A Kiss to Keep You (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 14)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Interrupting her, he cut her off sharply, his voice a cleaver severing the idea from reality. “I would never, not ever think less of you for looking for help, Bexley. It takes a strong person to admit they can’t go things alone. Group or a talking doc, neither of those mean you’re weak. I’d never think—”

  Turning the tables on him, she burst out, slicing through his words with brutality. “No, I mean you know I was raped by my boyfriend.”

  Fuck. Confirmation Brute didn’t want, didn’t need, because he already knew it. Her appearance there today cementing his understanding of why she was controlled, even in her risk-taking. Controlled and thoughtful. Raped by someone she trusted, and no wonder that faith was now held tight. The pause between her words and his silence grew, pushing her to apologies again when none were needed. Not between them. Never. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

  “Bexley.” He started out quiet, soft, then as he spoke and gained surety in his words, his voice grew louder, filling up the space between them in a way he wanted her to know it would never be void again. Him and her, from here on out. She wanted to do him? He just wanted her. All of her.

  “Nothing could change the way I feel right now. The way I felt today, which was far beyond fortunate to be sitting and talking to you.” Time to go all in, show her everything he had been holding back, make certain her fears didn’t find any fertile ground in which to root. “The way I felt when I carried you home from New Haven.” No need to name the bar, she would know. A memorable night for them both, his words an acknowledgment of the encounter. “Angry and favored in the same breath, then awed at the beauty granted me.” Her skin, silken and sweet, heated under his hands. Jealousy blooming at the sheets; sanctioned soft cotton given privileged permission to cover her.

  “The way I felt when we kissed in the grocery store.” Not taking credit for the kiss, nor making it something she’d done to him. They were both participants in the action, willing and eager. “Nothing could change how I feel. I’m not most guys, and I think you know that.” She made a noise, and he paused a beat, then pushed on. “I like you. Liked your mouth. I want more of it, Bexley. More everything. Liked everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve heard from you. You make me happy. That’s why I laugh around you when I never do that shit. Never laugh. But you make me happy. Just by breathin’, you make me happy.”

  When he finished speaking, he waited. A beat later, she gave it all to him. Everything he could want when she said on a half-broken laugh, “Then I guess I need to keep breathing, huh?” Her jagged sigh joined in for a moment, matching the feel of that laugh, sharp edges of insecurity far too near her soft emotions. His feelings for her would be a shield, making sure she was protected.

  “I’d like that, sweetheart. So yeah, you keep on keepin’ on.”

  Bexley

  Gaze focused on her toes, she watched them flexing and bending in her socks, feet dangling and softly bumping against the cabinet doors. Heel one and then heel two, back and forth, a solitary parade of one marching in place. The butterflies in her stomach vied for attention against the tingling between her legs, Brute’s softly voiced desires finding an answering resonance inside her. Her head kept getting in the way of things, thoughts circling back to where they’d been today, and what she’d just told him. The only other person those words had been uttered to was her therapist, someone she paid to take things in stride, talk her through to the other side with evenly paced words and phrases. Brute didn’t follow that route, but when had he ever seemed to do what she expected? Awed at the beauty granted me.

  “—parents live out west. She drove straight here from the college. She’ll be staying—”

  Not even realizing when it happened, she let his tone soothe her, dropping the words from importance, giving her what she needed to work through the things in her head.

  His sorrowful utterance of her name had meant one thing to her, then his silence said another. Following that, a blunt dismissal of her blame didn’t make sense. Even the doctor said men mostly had one of two reactions, either anger or a misplaced guilt. The doc’d probably said more, but that was what Bexley had absorbed from that session. When Brute’s response didn’t fit either mold, it had led her to immediately wonder if instead of mattering, which would mean she mattered, his caring was only a reflection of feelings he couldn’t express about Natty’s experience. But he didn’t stop there in the no man’s land of uncertainty, didn’t stop at all. With his strength, he carried them through to the other side of her revelation by making sure she understood his words spoke truly. You make me happy.

