"No," she panted. "More. Please."
She felt him shudder. "Ahhh, Kelsey," he said. And then he was moving, harder, faster, driving her upward with each stroke, sending sizzling fire along her every nerve, until she was marveling at their capacity to carry so much incredible sensation. She'd become someone she didn't know, a wild, wanting person, conscious only of her own body and the man who was causing such sweet havoc.
She fairly writhed beneath him, and the fact that her every move wrung a throttled groan of pleasure from him only fired her more, and she urged him closer and lifted herself to him eagerly, fervently, until she was no longer sure of the boundaries between them.
She heard an odd sound, a voice, pleading … and realized it was her own. She twisted her shoulders, her hips, tightened her arms, her legs around him, striving, reaching.
"Kelsey, I … can't… It's too much…"
He drove into her hard and deep, then went rigid in her arms. His body bowed back, every powerful muscle taut, sweat sheening his golden skin, his face taut with pleasure. Kelsey had a split second to look at him, to marvel at the sheer male beauty of him in that moment of racking intensity.
And then the last shift of his body, his hoarse cry of her name, sent her careening wildly over the edge. It burst through her, heat and light and pulses of pure, sweet sensation and a pleasure she'd never known before, of feeling her own body squeeze and caress the male flesh inside it, as if welcoming home a part of her that had been missing for so very long.
She moaned his name again and again as the spasms went on, and as her body clenched around him, so did her arms and her legs; she clung to him tightly as the blissful waves rocked her. Only when they at last began to ebb did she realize he was holding her just as tightly, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his breath coming in harsh, rapid pants against her ear.
She felt a shudder ripple through him, and it made her hold him even tighter, grateful in a way she didn't quite understand at this evidence that it had been as powerful for him as it had for her.
Gradually his breathing slowed, and Kelsey felt the hammering of her heart retreat to a more normal level. She didn't move, was afraid to speak; she wanted this moment, with his body still inside hers, with his weight atop her an oddly comforting thing, to go on forever. She didn't know what to say, anyway; words seemed inadequate for what had just happened.
Cruz didn't move, either, for several long, silent moments. Then, at last, he shifted slightly, as if to ease his weight to one side, off her. Instinctively she tightened her arms, trying to keep him where he was. He stayed. And at last he lifted his head.
"I … don't have anything clever to say," he said quietly, looking a little uneasy.
"Neither do I," Kelsey admitted with a shy smile.
The smile, or her words, seemed to assuage his unease, for he smiled back at her, slowly, like the sun coming up over the hills.
"I don't think there are … any words for what that was, anyway." He shook his head wonderingly. Then he lowered his head again, resting it on her shoulder, and tightened his arms around her as if he were afraid she would somehow slip away.
That small act tightened Kelsey's throat unbearably. She prayed she wouldn't start to cry, not now, not in front of him, but he was so tender, so gentle—traits she would have thought impossible in a man capable of the passionate wildness that they'd just experienced. The fact that it was possible for a man to be both amazed her; that such a man was here with her left her more than a little stunned.
After a while, still floating in the golden haze he'd created, she realized that for the first time she understood how girls got themselves into predicaments like Melissa's.
"If this is what it's like, no wonder kids get in trouble."
Cruz lifted his head. "Was that a compliment?"
Kelsey blushed furiously when she realized she'd said it out loud. But the lopsided grin he was giving her wiped away her embarrassment. At the same time, she sensed that there was an element of uncertainty there, as if his joking question hid a genuine one.
"I suppose it was," she said, giving him the smile she'd been smiling on the inside for a while now. "Want more? I could give you a list."
His grin widened. "Sure. I've got time."
It took all her nerve, she wasn't used to such intimate teasing, but she couldn't deny what had passed between them, either. She didn't know for sure if there truly was any uncertainty lurking beneath that very male grin, but if there was, she was going to get rid of it.
