Protecting Tricia

by Pamela Tyner

  With a sigh, he got up, tugged on a pair of jeans, and slipped into the hall. When he reached the living room, he discovered the front door was wide open. He walked to the window, pushed the curtain back, and peeked outside to see Tricia sitting on the front porch swing. Her elbow was propped on the back of the swing, her chin cupped in her hand. She had one leg tucked underneath her and with her other foot she pushed the swing slightly back and forth.

  He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, leaned a shoulder against the wall, and watched her staring off into the distance. What was she thinking? He nearly snorted out loud at the thought. No doubt she was thinking about what a jerk he was.

  And he had indeed been a first-class jerk. He’d been controlling and demanding, making decisions for her and forcing her to comply.

  Little better than Matt. He shuddered at the thought. It was insulting, repulsive, and completely accurate.

  Pushing himself off the wall, he returned to his bedroom and dug through one of his drawers to retrieve a set of keys. Shoving them in his pocket, he went to the kitchen and took two bottles of beer from the refrigerator.

  When he opened the screen door, Tricia glanced over in his direction. He held one of the bottles out for her. “Peace offering,” he said.

  She took the bottle with a smile. It was a small one, and half-hearted at best, but he was grateful for what he could get. “I accept.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She shrugged. “We both did things tonight we shouldn’t have. But what I did will have a lot more repercussions.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle. But what I did...it was just wrong. I hope you can forgive me.”

  She nodded slightly. “Let’s forget it ever happened.”

  He reached inside his pocket, pulled out the keys, and dangled them in front of her. She stared at them for a moment before taking them from his hand and looking at him questioningly.

  “I wish you would stay until Matt leaves,” he said. “But I won’t force you to.”

  “And about David?”

  Clint shrugged. “I won’t talk to him. That’s your decision to make. Although I think you’re making the wrong one.”

  “Thank you.” Tricia shifted and shoved the keys in the pocket of her jeans.

  Clint crossed the porch and took a seat on the top step.

  “You were right,” Tricia said.

  Clint looked over at her. “About what?”

  “It was excitement, not fear, that had my heart pounding. I tried to shift the blame because I was irritated that you’re still able to…excite me.”

  “I see,” Clint said after a moment. At least now he didn’t feel like a complete jackass, although it certainly didn’t please him to know that the thought of being aroused by him angered her so much.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “It’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and stared off into the darkness. “You know, it’s probably not a good idea for you to be out here alone in the middle of the night.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Besides, I didn’t break the agreement. I’m within shouting distance.”

  He twisted the cap off his bottle and took a long drink.

  “It’s peaceful out here,” Tricia said. “When I was little I used to sit out on the front porch with my dad every night after dinner. He always claimed it was the best place in the world to think and figure things out.”

  He glanced her way. “So, you figure anything out yet?”

  “Only that my life’s a mess. And that’s pretty obvious, so I didn’t have to work hard to figure that out.” She took a swallow of her beer and then gestured toward him with the bottle. “And that you need a rocking chair out here.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. We used to have an old rocking chair on our porch.”

  “I remember,” he interjected.

  “I’m not surprised,” she muttered with a slight shake of her head. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Anyway, my mom always said she hated that chair, but every single time she went out on the porch that was where she sat. She claimed she only did it out of habit, because I’d forced her to sit in it so much when I was a baby. Apparently, I’d sleep all day and then stay up all night crying. And the only thing that would make me stop crying was for them to rock me in that rocking chair.” She paused, took another sip of beer. “So they’d rock me all night long. They took shifts, one would sleep while the other would rock. But the chair squeaked, so even when it was her turn to sleep she couldn’t because of the noise.”

  The moon was full, and her face was bathed in its light. Clint watched her as she spoke. She had the soft glow of a person reliving a happy memory.

  “You miss them.”

  “Of course I do. But there’s a part of me that’s glad they’re not here right now. They would be terribly disappointed in me.” She ran a hand through her hair and added, “Right now I’m terribly disappointed in me.”

  “You shouldn’t be.” He leaned back and braced his elbows on the porch behind him. “You got yourself out of a bad situation. It took a lot of courage for you to leave. That’s something to be proud of.”

  “I shouldn’t have been in the situation in the first place.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t argue with you there. I’m curious to know, though, why you stayed as long as you did.”

  “He’d never hit me before.” She glanced over at him. “Plus, there was the matter of the little criminal act.”

  “So prior to that everything was peachy?” He couldn’t hold back the cynicism in his tone when he asked the question.

  “Not hardly. Things were good at first, but after we moved to Florida they changed.”

  “Why do you think it didn’t happen until you moved to Florida?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do,” he coaxed. “What did you have here that you didn’t have there?”

  She considered the question for a moment. “Friends.”

