Redemption's Kiss

by Ann Christopher

  “Jill—”

  Ignoring him, she wheeled around, yanked open the top drawer of her bureau and rummaged around inside. “Or maybe you want to see my underwear drawer. Make sure I haven’t changed the kind of panties I wear since the divorce.”

  She withdrew a big handful of satin and lace in every color under the rainbow and stalked back from the bedroom until she was an arm’s length away. Then she threw her panties at his feet.

  Paralyzed or stunned—maybe a little of both—he didn’t move.

  “How’s that? Does that satisfy your curiosity about my new life? Anything else you’d like to know? How about the number of other men I’ve slept with? Didn’t you want to discuss that?”

  This, finally, seemed to push him over some invisible line, much to her savage satisfaction. She didn’t care that he’d reduced her to raving lunacy. It didn’t matter that this was exactly the kind of ugly confrontation she’d always sworn she’d never engage in with him, the kind that made her look like the wrongdoer, rather than him.

  All that mattered was the stricken expression on his face, as though a nuclear warhead aimed right at his chest couldn’t have hurt him more than she just did.

  This was what she wanted: Beau in agony.

  But he was good. Really good. With a single blink, he wiped his expression clean, until it was as starkly blank as a blackboard on the first day of school. The wilder she became, the more determined he seemed to cling to his civility.

  He opened his mouth and took forever to activate his husky voice. “I’m leaving.”

  Hysteria erupted from her body on a bitter, jeering laugh. “Why leave now, Beau? You haven’t gotten what you came for.”

  “Because I’m upsetting you.”

  His voice was nothing now. Less than a whisper from a person with laryngitis. But she didn’t care about how he sounded. The only things that mattered to her in this ugly moment were the wild light in his eyes and making him unravel to the last thread of his soul.

  So she taunted him with another jeer. “Upsetting me? When did you ever care about upsetting me? When you were screwing other women?”

  He paused and she really had to hand it to him for keeping it so calm and cool. If she knew anything about Beau, which she did, she’d pushed him to his outer limits about five minutes ago and he now probably wanted to drive his fist through the nearest wall.

  They stared at each other for several of the longest seconds of her life, with only their harsh breath to break the stony silence. Her heart, which had been alternating between skittering and pounding, pretty much stopped as she waited to see what Beau would do next.

  They were teetering on the edge of a cataclysm and a single small push would send them hurtling toward something damaging, if not fatal, and she wanted it. Oh, yes, she wanted it.

  Taking all the time in the world, Beau turned away, but he was no longer trying to leave. Instead, he made his careful way to the window, stared at the closed blinds and came back. There was a grim resolution in his expression, a darkness that hadn’t been there before.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” he said. His voice was steady now, strong, determined and utterly reasonable, and she hated him for it. “But we have a lot of issues we need to address. If you want to do it with all this anger, then that’s fine with me.”

  Oh, no. He wasn’t going to make her out to be the crazy one.

  “Aren’t you civilized all the sudden? Who’d’ve thought?”

  “Not at all.” One corner of his mouth eased up into a terrible corruption of a smile, so dark and crooked it might have been a twisted path leading straight into the center of hell. “I’m not feeling civilized at all. But I’m trying to control the situation before it gets any worse.” He hesitated and then continued as if his flood of words couldn’t be sandbagged into obeying, despite all his best efforts. “Otherwise, I would have already asked if you let that man touch you tonight.”

  This was such a stunning reversal that it took her a long, gaping moment to recover and spit out the obligatory:

  “That’s none of your business.”

  That humorless black smile widened an inch, sending fear streaking through the depths of her belly to a place only he’d ever been able to access. “I know it’s none of my business. I also know that it’s my own damn fault that it’s none of my business. That doesn’t mean the question isn’t eating my guts out.”

  “Poor Beau. Don’t like the bed you made for yourself to lie in, do you?”

  “It’s killing me.”

  “Good.”