"It's never been like that for me," she said honestly. "Thank you. You were gentle and considerate when I needed you to be, but … wild when that was just what I wanted."
Cruz's eyes widened, and color tinged his cheeks. He swallowed tightly, and Kelsey knew he'd needed to hear it as much as she'd needed to say it.
"I… Wow. That's…"
He stopped, swallowed again, then shook his head, lowering his eyes, clearly at a loss now. Kelsey wanted to hug him all over again.
"Although," she said brightly, "I feel a little foolish to have reached the ancient age of thirty before finding out what all the shouting's about."
His gaze came back to her face. "I thought I knew what it was all about." He hesitated, then added, "I'm glad … you didn't end up in Melissa's situation."
She went very still. And very stiff.
"Don't, Kelsey," he said, slipping off her to one side and then pulling her close. "Don't close up on me. Not now."
The instinct to hide her past was strong, well honed after years of practice. But the gentle warmth of Cruz's embrace was lulling, soothing, and she couldn't find it in her to run this time. She'd trusted this man in the most intimate moments possible between two people, and he'd been everything she'd never thought any man could be. Surely she could trust him with this?
"How did you know?" she finally asked.
"I guessed," he said. "It wasn't too hard. Some things you said, and Melissa, how much you care and how hard you've been looking for her. And the way you looked for her. Like you'd been there yourself."
"I have been."
She couldn't go on; there were too many years of trying to forget, followed by too many years of trying to remember, so that she could help those in the same impossible position she'd been in. The two sometimes seemed at war inside her, and never more than now.
Cruz didn't prod, didn't push, and she was thankful for that. More than thankful, since he simply held her close against him, as if she were something precious. It was a feeling she'd known little enough of in her life, and never from a man. After a long time, after the tension had eased out of her, he spoke softly.
"It scares me to death to think of those kids. I keep thinking of Sam. It would kill me if she ever felt that running away from me was the only solution."
"Just the fact that you know that is the best insurance you can have that it won't happen," Kelsey said, picturing in her mind again the closeness between father and daughter. "It won't happen to you, Cruz. Not as long as you keep listening."
"But that isn't always enough."
"No. But it's a good start. A start too many parents don't even bother to make."
"Like yours?" he asked quietly.
She recoiled inwardly. She didn't want to talk about it, she never had. She never even thought about it, unless she had to to help one of her kids. But somehow it was suddenly all there, boiling up inside her, ready to burst free. She could feel it in the tightness in her chest, in the moisture stinging her eyes.
And the quiet, compassionate concern of this man was going to be the thing that breached the dam. She knew it. And when he tightened his arms just enough, as if he wanted to be certain she felt warm and safe, she felt the pressure let go, as if it were a physical thing. And the words began.
"My mother … never had the chance. She died when I was about eight. But I remember her. She was … kind and warm, and she smelled of vanilla. Like cookies. And she loved me. I always knew that. My … father was a cold, di
stant man. He always had been. But I knew she loved me."
Cruz said nothing, but he hugged her tighter.
"When she died, all the warmth went with her. My father remarried a couple of years later. He needed a hostess."
Cruz made a slight movement, as if he were wincing. "Nice reason to get married. Is she why you ran away?"
"No," Kelsey said instantly, vehemently. "That wasn't it at all. She wasn't … one of those stepmothers. I thought she was going to be, at first. She was pretty, and laughed a lot, and I thought she would try to take my mother's place. But she didn't. And she was the warmest, kindest person I'd met since my mother died. I came to love Cecelia Hall."
She sensed him make the connection. "Hall?"
"Yes. I took her name as mine. For a lot of reasons." Kelsey took a long, deep breath, steadied herself, then said it. With no exaggeration, the truth of it ringing in her voice. "She saved my life."
Cruz went still. "What?"
"Cecelia saved my life. And ruined her own to do it."
