Redemption's Kiss

by Ann Christopher

  His life was waiting for him.

  “The princess and I are off to go swimming,” Barbara Jean announced.

  Jillian and Blanche, who’d been sitting on the bench at the weathered kitchen table, reviewing the dinner menu for the rest of the week while taking a quick breather after the lunchtime rush, looked around for Allegra’s grand entrance and exit.

  The girl, sure enough, wore her white terry-cloth cover-up, which presumably hid one of her pink bathing suits. The tiara du jour, a towering cardboard number with silver loops and shedding sparkles, sat atop her sandy-brown head. In her small hands, she carried a purple lace fan and her leopard-printed purse. Inside the purse, with only her head sticking out, her expression disgruntled, sat the kitten.

  “Bye, Mommy.”

  Allegra trotted over for a quick kiss, and Jillian eyed all the accessories, including the feline.

  “Hannah needs to stay here,” she told her daughter. “Hannah Montana.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes. “Hannah Montana needs to stay here. And take your tiara off before you get into the pool, pumpkin. You don’t want to ruin it.”

  Allegra submitted to the removal of her headwear, which was strange, and then lingered for an extra hug from Jillian, which was stranger. Jillian gave her a critical once-over, but she didn’t seem flushed or anything.

  “What’s wrong, pumpkin?”

  “When’s Daddy coming home?” Allegra asked for the millionth time that day. “Not until tomorrow.”

  The girl wilted with the utter despair that only a child could manage, looking orphaned, homeless and friendless all at once, and her eyes filled with fat tears. “I miss him.”

  Not as much as I do, honey.

  Much as Jillian wanted to whine and cry like her daughter, her pride wouldn’t allow it. She was the genius who’d insisted that Beau meet with Adena, and she couldn’t very well backtrack now. This little test separation was a good thing that they both needed. In the end, their relationship would be the stronger and better for it.

  She hoped.

  Either that, or Beau and Adena had rekindled their little spark and were now in bed together.

  “I know.” Focusing on Allegra, she pushed that devastating image far from her mind’s eye. “But I’ll bet he’ll bring you a souvenir when he comes back.”

  The girl’s tears vanished, burned off by the sudden flare of hot interest in her greedy little eyes. She hopped up and down in her tiny flip-flops.

  Hannah Montana, who didn’t appreciate this kind of commotion, meowed a protest, jumped out of the bag and slunk into the shadows down the hall.

  Jillian and Blanche watched Allegra bounce out the door after Barbara Jean, and were exchanging an amused glance, when Jillian’s cell buzzed from the pocket of her flowered sundress. She fished it out.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m back,” said Beau.

  Oh, God. Beau? Back already?

  The silky drawl kicked her heart rate into turbo-overdrive because she recognized that tone. There was only one thing on his mind when he spoke to her like that, and it wasn’t airports or Miami business trips with former lovers.

  “That, ah…” Excruciatingly aware of Blanche’s keen and interested gaze on her now red-hot face, Jillian smoothed her hair and tried not to stammer. “That was, ah, pretty quick.”

  “I did everything you wanted me to do, Jill, so now it’s my turn. I want you to do something for me.”

  “What, ah…what’s that?” she asked.

  She met Blanche’s gaze—jeez, the woman didn’t even pretend she wasn’t listening to every single word—and managed a lame smile as she got up from the bench and hurried to the window for some modicum of privacy.

  “I want you to meet me at my house in one minute. Okay?”

  “Su-Sure.” Jillian cleared her wobbly voice and tried not to sound like a creaky door hinge. But there was nothing she could do about the absolute lack of oxygen getting to her straining lungs. “I can do that.”

  “Are you wearing one of your sexy little summer dresses?”

  Jillian had to glance down to make certain. Even then, she was such a hopped-up mess of nerves and anxiety that she wasn’t sure what was what. Halter bodice that tied at the neck? Check. Full skirt? Check. Strappy sandals? Check.

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” he said. “Take your panties off before you come.”

  Chapter 21

  Jillian was halfway up his drive when the sound of a powerful engine caught up with her. Nearly shaking by now with a wicked combination of nerves and anticipation, she turned to see Beau pull up in his Range Rover and park.

  He got out, his eyes dark and fathomless.

  Jillian froze.

  Without speaking, he headed straight for her, one hand on his cane and his free hand outstretched. She took it and almost had to drop it again because the hot flash of electricity between them was that strong.

  He must’ve felt it, too, because his eyes widened and he squeezed her palm as though to make sure she didn’t get away from him. She would have laughed and reassured him if she wasn’t too choked up with lust and emotion to speak.

  Fingers intertwined and gazes locked, they walked up the path to the house. His leg didn’t slow him down one bit and, if anything, she wasn’t moving fast enough for him.

