Midsummer Man

by Zelah Roberts

  He could see that today he’d managed to reassure the woman. Their subsequent lovemaking had proved that. But the child…

  He’d seen her inner child quite often. That was the Holly who was so excited at baby seals and castle visits and Harry Potter. But it was also the part of her who retreated fast and hid whenever a question was asked. ‘Does the candy twist remind you of your childhood?’ ‘You’d like to have been whisked away to another life?’ ‘You’ve never played a board game?’

  Was that younger self afraid of him? Why would she be? He’d never done anything to frighten her—and he never would. But maybe he wasn’t the problem. Holly had had problems with her ex, he knew, but what if she’d also had problems farther back in the past? His stomach knotted. What kind of demons is she hiding?

  She stirred in his arms, cuddling more closely into his side. The adult Holly knew she was safe, even in sleep. But he had a grim feeling that he was going to have to overcome Holly’s childhood fears and reassure that inner child she was safe, if he was ever to persuade her that he was the one for her.

  Chapter Ten

  He drifted back into consciousness in the most delicious way possible. One minute he was having a spectacularly erotic dream about Holly touching him, and the next his mind was suddenly aware that the hands stroking his skin were anything but ephemeral.

  Keeping his eyes closed and his breathing steady, he lay still as she stroked her slender fingers lightly over his shoulders and down his arms. Returning to his shoulders, she ran them over his ribs and across his chest, pausing to caress the sensitive area around his nipples.

  They tightened as she flicked them lightly. She toyed with them for a moment, then, tantalisingly, she moved on. Next, those torturing fingers slid across his stomach, and it was all he could do to stop the muscles from contracting. She drifted lower and he squeezed his eyes shut. In a moment, she was going to touch him and he was going to explode…

  To his intense frustration, she suddenly removed her hand and whispered, as if to herself, “No.” There was a pause and a light sigh. Then, as soft as thistle down, she said, “Oh, Mac, I wish…”

  She trailed off, but the sadness in her tone alarmed him. It was as if there was no hope to be found.

  He turned towards her and opened his eyes as if he were just waking. “Morning, gorgeous,” he mumbled.

  “M…morning.”

  “Kiss?”

  Her eyes widened. “With pleasure,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close so she could kiss him deeply.

  Pressed against her as he was, there was no hiding his arousal. But she didn’t seem to mind as she kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth as she moved her body against him, making him gasp.

  He slid his hand under the hem of her T-shirt then between her silky thighs. She groaned into his mouth and he realised that her morning explorations had aroused her as much as him.

  She was ready.

  With a moan of pure need, he reached one-handed into his bedside cabinet to grab a condom, pulled it on and, in one fluid motion, rolled her onto her back and moved over her.

  Still kissing her, he lowered himself, pressing against the cradle of her hips. She was so warm, so ready. Her body was soft, pliant, musky, welcoming him.

  She fluttered her hands against his shoulders…

  Then suddenly the little hands bunched and punched his shoulders, she ripped her mouth away from his and a hoarse cry was accompanied by the frantic twisting of her slim body. “Stop!”

  Shocked, he rolled off her, unprepared for the way she leapt up and retreated across the bedroom. He scrambled to his feet, feeling shaken, disorientated and not a little horrified. He went after her.

  “Don’t touch me! Please!” Her voice was shrill. She threw up her hand as if to physically ward him back.

  He jerked to a halt.

  Her eyes were wild. He didn’t suppose his own were much better. What the hell?

  “Okay. Okay. I won’t touch you. I promise. You’re safe.” He took a slow step back and drew in a shaky breath, shuddering as he fought to control his breathing and the rousing effects of the adrenalin coursing through him.

  He’d done something wrong, but what? Had he reminded her of her ex in some awful way? Frightened her? Shit, had he hurt her?

  He didn’t know, but he sure as hell needed to find out.

  But first, he needed to calm her down.

  “Wait,” he said, abruptly. He turned and went quickly into the bathroom, disposed of the condom and pulled on his robe. Somehow, he didn’t think that reasoning with her whilst naked was going to do the trick.

  After returning to the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed. She was still standing exactly where he’d left her. Gathering his thoughts, he said slowly, “Holly…sweetheart… I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  She winced, shaking her head.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, “that’s good. Because I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. You know that, right?”

  “You… You didn’t.” Her voice was husky. “It wasn’t your fault. I… I’m sorry.”

  Sorry?

  “You have nothing to apologise for, Holly. Just tell me what happened.”

  Please.

  He watched her struggle for words, start then stop again. Her shoulders drooped. It was clear that words were eluding her.

  “Okay,” he said, evenly, though inside he was desperately worried. “Holly, come and sit with me. I won’t touch you. I promise.”

  She hesitated.

  “Please. I need you.” He held his breath. If he knew one thing about Holly, it was that she was kind. If she believed there was a need, she would try to meet it. It was why she did so much for charity. Why she had gone so far out of her way to help his sister. Would his need be enough to sway her?