  “Exactly. If he had treated you like shit here, it would have been easier for you to leave. But once he got you a thousand miles away it was a little more difficult.” He paused a moment for the words to sink in before asking, “Why didn’t you have any friends in Florida? You were there for a while, and you’re a friendly person. Why didn’t you make any?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Because Matt discouraged it. He always did something to ruin it.”

  Clint had suspected it. “And by insisting that you not work…”

  “He ensured I wouldn’t have any money. That I’d be totally dependent on him financially.”

  Clint nodded. “So, how did things change after you moved?”

  “Matt became…difficult. He was always angry about something. He could be, and he was, incredibly cruel at times. But it was never physical.”

  Clint didn’t reply. He simply waited patiently, wondering if she would continue.

  “He paid attention real well. He figured out what mattered to me, and then it used it to hurt me.”

  “Such as? Give me an example.” Although he didn’t necessarily want to know the details, he imagined she hadn’t shared them with anyone and suspected it might help her to finally talk about it.

  She captured a piece of her hair and twisted it around her finger. “He got mad at me once and ripped up every single picture in my photo album. He did a good job too. The pieces were so tiny, it would have been impossible to put them back together. They were irreplaceable.”

  The sadness in her voice caused his heart to twist.

  “Those pictures meant a lot to me, and Matt knew it, so that’s what he used to hurt me. And the truly sad thing is, I let him treat me that way. I allowed it to happen. So that makes me just as responsible for it as he was.”

  “Bullshit,” he said, practically spitting the word out. “You are not responsible.”

  She shrugged but did
n’t reply.

  “Look at me,” he ordered. He waited until her gaze met his before continuing. “You are not responsible,” he repeated, emphasizing each word.

  She shook her head, breaking the eye contact. “To a certain degree, I am.”

  “Tricia, damn it—”

  “I didn’t have to stay, I could have left. I could have found a way. But I do know I’m not responsible for his actions.”

  “Damn right.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long pull from it, hoping it would help douse the blazing fury inside him.

  “But for a long time, he had me believing I was. If I’d only do what I was supposed to, he wouldn’t be angry. If I was only more, then he’d be happy.”

  “More?”

  “Yeah. More understanding, supportive, intelligent, prettier.”

  “You are all those things.”

  Her lips lifted into a small, cynical smile. “Sure I am.”

  “He brainwashed you.”

  “Brainwashed?” She chuckled. “It wasn’t a cult, Clint.”

  “Yes, it was. It was a cult of one. He wanted to control your every movement, every action, every thought. Tell me I’m wrong,” he urged.

  She lifted a shoulder. “I can’t. Because you’re right. I don’t like to admit it though. After all, if you allow yourself to be brainwashed, then you’re not a very strong person, are you?”

  “Tricia, you can take the most beautiful woman in the world and isolate her, put her in a room all by herself, and go in every day and tell her ‘you’re so ugly,’ and before long she’ll start believing it.”

  “How do you know so much about it? You seem to be awfully knowledgeable about the subject.”

  Clint shrugged. He tipped the empty bottle and rolled the bottom rim back and forth on the porch.

  “It’s just common sense.” Plus, after the incident with Kelly, in an effort to understand what had happened to his sister, he’d learned more about abused women than he’d ever wanted to know.

  Tricia nodded. “Right. So if I’d been stronger and smarter, it wouldn’t have happened. I would have realized what was going on sooner and put an end to it.”

  With a sigh, Clint righted the bottle. Sitting up, he rubbed a hand over his forehead and dragged it through his hair. She was twisting his words all around. For a split second he wondered if he should stop now before he did any more damage. But he couldn’t leave things this way. He had to make her understand.

  He looked over at her, his gaze meeting hers. “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. You are a strong, beautiful, smart, kind woman. Don’t ever forget it. And don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  For a long moment, she did nothing more than stare at him silently. Then she stood and walked toward him. When she reached him, she straddled him, her legs pressing against his upper thighs. She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned toward him. He drew back, and her actions immediately stopped at his retreat.

  “Tricia, I didn’t say those things to…get close to you.” It was important—damn important—she knew that.

  “I know.” She stroked her hand up the side of his neck, brushed a finger along the rim of his ear. “But don’t you want to get close to me?” Her tongue peeked out to sweep over her lips. “I want you to. I want you to kiss me and touch me and—”

  Her words came to an abrupt halt when his mouth covered hers. He nudged her lips with his tongue, demanding entrance. She obliged without hesitation, and that small act of compliance, acceptance, drove him right over the edge of sanity.

  A groan sounded from deep in his throat as he pulled her closer against him. When he stood, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, and he groaned again. He turned and headed for the door with every intention of making her groan. And moan and plead and beg. Before the night was over, he’d have it all.

  * * * *

  Matt leaned against a tree and watched the display with disgust. It was all he could do not to storm down to the house and rip those two apart. The fact that another man dared to touch what belonged to him had his blood boiling. His fists clenched as he imagined the satisfaction of slamming them into Clint Owens’s face. He actually took a step toward the house before he managed to stop himself.