  “—doing me a favor, really. I need to go to the grocery store in the worst—”

  The wave of his words was larger than life, swamping her emotional deck with goodness. For weeks she’d felt a sizable sliver of shame lodged in her brain at how he had cared for her. Wasted moments she could have spent with him, not even knowing how she’d found him in the bar clear across town. Now he crooned sweet things to her, telling her she offered him something precious that night when all she could think of was the sick on her clothes and clean skin under soft sheets.

  “—own hours, so anytime I need to go, I—”

  “I hate I got sick that night.” Her whispered hiss of frustration ate into the things he was saying, dissolving them slowly to silence as he listened to her. “I hate I missed a minute with you.”

  “Wasn’t your fault, Bex. And I didn’t mind caring for you. Was my privilege.” He followed the kernel of her interruption, as soft and gentle, his words wrapping her in a gauze of careful. The things he wasn’t saying didn’t fit the puzzle, leaving holes in her understanding as big as the holes in her memory from that night.

  She confessed, “I’ve never misplaced an entire day before.” All of Saturday night to Sunday evening. Every hour was gone. But even their absence left a greasy anxiety behind. Dirt not removed but swept underneath the throw rug to keep company from noticing. Still there, and if it wasn’t attended to, could damage the things used to cover it. “I don’t know what happened.” I think I do, but I know it wasn’t you.

  “Guy at the bar drugged you.” He filled in a slot, tracks extending on either side of that stationary tidbit. She didn’t know where to take this from here. Why were you there? “I got you home safely. That’s the important part.”

  “Um—” The sound had hardly cleared her mouth when he started talking, circling and scratching to fill in the rest of the picture. Tracks ahead and behind the previous morsel filled and filled and filled to overflowing.

  “First off, I don’t want to have this conversation on the phone. I can’t see you, can only hear what you give me, and that isn’t nearly enough for me. Let’s talk this through tomorrow morning, but you should know I’ve been around a bit ever since I met you in the grocery store. Guy drugged you, I saw it happen. I took steps to make sure you were safe.” She could hear the shrug in his voice so stayed silent. Willing to give him the time to finish the picture, not wanting to paint him into a corner with her questions. “Took care of you, Bexley. Had to, had to see you safe, sweetheart.” She liked that name from him, not the bizarre one her parents had saddled her with, but the tender love word. Sweetheart. His sweetheart, maybe?

  Strained, he asked questions in rapid fire. “Does that tell you that I don’t give a shit about you getting sick that night? That I was honored to be the one taking care of you? It wasn’t a burden, nor a hardship. Can you wait for the rest, honey?” She knew tension was what had twisted his voice, heard it in each word and believed him, deep inside her. Trusted what he said, and drew from that, drew without shading her own inflection and understanding over the top, a painful red wash of emotion she could set aside for once. He asked again, “Can you wait, Bex?”

  “Yes.” Easier than she expected, she followed his lead in this, glad of the decision the instant she heard his relieved sigh. Easing them farther from the place he didn’t want to visit. She would drive off a cliff before steering them
back that direction. Extending the tracks back to safety, she asked, “I make you happy?”

  “Happiest I’ve ever been. My whole life.” Now the emotional wash was his, but the swirl around her heart was all colors of the rainbow, mixing to make something uniquely Brute. “You gettin’ any of that back from me, Bex?”

  “Yeah.” She breathed surety into the sound, wanting him to know about the goose bumps roaming up her arms at the thought of making him happy. About the shivering quiver traveling down her back to the idea of making him other things. Before she could say anything else, Duncan called from the other room.

  “Auntie Bex.” Dunk’s voice declared tiredness, the edges of the sounds in his speech jangling up against their neighbors so they flowed together in a complaining blend of exhaustion. “Past bedtime for me.”

  She knew Brute had heard when he muttered, “Fucking shit, three hours.” Eyes to the clock on the front of the coffeemaker, she silently concurred. Not on the expletive side, but on the “God, I can’t believe we’ve been talking that long already” side.

