was his damn liver rotting from all the booze...” Expressionless, he met her gaze. “He threw the bowl at her.”

  Without planning it, Phoebe reached out and slipped her fingers into his. His hand closed around hers.

  “Mama tried ducking, but it hit the side of her head. I thought she was going to pass out. Blood was trickling down her cheek...he ordered her to pick up every last piece of chicken off the floor. When she wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking...she was so stunned, she couldn’t...he slapped her until she did.”

  His grip tightened, but Phoebe didn’t resist. Her sympathy went out to him in a return squeeze.

  “And like always,” Simon continued, “he said he was doing it because he loved her so much he had to correct her, for her own good, of course. Always for her own good.”

  “How awful,” Phoebe murmured, only wishing there were some way she could take away the hurt that still had so much power over him.

  His admission got to her in a way for which she wasn’t prepared. It felt...personal. She remembered hearing Vance say something similar to Audra once...

  Could he have been physically abusing her sister without her knowing?

  “He was out of work again,” Simon went on, as if she wasn’t even there, “picking up money where he could. Later that night, he decided to go frogging. He sold frogs by the pound to a local restaurant. And he made us help, Boone and me. We were so angry, we didn’t want to go with him that night. We never should have, but we were afraid he’d take out his temper on Mama again.”

  “So what happened?” she asked, a knot in her stomach. “An accident?”

  When he shook his head, the knot tightened.

  “We were out hunting in the grasslands. Neither of us would speak to him. We caught frogs, put them in the bucket...but we wouldn’t answer when he asked us something. The silent treatment got to the old man ’cause he was feeling guilty, I guess. He started criticizing. Told Boone he wasn’t handling his gigging pole right. And then Boone just exploded. He couldn’t keep it back anymore. Not the anger, not the hatred that gets all mixed up with the love you want to feel... He asked the old man what he was going to do to teach him different, asked if he was he going to hit him like he had Mama...”

  Phoebe’s heart faltered. “Did he?”

  “He tried. He was furious. He came at Boone and Boone used his gigging pole to keep the old man at a distance. He shoved him real hard. The alcohol was still affecting him. The old man wasn’t what you would call steady on his feet even on a good day. He lost his balance and took a couple of clumsy steps back off the grassland and straight into the water...”

  Not waiting for him to find the words, Phoebe asked, “So he what? Drowned?”

  Simon shook his head. “False bottom. He started to sink. I was frozen. I watched him scrabble for something to hold on to. Some branch or root—something he could use to pull himself back out. Nothing held.”

  Like the area he’d warned her about earlier, Phoebe thought, wondering if he knew every questionable inch of the Glades, or if that particular spot held these terrible, personal memories.

  “The old man just kept scrabbling and sinking,” Simon was saying. “Then he started swearing... and begging...and a little voice inside me told me to stay put, that doing nothing would stop his hurting Mama. I was tempted, Phoebe, I admit it. I wanted to stay put, only I couldn’t. I tried to get to him...”

  “But it was too late?”

  “Boone stopped me.” His words floored her. “He was out of control, all wide-eyed and yelling that he loved the old man so much he was gonna teach him a lesson...just like the ones Mama got. I tried to get by him, but he shoved me down and held me there...insisted it had to be this way to make sure she was safe. I tried to tell him it wasn’t right, but he was past listening. I had to fight my way back up, but then it was too late.”

  Horrified, Phoebe could only imagine what it must be like to watch anyone die, let alone a parent. That had to have been devastating for Simon, even if his father had been a drunkard and an abuser, a man whose sickness had infected his son...

  But only for that brief moment in the Glades, she assured herself, hoping to God she hadn’t been wrong about Boone.

  “Odd that the authorities never brought up his untimely death,” she mused. “If they had...”

  “If they had, what? Would you have believed their theory about Boone?”

  Simon ran his knuckles
down the side of her face. Affected by the gesture that was gentle and affectionate, pressing her cheek into his fingers, Phoebe swayed toward him.

  “Maybe,” she murmured.

  “Phoebe, with the heart too pure to suspect the worst in human nature, would take as gospel some unspeakable accusation she couldn’t prove for herself? Now that I don’t believe.”

