by CC MacKenzie
"But..."
"The past is important. It matters because of how what happened to you is impacting our relationship now, today. Will you trust me to help you put the past where it belongs, behind you?"
Could she?
He was certainly a straight talker, a clear thinker.
"I need you," he murmured as he tugged her down to sit on his knee. He placed his wine glass on the table, did the same with hers. Now his mouth brushed over hers. "You need me, too."
And wasn't that the truth?
To demonstrate his point, he took the kiss deeper, slipping his tongue between trembling lips making every single part of her burn. Of their own volition her hands slid up his arms to wrap around wide shoulders, to hold him close.
Then he shifted, placed his forehead on hers.
"We can't do this until you trust me. Tell me," he said softly.
The scent of his body, hot, clean and utterly male, made her close her eyes to enjoy a special moment and simply inhale. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to make love to him, but before that could happen she needed to do what was right. Even if doing the right thing made him turn away from her.
The time had come to take a calculated risk.
The time had come to trust a man.
The time had come to face the demons of her past.
On shaky legs, Danni stood, accepting his deep reluctance to release her.
His touch was a distraction she didn't need.
In fact, she couldn't even bring herself to look at him.
Instead, she again moved to the wall to stare unseeing at the river below.
Taking a deep breath, Danni began her story.
"I was nineteen. In my first year at university. I'm an only child. Brought up by over-protective parents.” That was putting it mildly, but now was not the time to dredge up her dysfunctional family dynamic, or her place in it. “When I look back at that girl I find it hard to believe how terribly naïve she was. I find it hard to believe how easily led, how desperate to please...
"Even then I was close to Ana and T.C. Right from the start they detested James..."
She turned her head to look at Pascal over her shoulder, saw those dark grey eyes watching her carefully. He was sitting, jean-clad legs spread, elbows on knees, his hands clasped.
"That's his name, James Goldman. He was three years older, a university jock, captain of the rugby team. Big guy. Wide smile. Big laugh. Loved by all. Especially girls. Looking back I can see how very carefully he groomed me, the pleaser, to please him."
She turned away from those eyes, didn't want to read the shock, the pity that would surely follow after the end of her horrible little tale of one man's evil.
"It seemed I was spending all my free time with him. He never pressured me for sex. I wasn't ready. He respected me, he said. Until the night I was in a crammed bar near the university with Ana and T.C. We saw him with two other guys even bigger than James. They'd been drinking heavily, celebrating winning an important game. In the middle of them was a young blonde girl. They were crowding her, had her pinned with her back against the wall. And she was terrified. Her face was pale, her eyes filling with tears. T.C. spotted what was happening and alerted the bar manager and she made a huge fuss, called James and his friends stupid jerks.
"My boyfriend's face was red. Red with sheer temper. I'd never seen him like that. He called T.C. a slut and worse. And then he saw me watching him. His face changed, became ugly. And in that moment I knew we were finished."
Her voice was hoarse. On shaky legs she went to the table to pick up her wine, moved back to the edge of the patio to stare down at the river.
"For weeks he refused to accept I'd broken up with him. It got to the point where going to class was a huge ordeal. It was only when I threatened to go to the authorities and lodge a complaint that he backed off. At least, I thought he'd backed off...
"It was hard for me to admit to myself and others that the way he stared at me, his behaviour, was scaring me. But Ana and T.C. knew I was becoming more and more jumpy. Not once did they ever leave me on my own."
She took a sip of wine, told herself to just say it, get it over and done.
"Two months later, we all went to a birthday party at a local bar. We didn't plan to stay long. Just a quick drink, say hi, go home. I ordered a soda, and then went to the ladies room. When I returned James was standing at the bar, next to my drink. He said, hi, no hard feelings, we could be friends. I agreed, relieved, so desperately relieved that he'd appeared to move on...
"I sipped my drink. Then I felt weird, dizzy and sick. James put his arm around me, asked if I was okay because I looked really pale. Next thing, I'm outside with James and his two friends from the bar. They lifted me. The world is spinning. My eyes can't quite focus. Then I'm on my back on the grass. I could smell soil, beer breath. Hear voices shouting in my ear that I'm asking for it. I'd led James on. I was a frigid bitch...
Danni took another tiny sip of her wine. Although the evening sun warmed her skin, cold sweat trickled down her back, perspiration beaded on her top lip. Finish it. She had to finish it. After a couple of very deep and very shaky breaths, she continued,
"They turned me on my front, their weight holding me down. They stripped my shoes, jeans and panties. One had his knees on my shoulders. It hurt. It hurt a lot. His hand across my mouth. James tried to enter me, but I was too tight. A virgin. That's when they really lost it. James used a beer bottle to impale me, to break me in..."
At the sound of a muted curse from behind her, Danni closed her eyes.
She could imagine his thoughts, his feelings.
"They told me they were going to take turns in my mouth, my vagina, my anus. And I knew my life as I knew it was over. Even if I survived, I was finished. But then Ana and T.C. were there, screaming, tearing at them...
"I passed out."