She shivered slightly; she had never really talked about this to anyone, except Cecelia. Cruz moved, and for a moment she feared he was pulling away, but instead he reached for the blanket throw that was folded over the back of the sofa and pulled it over them. Then he pulled her back against him, settling himself in a silent indication that she should go on. He was making this easier than she'd ever thought it could be, and she plunged ahead.
"My father was a very wealthy man. One of those pillar-of-the-community sorts. He could charm anyone. Even Cecelia, and she was a smart woman. But one day … she found out he wasn't all he appeared to be. She found out that … those nights when she'd wake up and he was gone, when she thought he was … in his office downstairs, working … he was really…"
She stopped, gulping in air, wondering how she'd ever thought she could do this.
"Kelsey?" She shivered in his arms. "God, Kelsey, no. He was … with you?"
She heard the undertone in his voice, a mixture of hope and horror, hope that it wasn't true and horror that it was.
"He told her he was just … checking on me. Like any loving father."
"Right," he said acidly, and she realized he'd probably heard that line many times before. His anger comforted her somehow.
"He never … really molested me. Not like … some of them do. He never raped me, never really even touched me, but he got into bed with me and made me … touch him."
She felt a violent shudder rip through him, heard him swear, low and harsh and furious, consigning her father to the depths of eternal fire. His embrace tightened until she could barely breathe.
"That's what you meant?" he asked, his voice a harsh, pained thing. "When you talked about listening? You told, didn't you? And no one believed you."
He curled himself around her, held her as if he wanted to squeeze out all the bad memories, as if he could somehow protect her now from what had happened then. She'd never felt as safe as she did in that moment. She nearly cried at the wonder at it, and it was all she could do to go on.
"No one could believe it, not about my father. I ran away, whenever I could, but they … always found me and brought me back. And sympathized with my father for having such a troublesome child."
"God, Kelsey, I'm sorry."
"I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't married Cecelia. He was her husband, and he tried to talk his way out of it with her, but she said there was no hell hot enough for people who did such things to children. She believed me." The wonder of it still echoed in her voice. "And she brought charges against him."
In low, heartfelt tones, he blessed her stepmother as he had condemned her father.
"Yes," Kelsey said, leaving it at that. "He bought his way out of it, of course, and had it all hushed up. They made me go back to him."
"No wonder you have no faith in the system," he whispered.
"Neither did Cecelia. My father told her that she couldn't be made to testify against her husband, and that he would have her arrested on some trumped-up charge if she ever breathed another word. She knew he meant it, and that he could do it. He had the power, the money…"
"What did she do?"
"She was going to file for divorce. But…"
She shivered, feeling suddenly barely able to breathe, let alone talk. But when Cruz's arms tightened around her a gain, she found herself able to go on.
"My father got worse. As if winning made him feel … invincible. I think he … would have raped me then. But she saved me. When she caught him that time, she … hit him over the head with one of my model horses. Knocked him out. And then … we ran. She stole me away from him. I wasn't even her child, but she refused to abandon me to him."
"Bless her," Cruz said, with a fervency that warmed Kelsey to the core.
"Yes," she said again. "She gave up everything for me. But she never, ever made me feel responsible. She said she felt like a fool for being blinded by his charm, but that she finally understood it had happened for a reason."
"You?" he asked softly.
Kelsey nodded against his chest. "She said the only thing that made sense, since she really wasn't normally a fool, was that she was supposed to help me."
"She sounds like … quite a woman."
"She saved my life," Kelsey repeated simply. "We lived on the run for four years, sometimes in cities, sometimes in small towns, but never staying in one place very long, because we knew he was looking for us."
"How?"
"We checked the newspapers at the library, wherever we were. My father was a big wheel, so it was in all the area papers. He told the police Cecelia had tried to kill him and then had kidnapped me for ransom."
"And they bought it? After what had happened before?" He sounded incredulous, and Kelsey went still. "Never mind," he said before she could say anything more. "You'd think I'd know by now that the rich really are different, and that they get treated that way. I see enough of it, even here."