  It was strange now to remember how he’d nearly died after his accident, how his poor body had been such a crumpled mess. There wasn’t an ounce of weakness in this man, not one part of his body or, probably, his spirit that wasn’t more powerful than it had ever been before.

  He let her go long enough to unlock the front door, and then they were inside the foyer, where the afternoon shadows fell across his face, highlighting the absolute determination in his glittering eyes.

  And then his cane clattered to the marble floor and he was all over her, driving her backward to the nearest wall with his hands gripping her face and his mouth claiming hers with the kind of aggressive, biting kisses that would leave her lips swollen and her heart singing. He tasted minty and desperate, and she couldn’t wait for his passion to swallow her whole.

  He pulled back to stare down at her, and it was all there in his face: the intense need and raw vulnerability, and the overwhelming love.

  “You’re home early,” she gasped.

  Flashing a look of purest annoyance, he focused on sliding his big hands up under her skirts to see if she’d followed his instructions, and crooned with approval when he discovered that she had.

  He went to work kneading her butt. When she was weak-kneed and wobbly, with only the wall at her back and his muscled thigh between her legs to hold her up, he eased back just enough to assault her from the front. His fingers zeroed in on her slick cleft, which was swollen and open, aching for him.

  “I have a tough time staying away from you.”

  “Good,” she said flatly, and then cried out as his fingers circled her hard nub, lubricating her and winding her tighter…tighter…“What happened in Miami?”

  He licked his way deep into her mouth, his tongue surging and retreating in time to what his wonderful fingers were doing down south. She tried to keep quiet, lest she miss what he was about to say, but that was as impossible as keeping birds from singing in the morning.

  “What happened is that a beautiful and sexy woman met me in the car and tried to seduce me.”

  “And?”

  “And all I could think about was getting back here, to you, so we could be doing this and I could tuck Allegra in bed tonight. So I passed your little test. Satisfied?”

  God, she was.

  So much so that she couldn’t stop her laugh of triumph, which was quickly swallowed up by another cry as he stroked her again.

  “Not yet,” she told him. “But I’m getting there.”

  With only a quick grin at her innuendo, he leaned in to kiss her, and then pulled back to hit her with a stern warning. “Don’t try to send me away again. I’m not leaving.”
/>   “I’m counting on that.”

  “Marry me,” he said.

  Man, she’d been hoping he’d bring that up again, but that didn’t mean she had to appear needy. “Is that a question?”

  “No. It’s a command.”

  “Oh, too bad.” She pretended to pout. “I was going to say yes.”

  He almost smiled, but was too busy to give it much effort. Working quickly, he unzipped his pants, freed himself and took his length, which was ruddy and engorged, in hand.

  Oh, thank God. If he took any longer, she was going to collapse and then die from her lust. She eyed the rug at the center of the room, but he grabbed her behind one knee, hitching up her leg and spreading her wide.

  A distant corner of her brain spluttered a weak protest even as she eased him closer, anchoring them together with her leg around his waist.

  “Your leg—”

  “Screw that.” He paused, the plump head of his penis poised for entry. “We have a baby to make. Don’t we?”

  She stared into his face because they’d waited too long and worked too hard for this moment, and she didn’t want to ever forget anything about it.

  “Yes,” she said. “We’ve got another beautiful baby to make.”

  Bending his knees, Beau angled himself just right, and then he was inside, stretching her until the delicious friction swallowed her up inside the pleasure. He shifted his weight, getting his balance, and she wrapped her legs tight around his waist, ready for the ride.

  Kissing her again, he pumped his hips and found a punishing rhythm that drove her right out of her mind. She made a sound that was so raw and animalistic that he hesitated, his brows knit with worry.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She nipped his lip and enjoyed his corresponding shudder. “And I want you to hurt me harder this time.”

  “You got it,” he murmured, and then, laughing with pure male satisfaction, Beau picked up the pace, as good as his word.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  “Ease up, Jillian,” the doctor said. “Let your body do the work. You don’t want to shoot this baby across the room.”

  “The hell I don’t,” Jillian snarled. “Get this thing out of me NOOOOOOW!”

  Beau, who was sitting on a stool up by Jillian’s head, helping her hold her thighs to her chest while the baby crowned, didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. This unfortunate deficiency kept him from keeping his big mouth shut.

  They could see the growing patch of thick and curly black hair in the overhead mirror—it and the steady thump of the baby’s heartbeat on the monitor were about the most thrilling things Beau had ever experienced—and he should have been happy with that, but no.

  This was Jillian’s third birth but his first, they’d chosen not to find out the baby’s sex, and he was pumped up on adrenaline and the fervor that came from weeks of classes to prepare for this moment. Plus, Jillian’s labor had progressed too quickly for anything civilized, like an epidural, so he felt that he should say or do something to ease her through this process before his dwindling time ran out.

  So he looked down into her twisted and sweaty face and said, like an idiot, “We’re almost there, baby. Take a deep breath and ease up. We can do it.”