  He needed to wait. This wasn’t the right time. He’d been watching them for days, too long for him to blow it now. He was a patient man, he could continue to wait. When the time was perfect, when Tricia was alone and defenseless, then he’d make his move.

  Once Matt had reined in his anger, he reconsidered Clint’s position. Matt didn’t suppose he could really be angry with Clint. After all, what man wouldn’t take something that was so blatantly offered to him? And even from Matt’s vantage point in the distance, with nothing more than the moon providing light, it was clear that it was Tricia who had done the offering. Clint had simply accepted. Couldn’t blame the man for that. Couldn’t even really find him guilty of taking another man’s property because no doubt Tricia had fed him a line of crap about how their relationship was over.

  As if it would ever be over.

  Clearly all the blame and guilt was Tricia’s. The woman was entirely too free with her favors, showing absolutely no restraint. Once he had her back home where she belonged, he’d teach her some. He’d teach her a great many things. Obedience was yet another lesson she desperately needed to learn.

  These were lessons she should have learned long ago, but apparently he’d been too easy on her, had let her get away with too much, to the point where she showed no respect for him or the position he held in their relationship.

  Well, not anymore. Changes would be implemented, and when he was done with her, she wouldn’t even go to the bathroom without asking his permission first.

  He smiled at the thought as he turned and begin hiking toward the road. Since he wouldn’t be able to retrieve Tricia tonight, he might go see if he could find Candy. She had been most helpful when he’d arrived in town—confirming Tricia’s presence, even giving him directions to Clint’s house. Maybe he’d repay her with a night of sex. She wasn’t his type—much too bold and outspoken for his taste—but for his purposes tonight, she’d do.

  Chapter 10

  By the time they reached the bedroom, Tricia’s body was one huge mass of longing. She ached and throbbed in places that had been dormant for years.

  Clint pried her legs from around his waist, and her feet hit the floor. He rained hot, scorching, continuous kisses over her face, her throat, her neck.

  His hands moved to the buttons of her shirt. When he fumbled with them, he growled in frustration. Pausing, he took a deep breath, then once again attempted to unfasten the buttons. Still he made no progress.

  “Damn it!” As he said the words he grabbed the fabric of her shirt in his fists and yanked. The buttons popped off and flew across the room, making a pinging sound as they slammed against walls and furniture.

  Tricia gasped, taking an involuntary step backward. Her eyes opening wide in surprise, she stared down at her shirt in disbelief and then lifted her head to look up at Clint.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, his tone gentle and soothing. He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

  She placed her hand over his. His fingers were callused and rough, but his touch incredibly tender. She reached out to stroke his chest, and his body shook under her hand. It shook as if it were filled with pent-up passion, straining for the freedom it was being denied. He hadn’t made any movement to close the gap between them. He just waited. Waited for her.

  Her lips curved upward slightly. “A little impatient, are we?” And that impatience, rather than scaring her, made her feel powerful.

  “Just a little.” His thumb stroked her face. “Could be I’m afraid you might change your mind.”

  Although his words were spoken lightly, almost teasingly, she nevertheless felt the need to reassure him. Turning her face, she kissed his palm. “I won’t.”

&
nbsp; “Thank God.”

  Finally, he closed the gap between them. His lips brushed over hers in the softest of kisses as he eased her shirt off and tossed it on the floor. With one quick, expert flick, he released the hook of her bra. He slid it down her arms and pitched it to the side. When he cupped her breast in his hand, kneading gently, it set every nerve ending in her body ablaze.

  Her hands dropped to the front of his jeans. Within seconds she had them undone and was shoving them down his legs. He was kind enough to assist her by kicking out of them when they hit the floor. Then he reciprocated by stripping her of her own jeans.

  Lowering her to the bed, his lips blazed a path from her mouth, over her jaw, down her throat to her breasts. When he stroked his tongue over her nipple, she moaned and arched her back, pressing her flesh even closer to his mouth.

  “Tell me what you want,” he demanded huskily.

  She was so focused on what she was feeling it took a few moments for the words to penetrate her fuddled mind. She shook her head to clear it and tried to form a coherent sentence.

  “I want you,” was the best she was able to come up with.

  “I need specifics. Tell me exactly what you want. What do you like?”

  She rubbed a hand over her face. Why was he talking so much? What she wanted was less talk and more action. “You know what I like.”

  “It’s been years, honey. I thought you might have discovered a few more likes during that time. And I want to be sure to hit them all.” He stroked a thumb leisurely back and forth over her hardened nipple.

  “You’re doing pretty good so far,” she choked out.

  He chuckled, his lips returning to hers. “Is that all the help you’re going to give me?”

  “You don’t need any help. You’re wonderful, incredible, fantastic, an expert at bringing a woman pleasure.” As she spoke, she pushed against his shoulder, urging him onto his back. Straddling his waist, she grinned down at him.