  “Be right there, Dunk.” Mouth thoughtfully angled away from the phone, she didn’t try to make excuses when she moved the device back into place. Just said right out how it was. “Barely eight hours before I see you again.” Well, maybe that hadn’t been what she intended to say, but his amused chuckle was worth any embarrassment she might suffer from her own forwardness. “I have to go, Brute.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” That word again, and she decided it worked coming from him. Sweetheart. “Rest well when you get there.”

  “I will.” Her promise to him was enough farewell, the call ended with disconnection without a good-bye, silence on the line for now.

  Hopping off the countertop, phone tucked into her back pocket, she didn’t know she was smiling until Duncan called from the doorway. “Who was that on the phone?” He had already ditched the jeans, pulling on a pair of the pajama shorts kept here for this kind of impromptu sleepover. He’d come over for dinner, but when time came for her to walk him home, he had wrinkled his nose, declaring he needed some Bexley time.

  Not wanting to lie to her nephew, but not sure how to broach the topic of his favorite aunt maybe possibly dating without doing so, she said, “A friend.” Hand out, she ruffled his hair, tugging him close so she could drop a kiss to the top of his head. Another couple of years and he’ll be too tall for this, she thought, poignant awareness filling her that their time together like this was limited. “Bed turned down?”

  “What kind of friend?” Rounding her waist with his arm, he gave her a hug before pulling away, much too soon to suit her. Refrigerator door open, he stood in the time-worn pose of all males when presented with food decisions. “Glass of milk or piece of pie?” Head down, hand on one hip, other hand holding the door open, he allowed chilly air to escape, flowing across the floor, teasing along her toes with a draft.

  “Well, duh.” She laughed, ignoring his other question as she pulled down glasses and plates. “Both.” Time enough to mention who would be picking them up in the morning, explain who Brute was in a way that Dunk would understand.

  Brute

  He stood, staring at his truck. It was nearing seven, and he’d cleaned the cab thoroughly, but no amount of cleaning would change the fact that his vehicle was one most classic models would call a kissing cousin. Aged and worn, it looked exactly like what it was, transportation of last resort. Why did I offer to pick her up? Hand to his pocket, phone in his fingers, ringing in his ear followed by a sleep-roughened, “Jesus, brother. I must love you if I’m pickin’ up at this hour.”

  “Gunny.” Brute swallowed hard. “Need a favor.”

  Twenty minutes later, he heeled his kickstand down in front of her house. Unsure of the reception his idea would receive, he strode up her walk and towards the tiny porch where he’d watched her spend so many hours. Before he got to the steps, her door was flung open from the inside, and he heard a boy’s voice, “Saw-weet! You didn’t tell me he had a bike!” Duncan bounded through the opening, coming to a teetering stop on the edge of the porch, so engrossed in looking at the bike he didn’t notice Brute’s hand on his belly to stop his fall. “That’s so cool!”

  Duncan’s neck twisted, and even from the elevated surface of the porch, he looked up at Brute, the beauty of his aunt shining through, showing their shared heritage. He recoiled only a little when his gaze fixed on Brute’s face, then proved the adage of kids and honesty true when Dunk blurted, “What happened to your face?” A second later his filter caught up to his mouth, and he shook his head at himself, muttering, “Jeeze. Oh, man, sorry, mister, that was rude.” Eyes to the floor, then to the bike, Duncan was trying and failing to recover until Brute responded.

  “I got hurt in the war. A bomb. Doesn’t hurt much now, looks way worse than it feels. Don’t sweat it, little man.” Make a connection, or leave things however Bexley had to have explained them? “You seriously offering to shovel snow?”

  Chin lifting in surprise, Duncan stared at him a moment before a slow grin spread across his face. “You called last night.” Not a question, the statement was a precursor to a teasing tone as Duncan lifted his voice, calling in a sing-song over his shoulder and back into the house, “Auntie Bex, your boyfriend’s here.” Shoving his hand out, Duncan gripped Brute’s paw as soon as he lifted it from his side. “I’m Duncan, your friendly neighborhood snow machine and best nephew ever.”