  Jillian, panting and wild-eyed, looked around at him with intent so murderous he wished the doctor would roll his tray of scalpels, scissors and other sharp instruments a little farther out of her reach.

  “Uh-oh,” the nurse murmured, looking amused.

  Beau shrank back and wished he’d been born with a modicum of common sense.

  “We can do it?” Jillian rose up on her elbows and nailed him with a glare that made him want to sprint to the nearest nurses’ station and schedule an emergency vasectomy. “Did you say we, jackass, when I am the one up here trying to birth this eight-pound baby with a watermelon for a head? Are you that stupid?”

  There was no denying it. “Apparently, I am—yes.”

  The doctor and nurse kept their heads low, but they made quiet sounds that were suspiciously like snickering.

  “Well, unless you’ve ever passed a bowling ball through your penis and have some sort of experience with this kind of thing,” Jillian continued, gaining steam and outrage, as though she planned to put this whole labor thing on hold until she’d finished reading him the riot act, “then I suggest you shut the—Oh, God.”

  That was it. Jillian grabbed her thighs again, twisted up her face and emitted an earthy sound that was somewhere between a groan and a roar of triumph.

  Up in the mirror, a full head appeared, paused long enough to turn and have its little nose suctioned by the doctor, and then was followed by the easy slide of the rest of the slimy and squirming body.

  “It’s a big, strong boy.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Jillian said.

  The wonder swelled up from Beau’s soul, filling him to bursting. “A boy,” he echoed as the doctor put the baby on top of the green sheets covering Jillian’s belly. “Did you hear that, Jill? It’s a boy.”

  Jillian, who’d slumped back, closed her eyes and taken several relieved breaths, said wearily, “I don’t care if it’s a three-eyed toad. As long as it’s out.”

  Beau laughed.

  And then he cried.

  It wasn’t manly or pretty, and he’d be mortified about it later, but for now there was nothing he could do. All through the cutting of the cord, the cleaning and weighing of his son, the nurse’s snapshots and Jillian’s cleanup, he hovered, laughing and crying and useless. Finally, the nurse got sick of him and pressed him back into his stool, where he leaned in to kiss his wife on her cheeks and forehead, anywhere he could reach, and thank God for this moment.

  “I love you,” Jillian told him.

  He could hardly get the words out around his sobs. “God, I love you, Jill. I love you. I can’t believe you did this. I’m so proud of you.”

  “We did this.”

  Yeah. They had.

  “Here’s your boy.”

  The doctor passed the blanket-wrapped and squalling bundle to Beau, and Beau lost another little piece of his heart forever. Resting the baby on the bed between them, they stared at the newest member of their family.

  Red-faced and angry, the baby waved his fists and shrieked like a stuck pig until Jillian nuzzled his fat cheek with a kiss.

  “You stop that right now,” she chided in her mother’s singsong, massaging his little arm. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  And the baby, to Beau’s astonishment, took one last, snuffling breath, stopped crying, blinked and looked up into Jillian’s face with keen, whiskey-colored eyes just like hers.

  “That’s better,” Jillian cooed.

  Beau examined his son through his tears, unable to believe he’d had any part in the creation of something this amazing. The boy had a curly head full of black hair, so much that they’d need to run him by Great Clips on the way home from the hospital for a trim. He also had sleek black brows and Jillian’s pouty lips.

  He looked plump and healthy, alert and absolutely perfect.

  Beau cupped the baby’s head. “Allegra’s going to love you, Kenyon.”

  The boy was smart. Blinking again and clearly trying to get his bearings, he turned his head just enough to see Beau leaning over him. Their gazes connected, father and son. This, naturally, kicked off more tears, which fell fast and heavy, threatening to drown the poor child even before he’d had his first diaper change.

  How pitiful was it that he was doing more crying than his newborn son?

  Laughing at his own silliness and overflowing with joy, Beau swiped his eyes, determined to collect himself sometime today, while they were all still young.

  He looked across Kenyon to Jillian.

  Apparently, she’d forgiven him for his earlier cheerleading stupidity, because her eyes were wide and blazing, bright with love and what looked like gratitude.

  “Thank you,” she said. />
  “For what?”

  “For putting this family back together.”

  God. So much for no more crying.

  Beau sat on the bed next to her and gathered them both close, his wife and his son, two of the three most important people in the world to him, his family, his life.

  He’d walked through fire to make it to this moment, and he’d happily do it again if he needed to. The joy he felt now had absolutely been worth it.

  “My pleasure,” he told his wife, taking her left hand and kissing the band of sparkling diamonds that he’d placed there, where it belonged. “My pleasure.”

  ISBN: 978 1 408 92168 5

  Redemption's Kiss

  © Ann Christopher 2009

  First Published in Great Britain in 2009

  Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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  All characters in this work have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.