A Bravo for Christmas

by Christine Rimmer

  What he said made way too much sense. Damn it. “Believe it or not, that’s what I told Tom yesterday. That you and I are friends. I told my mom the same thing.”

  “So why don’t we go with that, then?” He stroked his fingers into her hair, sending warm ripples of sensation moving out in a widening wave wherever his skin grazed hers. “And given that we are friends, I see no reason why I can’t pick you up and take you out to Rory and Walker’s place on Wednesday.”

  She totally surprised herself by answering, “All right, then. Thanks. I’ll be ready at seven.”

  He kissed her again, those wonderful fingers gliding over her shoulder, drifting down the outside of her arm. Even through the bulky knit of her sweater, she felt his touch acutely. And then he asked, “So did Tom get on your case yesterday?”

  “I got through it.”

  “You’re saying he bad-mouthed me, right?”

  “He’s overprotective. And, well, you know he has issues with you.”

  “Should I talk to him?”

  “Absolutely not. He resents you for firing him. But one of these days he’ll get honest with himself and admit it was his own fault for being late or a no-show over and over. And frankly, you did him a favor by just punching him back after he hit you. You could have had him arrested for assault.”

  “I also could have been less of a jerk and given him another chance.”

  “Didn’t he have plenty of those?”

  “It wouldn’t have killed me to give him one more. But I hadn’t been with the company for all that long. I wanted to impress my father, show him I had what it took to keep the employees in line.”

  “Really, it all worked out. Tom has a good job with the county now. He’s doing fine.”

  “So what’s bothering you?”

  “Bothering me?”

  He ran his finger down the center of her forehead and then stopped in the space between her eyebrows. “Something has you scrunching your eyebrows together.”

  She wished he didn’t always seem to read her so well. “It’s just...stuff happened. When we were kids.”

  “What stuff?”

  She was not going to tell him. But then she asked, “You know how I mentioned that I spent two years in foster care?”

  “I remember.”

  And all of a sudden, she just wanted it out there. She wanted him to know. “There was this boy, Trevor. He was two years older than me.”

  “In foster care, you mean?”

  “Yeah. He was in the group home they put all four of us in first, me and my brothers. Trevor paid a lot of attention to me...”

  Dare asked too softly, “What kind of attention?”

  “Like a boyfriend—but really possessive, you know? I was only ten when it started, way too young for a real boyfriend. Especially one who kind of wanted to own me. I, well, I was having a hard time and at first, I liked it, to have Trevor’s obsessive, undivided attention.”

  “I can understand that. You’d lost your home and you were away from your parents...”

  “The whole world seemed scary and dangerous and wrong. I wanted someone to hold on to. At first, Trevor seemed like the solution to my fears, the answer to my lonely, desperate prayers.”

  Dare did the sweetest thing then, kind of turning her and tucking her so she was on her other side, facing away from him. He wrapped himself around her spoon-style. She felt cradled by him, by his body. Cradled and safe.

  Plus, this particular story was easier to tell when she wasn’t looking right at him. She tucked her arm under her head for a makeshift pillow and continued, “Then we left the group home. They moved us to foster homes. Brad and I went to one home, Tom and Pete to another.”

  “And what about that boy, Trevor?”

  “He stayed in the group home at first. I was kind of glad for that. I’d started to realize that Trevor was...too much. My brothers had warned me off him. By then, I wanted to be away from him. There was another foster girl at the home where Brad and I went. But then she left. And Trevor took her place.”

  Dare made a low sound, a soothing sound. His hand closed over the outside of hers, cradling it. He wove his fingers between hers.

  And that helped somehow. It gave her the strength to keep on. “Trevor kept trying to get me off by myself. He would kiss me. There was...inappropriate touching. I kept trying to let him down easy. But that wasn’t happening. He wouldn’t back off. Finally, I just told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted him to leave me alone. That made him mad. He cornered me in the basement when I was down there doing laundry. He attacked me and I fought him.”

  Dare muttered a bad word and held her even closer.

  She went on, “But fighting him did no good. He just got rougher. He punched me in the stomach and in the face, hard enough that I couldn’t breathe and I saw stars.”

  Dare smoothed her hair away from her throat, pressed his warm lips against the side of her neck. She took comfort from that, from his gentle kiss, from the reassurance in his touch.

  And then she went on with it before she lost her nerve. “He didn’t rape me, but I think maybe he would have if Brad hadn’t shown up and stopped him. They fought. They were the same age, thirteen, Brad and Trevor. But Trevor was bigger. He was winning. Until I grabbed an old lamp off a stack of storage boxes in the corner and bashed him upside the head with it. He rolled off Brad and staggered up the stairs, stopping at the top to call me a rotten, disloyal bitch and threaten to ‘take care’ of me later.”

  “My God. What about your foster parents? Where were they?”

