Beautifully Wounded (The Beaumont Brothers)

by Susan Griscom

  “I hate what I did, killing Troy,” I admitted finally. “I hate Troy even more for making me do it, but at the same time, I’m glad I was able to save you in the process.” I looked down at Jackson’s hands that held mine, only because I wasn’t sure I could look at his face without tears. Even though the police weren’t pinning murder on me … God, would I ever be over the guilt of taking another human being’s life? I knew I was to blame for everything. I’d let that relationship with Troy happen. I was the one who had to take the blame for it. Troy had been a sick man. Deep down I knew that, but I wished I could have helped him receive some sort of treatment for his illness. And deep down I also knew that men like Troy existed in many homes, and there were many women just like me. Some still in trouble. Some, the lucky ones like me, got out.

  “You have to forgive yourself, Lena. In order to move on, you have to. You’re the only one holding any of this against you. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. Sometimes it’s harder to forgive yourself and let go, but you have to try.”

  I braved a look and studied Jackson now. I knew I didn’t need to say these words to him. I knew he understood. I don’t know how, but he did. I wasn’t saying them for him though. “I will never let another man do to me what Troy did.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said.

  I smiled at the “my girl” reference. I liked being Jackson’s girl, knowing he’d never keep me from my dreams. Hell, his were almost identical to mine. He skimmed his finger down my bare arm. The tickling sensation made me smile. Troy had never touched me that way, not even in the beginning. Oh, he wasn’t violent at first, just not as tender, but that was a time in the past, a time when I didn’t know tender.

  “I still have some fears, and I know I need to overcome them.”

  “I can help with that.” His smile was soft, reassuring and oh so damn sexy.

  There was one particular fear that I wanted to tackle, and I didn’t want to approach it like a timid wounded rabbit. I hesitated at first, not sure how Jackson would respond. I’d never been able to play the sexy vixen. Troy had been the only man I’d ever been with. Playing a role like that would have sent him into a jealous rage of swearing and accusations that I’d been with someone else. Accusing me of liking rough sex and he’d be sure to show me his way of what rough meant. No, I didn’t need that kind of rough sex. But I did want some intensity. The kind I’d only been able to read about in books. The comfort I received from Jackson gave me the courage to move in, take what I wanted. I took a step closer to him. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loosely over his pants. I made tiny circles on his chest with my finger, and he slipped his arm around my waist. Even though the thought of being possessed the way I thought I would like frightened me, I wanted it more than anything with Jackson. Deep in my mind, I knew it was a different kind of possession, and he wouldn’t hurt me. I’d seen movies, read books, I could do this.

  I kept my voice low and as sexy as I thought possible. “Well, you know, I have this fear of being overpowered by a man.” I bit my bottom lip and waited for his response.

  “Yes, I know,” he returned with just the right amount of sexy smoothness to make me almost forget what I was doing, or what I wanted to do.

  I continued skimming my fingertips lightly over his chest. “Particularly in …” I looked around the room we stood in. “…in the bedroom.”

  “Like I said, I can help with that.”

  “I think I’d like that,” I said and nipped at his chin.

  “I’ve heard that the best way to tackle your fears is to experience them first hand. Throw yourself into them so to speak.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah.” He took a step closer to me, then another, pinning me between him and the wall. Our bodies pressed firmly together, and he kept his face an inch above mine. With his finger, he tilted my chin up and covered my mouth with his. He didn’t hurt me, but I gasped into his mouth as he kissed me, hard and demanding. His hand fisted in my hair, my blonde locks, and I had a fleeting thought that maybe I should return them back to their dark auburn color, but just as quickly as that idea entered my head, it disappeared with the taste of Jackson’s tongue exploring my mouth, removing everything but him from my mind. His hand slid down my side and back up my skirt. His fingers tugged at my panties, yanking them down to my knees. As Jackson moved his thumb around in little circles, he slipped a couple fingers inside me. I had to close my eyes as the sensation took hold. Thunder roared in my head, and he kissed the spot under my ear, sucking just a little before spreading more kisses down my neck toward the scoop of my dress, where a hint of cleavage peaked out.. His fingers skimmed down my thigh and wetness coated my skin. I smiled. A little bit of me proclaiming my independence as my body accepted the freedom of this new person I was becoming.

  Continue reading for a sneak peek at

  Book 2 of The Beaumont Brothers.

  Chapter 1

  Brodie

  The buzz coming from under my pillow pounded between my ears like thunder. I’d set my phone on vibrate, and it was determined to ruin a perfect slumbering morning. I stuck my hand under the cushion attempting to silence it, but only managed to knock the offending instrument onto the floor.