  Was it wrong to take so much fierce pleasure in someone’s obvious misery? Would God punish her later? Or maybe the universe would send a wave of bad karma her way to balance the scales. That was fine. No problem. Even a fire or a plague of locusts felt like a small price to pay for the satisfaction of this moment, which had been years in the making.

  What was the saying—hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?

  Damn right. And she was about to unleash hell on Beau in a way she never had before. They’d never had it out. The end of their marriage, which came the day Beau admitted his second affair, had been abrupt and absolute. There’d been no closure, whatever that was. And it was possible that the lack of closure was driving her now.

  Some twisted demon was in charge here, not her.

  So she kept her chin up and held his gaze, determined to let him see her seething anger. Absolute power flowed through her like a superhero’s electrical current, and it thrilled her.

  And then, just that easy, Beau took one slow but aggressive step toward her, breaching her space with his size and body heat, and all the power shifted.

  “I am wondering, though,” he drawled, “why you’re so upset.”

  “I told you—”

  He flapped his free hand. “Yeah, yeah—I know. I shouldn’t be here without permission. But here’s the thing. You would have given me permission if Allegra needed me. Wouldn’t you?”

  Paralyzed with growing dread—where was this going?—she couldn’t answer.

  “And I did apologize. I tried to leave. So I’m wondering whether you were upset before you ever laid eyes on me tonight.”

  “Of course not—”

  Oh, God. Why did he keep coming closer? Why couldn’t she breathe all of a sudden? She’d wanted this fight, needed this release, and he was giving her what she wanted. So why was she suddenly frozen with terror?

  “And I’m also wondering why, if your personal life is going so well and what’s-his-name is such a great and amazing guy, you’re back home before the crickets even have a chance to start chirping for the night.” He paused just long enough to let the tension build inside her. “Why’s that, Jillian?”

  “You’ve got some nerve—”

  “If you’re so well-adjusted and over me, then why are you so upset?”

  Yeah, Jill. Tell the man why.

  As if she could. As if she had any answers here.

  God, she couldn’t breathe. All the air was trapped in her throat, strangling her, and she placed a hand over her heart, desperate to get a grip before this turned into a full-blown panic attack—another one—and equally desperate not to let him see her gulp for air like a caught catfish.

  Trapped beneath that piercing gaze, she opened her mouth and produced only silence and then more silence.

  Hide, Jill. Don’t let him see you like this.

  “This is going nowhere.” She took her time about turning and walking to the door, which she pushed wider for him. Good thing she had her own private wing in the inn. Otherwise, the guests would have gotten way more than their money’s worth by now. “I’d like you to leave now.”

  That hard jaw of his dropped with open incredulity, and then his face twisted into a snarl. His bitter laugh was like a blast from a middle-of-the-night storm siren, jarring and shrill and a sign of terrible things to come.

  “That’s the story of your life, isn’t it, Sweet Jill?”

  D
on’t look at him, Jill. Keep your face turned away.

  She held tight to the knob because it was the only thing keeping her upright. If only she could get a breath. One good breath. “Just leave.”

  “You’re the only one who can control when we talk and when we don’t talk, aren’t you, Jill?” he taunted. “You’re the one with all the rules. But here’s the funny thing about your goddamn rules—they always shut me down every time I have something I need to say.”

  Staring at the floor, she tried not to hear him. Tried to hide behind the furious rush of blood in her ears and block him out. But it didn’t work and she had more important things to do now anyway, like hide the fact that she was falling apart.

  Her burning face was going to burst into flames any second. She needed to breaaaathe, and she needed God’s help to get out of this mess she’d created for herself.

  Opening her jaw just slightly, not enough for him to notice, she tried to drag air in through her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she gasped.

  “Oh, you don’t?”

  To her horror, he hurried over and stooped until his face was right there, right in front of her, and there was nowhere to hide that he wouldn’t see her.