  “I just remember they were always busy. They weren’t around when it happened. And we were...damaged, I guess, me and Brad, by everything that had gone so wrong for us. And my mom was still sick and my dad had all he could handle, trying to take care of her and somehow get some money coming in. We had some idea that it would only make it all worse, to try to tell the grown-ups what had gone down. And I personally didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Ava,” he chided, his breath warm in her hair. “You blamed yourself.”

  “Yeah. I did. At the time. But I don’t anymore. I know better now. Later, when it was all long over, before I married Craig, I got counseling.”

  “Good.” He wrapped his arm a little closer around her.

  “I was a needy, messed-up kid who got taken advantage of by another messed-up kid.”

  “And you really told no one?”

  “Uh-uh. Not back then. And since then, well, I’ve told Craig and my therapist. And you. We didn’t even tell Tom or Pete, not at first. Brad and I cleaned up the mess in the basement and patched each other up. When our foster mom started asking questions about who beat up whom, all three of us kept our mouths shut, said it was nothing. Our social worker came and talked to us. We still didn’t break.”

  “What about your parents? Didn’t you have visits with them?”

  “Yeah. And when they saw the bruises and cuts, they freaked. But Brad and I stood strong. We just said we were fine and it was no big deal. It’s sad looking back now, but we were proud, Brad and me, that we didn’t tell anyone. I have no idea why Trevor didn’t talk. Maybe he came to the same conclusion Brad and I did—that nothing good was going to come from telling an adult what had happened.”

  “Especially for Trevor, being an abusing rapist and all.”

  “Well, yeah. There’s that.”

  “And was that the end of it, then? Did he leave you alone?” He sounded hopeful. But then he sighed. “He didn’t stop.”

  “No, he didn’t. He cornered me again in the backyard one day. I got away, but not before he gave me a busted lip and tore my shirt. Brad said it couldn’t go on. He went to Tom and Pete. They all jumped Trevor under the middle school bleachers. They beat him up pretty bad. That time he got the message.
He didn’t tell anyone, and he never came near me again.” She tried a laugh. “I swear, last week when I told you I’d been in foster care, I was absolutely certain I would never tell you about Trevor, that it was a story you would never need to hear.”

  “Hey.” He tugged on her shoulder. She went over onto her back again. Once she met his eyes, he said, “I’m glad that you told me—and I have to say I’m liking your brothers a lot about now.”

  She tried a smile. It trembled only a little. “Yeah. They’re good guys. And you can see why Tom tends to be overprotective.”

  He asked, “So then is Trevor why you said no to me in high school?”

  “Trevor and all of it, really. Mom getting sick, losing our house, being taken away from my parents for two years. You could say I had trust issues—and really, Dare, you were like some god back then.”

  “And yet you refused to even go to a party with me.” He said it playfully.

  But she was deadly serious. “I’m not joking. You had it all. The girls were all over you. I couldn’t trust that, couldn’t trust you. I couldn’t be like any normal girl and just believe in love and hope and that some amazing guy was going to fall for me and love me forever and never, ever break my heart. I had to be careful. I had to watch my step.”

  “And you’re still being careful.” He wasn’t teasing now.

  Why lie? He saw right through her, anyway. “Yeah. I guess so. Some lessons you never unlearn. At least not completely.”

  He kissed the end of her nose. “Come here.” And he pulled her on top of him. She rested her head on his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. He was warm and solid, so good to lean on. She tipped her head up to tell him so.

  But then he kissed her, and she got thoroughly absorbed in kissing him back, in the taste of him, the delicious, manly scent of him, the feel of his big hands running over her shoulders, threading through her hair. He touched her so tenderly, those amazing hands stroking, soothing, sending all the old fears away, back into the past where they belonged.

  He rubbed at the base of her spine, easing a knot of tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Until it loosened and faded away.

  And then he went lower, his hands sliding over her bottom, cupping her. Even with her jeans and panties in the way, she melted inside.

  She eased one leg over him, straddling him. Groaning softly, he pressed his face into the curve of her throat. His breath flowed across her skin, and he moved both hands lower still, sliding them around the backs of her thighs and then inward. He touched the yearning core of her through her jeans.

  She lifted away enough to gaze down at him, her hair trailing forward a little, a long curl of it brushing his rough cheek. The look of pure hunger on his upturned face told her everything she needed to know.

  “Tonight?” she whispered, and she couldn’t help grinning like a long-gone, love-struck fool. “Really?”

  But he grew serious. “There’s one more thing.”

  “Oh, God. What?” She searched his face.

  His eyes went deep. “Even if he didn’t actually rape you, that kid Trevor brutalized you. You said you got counseling. And with me, now, you don’t seem the least reluctant or afraid...”

  “Reluctant? About sex, you mean? I can’t believe you haven’t noticed that I’m about as far from reluctant as a girl can get.” She said it lightly.

  But he wasn’t satisfied. “Ava, I need to know if you’re past what he did to you.”