Tears pouring unheeded down her face, Danni closed her eyes tight before she faced him.
She found not pity, no not pity in those grey eyes that were now black. But a vicious fury as he rose to his feet.
"Tell me he is in prison."
She swiped a hand over her cheeks, took a cleansing breath.
"According to the law they didn't rape me because no body parts were used no semen was found on my skin. They were charged with aggravated sexual assault."
"Are they in prison?" he asked again through gritted teeth.
She shook her head. "James was, but not for what he did to me. For what he did to two girls before me. After what happened, many girls came forward. His family are wealthy and paid for the best legal defence team money could buy. He pleaded guilty to lesser charges to save his victims the trauma of a trial. Two psychologists gave evidence he needed psychological help rather than jail time. The judge agreed. He spent twelve months in a psychiatric hospital. I have a restraining order against all three. They cannot come near me or contact me. Ever."
For the longest time, they simply stared at each other.
She couldn't read the expression in his eyes.
But then his mouth curved.
"The next time I meet Anastacia and Theresa I owe them a big hug."
She managed a soft laugh.
"They saved me, in more ways than one."
Then she took a small step towards him, eyes still fixed on his.
"There are times when I become stuck in the past. That's when I see my therapist."
"That is a good thing. Perhaps we can see her together," he said in a soft and growly voice. Now he stepped into her, took her hands in his. "I am your first?"
"When we do it, yes."
Now he brought her hands to his mouth. "Then I am honored to have a wonderfully brave and courageous woman as my lover. And as my friend."
It felt as if a huge weight was suddenly gone from Danni's shoulders, her gut. Again tears closed her throat, stung hot behind her eyes.
His finger under her chin tipped her face up to this. Eyes the color of the deep
est pewter searched hers, and then they warmed with a mix of emotions. A pride, an affection, that shook her to the core.
"You are in control of everything that happens between us. Understand?"
She did.
And was, to a point, grateful.
"I haven't a clue what to do. How to please..."
His gentle finger on her lips stopped the words.
"Trust me, pleasing me will not be an issue."
Okay.
"So, what now?"
He smiled a smile that lit up his whole face and did a lot to heal a damaged heart.
"Now we relax. We enjoy some wine, some music as the sun goes down. We dance. We talk about our hopes, our dreams. We make love. There is no rush, ma petite chat. We have all the time in the world."
But as Pascal danced, slow and easy with his beautiful and brave woman, his cheek resting on her hair and his arms holding her close, he made a solemn vow.
No one would ever harm a single hair on her head.
No one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sean Kennedy decided that as hotels went, the Ferranti Boutique hotel in Paris was pretty upscale. At least it would be once the paint dried. He stood in what was a good-sized sitting room set-up as a temporary office with three desks, laptops, and ergonomic chairs that looked as if they meant business. One wall held a large flat screen tuned to a 24hr news channel. He wandered, noted a serving table laden with coffee and tea making equipment, and bottles of water. He snagged one, and decided the place smelled of... women. The silver tube of hand cream next to a laptop told him he was right, made him grin.
A movement in a doorway to his left brought his head up.
And for a split second he couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
She couldn't have been more than twenty-two, maybe three, and a serious blonde bombshell. A bombshell whose Jessica Rabbit curves made blood pool in his groin. A feeling so alien to his personal discipline it made him blink. She stood maybe five ten in her bare feet with their toes painted fire-engine red. She wore a T-shirt, white, that clung lovingly to amazing breasts. And jeans that fitted in all the right places. She had a fabulous face, oh mama, did she ever. Sort of heart-shaped, all cream and honey, with a full, luscious mouth just made for kissing. Sharp eyes in china-doll blue watched him with interest through a dense forest of dark lashes.
"Who the fuck are you?"
He blinked.
Well now, the voice was deep for a woman, and certainly sexy. The only jarring note, in his honest opinion, was her language.
Bad language, in the right time the right place, didn't bother him. Christ, he was ex-military. But hearing it come out of a mouth made for sin from a girl with the face of an angel was just, well, wrong.
All wrong.
It jarred.
Hell, it seriously pissed him off.
Something of those thoughts must have shown in his face because now those baby blues narrowed into icy slits.
"Can't you read? The sign on the door says strictly private."
Two seconds too late, T.C. realized she should have kept her big mouth shut.
The huge beefcake in the black suit didn't speak.
Instead, he folded his arms over a vast chest in a smooth motion that really caught her attention. Wow, he took the definition of big to a whole new level. Muscles, not quite over-developed, more a toned and lean action hero, like Batman without the black rubber.
He looked powerful, intimidating, threatening.
His deep brandy colored eyes, staring holes right through her, reminded her of a cat, she decided. A big cat. A wild cat. Maybe a jungle cat. Still those eyes simply stared at her as if he was the boss of all he surveyed, including her, which was crazy.
"Look," she said in a tone that was supposed to mean business. "No one is permitted in this suite..." Again she paused, waited for some sort of response and received nada. So she tried it again, this time in her basic French, which was piss poor.
