Don't stop
.
Don't ever stop!
The sounds of his breathing and her own heart beating shut out noises from the rest of the world. For now, it was only the two of them, locked away. She pulled his shirt from his jeans and closed her eyes, allowing sensation after sensation to roll through her.
His hands were calloused, a little rough as they rubbed against her. Her own were softer but anxious, her fingers tracing the lines in the muscles of his back. He moaned in the back of his throat and an answering sound came from her own lips. He skimmed her jeans down her hips and lower, past her ankles, while her fingers found the button at his waistband. She hesitated, and he placed a hand over hers, encouraging her.
She tugged.
A string of pops accompanied the opening of his fly and again he groaned into her ear, his tongue wet and hot, his breath fanning fires already burning bright within.
All doubts fled as he stripped her of her bra and panties, mere scraps that he tossed aside before touching her body in ways she'd never experienced, hadn't allowed. Her mind wanted to wander down that dim corridor for a second but then he whispered her name and she was back, in her room, with the one man she'd almost loved.
His fingers touched her nipples, gently stroking, and she gasped. When he kissed her again, his lips lingering against her throat, she felt it, the palpitating, liquid heat fired by need. His lips grazed her nipple and she arched, her hips starting to move, a bloom of heat rising within, her skin suddenly damp with perspiration.
Her entire existence fell away and all that mattered was the pulsing need that pounded through her body. “Yes,” she whispered, though there had been no question, and when he took her breast in his mouth, his tongue laving her nipple, his teeth scraping against her skin, she only wanted more.
Lust, long at bay and wanton, thundered through her brain as he moved upon her, kneeing her legs apart, his body a strong, sinuous wedge. Her heart was thudding, her mind spinning in erotic images as he pressed against her.
“Selena?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Are youâ”
“Please!” she cried and he complied, thrusting into her in one swift stroke that stopped the breath in her lungs. Her fingernails dug deep into his shoulders as he began to move, achingly slowly at first and then with more and more momentum. Faster and faster, his shallow, short breaths an echo of her own.
Heat built at the base of her neck, radiating as he kissed her, touched her, loved her until, in a soul-shattering moment, she let go, the room melting away, the ceiling seeming to fall away and bright night stars bursting in the heavens. A scream erupted from her throat and she held tight to him as rush after rush of pleasure caused her body to convulse.
“Oh, God,” she whispered fervently, her hair damp, the images in the room muted.
“Dios ...”
He held her as if he'd never let go, her head cradled to his chest. She heard the wild rampage of his heart beating frantically in his chest, felt the sheen of perspiration on his skin and the strength of his arms around her.
As she finally caught her breath, she realized what had happened. Unbidden, tears filled her eyes. She bit her lip, not wanting him to know, but he felt the track of one salty drop as it drizzled down her cheek.
“Jesus, Selena, I didn't mean toâ”
“Shh. It's all right.” She sniffed then, blinking back tears and managing a smile. “I'm not sad. Just emotional.”
“Why?”
“You don't want to know.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“No ...” Oh, God, could she tell him? He waited, brushing a damp curl from her forehead in such a tender gesture she thought her heart might crack.
“Selena?”
Slowly, she let out a long, shuddering sigh. She supposed he deserved the truth. “It's personal.”
“I think what just happened here is pretty personal.”
He wouldn't let it drop. She knew that, so she rolled to the side of the bed, walked naked to the closet and dragged her robe from its hook on the back of the door. Quickly she shoved her arms down its sleeves and cinched the belt around her waist, as if she could find strength in the everyday routine. Then, barefoot, she stood at the side of the bed and said, “Okay. So ... you asked about Gabriel's father? If he was a high school boyfriend or something ... It ... He ...” She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, then glanced at the window, where snow was still falling past the panes. Gathering her strength, she said for the first time in half of her life, “My cousin Emilio, he's the father. Gabriel's father.”
“Your cousin?”
She was shivering, cold despite the thick robe. “He raped me, O'Keefe,” she finally admitted. “On the night of my sixteenth birthday.”
Chapter 21
H
ow had he missed all the signs? O'Keefe wondered and mentally kicked himself to hell and back for not understanding. “Come here,” he said, and reached out a hand. When she took his, he pulled her back onto the bed, flipped the thick coverlet over her and held her tight. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. It's not your fault.”
“I know, butâ”
“It's over.”
“Is it?” He didn't believe her and he felt her shudder against him.
“It's a long time ago.” Still fighting tears, she admitted, “I've had trouble with intimacy ever since.”
He remembered.
Now, her fleeing his home in San Bernardino made more sense, though he had to have been ignoring all the signs not to have realized what was wrong.
“I've ... I've never told anyone,” she admitted.
“Except your parents.”
She hesitated and a slow-burning rage stole through his blood.
“They don't know,” he guessed.
“No one does. But you.”
