by Ava Miles
He pulled into a parking space and cut the engine, and Amelia Ann opened the door and slid out before he could open it for her. She reached for the little girl, but the poor thing clung to her mama like a monkey. Neither of the kids had visible bruises, so he let himself hope they hadn’t been hit.
After seeing the woman’s face, Clayton had almost strode into that apartment and given her husband the beating he deserved. But his head had been clear enough for him to recognize it was more important to get the women and kids out of there. He could only hope someone doled out justice to that bastard.
“Come on, honey,” Amelia Ann said in a gentle voice he’d heard her use with Rory and Annabelle. “Let me carry you inside so you can meet your new friends.” The little girl wouldn’t budge from her seat.
“Jasinda, how about I help you with Calvin? You’ll come with me, right, sugar?”
Her voice was soft as corn silk and sweet as honey. He knew she could infuse steel into it when she had a mind to, and he wondered again how she’d gotten involved in something like this.
Not wanting to alarm the woman Amelia Ann had called Jasinda, he stood a good distance behind Amelia Ann. The little boy—Calvin?—slid around his mama and put his arms out to Amelia Ann. The sight of her wrapping him up in her arms with so much affection made his heart swell.
“You’re such a brave boy, Calvin. So brave.”
Jasinda finally managed to scoop her daughter into her arms and slide out of the car. The little girl started sucking her thumb, and even though he didn’t know much about kids, he knew she was well past that stage of development.
Today had blown that straight to hell.
The whole family had glassy eyes. Everyone was trembling.
Everyone except Amelia Ann, but he could tell she was clinging to her control with a frayed thread. She was trying to be brave for them, and he respected her all the more for it.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get y’all inside and settled. You’re safe here. I promise.”
The family shuffled forward with her, and Clayton followed them to the yellow door.
It opened before they could reach it, and a giant of a man stood on the threshold, taking up most of the space. “Y’all come in now. You’re safe here. I’m Barrett, and I make sure of that.” He winked at Amelia Ann. “Hey, AA. Looking pretty good.”
She laughed, but it was a weak, strained sound. “You too. Barrett, this is Jasinda and her two children, Calvin and Kylie.”
Barrett squatted down on his massive thighs and held out a fist. “Good to meet y’all.”
It took a moment, but Calvin finally fist-bumped him.
“And are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Barrett asked, taking his measure as he got to his feet.
“This is Clayton,” she told him. “Ah, Clayton? You’ll need to stay here. No man but Barrett gets to come inside.”
“Well, except when Curtis is here,” he told Jasinda, smiling wide enough to show a couple of cracked teeth and a gold cap. “He’s the other security guard. He’s as tough as me and then some, so you don’t need to worry about anyone getting through us. Y’all are safe here.”
“Didn’t I tell you, Jasinda?” Amelia Ann said, gesturing for the woman to precede her into the house.
The poor woman looked down, then at the door, almost as if she were judging the difficulty of crossing those last few feet.
It was a big step, and even Clayton felt his muscles gather, praying she would make the choice on her own.
She took the first step. And then another.
When she finally crossed the threshold, Clayton saw Amelia Ann breathe a sigh of relief.
“Well, now,” she said, and there was more sunshine in that calm voice than before, “let’s get y’all settled in.”
Her eyes met his one more time before she put her arm around Jasinda and led her and the kids further inside, disappearing from view.
“You’re gonna need to put that firearm back in your truck,” Barrett told him straight up. “You sure you’re not a cop?”
“No.” Under other circumstances, he might have laughed.
“Huh.”
“I’ll just wait in the car for Amelia Ann.”
“Good. The women get nervous when a man they don’t know comes around—even one with AA.”
AA.
Amelia Ann Hollins of the Southern blueblood Meade, Mississippi Hollins family was answering to AA? As he walked back to the car, he saw curtains flutter. Made out a few wild eyes peering at him. Abused women. A whole houseful of them. With kids by their sides.
Some men needed to be horsewhipped.
He sat in his car for nearly ninety minutes, watching as another woman rushed inside. And he stewed…now that there were no distractions, he thought about everything that could have happened to Amelia Ann in vivid Technicolor. He struggled with whether to call Rye, then came to the tough conclusion that he needed to talk to her first. He owed her that much.
Her answers had better be good.
When she finally emerged, she hugged Barrett in the doorway, and that linebacker of a man lifted her off her feet and made her laugh again. She looked so young and beautiful his throat grew thick.
Just when he thought he had her in a neat and tidy box, she up and knocked his world to smithereens.
He could fight the baby sister of his best friend and boss.
He couldn’t fight a humanitarian with guts and heart.
When her eyes landed on his SUV, her whole body tensed. He’d watched her from afar enough to know her moods. She was dreading their conversation.
And with good reason. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
Like he’d seen her do a million times, she gathered up her gumption. Lifting her chin, she walked toward the car with a posture so perfect she could have balanced a book on her head—something she’d learned in finishing school, no doubt.