  The girl beside me pulled herself into a cute little ball with her knees hugging her chest, and her adorable little behind shoved against my cock. She moaned something about it still being dark outside. No shit. I frowned, and rolling over reached for my phone unfortunately catching a glimpse at the digital clock on the nightstand in the process. A glaring red four-fifty-nine assaulted my eyes with brilliance that even Einstein would have been shocked by. The brightness made it impossible to determine who in God’s name was sending me a text so early in the morning.

  I let the phone slip from my fingers to the floor without bothering to read the message. There was nothing in this world so important at five o’ fucking clock in the morning that couldn’t wait. I rolled back toward the hottie. “Sorry, baby,” I whispered into her neck, and showered her with little kisses there. Wishing I could remember her name. Casandra, Clarista, Carry? It was one of those C names or was it K? No matter. Normally, I was pretty good with names. I’d never once called a woman the wrong name, but this girl had such an uncommon, yet so close to common name I’d had trouble all night long, and had to resort to calling her baby or sweetheart. I hated using those terms of endearment because none of the girls I’d been hooking up with lately were someone I’d like to think of as endearing. “Go back to sleep,” I said, sort more of an order to myself than to her.

  When she scooted back against me, moving her hips the way she did, she all of a sudden seemed very endearing to me. I rocked with her, closing my eyes, shutting out the visions of the bedroom I was in with its dark purple wall and massive black and white picture of a nude couple embracing on the adjacent pale pink wall. Lacy, pale pink curtains hung in the window. Not my room. This was a commonality for me recently, waking up to find myself in unfamiliar, feminine surroundings, since privacy at home had become an issue. That explained the bright digital clock beside the bed—not something I would ever own.

  Cassandra, Clarista, Castalia, or whatever the fuck her name was, let out a sexy moan before turning around and wrapping her hands around me. Stroking and squeezing oh so firmly just enough to make a guy not only forget where he was, but not care. God, it felt so good, but not as good as when her tongue slid over the tip right before taking me in her mouth.

  I must admit, my breath hitched as the tip of my cock hit the back of her throat, and I caught the slight gagging sound she made. “Oh, baby. That feels so good.” Actually, this Cassandra or whatever, was a bit mediocre in this particular department, but I wasn’t about to complain. A poor attempt at a blowjob was better than none at all in my book.

  This was my life. I wasn’t complaining. Nope, not at all. Today was starting off much like any other day lately; lazy, with a little romping between the sheets. It got my blood running, and
today I needed to be on my game. Today, or tonight rather, was my brother’s bachelor party, and I was hosting it.

  Buzzzzzzzz.

  My phone again. “Hey, baby. Give me a minute will ya?” I groaned, pulling myself out from the soft sucking and into the cold air. Shit. What was wrong with me? I leaned over the edge of the bed and picked up my phone. This time I read the message. Only it wasn’t a message. It was an alert I’d set on my phone as a reminder. Pick up Gabby from airport. My brother’s soon to be bride’s maid of honor—and a major pain in my side—was flying in this morning at six-twenty, and I’d been volunteered by Jackson to pick her up. Thanks a whole hell of a lot.

  “Fuck.”

  “What’s the matter, Brodie?” she asked, licking her lips and grabbing for me like she’d just had her favorite lollypop taken away.

  “I gotta go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Sorry, baby.” God, what was her name? “I promised to pick up a friend from the airport.” Friend was a huge stretch of the English vocabulary when it came to Gabby. Gabriella Demers was not my friend in any sense of the word. In fact, she hated me.

  The last time I saw Gabby, which was about a year ago when she’d spent a few nights in my house while visiting with Lena, she’d told me to go bungie jumping from a bridge without the bungie cord. Ouch. All I’d done to deserve that nice suggestion was tried my damnedest to show the woman a good time. Of course, my idea of a good time and hers were completely different, which I found out the second my lips brushed gently against hers and my hand strategically covered her left breast. She’d shoved me away so fast my poor lips never got the chance to make even a hint of a memory of hers. Right before she told me to go jump off the bridge, she’d slapped me and said I wasn’t her type. It was when I insisted that I was, that she got nasty about it. Pffft. I was every woman’s type. But hey, I copped a clue right away and back off the minute she shoved me away, she didn’t need to make an imprint of her hand on my face. There was something disturbing about that chick.

  I shook the memory away and grabbed the waist of the one I was with, pulling her back against me. “I wish I could stay, baby, but I did promise my brother.”

  “Can we hook up again tonight?” she asked.