The beefcake simply raised a very fierce brow and unbuttoned his suit jacket (the lining looked like it might be Armani, but what the hell did she know?)
Then she couldn't think at all as her jaw dropped.
Omigod.
He had a gun.
Her eyes went too wide.
It, the gun, was nestled in a holster under his left arm.
She'd never seen a real gun before and seeing one now had nerves flutter wildly in her belly.
"Name?" he drawled in a very low, very deep voice that had ice replace the nerves in her belly. Who the hell was this guy?
"Theresa Catliff," said T.C.
When those eyes narrowed into glittering slits, she felt her heart kick once behind her ribs before beating too fast.
The need to run was so overwhelming her hands fisted at her sides. She was a black belt Krav Maga. Okay, this guy was huge, but there was no way she could outrun a bullet.
"Your name," he said in a cutting tone in an Irish accent that made the hair on the back of her neck stand to attention. "Is not on my list."
List?
What list?
"Look, pal..." she began and two seconds later found herself eating the wall with a very strong man plastered against her back.
One hand held her wrists pinned above her head, while the other ran down her body searching for... who knew?
"This is a stupid and over-the-top reaction to a simple..." she tried to wiggle and discovered she couldn't budge him. The sudden need to whimper appalled her so much, she bit down hard on her bottom lip.
"I get paid to overreact," he barked near her ear.
She inhaled the heady scent of Eau de testosterone, laundry detergent and a light cologne. The combination made her knees tremble as a wave of something like lust, hot and liquid, poured through her veins.
"Oh you'll pay all right, you big fucking gorilla," growled a T.C. who could not quite believe she was being turned-on by a Neanderthal with a big gun.
It appeared Ms. Catliff thought she was a hard-ass. A hard-ass with a potty mouth. Well, Sean Kennedy was well-used to dealing with people who thought they were hard-asses. And he was well-used to cleaning a dirty mouth. The mere thought of the many ways he'd keep that mouth busy made him grin.
"Oh, hello," said a soft voice behind him.
Still pressed up close and personal to the blonde bombshell, he turned and the grin morphed into a smile. Jesus, she looked like a dark-haired Tinkerbelle. Looked like he'd found his latest client, Anastacia Morgan. She wore heels that were so high he was amazed she didn't get nose-bleeds.
She tottered towards him, held out a little hand he took in his while keeping his body up close and personal to the blonde kissing the wall.
Her other hand clutched a large cell phone.
"You can let T.C. go now. Her bark is worse than her bite. I'm Anastacia." Dancing deep violet eyes skimmed over him. "And I'm betting you're Sean?"
Since her initials were on his list, he released T.C. and stepped back.
"You'd win the bet."
Tinkerbelle's head tipped back as she studied his face. "Man, you're really tall."
"I get told that a lot."
Her laugh was a self-deprecating tinkle.
Anastacia Morgan, Sean decided, was a sweetheart.
"So," said a snarling T.C. "This is the bodyguard. Looks all brawn and no fucking brain to me."
Anastacia rolled her eyes to heaven and then she spun like a dervish.
"That is enough, T.C. If you can't behave and be polite, you can go home." The girls were engaged in an eye-ball stand-off, who blinked first was the winner, when Anastacia's cell dinged. Her eyes dropped to the screen and she clipped her way into another room. "This better be good news," she said into the phone, mouthed 'sorry' to him and closed the door.
All brawn and no fucking brain?
Had those words really come out of that mouth?
Sean's well-developed sense of humour deserted him.
Now he again stared holes
through T.C.
A stare that had brought many a big strong man to his knees. It appeared The Stare had little or no affect on the blonde bombshell. He decided right there and then the girl needed a come-to-Jesus moment and he was just the man to give her one.
That, and a long and very hard ride of her life.
And then he'd keep her potty mouth busy.
Very busy.
T.C. well understood how the miniscule brain of the male species worked. They didn't like a mere woman to dare to challenge their masculinity. And the huge male in front of her looked as if he wanted to rip off her panties and toss her over his knee. The unwelcome curl of sheer lust deep in her belly made her jerk her chin.
He so wasn't her type.
If she had a type, which she didn't, ergo he was not it.
He looked... tough. The hard-nosed no-fucking-nonsense-from-you type. The thin white scar running from eye to mouth put her off, too. As did hair, the color of fine Brandy, cropped too short. That jaw, she decided, was too masculine and should have had the word stubborn tattooed there. And he was too tall, well over six feet.
Now that firm mouth twitched, but didn't curve, and all the while those brandy eyes - lion eyes - studied her face, her mouth.
"Why do you keep staring at me like that?" she nearly snarled the words.
Now those eyes lifted to hers, held.
"You're a beautiful and stunning woman, Theresa."
The way he said it, with a deep and rough purr running through the words, made her heart go crazy in her chest.
No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't stop the heat rise up over her neck to burn her cheeks.
She was blushing now?
Seriously?
Those lion eyes narrowed.
"Embarrassed? You? I bet plenty of men have told you they find you attractive."
They had.
But, not in that tone, not in that way.
"I don't like you," she said mortified she sounded like a sulky five year old.