She opened the car door and crested into the seat like the Dogwood Blossom Queen of Meade, Mississippi.
He made no move to turn on the engine. The sun had set while she was inside, so the interior of the car was dark when she closed the door behind her.
Her breathing was soft and agitated. That she could not hide from him.
“Thank you for coming and waiting for me,” she said. Her voice was calmer than it should have been in the situation, but he didn’t miss the hitch in it.
“Wild horses couldn’t have kept me from leaving. Besides, how would you have gotten home?”
“Felicia would have taken me, but Barrett said you were still outside.”
“Your boss? Is that the woman I saw come inside after you did?”
She leaned her head back like exhaustion was finally trickling its way through her system, and no wonder. “Yes. She said she’d stay with Jasinda and the kids for a while…since I had done enough for them today. She’s filing the protection order tonight.”
If he’d known that was her boss, not even Barrett could have kept him from going inside and having it out with her. He would have to talk to her another time. It was probably for the best. No one in that house needed to see another angry man.
“I don’t think I should go back for my car, do you?” she asked.
“No,” he told her, gripping the steering wheel to keep his cool. “I’ll have it towed out of the neighborhood if you send me the plate number.”
“Jasinda’s afraid Damon will damage it.”
You think? He tucked his tongue inside his cheek to keep from spouting off that phrase like he would have liked. “It’s only a car, princess.”
When she only nodded, he started the car and left the shelter.
The graffiti they passed on the way out of the neighborhood only added fuel to his rage. A young kid flashed them a gang sign as they passed him, and they pulled up next to a souped-up Cadillac teeming with young boys at a damaged stoplight. The car followed them for a few blocks before peeling off to the right and burning rubber. It r
eminded him of the guys who’d been hanging in the parking lot of that apartment complex.
She could have been killed.
The words played over and over again in his mind, as if on some godforsaken loop. His muscles were locked in place now, and his hands hurt from gripping the wheel.
Even when he emerged into the part of town without cracked sidewalks, spray-painted abandoned buildings, and broken street lights, he couldn’t relax.
Wisely, she knew better than to make conversation. She simply sat beside him breathing shallowly, the only indication that the experience had unhinged her too.
When he pulled up to the curb in front of her townhouse, he cut the engine. He glanced over. Her eyes were wide with shock now, and he knew adrenaline fallout was descending. He exited the vehicle and circled it to open her door.
She bolted from the SUV before he could clear the hood. “Thanks, Clayton. I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you.”
Ignoring her, he cupped her elbow and led her to her front door. “You’re not keeping me.”
“Really, there’s no need for you to come inside,” she said in a voice a few octaves short of hysterical.
“If you think I’m going to leave you in this condition, you’re insane. Where’s your key?”
She yanked her arm away and faced him on the front steps. “I can let myself in!”
Well, that had snapped something inside her. She was in fighting shape now. And hell if he wasn’t glad to see it.
“I’m coming in, Amelia Ann. Don’t even think otherwise.”
Her hand dug into her pocket, produced a key, and thrust it into the lock. Pushing the door open, he followed her inside.
He let the door slam behind him. “You’re lucky I haven’t called your brother yet.”
She raised her chin, all defiance now. “You don’t intimidate me.”
That did it. He crossed the threshold and pulled her to him. “You could have been killed!”
His mouth was on hers before he could think. All he knew was he needed to touch her, to feel down to his core that she was here and safe. With him. She gasped in surprise against his lips, but then she fitted herself to him like a glove and devoured his mouth.
After such a long wait, the passion between them exploded.
Her lips were soft, and oh so sweet. The blond hair she’d tucked under that hideous ball cap came loose when he dug his fingers into it, dislodging it. The feel of her body pressed against his hard frame knocked him back on his heels, and he hit the front door with a thud.
“You could have been killed,” he whispered against her lips.
Her hands stroked his shoulders in comfort. “Shh…I’m right here.”
Yes, she was, and he could no longer resist her, not after all these months of wanting. Her mouth found his, and they were kissing again. Deep and long, slow and shallow. Learning each other.
All control gone, he turned then and pressed her against the door, inching her sweatshirt up until she raised her arms and let him remove it. He filled his hands with her breasts, savoring this long-time fantasy come to life. Through the bra, her nipples beaded, and he ran circles around the peaks.
She moaned into his mouth. Rocked into his hands.
Feeling more of her bare skin became his only mission in life. He dispensed with her bra in quick order and let it fall to the floor. She reached her hands between them and tugged at his shirt, which he quickly discarded. Bare to the waist, he marveled at their textures—she so soft and white, him so tan and firm.
Her neck needed kissing, he realized, so he slid his lips down the slope of that line, a trace of her exotic magnolia scent filling his nostrils.
Coming back to her mouth, he reveled in the feel of her tongue touching his. And so they danced, both moaning with pleasure as they kissed. As their hands touched and caressed and made themselves familiar with flesh they’d only dreamed of touching up until now.
