by Joanne Rock
“I’d give anything to know what you were thinking about just then.” He gripped the zippered lapels of the jacket and slowly hauled her closer.
Her heart beat faster and she swallowed hard. Was she that transparent?
“I’m not sure I remember exactly,” she started to fib.
“No?” He tunneled his hands beneath the jacket, finding her waist. “Whatever it was, I liked it.”
With his hands on her, his breath mingling with hers, it was easier to admit the truth.
“I may have been thinking about how much I wanted you to kiss me.” She laid her palms on his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart through the thermal shirt under the flannel.
A few night birds called overhead, but other than that, silence wrapped around them in this rural end of town.
“I’m glad, Gabriella.” He brushed feather-light kisses along her jaw, making her shiver and move closer to him. “But I want you to know you have an open invitation to kiss me whenever you feel like it.”
The words provided a small, secret thrill that shot through her like a falling star.
“Is that so?” She liked this new boldness he gave her. This ability to flirt and feel the soft magic of attraction without fear or shame, without the barbs and tenterhooks of the past calling her out of the moment.
It felt beautiful.
“Anytime. Anywhere.” He nipped her lower lip but still didn’t kiss her. “On the West Coast or in Memphis.”
She felt his slow smile against her mouth, but everything inside her stilled. She opened her eyes to find him watching her in the moonlight, and something about his expression told her he was feeling her out about continuing their relationship after the trial was over.
She edged back.
“Mia’s life is here,” she protested. “In Heartache. And I’m not ready to walk away from her.”
He nodded slowly in a way that suggested acceptance even if his gaze cooled, his expression shuttered.
“She has a good advocate in both of us. I hope you know that.”
That was as much of a concession as she was going to wrest from him. She knew that from the look in his eyes. Perhaps it was a sign that she should simply enjoy their window of time together and not worry about what came next. Clayton was part of her healing, and she was grateful for that even if he couldn’t be a part of her future.
Or his sister’s.
“I do know that.” Understanding washed over her, the realization that she wouldn’t win this battle. It made her time with him more bittersweet.
But by God, she wouldn’t waste a minute of it. So, calling up her courage, she gripped the lapels of his flannel shirt and hauled him back toward the narrow porch of the in-law annex. A motion light tripped on, flooding them in a golden glow that illuminated the dark cedar shake siding.
Illuminated Clay.
She brushed her lips over his, the barest grazing of mouths. Another thrill chased around her insides, lighting her up. The scent of barbecue clung to their clothes and skin from the reunion, the smoky tang doing nothing to appease the hunger she was feeling now. She ran her tongue around his lips. Testing. Tasting.
With a low growl of approval, Clay broke the kiss long enough to disarm Zach’s high-tech alarm system since he knew all the codes. She liked seeing the way his breaths huffed into the cool night air.
Wordlessly, she drew him inside with her. Like a continuation of their two-step, they moved together with easy coordination. She shed his jacket on the couch while he reactivated the alarm. He untwined her scarf from around her neck and she slipped off her boots. A low wattage lamp behind the sofa made it easy to see, one of many lights that turned on and off according to the security system.
Gabriella liked it because she could see Clay all the better when he lifted her off her feet and into his arms, a gesture that made her smile. He strode with her across the room, elbowing open the door to the master bedroom.
“I could have walked,” she reminded him, mostly to tease him. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“I was going for speed.” He toed the door shut behind them and then propped a knee on the bed before lowering her to the downy mattress with a plump feather bed on top.
The pillowy bedding shifted around her, surrounding her in laundry-scented linens. There was no lamp here, only the scant moonlight. Clay left her for a moment to adjust the top half of the wooden blinds, letting more light shine through from high up, protecting their privacy.
She propped herself on her elbows to watch while he shrugged off his shirts, his chest a sight to behold. Corded muscle shifted with him as he reached down to strip off his boots. Inspired, she sat up farther so she could slip her sweater up and over her head. Clay paused in the middle of unfastening his belt, his attention thoroughly captured in a way that flattered.
In a way that touched her. A way that made her feel normal and womanly.
He must have forgotten about his pants, because he was on his knees at the side of the bed a moment later, his dark eyes intent on her. She felt his hands at her waist, his attention fixed on her skirt as he dragged the light wool down her body.
Sensation hummed in her veins and heated her skin despite the sudden cool air against her legs. Clay skimmed his fingers back up her calves to rest on her knees, edging his shoulders between them. Anticipation jumped in her pulse. She knifed to a sitting position so she could kiss him. Run her hands through dark hair that was surprisingly silky. He kissed her breathless and gently pushed her back down, trailing his mouth down her neck. Between her breasts. Along her belly and her hip.