  Brute hesitated. Which name should he offer to the boy? The decision taken from his hands when Bexley called from inside the house, “Ask Brute if we’re taking my car to the store.” Less than a dozen words gave even more evidence that she was as easy as he’d need her to be. He told her he’d pick her up, but when he showed on a two-person vehicle, she offered to keep their plans alive with alternative strategies.

  Eyebrow cocked in question, Duncan waited for his answer. “Actually, I thought we’d walk you home. Then your Aunt Bexley and I can take the bike for a ride before we go to the store. I have a friend who can pick up the groceries and deliver them, so I got that piece covered.” He tilted his head, liking how Duncan grinned up at him, the smile taking over his face in anticipation of his aunt’s activities. “You think she’d be okay with that?”

  An hour later, Brute and Bexley were sitting at a table with coffee cups in hand, staring out across the moving blue expanse of Lake Wawasee. Grocery store errand still in their to-do path, but after Brute’d received updates from Ruby on how things were headed with Natty, he had felt free to sidetrack Bex for at least this long. Especially after finding out she’d never ridden on a bike. From the dreamy look on her face when they pulled up to this dockside diner, she was a fan.

  Conversations on the bike were necessarily limited, even if he’d held their speed to the sedate side of just over legal. Once they were out of the stop-and-go of the Fort, she’d gotten quiet. Feeling her nestle up against his back, arms around his waist and the firm lines of her thighs pressed to his hips, he hadn’t wanted the ride to end, and neither had she. Balancing the bike between his legs, he’d stretched out his hand to assist her dismount in the lot and been surprised when she instead squeezed him tightly. Mouth to his ear, she’d whispered, “I understand how you can fall in love with something like this. Thank you, Brute, for giving me the chance to see the world through your eyes.”

  Only a few speedboats puttered across the water’s surface. He knew that the standard fleet of pontoons and pedal boats would be back on the water once the weekend rolled around, getting in some late season lake time. Seated in a side-by-side position, conversation between Brute and Bex waxed and waned naturally as the view took their attention. There was a staggered height to their formation, because she was ass to the table, feet on the seat next to where he sat. He was leaned back, elbow to the tabletop propping him up, and the position and sun on his face felt good, but the best part was how she’d pressed into him, leg against his arm heating him in a very different way.

&
nbsp; Without preamble, she asked nearly the same question as Duncan, but in a musing, “I want to know all about you” tone, instead of Duncan’s shocked pain. “What happened to you, Brute?” Not a secret, nothing this visible could be, and he didn’t mind her knowing since the delay of the question said it wasn’t important to her except as it mattered to him.

  “Roadside bomb. Wrong place, wrong time. Docs did everything they could, but it was a lot of damage.” No need to catalog the number of surgeries, the time spent in hospital both overseas and here, the countless graft procedures, the—

  “Does it hurt?” Her voice was gentle, the tone searching. She wasn’t asking about the past, but looking towards the now. No need to dig up history for his Bex.

  “Yeah, sometimes. Nerve damage.” He shook his head and inclined sideways, angling in to her slightly, pleased when she leaned in to him even more. “Started seeing a new doc yesterday. He’s using different techniques, new things. Gonna try and make it easier to deal with.” Staring at the water, he hadn’t seen her move so the barely-there touch on the back of his neck startled him. Her fingers started a slow up-and-down slide over the tense muscles there. When he tipped his head down to show appreciation, she dug the pad of her thumb into his flesh, rolling and working at one of many knots she’d found.

  Soon she was leaning far sideways to rub and massage his shoulders. “Dang it,” she muttered, and he lost the heat of her hands as she shifted around. A moment later, he felt her knees on either side of his shoulders; she’d moved behind him, spanning his width as she had on the bike. “Your muscles are tight all over.” This was also muttered, and he grinned down at his lap when she continued, “Everything I feel is hard.”