When he slid his hands down to her core and cupped her, she tensed for the briefest second. He knew instantly she wasn’t used to the intimacy of such a touch, and it was enough to restore some of his sanity. She’d had a horrific day, and here he was jumping her like an animal.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” he asked in a rough voice.
She nodded shyly, confirming something he’d suspected, and that subtle shift from confident goddess to hesitant woman had him gentling his hands over her flesh. He kissed her one last time, long and sweet.
And then he stepped back and reached for their shirts. The long, slender line of her throat moved, and she clutched the sweatshirt to her bare chest.
“Go on up and change, princess,” he said in a gentle voice, pulling on his shirt. “I’ll find us something to drink.”
He was halfway across her family room when she called out his name, making it a question.
When he turned to look at her, the vulnerability he saw in her eyes almost made him curse out loud. He spanned the distance between them and pulled her to him, cradling her head against his chest.
“It’s okay, honey. You’ve had a rough day, and I’m not making it any better.”
“But I wanted to be close to you.” Her head rested over his rapidly tearing heart. “It’s just that…I’m sorry.”
If he could have kicked his hind quarters, he would have. “Don’t be. Your first time should never be rushed, and if you hadn’t…slowed things down, I would have.”
God, he hoped so.
For himself. For her. For her brother, his best friend. And everything he thought he stood for.
Her arms slid around him. “I’ve dreamed about kissing you for such a long time. It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”
Ah, Christ, how was he supposed to be immune to that? “Yeah, it was pretty wonderful. Now go make yourself presentable. I only have so much willpower.”
She leaned back and tipped up her face, a slow smile breaking out, the first he’d seen today. “I know all about your willpower.”
The kiss he gave her was brief, but tender. “Go.”
“Okay, I’m going.”
His heart felt like it had taken flight or something, acting really odd in his chest.
It might have been better for both of them if he were having a heart attack.
Chapter 12
She couldn’t get warm. Her skin was red in the shower, but it didn’t seem to have an effect on her internal temperature. Her whole body wouldn’t stop shaking.
Now that she was alone, her mind kept re-playing the scene at Jasinda’s apartment. She couldn’t stop hearing the smacks of Damon’s hand on his wife’s flesh. The desperate, lost sound of her and her kids crying together.
She told herself the family was safe. But the shaking wouldn’t stop.
Even as she dried herself off and pulled on some clothes, everything in her felt unbalanced, like she’d landed in that Fred Astaire movie where he walked on the ceiling. Everything she knew to be up had become down.
“Amelia Ann?” Clayton called from the door. “Are you all right?”
All right? Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to contain it. It took her a minute to get herself under control.
“Princess?”
As she yanked on her favorite powder blue comfort sweater from her walk-in closet, she decided she was going to burn today’s clothes. She made a show of stomping on them before she strode over to the door and opened it.
“All right?” she answered honestly. “How am I supposed to respond to that? I can’t stop shaking. I can’t get warm.”
His hand reached out and caressed her face. “Of course you can’t. You’re in shock. Come downstairs with me and have some tea.”
Steam was billowing around them from the shower. “But I haven’t even brushed my hair.”
God she must be losing it to have forgotten such a basic step of self grooming.
“Let me do it.”
And he led her into her bathroom and selected a
brush from her messy counter. Standing behind her, he slowly ran it through her wet locks, taking special care when he hit a tangled clump at the ends. The motion was oddly soothing. No one had ever brushed her hair for her before.
“You’re tending to me,” she whispered, and her eyes sought out his in the mirror.
It was strange to have him here in her sanctuary. The bra and panties she’d worn earlier were on top of the pile of dirty clothes she’d stomped.
“You have a problem with that?” he asked, raising one brow.
“No. It feels good,” she said, leaning back against his chest.
The words were small and inadequate, but it was the best she could manage at this moment. After so long, she finally knew what it was like to feel his mouth on hers. Have his hands run over her body. Now he was in her bathroom brushing her hair, something she never would have imagined big, bad Clayton doing.
“I’m sorry we stopped,” she admitted in a quiet voice, “but it’s probably for the best. I’m not exactly at my…best today.” Obviously. She’d just said “best” twice. But if he thought he could turn cold on her again, he was mistaken. Now that she knew the force of his passion for her, not to mention this tender side of him, she was never going to let him push her away.
He continued sweeping the brush through her long blond hair, even though it was all straightened out now. It was nice to realize he didn’t want to stop.
“For that and other reasons,” he answered cryptically, and she wondered what he was thinking.
“Do you regret it?” she asked boldly, unable to read his expression.
Setting the brush aside, he spun her to face him. “Regret kissing you or stopping?”
She placed her hands on his chest, a chest she wanted to caress more. “Please don’t say you regret kissing me. I couldn’t take it right now.”
He kissed her forehead. “I don’t regret kissing you. Now, let’s go downstairs.”
Relief rocked through her, and the tears she’d been holding back all day rose in her eyes. He’d come when she needed him. Without hesitation.
“Thank you for coming today, Clayton. I don’t know how things would have gone otherwise.”