  “Sorry, no can do. Got a bachelor party to host.” Glad for once I had a bona fide excuse at the tip of my tongue.

  “Aw. What about tomorrow night? I’ll only be in town for another couple of days.” Relationships just the way I liked them. Short and noncommittal. “We could have a replay of last night, maybe even make a movie so I have something to remember you by.”

  Make a movie? No way. I had a fine physique and all, and I may be promiscuous, very free with my organs, some might even say I’m a man slut, but I didn’t need my ass in a starring role plastered all over the internet. “Love to, except I have commitments this weekend.” Besides, I’d never spent the night with the same woman more than twice, and this one was barely worth the one I’d already spent.

  I quickly pulled up my pants and shrugged into my shirt. I pulled on my boots and grabbed my phone, and as I headed for the door she purred out. “Call me?”

  “Sure, baby.” I lied as I shut the door, and deleted her number from my phone. I never saved them, and I never answered my phone when the number came up without a name attached.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Even though this book is completely fiction, it was a difficult one to write and without the people in my life and the support they give me, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. Writing Beautifully Wounded has been a labor of love, a story I started many years ago, on a subject no one likes to talk about. I’m glad I finally had the time and courage to give it the attention it deserved. I wanted Beautifully Wounded to be a romance, and tried not to undermine the seriousness of the situation.

  Acknowledgments are also difficult to write, making sure everyone I love is included and not forgotten.

  My first thanks is to my husband, Harry. Thank you, honey, for giving me the support and opportunity to do what I love and for reading everything I write. I’d be lost without your helpful suggestions. I also appreciate your mentioning my book to every complete stranger you meet, which embarrasses the heck out of me, but I love it and love you. You are my rock and my knight in shining armor. To my kids, for all your love and support and my Mom, for your encouragement and support and not making too many comments about my absentmindedness because my mind is usually on a character or a scene and for telling everyone you know I wrote a book.

  Thank you, Michelle Olson, my editor, you are the best. You’ve been a huge help in bringing this book to life with all your encouraging words and praises. Thank you, Pam Ripling aka Anne Carter, for answering all my stupid questions that I constantly bug you with. A owe a special thank you to Rachael Wade for giving me the encouragement I needed to finish this story. Until you read what I’d written those many years ago, this story was nothing more than just an idea sitting on my hard drive. Love and hugs to my beta readers and awesome writer friends, Amber Garza, Tina Donnelly, Pam Ripling, Cathy Givens, and Derinda Love, thank you for your insightful suggestions, you helped pull this book together. And a special thank you to my awesome Personal Assistant, Tina Donnelly, you are making my life easier every day and I am proud to call you my sister.

  To you, the reader, you own my heart, because without you, this story would be sitting on my hard drive collecting cyber dust. Thank you for reading and if you’ve enjoyed Beautifully Wounded, please take a moment to write a review on sites such as Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads.

  About Susan Griscom

  I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, spending most of my time daydreaming or playing around in the mud. I grew out of the mud play, well, most of the time, a good soak in the mud is always fun. I still daydream often and sometimes my daydreams interrupt my daydreams. So I write to remember them. If I didn't write, I think my mind would explode from an overload of fantasy and weirdness. To the annoyance of my friends and family, my characters sometimes become a part of my world. During my childhood, I would frequently get in trouble in school for daydreaming. Eventually, my vivid imagination paid off and I had the privilege of writing and co-directing my sixth-grade class play--a dreadful disaster, though not from my writing, of course. I'm pretty sure it was the acting.

  I enjoy writing about characters living in small quaint towns and tend to lean toward the unusual and edgy.

  My paranormal playing field delves into a different milieu, abandoning vampires and werewolves, but not discounting them. Someday I might like to write a novel about vamps and those furry creatures. But for now I like the bizarre mixed with romance. A strong hero or heroine confronted with extraordinary forces of nature, powers and capabilities gets my blood running hot, as does a steamy contemporary romantic suspense.

  Find out more about Susan Griscom by visiting her website.

  http://susangriscom.com

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/SMGriscom

  Follow Susan on Twitter:

  https://twitter.com/SusanGriscom

  Resources for Victims of Domestic Violence

  Know that you are not alone.

  Joyful Heart Foundation

  http://www.joyfulheartfoundation.org/

  Helpguide.org

  http://www.helpguide.org/images/global/header.jpg

  NO MORE

  http://nomore.org/

  California Partnership to End Domestic Violence

  http://www.cpedv.org/

  1-800-524-4765

  Or contact the National Domestic Violence 24 hour hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE(7233)

 

 

 
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