  “Let me help you out with that. I’m talking about how it’s always been all about you and what you need. Since the day we got married. It’s all well and good for us to have a conversation and vent our feelings, as long as you’re the only one venting. We can tell the truth as long as it’s your version of the truth. We can talk about how we’ve let each other down and how brokenhearted we are only until it’s my turn. And guess what happens then? It’s time for me to leave! Conversation’s over! Sharing time is done! Too bad, Beau! Maybe next time! Well, when is my next time going to come?” He was roaring now. “Because it hasn’t come yet and I’ve been waiting for years!”

  Okay. Okay, forget the door. She let go of the knob because it was too wobbly to support her, especially with the weight of his righteous anger bearing down. Shrinking away from him and as far into the wall as she could get, she laid her palms flat and tried to stand strong.

  “That’s not…that’s not true,” she said.

  But it had the ring of truth. Even through the frenetic pounding of her pulse, the shallow panting of her breath and her willful desire not to hear anything he flung at her right now, she knew: he might be right, and she couldn’t bear it.

  With one trembling hand, she reached for the door again. “I want you to—”

  “I’m not leaving,” he shouted, and slammed the door shut.

  Jillian edged away and wished to heaven she hadn’t opened this Pandora’s box of nightmares.

  The shaking began then, deep in her belly. Within seconds it had spread to her thighs, and she pressed her knees together in a futile attempt to control it, determined not to humiliate herself any further, even if she had to lean her head back and close her eyes against the swirling dizziness.

  But, God, if she could only breathe—

  Beau also seemed to be having problems with his lungs. After a couple of harsh rasps, he seemed calmer but not calm, reasonable but only on a thin surface layer that covered his turbulent emotions.

  “Can I tell you how I feel, Jill?” he whispered. “This one time?”

  “No.”

  A pause, and then, “Listen to me! You have to listen to me!”

  With every ounce of strength she had, she raised her head from the wall, opened her eyelids and looked directly into his face for a connection that was worse than a gut punch. He was wild-eyed and desperate, Beau and yet not Beau at all, as though someone had smudged his features with an eraser, allowing glimpses of his damaged soul to emerge.

  He hesitated, clearly not knowing what to make of her silence. She didn’t know what to make of it, either. Taking it nice and easy, he dropped his cane, stepped closer and put his hands on the curve of her waist.

  No.

  She shook him off in an eruption of flailing arms, but he just kept coming and settled his hands again. This time, that gentle touch was exponentially worse. Less shocking and more comforting. And there was no way she could allow this man to comfort her.

  “No.”

  She smacked him away for a third time, the simultaneous panic and absolute rightness of being in his arms again making her crazed.

  “Please, Jill.”

  That quiet plea took all the fight out of her. Naturally, he knew it and wasted no time pressing his advantage—or maybe it was purely her weakness.

  Reaching out again, slowly…slowly…he took both her hands in his and, oh, God, she remembered the warmth of those hands, the strength and tenderness. Worse, oh, so much worse, was the smell of him, that virile male scent of warm skin, soft cotton and the faint freshness of soap and deodorant. Earlier in the evening, she’d smelled these exact same arousing things on Adam’s skin, yeah, but that was apples to oranges, a two-fingered “Chopsticks” on the piano versus a Mozart symphony.

  Don’t fall for this, Jill. Don’t let him do this to you and—

  Oh, nooo.

  With a penitence that a confessional priest could only dream of, he bowed his head and rested his forehead against the backs of her hands. As if she were his queen and he were giving her all the respect she deserved. As if he worshiped her. And the vibrating tension in his body was a dead giveaway that her touch affected him in unholy ways he couldn’t control.

  “I love you. I always have. I always will.”

  Turning her hard face away, she resisted the urge to snort. Love. From Beau? Please. She was surprised he could blaspheme the word with those lips without immediately being struck dead with a lightning bolt.

  Oh, but there was more.

  “I’m sorry, Jill,” he whispered.