Every sweep of his tongue pitched her fever higher, a restless hunger growing that only he could satisfy. When he cupped the tender flesh between her thighs, her breath quickened along with her heartbeat. He kissed his way along the hemline of her panties—a new and ridiculously pretty lace purchase she’d made with him in mind—until she moaned his name with ragged desire.
Only then did he slide the lace off and kiss the slick heat of her sex, slowly and thoroughly driving her higher. Higher. She gripped his shoulders one moment and twisted her fingers in the duvet the next, the sweet tension building until she wriggled her hips beneath him. Needing to get closer. Needing him right...
There.
Tender shudders racked her, a sensuous tremble that went on and on. He steadied her, teasing out the pleasure for long, delicious moments that left her breathless. At last, when the aftershocks subsided, he released her hips and peeled away the rest of his clothing. He found a condom from a box he’d stashed nearby days before. She could only watch, spent and yet still hungry for him. When he covered her body with his, she wound her arms around his neck, desperate to feel him all around her.
He looped an arm under one of her legs to make room for him, entering her in a steady thrust that almost sent her over the edge again. She tucked her forehead into his neck, clinging and not caring, needing this time with him to heal. To remember forever. She covered his shoulder with kisses and nips until she had to close her eyes and simply hold on.
“Gabriella.” He whispered her name like an invocation, cupping her chin to encourage her gaze.
The heat in his eyes licked over her and he rolled her on top of him. She let go of his neck to steady herself with her hands on his chest. His gaze never left hers, and she returned it, following the rhythm that felt best. The rhythm she hoped was right.
Yet soon, she didn’t even think about the correct way to take the sensual lead. She simply let herself go. Let herself feel the gift that he gave her of being in control.
And found her peak all over again. Fiercer. Harder.
And she took Clay Travers over that edge with her.
The joy of that—feeling his body tense and shudder all around her—soothed something inside her. She felt strong and beauti
ful. Happy. So much more than sexually fulfilled, although there was plenty of that, too.
Slumping over him, she laid her head on his chest and listened to the tumultuous pounding just below her ear. She pressed kisses there. Stroked a hand along the rigid muscle and hot, smooth skin. Tenderness for him flowed through her, stirring feelings that weren’t wise to have for a man who wasn’t ready for any kind of family—not even a sister.
Gabriella closed her eyes against those thoughts, not wanting to ruin a beautiful moment with the reality of how much she already cared for Clay.
Long moments later, after he’d slid her to his side and plumped a pillow beneath her head, tugging blankets over them both, Gabby tried not to think about the future. About how she might have finally healed her soul only to have Clay break her heart. She still had work to do after all. She needed to see Jeremy Covington behind bars. She needed to face her demons across the driveway.
Most important, she would make sure Mia was safe and happy.
“Gabby?” Clay’s fingers combed through her hair. “You okay?”
She wasn’t sure she could answer that honestly right now. Or maybe she simply didn’t know the answer.
“Just thinking about the trial and hoping it winds up soon.”
“I think the prosecution will rest with another day or two of testimony.” Clay shifted onto his side to peer at her in the moonlit room, his head lying on one heavy biceps as a pillow. “And I meant to tell you that I spoke to Sam and Amy Finley for a while at the reunion. Amy is filling out a victim’s impact statement. I wondered if something like that might help you, too. It would be a way to document how that bastard hurt you and make it a matter of public record.”
“Amy is filling one out?” She’d wondered about Amy’s presence at the Salon Night and assumed that the youngest Finley was there to support her sister Heather in giving testimony.
“The district attorney thought there was plenty of evidence without sharing something that happened when Amy was a teen. But Amy decided she wants to come forward in some way and she’s been working on a statement that could be read at the presentencing.” Clay’s fingers kept stroking over her hair, soothing. Kind.
“I could share my story.” She thought about it, wondering how it would feel to revisit those events again. She’d prepared a statement when Sam had asked victims to come forward to help build the case against Covington. But would she feel better about it if she wrote something that would be publicly shared?
“Sam said some people find it helpful to feel that they’ve been heard.” Clay dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Something for you to think about if it might give you more closure on what happened.”
Curious to learn more about writing a victim’s impact statement, she promised herself to read up on it online in the morning.
A quick, electronic chime pealed noisily from the nightstand, where Clay’s phone screen illuminated with bright blue light.
“Sorry,” he muttered, turning away. “I hope it’s not the hospital.” He glanced at the screen for a moment before hitting a button. “It’s Mia,” he told Gabby. “Hello?”
Sitting up, Gabriella watched his face, aware of his sudden alertness.
“Slow down. It’s okay. I’m on my way.” He slid out of bed and wrenched on his boxers with one hand. “He’s doing better then, right? He’s coherent?”
Gabriella hoped for Mia’s sake that Pete was doing much better, although the hospital staff had not given them reason to be overly optimistic this past week.