  It was.

  With visible reluctance, she sat down beside him. She looked mortified and utterly embarrassed.

  How the hell was he going to get her to talk to him? A memory of Leonie, in the early days after her release, drifted into his head. Then, she had found it almost impossible to talk about what had happened to her. Then James had arrived, and he had… What had he done? Yes. He’d used closed questions to break the ice.

  “Okay,” he said calmly. “I can see you’re finding this hard to talk about, sweetheart. So, I’m just going to ask you some questions.”

  She stiffened.

  “You only have to answer yes or no. That’s all.”

  She took a few deep breaths. “Okay.”

  “Right. First, are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m okay.”

  He was getting more than one-word answers. That was good.

  “Did you change your mind? Because you always can, you know. If you say ‘no,’ at any point, we stop. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”

  “No. I didn’t change my mind.”

  He stared out of the panoramic window. There was nothing but dense fog outside. “We’ve made love before. You weren’t afraid then. So what was different this time?”

  She shook her head and jerked impatiently to her feet. He got up quickly. She wasn’t running away from this. The last time something had gone wrong between them, he’d had two weeks of her avoiding him. There was no way he was leaving this problem unresolved.

  “What is it?” he said, tensely. “Holly, just tell me.”

  He watched the struggle play out in her eyes and realised that she was waging her own internal war. A part of her, at least, wanted to tell him what was wrong. But something was stopping her. Was the younger, more fearful Holly holding back the adult?

  He had no idea if he was right in his theory, but he had nothing better to go on. Making a decision, he decided to talk to the frightened child directly.

  “Holly,” he said firmly, “look at me.”

  Reluctantly, her gaze met his. At least she was able to do that. But his heart twisted as he saw her distress.

  “Okay, good,” he s
aid. “Now, I want you to listen to me. I don’t know what scared you just now, but whatever it was, you and I are going to deal with it together. You’re not on your own anymore. You don’t have to handle everything by yourself. I’m on your side.”

  There was a long pause, then in a low voice she said, “No. It’s too horrible. If I tell you, you’ll go.” For a moment, she looked startled, as if she couldn’t believe she’d spoken such words out loud.

  “No, I won’t,” he said, steadily, though inside he was hurting. She did not want to tell him because she thought he’d leave her? “No matter what you tell me, I’ll be right here by your side. No matter what. You can trust me. I promise.”

  A flicker of indecision crossed her features.

  “Now,” he said evenly, “tell me what this is all about. Tell me everything. Whatever this is, you’ve carried it too long on your own. Let me take some of the burden from you.”

  He prayed as he’d never prayed before as she made her decision. He knew that if they were to stand any chance—any chance at all, of building an intimate, loving relationship—she had to trust him not only with her body but also with her secrets. Without that trust, they were lost.

  There was a long silence whilst she thought about what he’d said. And he saw the moment in her eyes when the decision was made, when the adult and the child coalesced into one.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Okay…yes.”

  Relief and gratitude poured through him in equal measure. If she could tell him, there was hope for them. And there was no doubt that her agreement was a massive statement of trust and faith in him.

  Exhaling a shaky breath, he took her hand in his. “Good. You won’t regret it, sweetheart. Now take your time. I’m listening.”

  He watched as she squared her shoulders and gathered herself. Her courage was evident and impressive. Finally, she said quietly, “I’m sorry I flipped out on you. I d-don’t like that position.”

  That position? That sexual position? “Me on top, you mean?” he clarified.

  “Yes.”

  Was that why she’d rolled onto her side on the beach? He felt his jaw clench. This didn’t sound good, not at all. “This is that bastard again, isn’t it? Your ex. What did he do, Holly?”

  “It wasn’t him.”

  For a moment, he thought he’d misheard.

  As if she’d read his thoughts, she went on, “And he didn’t, quite…”

  “But someone tried?”

  “Yes.”

  For a moment his vision blurred with fury. “Who?” He would rip him limb from limb. He would destroy him.

  Her face flamed. “It’s a long story.”

  And he needed to hear it. His voice was unintentionally hard. “I’m listening.”

  She winced. Clearly, she wished he wasn’t. “I was born and raised in a cult, near Edinburgh.”

  Immediately, a whole lot of things fell into place. No wonder she had never encountered Harry Potter or board games or baby seals.

  “I was there until I was thirteen,” she went on. “That was the about the age that Anton Devereaux, the leader of the cult, decreed that girls were old enough to get married…to him.”

  A cold, creeping horror ran through him. “He married girls at thirteen?”

  “Well, there was only me there who was that young. But the rule was once they…once a girl menstruated,” she mumbled, “he would be the first husband of each one of them in the cult. He could sleep with anyone he wanted, and no one could stop him. He had punishments for disobedience. It was very strict.”

  It just kept getting worse.

  She gave an awkward shrug. “I never saw my mother with a man. I had always assumed Anton was my father, so I didn’t think he would—”

  “No.”