She relaxed then, and with an odd feeling of checking something off on a list she hadn't even known she was keeping, she went on.
"He had to keep looking, as part of his image as the grief-stricken father. But I'm sure it was rage more than anything that drove him. He couldn't let me get away from him. Couldn't have me out of his control, where I might talk."
"Bastard," Cruz said succinctly, and his tone was so cold Kelsey conversely felt warmed.
"I was sixteen when he finally found us. And that was my fault, really. Cecelia didn't want me to have to restart high school every year, so we stayed too long in a small town where newcomers got noticed more. The private detectives my father hired were waiting for me at school one day. They called me into the office, and I saw them there. I knew instantly, and I ran, but they caught me before I could get home to warn Cecelia."
"What happened?"
"I knew she'd be in trouble, that my father could really do what he'd threatened, and she had hit him… So I gave up. I went with them."
"God, Kelsey—"
"I made them let me go to the bathroom and sneaked to the phone instead. I called her and told her. She argued, but I knew I was right I'd heard them saying that they would hunt her down next, because my father wanted her put in jail. I couldn't let that happen, not after all she'd done for me. I told her … I could handle him now. Cecelia had made sure I talked to counselors, so I understood better what was happening, how to deal with it. And now I was bigger, older, so I could fight him, at least until I got away again. But there was no way Cecelia could fight what he'd do to her."
He pulled her even tighter against him, tucking the blanket closer around her shoulders, as if he sensed the inner chill of long-ago memories. It helped her to finish it.
"So I went back. He hadn't changed. He was worse, angrier, more vicious. In public he was the perfect father, overjoyed at having his daughter back. In private, he made sure I knew that I'd pay for this the rest of my life. And that he'd hunt Cecelia down no matter where she w
ent."
"And you … ran away again?"
"Yes. This time for good. I'd learned a lot about getting by. I knew about fake ID, places to hide, low-profile ways to travel. I changed my name every time I stopped anywhere. I learned how to look older than I was. Finally I ended up out here."
"And went to work for what became the Sunset Grill."
"Yes. And you know the rest."
"Cecelia?"
Kelsey gave a sad, forlorn sigh. "I don't know. I've been looking for her, but for so long I had to be careful, so that my father wouldn't find her, or me. Once I was eighteen I was safe, he couldn't make me go back, but I knew he'd never stop trying to punish her. So I couldn't do anything that might lead him to her, like running ads or anything. And I couldn't afford to do much else, like hire someone, not for a long time, and by then so much time had passed…"
"I'm sorry, Kelsey."
"I'm more hopeful now." She smiled for the first time during the long, painful discourse and added with some satisfaction, "With some of that money I came into last year, I hired a firm that specializes in missing persons."
There was a moment of silence. "That money," Cruz began slowly, "did that by chance … come from your father?"
"A beautiful irony, isn't it? I'd kept tabs on him as best I could without giving myself away, because I wanted to be sure he didn't somehow wind up with another child to torture. When he died in a car accident, he was in the middle of trying to break the trusts my mother had made him set up for me, but he hadn't succeeded when he was killed, so I got it anyway. It seems the perfect final answer to him, to use it to find Cecelia. And I will. I swear I will."
"I'm sure you will," he said quietly, his voice a comforting rumble against her ear. "I think you can do just about anything you set out to do, Kelsey."
The calm certainty in his voice warmed her all over again, as did the comforting feel of his arms around her. She felt warm and safe, and almost unbearably light, as if finally telling the whole sordid story had relieved a burden she hadn't realized the weight of until she shared it.
For a long time, she just lay there, savoring the feel of his closeness, the coziness of being so intimately entwined on the sofa, the warm glow of the remaining fire. She couldn't remember ever feeling so relaxed, so languid, so utterly peaceful.
A MAN TO TRUST Page 21