  “You make me sound hopelessly naive.”

  “Aren’t you?” His fingertips worked their way beneath her hair, to stroke her neck. “Not that it’s a bad thing.”

  Suddenly finding it difficult to keep track of the conversation, she murmured, “It isn’t?”

  He shook his head. “It’s refreshing to know the world hasn’t tainted all its innocents.”

  “Watch who you call innocent,” she protested.

  He touched her cheek, and for the merest whisper of time, she suspected he would kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her...and more.

  “As for the authorities,” he continued softly, his face drawing nearer to hers, “they didn’t bring up the old man’s death because they didn’t know. People disappear in the Glades from time to time, casualties of an uncivilized land. No one even questioned our story.”

  So he’d lied to cover for Boone, Phoebe realized. She could imagine that hadn’t been easy for a twelve-year-old who’d had torn feelings about his father. And the lie must have preyed on his mind for years. Maybe still did.

  She covered the hand cupping her cheek, and it was as if she were electrified by the contact. “But your mother—”

  “Went to her grave believing she’d lost her husband to an accident. And Boone and I never spoke of the true nature of that night again. Hell, I’ve never spoken about it to anyone. Until now.”

  And why to her? Phoebe wondered again. At least now she understood Simon’s initial attitude in accepting the murder-suicide theory.

  “No wonder you were so ready to believe your own brother was a murderer. You’d seen a violent side of Boone that no one else even suspected.”

  “And I couldn’t tell you then.”

  “Why me?” she finally asked aloud. “Why now?”

  “We shared something tonight...a brush with death. Two people can’t get closer than that.”

  “Yes, they can,” she said, wanting to do just that.

  Perhaps he could find comfort in her arms. Better yet, they could find comfort in each other. Someone had been after them. Had tried to hurt them. Maybe worse.

  That’s all it was, she told herself as she slipped her arms up around his neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to do. Need. Comfort. And fulfillment of the natural urges that had been plaguing her since she’d met Simon Calderon.

  Natural urges intensified by reading passages from Audra’s diary...

  His face was so close now she could hardly focus on it. But she could see that his lids drooped. She concentrated on his sexy bedroom eyes rather than on what had almost happened to them earlier.

  What she read there sent her pulse skittering.

  She lifted her face in invitation.

  “Why, Phoebe,” Simon murmured, “I believe you are trying to seduce me.”

  “What if I am?” she asked breathlessly, her world suddenly narrowing to the two of them.

  “Then I’m flattered. And curious.”

  “About what?”

  “Why?”

  “I need a reason?” A blush started from her middle, warmed her already sensitive breasts and crept up to her face. No man had ever expected her to explain a need as natural as breathing before. “How about...we can take comfort in each other’s arms,” she said lightly.

  “That’s it?”

  He didn’t try to hide his amusement. Did he really have to tease her now? Senses heightened, she was in the mood for physical rather than verbal satisfaction.

  “We are attracted to each other, right?” Surely she couldn’t be mistaken about something so basic.

  “I am attracted to you, yes,” he admitted.

  “Well, then...”

  Before he could grill her further, Phoebe decided to take the situation into her own hands.

  Rather her lips...

  Rising on tiptoe, she found his mouth. At first he seemed as if he were going to resist, but then his lips softened. Opened. Invited her in.

  The raw sound escaping his throat thrilled her. The sound of a man in lust...with her.

  Set aflame, Phoebe was gratified by his arms snaking around her waist, drawing her closer. Tighter.

  She was trembling. Willing.

  Wanting Simon Calderon more than any man she’d ever known.

  Wanting to burn away unpleasant thoughts and memories; the shock of someone trying to kill them.

  She pressed herself into him and rocked her hips until her lower body fit his perfectly. He cupped her derriere and groaned again. Flushed with desire, she raised a knee and slid her leg around his.

  His readiness pressed against her belly...he could take her right there.

  And she was certain he would.

  She hoped he would...

  His hand slid down and around her bottom along the underside of her leg and toward her center. His initial foray elicited from her an intense response and slicked her inner flesh with a wet warmth she was anxious for him to explore further.