  Oh. Sorry. Well, didn’t that just cure everything?

  “For what?” she wondered, and a tremor went through him at the quiet harshness of her voice. “The public humiliation? The private humiliation? The despair? Taking a woman who loved you and was confident and competent and whole—”

  “All of it.”

  “—and turning her into a mess who doesn’t trust men or her own instincts and has panic attacks? I’m just trying to understand, Beau. Which part are you sorry for? Any of that? Or are you only sorry that you lost your family and your career and had no one to care when you almost died? Help me out here. Break it down for me.”

  He lifted his head, much to her dismay. The situation was already fraught with way more intimacy and vulnerability than she could handle, and she didn’t need to see his expression now, but no one was asking her what she wanted.

  And there it was. All the unmitigated shame in those unblinking eyes, all the sorrow. It was there in the downturn of his lush lips as he tried to keep his chin from trembling, and in the strain across his cheekbones, flaring nostrils and, most terrible of all, the sheen of tears.

  Seeing this kind of emotion from him was so harrowing that she forgot about her desperate struggle to breathe and her need to keep that brick wall standing tall and sturdy between them.

  He pressed her hands to his heart, where she felt a pounding so violent she was surprised it didn’t cause his T-shirt to ripple and bulge.

  “I’m sorry for all of it, Jillian.”

  No.

  She didn’t want to hear this—

  “I’m sorry I cheated on you with women I can barely remember. I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry I wasn’t the kind of strong husband you deserved. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. I‘m sorry I didn’t get professional help sooner. I’m sorry I never showed you how much I needed you.”

  What a laugh. He’d almost had her there for a moment, but the whole need thing was stretching it a bit too far, even for someone as naive and trusting as she was.

  Incensed again, she tried to jerk free, but he wouldn’t let her go. “You’ve never needed anyone in your life.”

  Cursing, he looked up at the ceiling and took a moment to b
link back his tears, not that any of it was real. It really was quite the performance. She had to hand it to him.

  “This is the problem,” he said, the frustration rising in his voice. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

  She raised a mocking eyebrow. “Fascinating. Do tell.”

  The words came in a frantic rush now, as though they’d been blocked for so long they had to run wild at last. “I needed you, Jill. I needed your optimism. Every day when I was governor, I looked forward to coming home to you. You were my consolation for a bad day at the state house or a bill that didn’t pass. You were my reward for a job well done. You were my peace and my sunshine and my heart. I don’t know what to do without you. I’ve been lost these three years. It’s like I’m wandering in a forest and I can’t find my way out. Nothing matters—”

  Choking, he trailed off and hung his head.

  And she watched him, again cursing her stupidity for landing herself in this mess. Some of these pretty words would stick with her later. Much as she wanted to block them all out, some of them would penetrate. She would wonder if he meant any of this heartfelt nonsense…she was already wondering…

  Swiping at his eyes, he pressed fevered kisses to the backs of her hands, wetting them with his hot tears. When he looked up again, there was something even darker in his expression, as though the worst had yet to be said.

  No. Not that.

  Her lungs seized up again and she tried to break free.

  “I needed you to share your pain with me, Jill—”

  “Don’t.”

  “We needed to turn to each other and help each other through—”

  “I said, don’t.”

  “And I needed you to let me in, but I couldn’t reach you behind your vacant eyes. It was like my Jillian checked out and I couldn’t—”

  “Don’t!” she shouted, and wrenched free.

  They squared off now, both panting, and she sank against the wall because, Jesus, God, she couldn’t breathe again, and it was all she could do to stay on her feet. Pressing a hand to her chest, she tried to keep her heart inside, where it belonged, but it seemed determined to hammer its way out of her body.

  Her clutching fingers closed around her locket, which had collected her warmth, and she clung to it as the only thing keeping her from shrieking insanity. And Beau, damn him, tossed a pound of salt on all her half-healed wounds.