Clay wedged the phone under his chin while pulling on his jeans and boots.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, tops. Tell Davis he can leave and I’ll make sure you get home.” He disconnected the call and grappled with his sweater as he turned to Gabriella. “Hard to believe, but my father is awake.”
“That’s great news.” She half wished Clay had asked her to go to the hospital with him, although that wouldn’t work so well since he only had his motorcycle and he would be driving Mia back here.
“Yeah.” Clay nodded, but his expression was somber. “Apparently he’s been asking for me ever since he opened his eyes.”
Gabriella wasn’t sure what to say. Clay had been so good about comforting her all week through the trial, but his relationship with his father was complicated. She knew he’d been dreading this conversation with his dad, and now the stakes were higher since Pete was dying.
She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and followed Clayton into the living area, her bare toes curling against the patches of hardwood between the area rugs.
“Good luck.” She kissed his cheek when he bent to pick up the keys from the kitchen island.
“Thanks. I’ll call you.” He kissed her lips. “Make sure you arm the security system when I leave. Sam still hasn’t made any arrests for those recent home break-ins.”
“Okay.” She followed him to the door and did as he asked before peering out the window to watch him fire up the bike and drive away, the red taillight fading.
Slowly she became aware of the clock on the wall ticking. It was early yet—not even 10 p.m. on a Saturday. And she’d never be able to sleep anyway, wondering how Mia and Clay were doing at the hospital.
Her gaze shifted to the house on the opposite side of the driveway, a few of the windows strategically lit thanks to her brother’s careful security measures. Gabriella had been putting off confronting her demon as much as Clay had put off confronting his father.
Was tonight a good time for them both to face the ghosts of their pasts?
Her eyes went to the window of her childhood bedroom. No light was on there. She felt chilled just looking at it. And yet, hadn’t she healed parts of herself this week? Put some of the broken pieces back together?
Clay had helped her to feel stronger. Braver. More calm in the face of her fears about Jeremy Covington.
Maybe there was no better time than tonight to conquer this last fear. To finally say goodbye to the frightened teen she’d once been.
Softly she padded back into the bedroom to retrieve her clothes and her phone that had the security information for the main house. Taking a deep breath, she dressed and stepped outside to pay her childhood home a visit.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MIA STARED AT her father in his hospital bed, praying she could hold it together in front of him. He’d already barked at her about sniffling, insisting “I ain’t dead yet.” The words—so normal for Pete—would have comforted her except that they sounded weak. His voice was scratchy and thin.
The machines around him even sounded as if they were taking their last breaths, with lengthy pauses between the beep...beep...beep. The IV drip, drip, dripping some kind of heavy duty pain med into his emaciated body.
His complexion had gone from yellow to gray this week. And something about the better lighting in the hospital made Mia realize how paper-thin his skin had become. She could see it in the glare of the bedside lamp when the nurse came to check his vitals. For the moment, though, the light was off and Pete’s eyes were closed. The door to the room was open, and the nurses’ station was busy just outside in the hall.
Behind her, Davis sat in a fat recliner chair pretending to be engrossed in a video game on his phone. She’d be willing to bet he’d never played the candy game even once in his life, his score so abysmally low that Mia’s little foster sister Nicole had beaten it before she was eight years old. Davis only played so that her father wouldn’t notice him and he could stay by her side.
Funny how they’d been fake-dating for less than a week and she knew that about him. She’d gotten to learn a ton about him over the last few days together. All of which she liked. It broke her heart to think she might get booted into a foster home halfway across the state next month and never see Davis Reed, the Crestwood head drummer, again.
So nice, she’d almost forgotten about Connor’s text for long minutes at a time. With Pete in the hospital, she couldn’t ask him to change her cell number, so she’d left the phone off except for a couple of times to make outgoing calls. Connor had found her number before, but he’d never found her. Still, it left her in a constant state of agitation not to have the cell phone on while Pete was fighting for his life. She’d been calling the nurses’ station hourly for days, probably driving them all crazy.
Davis set down his phone. “You want me to grab you a water or anything?”
“No, thanks.” She felt guilty he was here. He should be doing fun, normal teenage things on a Saturday night. Like parking in hayfields to kiss without getting kneed in the crotch.
Or like sitting in a movie theater and holding hands with a girl who wasn’t the joke of her high school.
“You want to sit? You can use my cell.” He scrambled to his feet, extended his hand to give her his smartphone, the most recent model.
He knew hers was off-limits. She had to fess up to him about a crappy boy from the past trying to text her since Davis deserved an explanation for why she powered down her phone. He had wanted her to tell Mia and Clay, but backed off when she’d gotten upset about it. She hadn’t wanted to disrupt the peace in her house—a little slice of normal that she feared was going to end all too soon.
Of course, she hadn’t shared the full extent of how awful Connor had been to her. Davis already knew more than enough about her—most of it bad.