  Through the soft cotton of her trousers, his long fingers traced the elastic of her lace panties. Then he swept straight to the heart of her femininity, the thin layers of material presenting no barrier to sensation. Lifting her leg higher, she opened herself and pushed into the seduction of his touch.

  He cupped her, stroked her, invaded her as far as the garment would allow.

  Not enough...not nearly enough...

  When he left a trail of sensual bites down the length of her neck, she gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders, silently urging him to take her higher.

  He found a rhythm, coaxed another flow from her until the material between her thighs dampened with her essence. She was sure he could feel it, wanted him to. Every inch of her flesh had been awakened and every nerve was singing. Her breasts swelled and ached. And she felt her own pulse race in the most intimate of places.

  Desperate for more pleasure, wanting the same for him, she slid a hand between them and found him equally aroused. Not satisfied, she forced her way beneath his jeans and along his naked flesh.

  Better.

  His flesh was hot. Vibrant. Responsive.

  She trailed the tips of her nails along his smooth length and used her forefinger to circle his tip. His sharp intake of breath intensified her need.

  Suddenly his hands loosened their grip...

  Finding her shoulders and setting her from him...

  So he wouldn’t take her right there, after all, Phoebe realized, his lack of spontaneity disappointing but certainly not killing the mood. Perhaps a bed would better the first time, anyway.

  Eager to get there, to finish what she’d started, she didn’t understand why he wasn’t moving.

  Then, on a shaky breath, he asked, “What else, Phoebe? Why do you want to be with me?”

  Startled, she stared through the dark. He was turned away from the moon so his expression was hidden from her.

  Why in the world was he questioning her again?

  Something about his tone sounded wrong. So serious. Needy in a way that scared the stuffing out of her.

  Her desire dimmed, but she didn’t give up yet.

  “What is it you want me to say, Simon?” She tried to keep her words light, flirtatious, but she feared escalating tension of another sort was pouring out of her with every syllable. “Surely you’re not the one man in the world who needs assurances before having sex.”

  “Sex. Right.” Now it was he who sounded disappointed. “Soft words from your lips would be nice,” he agreed. “Some sentiment beyond the physical.”

  He did want assurances!

  Internal alarms going off, Phoebe backed away fro
m the man and wrapped her arms around her middle. The last of her ardor cooled as quickly as it had been aroused.

  “Why do we have to talk at all?” she asked, wishing she could be anywhere else in the world.

  “It’s what people do when they get close.”

  Close?

  Positive he didn’t mean it in the physical sense, she wondered how close he wanted to get.

  She snapped, “Men say pretty words far too easily, and just as easily do ugly things to the very women they’re supposed to—care about.”

  She couldn’t even say the word love. Not when she didn’t believe in it.

  “They do, don’t they?” He sounded as distant as she was beginning to feel.

  Making Phoebe start.

  And recognize the tension radiating from him.

  Anger? Hurt?

  But why?

  And then a thought struck her.

  Surely Simon didn’t believe she was referring to his parents. He had, after all, just told her that his father had hit his mother while vowing his love. In truth, she’d been referring to the parade of men her mother had ushered through her life.

  “Simon, I think you’ve got the wrong idea—”

  “You don’t have a clue as to what goes on inside my head,” he growled, sweeping by her and into the house.

  “Simon!” She followed. “Let me explain.”

  But it was too late.

  He stopped and faced her, any ardor he’d been feeling seemingly gone if his expression was any indication. His gaze swept over her as impersonally as if she were nothing more than an acquaintance.

  “Talk about bringing the outdoors inside.”

  Phoebe glanced down at the muck that clung to her from their run through the swamp. What a mess! Simon looked equally grubby and she was sure he knew it. His defense mechanisms were up and he was striking out, attempting to embarrass her.

  For once, she couldn’t think of a thing to say, clever or otherwise.

  When she didn’t respond, he said, “You can have the shower all to yourself. You’ll find fresh towels and a robe in the bathroom closet.”

  At a loss to know how to fix this, she finally found her voice. “I guess I should just leave my clothes on and do my laundry at the same time, huh?”