  “When I found out that we were to be married, I appealed to my mother, but she said it would be an h…honour.”

  Oh, no.

  “But one of the guards, Thomas, had always been kind to me. When he found out, he said he would help me. He said he had a plan…”

  His stomach knotted.

  “It… it went wrong. Anton brought the wedding day forward…and we were married. Afterwards, he tried to…tried to… And that…that’s why I don’t like it like that.” She stumbled to a halt, with apparent relief, and stared rigidly down at her feet. There was a long silence, but she didn’t say any more.

  He looked down at her, at the sheen of chestnut hair hiding her face, at the defensive posture, and realised that Holly was not just embarrassed. She was ashamed.

  It was Leonie’s problem all over again. Being ashamed of something that wasn’t her fault.

  “Holly?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Do you blame yourself for what happened?”

  Her head jerked up, and for the first time since she’d begun her story, she looked him in the eye. “For the marriage and what came after it I do, yes.” Her voice was flat.

  “Why?”

  “Because I should have planned the escape better. Got away earlier.”

  “Ah. And Drake should have never gone to the market.”

  “What?”

  He saw the moment she got it, read the stunned realisation in her eyes. He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand. “Anton used force against you… The blame and the shame are his, not yours. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was.” For a second, her expression was acutely vulnerable.

  He shook his head. “No, sweetheart. It was his fault, all of it. You were a blameless child. Surely you wouldn’t blame a thirteen-year-old girl for not being able to defend herself against a grown man?”

  “No, of course I wouldn’t.” She paused, listened to her own words. “No,” she said more slowly, “I wouldn’t.”

  “Well then.” He stopped. The need to comfort her overrode everything. “Hug?”

  Looking somewhat poleaxed, she nodded. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and dropped a light kiss onto her hair. She felt deceptively small and fragile next to him. He wanted—no, needed—to protect her, and he ached with the knowledge that he could not prevent the evils of the past from hurting her. All he could do was try to make sure that the present and the future were better, and that when the demons haunted her, he was there by her side to support her.

  He thought over what she’d told him. “Holly,” he said, “you said he tried. What stopped him?”

  Shuddering, she said “I fought him. I tried to, anyway. I was losing, but then we were interrupted. The guard, Thomas, came in and said there were police outside. Anton went to deal with them, Thomas grabbed me and managed to get me out.”

  Thank goodness.

  “Then what?”

  “Then…I was free.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Oh”—she shrugged—“I lived on the streets for a bit, slept anywhere, survived on what I could find… Having lived in the compound all my life, I had no idea about where to go for help, and I didn’t trust anyone, anyway. I was afraid they would send me back.”

  “Send you back! To a child abuser!”

  She grimaced. “I didn’t know it was illegal. I had no understanding of the outside world. Fortunately, I discovered libraries, and I spent every day in there reading—partially because it was warm, but also because they had newspapers, books. One of the librarians taught me how to use a computer… That was when I started to write. It was an escape, you see, from the life I was living.”

  “Yes. I do see.”

  He swallowed down a wave of nausea. When he thought of all the horrible things that could happen to a young, homeless, defenceless girl, his stomach turned over.

  No wonder she supported a charity that helped the homeless. Suddenly, he was fiercely glad he had paid so much for his charity bid. He made a mental note to organise regular donations. And he should talk to the board of trustees. He could probably offer help with finding, refurbishing and maintaining buildings for them.

  “Anyway,” Holly contin
ued, “eventually, I found ‘Help the Homeless’ and they rescued me. They helped me sort out a birth certificate. The cult never registered births, and without one, I just didn’t exist in the system. It has been lucky in a way, I suppose. It has stopped the press from ever finding out about my past. Anyhow, they sorted out somewhere for me to live, and by that time I was sixteen. I got a job as a cleaner and carried on writing in my spare time and, well, the rest is history.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Like hell. There were a lot of details missing from that account, a lot of horrors left unexplored. But they would come out, in time, and they would deal with them together when they did.

  At least she had done it. She had told him the worst. Moving slowly and not wanting to scare her, he wrapped her in his arms. For a moment, she was rigid against him, then all at once she seemed to give in. Pressing her face against his shoulder, she began to cry.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he buried his face against her hair. He loved her so much and could not bear to think of her suffering. He felt like crying himself when he thought of everything she had endured.

  A lifetime later, she drew away from him. Guessing that she needed to mop up, he reached inside his bedside drawer and passed her some tissues.

  “Thanks.” Her voice was muffled, husky. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose.

  “Okay, honey?”

  “Yes.” She folded her arms, still not looking at him. “Sorry for…uh…crying all over you.”

  “No problem. Feel free to use me as a tissue or a pillow—or anything else, for that matter—whenever you want.”

  She stiffened. “You… You still want that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After what I told you. After…what he did. You still want me to stay?”

  “Holly, what are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? He…touched me.”