  She answered him seriously this time, with no teasing and zero equivocation. “I am, yes. It took some work, with Craig, to, um, get there. But we did. We had our problems, Craig and me, but not in the bedroom.” She let out a slow sigh. “I hope that reassures you. Because I did love my husband, and I really don’t want to talk about him anymore tonight.”

  For that, she got a nod and a seriously spoken, “All right, then.”

  “All right, then, what exactly, Dare?”

  And that was when a slow smile curved that impossibly sexy mouth of his. “Still got those condoms?”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “You bet. A whole box. Right here in the bedside drawer.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Take everything off,” he said, and then added fervently, “I will, too.”

  That sounded more than fair. “Done.”

  They broke apart, sat up and started pulling off their clothes, tossing them to the floor as fast as they could. It took about thirty seconds. She whipped off her last sock, threw it over her shoulder—and met his gleaming blue eyes again.

  Had she expected to feel self-conscious the first time she got naked in front of him?

  Definitely.

  But somehow, she didn’t. Somehow, it felt good and right—and about darn time.

  And dear Lord, he was beautiful.

  “Oh, Darius.” She came up on her knees again and pressed her hand to his bare chest, all sculpted and hard, with a silky trail of hair leading down to where he was very much ready for her. “Just look at you.”

  “I’d rather look at you.” His eyes were night-dark right then, all shine and shadow, full of the thrilling things he was going to do to her. “And I really want to touch you...”

  For a long, lovely moment, they just stared at each other. “Yes,” she answered finally. “Touch me. Please.”

  And he did. He reached out a hand and trailed the tips of three fingers across the top of her chest, causing a havoc of hot and prickly sensations all out of proportion to such a simple, seemingly innocent caress.

  Would she ever have enough of feeling his hands on her?

  Not a chance.

  She pressed her palm to the side of his face, which was so warm, so wonderfully rough with just the right hint of stubble. Would she ever get tired of touching him?

  Never.

  She could so easily get addicted to touching him. To being touched by him. He could become her drug of choice. She would suffer painful withdrawals when this craziness ended.

  And why was she thinking about the end now, when it was only finally really beginning? She needed to stop that.

  And she would.

  Right this minute.

  She forced her lips to form words. “Is this really happening?”

  “You’d better believe it.” He brushed a lingering touch up the side of her throat.

  “I almost gave up hope.” She leaned in and bit the end of his chin—not a real bite, more of a slow scrape. That brought a chuckle from him. She stuck out her tongue and licked the beard-rough spot where her teeth had been.

  And then he moved, grabbing her, scooping her knees out from under her. She let out a little cry of surprise as he laid her down with her head on the pillows. He stretched out beside her and covered her mouth with his.

  It was one of those kisses, the kind that annihilate time. The world faded away, and there was nothing but the two of them spread out on that bed, nothing but pleasure. Her desire was a liquid pulse between her bare thighs, a singing rush along her nerves. Her blood seared and sizzled its way through her veins.

  She grabbed his thick shoulders, her nails digging in. And she held on so tight as he just went on kissing her, a kiss full of hunger and heat and dark, delicious promise.

  It was perfect, this moment. Just the two of them, naked together, touching each other, holding each other. Ava and Darius.

  Lost in each other.

  At last.

  She scratched him, she knew she did. She made little red welts across his shoulders. And she didn’t even regret it as she raked her fingernails down his back. He groaned a little, kissed her harder, his tongue sliding over hers and retreating, her tongue following, needy and insistent, only to be trapped between his strong, blunt teeth. She was the one groaning then.

 
And he never stopped touching her, stroking her, those clever, rough-tipped fingers moving down and down—until he found her and dipped a finger in.

  She cried out then, the sound muffled by his endless kiss.

  He moved that devilish hand of his, slipping another finger into her slippery wetness, whispering lovely, dirty things, telling her how wet she was, how he knew now how much she needed him, how he was going to keep her naked all night long, that it was all right if she begged him, all right if she said please.

  She did say please.

  And she begged him, shameless and eager. She begged him for everything, all of him, inside her.

  Right now.

  Not that he listened, not that he took pity on her. Oh, no.

  He wasn’t finished making her crazy yet. He just went on stroking, touching, deeper, harder, varying the speed and the rhythm, driving her higher, to the brink and right over.

  Her body lit up in ripples of light, little blasts of shimmery heat radiating out from his thrilling touch, making her bow right up off the bed.

  And did he stop then?

  Did he let her have a minute to catch her breath and collect her wits?

  Not a chance. He just kept on touching her, fingers slowing but not stopping, catching the fire inside her as it flagged and stoking it to blazing life all over again.

  He took his mouth from hers and trailed those wonderful, pliant lips of his downward, claiming one breast and then the other, rolling the nipples between his teeth, and then biting them. She groaned and tossed her head from side to side as pleasure skirted the sharp edge of pain. How could the things he did to her feel so exactly right?

  It just wasn’t fair. He had to stop, slow down, give her a break here. She couldn’t take anymore.

  But she did take more. And at some point, she realized she didn’t want him to stop.