“But they must've asked questions.” He couldn't believe what she was telling him, that she alone had borne this burden, that her parents had allowed it.
“No, no. I mean, yes, they did and they knew I was raped, yes, but ... but I said it was someone I didn't recognize, a random thing.”
“Why?” Horrified, he wanted to shake her. It didn't seem that she would ever have backed down, that she, ever meticulous, determined to right every wrong and punish any criminal in her path, would have let this go.
“Emilio threatened me. Said he would come after me again and he would bring his brothers ... I shouldn't have been afraid, but I was, and he swore that if I breathed a word of it, he'd see the same thing happened to my younger sister. So ...”
“So you buried it?”
“I was only sixteen. And scared. And ... and broken. My mother wanted me to be checked out by a doctor but my father, he sent me to the church, not to ask for forgiveness; he didn't blame me,” she was quick to explain, as that was sometimes the case, “but for some kind of counseling, but the priest ... No, it wasn't a good idea. Didn't work.” She shook her head. “And then I turned up pregnant and my father was really upset. He and my mother thought it would be best to send me away, but I pleaded to stay close, because of my sister, so we reached a compromise and I stayed with my great-aunt in Portland, about thirty miles away. There, I did the home schooling thing and was counseled, again through the church, by a nun who ... Sister Maria was ... kind. Forgiving.”
“Forgiving? What was to forgive?”
“Nothing, I know, but, that's ... that's how it felt. I wasn't even seventeen, and I don't know, I thought maybe it was my fault, that I'd flirted with Emilio ... I know now that I was the victim. And, yes, I ... I saw a counselor for a while before I moved here, after you and I ... After I realized how deep my problem with intimacy was.”
“And the baby?” he asked softly.
“When the time came, I agreed to the private adoption. It was all handled between the church and attorneys. Everyone tried to make it as if it all had never happened, everything got swept under the rug: I poured myself into my schoolwork, got a scholarship and left.”
A few seconds ticked by before he asked, “What happened to Emilio?”
“Bastardo!”
she spat, her Spanish coming to the fore whenever she was angry. “He's in prison, last I heard.”
“Good place for him.”
She added, “For assault. And attempted rape. The victim was seventeen.”
“Jesus.”
He sensed that she was fighting the urge to break down altogether. “But she was stronger than I was. Her father was a cop, insisted she tell the truth, and they busted Emilio. He wouldn't take a deal, probably because he thought he got away with it once and he could do it again. He's nothing if not smug.” For a second her cousin's face, dark eyes, straight nose, thin lips came to mind and she pushed it down, didn't want to be reminded of him or the fact that as children they had been playmates. The attack had been fueled by alcohol, yes, but was still such a horrendous, soul-numbing betrayal. “He's serving a long sentence.”
“Parole?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” She was determined. “His next victim, the one who filed charges, she did the right thing. Stood up for herself. I didn't. So I'm going to make certain he does every second of his time.” He felt her guilt as if it were palpable. “If I'd had her guts, maybe she never would have had to go through what she did.”
“You don't know that.”
“Sure I do.”
“You were a scared kid.”
“So was she!”
He held her close. “It's all right.”
“Of course, it's not all right! Never has been; never will be.” Of that she sounded certain. “And, and now it's all there again. You show up here and this boy ... this boy that I saw only briefly, my son, has returned, in trouble with the law, only to disappear again.”
“Shh,” he whispered against her hair, wishing there was some way to ease her pain, to let her know that he cared, but he had to tread lightly. She'd already opened up to him far more than he ever would have expected. “We'll find him.”
“Will we?” She levered up on one elbow and stared down at him, her face illuminated by a bit of light through the window, her black hair falling like a curtain to one side of her face.
“If it's the last thing I do. Swear it,” he said, and she let out a bitter laugh.
“Now you're placating me; making promises you can't possibly guarantee.”
“Okay, you're right.” He pulled her down again, close to him so that her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. “But I will tell you this much, I'm going to give it my best damned shot.”
“That,” she said, relaxing a bit, her breath ruffling the hair of his chest, “I believe.”
Â
Â
Johnna Phillips poured herself one last glass of alcohol-free punch from the bowl near the huge shimmering Christmas tree and told herself it was her last. She'd had it. The tree itself was a monstrosity, a fourteen-foot fir tree flocked white, then decorated with hanging red and blue logos of First Union, the bank she worked for.
Ug-ly.
And probably had cost a fortune and was oh, so corporate, just like this lame party with its weak DJ, who seemed to favor
any
thing from the eighties. Really? Wasn't that, like, eons ago?
She sipped her punch and noticed it was going flat, not that it mattered. This was the first social event Johnna had attended alone since her breakup with Carl, which had now been all of thirty hours. She probably shouldn't have come, considering her state of mind, but if she hadn't shown, it would have been noticed by her boss, the overly friendly Monty. And besides, she wasn't going to let the fact that she wasn't hooked up with Carl anymore change her social life. Not one iota!
Damn Carl all to hell.
She set her glass on a tray that held other half-empty stemware. It was almost midnight and the party was winding down. Lots of people had already left and the music was scheduled to end at twelve, which was just fine. Johnna didn't think she could stand another “hit” by Madonna or Michael Jackson or Duran Duran. Her head was pounding as it was, her feet ached from heels that were too high and her lower back was paining her. She was in a bad mood all around.
Just the beginning,
she reminded herself and absently touched her flat abdomen. She was pregnant, though no one but she and Stephanie in New Accounts knew the happy news. She hadn't even told Carl yet, and wondered when she would, and how he would react, as they were suddenly no longer living together. Talk about bad timing.
It had to happen, though. Carl “the loser” Anderson was handsome as hell, a sexy ex-jock who'd never quite grown up. He was really good in bed; however, his prowess in the sack didn't translate to ability at a desk, or behind the wheel of a long-haul truck, or as a waiter at the café just outside of town. Nope, Carl had never, to her knowledge, held a job for more than six or eight months, or however long it was until he could collect unemployment.
Yeah, loser with a capital L.
She eyed the remaining canapés on a silver platter left on a table near the kitchen but passed on yet another bite of stuffed mushroom cap. Her stomach was a little queasy and she attributed it to the pregnancy, though it could have been attending the party and having to explain why Carl wasn't at her side. She'd witnessed the raised eyebrows and saw a spark of interest in the eyes of that slut, Chessa, from Home Loans, the department next to hers, as she was in charge of personal loans.
Why do you even care?
Carl would rather play freakin' video games than hold a job. At thirty-goddamned-five!
Really?
Grand Theft Auto
?
Dead Rising
? Stupid
Mario Galaxy
or whatever it was called? When he had a baby on the way? Well, of course, he didn't know that little news flash. Yet. She'd already had to give up alcohol and cigarettes and most of her breakfasts lately, and the loser hadn't even noticed because he was too wrapped up in himself. Yeah, he'd make a fine dad, she thought disgustedly.
The least he could do was put down the controllers for his Xbox or Wii or anything else that kept his hands from grabbing an actual paycheck! The few dollars a week from unemployment wasn't cutting it as it was, and now, with a baby on the way ...
“Screw it,” she muttered and plucked another one of the canapés from the tray before plopping it into her mouth. No reason to worry about calories, right? In a few months she'd be big as a barn but not before she ballooned on all this party food or had to fend off any more advances from Monty, the groping, drunk operations officer. He was always trying to cop a feel at work and she had half a mind to sue his randy ass. It would serve him, and his ice queen of a wife, right. As it was, the wife had shot Johnna dirty looks all night, as if it were
her
fault that Monty was such a lech. Maybe she'd let the bitch think the baby was Monty's, that would serve her right.
Yeah, right.
No frickin' way.
And she couldn't risk losing her job.
Not with a little one on the way.
Mad at the world, Johnna walked out of the main ballroom and into the lobby of the hotel, where she picked up her coat and slipped into it. She left the coat-check girl a buck as a tip and cringed a little. Suddenly each dollar was so much more important.
What the hell was she going to do? Already she worked a full-time job at the bank during the week and picked up shifts waitressing on the weekends and even some nights. On top of that, she took a couple of online classes, as she really wanted to get an associate's degree in accounting. But now ... how would she be able to do all that, and care for a newborn?
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She had planned on being married, owning a fabulous home, having a great part-time job before she got pregnant. And then she'd met Carl and the rest was history, including the part about throwing him out of the apartment last night when, once again, he hadn't even stepped outside and at least pretended to be looking for a job!
She swore under her breath and walked through the door of the old Mason's lodge that had been converted into a hotel. Planted along the shore of the river, overlooking the falls for which the town had been named, the brick and mortar building was one of the oldest and tallest in this, the lower section, of town. Crouched in the shadow of Boxer Bluff, Old Town was an eclectic collection of shops and connected to the newer part of town by a series of steep roads. For pedestrians, there was not only a series of stairs that climbed the cliffs, but also an elevator with a car that had, as it ascended, an incredible view of the river and falls.
From the front of the hotel, looking along the street, she saw the courthouse, its huge outdoor tree already glowing with lights for the holidays. The damned snow was still falling and a wind as bitter as her own feelings about Carl blew down the street, causing the tiny, icy flakes to swirl and spin over a few cars still parked at the curb. Everything was covered in snow and iceâthe shrubbery around the hotel, the parked cars, the sidewalk and parking meters, all flocked with white.
“Merry Christmas,” she said under her breath, then smiled at the thought that next year there would be a baby to share the holidays.
Her car was parked three blocks over, on the other side of the Black Horse Saloon, a pub where locals hung out and a couple of guys bundled in thick jackets and stocking caps were smoking beneath the awning of the tavern. They barely looked up as she passed.