Redemption's Kiss

by Ann Christopher

  She held it. Protected it. And didn’t answer.

  They stared at each other. Hitching up her chin, she tried to manage a defiant glare, but it was hard when the sudden sparkle of her tears nearly blinded her.

  “I’ll see you later, Jillian.”

  Turning away from the infinite understanding in his expression—she didn’t have to see him clearly to know that it was there—she shut the door in his face.

  There they were, Beau saw with knee-weakening relief. Finally.

  Jillian, who had the stiff march and impassive expression of a soldier in a military drill, and Allegra, the light of his life, bouncing alongside wearing what appeared to be a ballet costume and tiara.

  He stepped back from his living room window and tried to regain some chill, but it was hard with Christmas walking down the street toward him, coming early this year. He was paralyzed with hope, if not outright happiness. But he and happy had never been friends for long, so he couldn’t say for sure.

  The late-afternoon sun hit their heads just right and threw off flashes of gold. Their hair was exactly the same sandy color, although Allegra had long ringlets that bounced around her shoulders and Jill had one of those short bob-type dos, with curls around her ears. They held hands, his girls, and Allegra had her chubby dimpled face turned up to her mother, chattering like a squirrel.

  God, he loved those two.

  Moving to the door, he waited for the bell and wished he could breathe.

  “Are you ready for your surprise?” Jillian asked.

  “What is it? Tell me, tell me, tell me, please—”

  “Ring the doorbell and find out,” Jillian told her.

  Allegra rang the bell, one of those twenty-second rings just to make sure anyone up in the attic or down in the basement could hear. Even though his heart was in his throat and there was no air anywhere close to his lungs, he laughed and was still laughing when he swung the door open and saw the astonished delight on his daughter’s face.

  They stared at each other for one breathless second during which even her curls seemed to quiver with anticipation. A smile began at one corner of her pouty mouth and spread so wide so quickly that he could almost believe he was—or could one day be—a worthwhile human being who deserved this angel’s absolute adoration.

  Allegra seemed to have trouble believing her eyes. Hesitating, she looked to Jillian for confirmation, as though nothing could be true until Mommy said it was true.

  Jillian nodded and smiled. A less exceptional mother might have had trouble hiding her turmoil over her ex’s sudden arrival, might even have scowled, but not Jill. She put her own feelings firmly on the back burner and gave her daughter unspoken permission to be delighted.

  If someone had asked him three seconds ago whether he could love Jillian more, he would have said, “No, man, I’m maxed out on that already, thanks,” but now he did. His heart beat with it. Expanded with it. Threatened to burst with it.

  And then Allegra shrieked.

  There was just enough time for him to bend and brace for the assault—he didn’t trust himself enough to squat, not on this leg—before she launched at him in a flurry of sturdy limbs, childish potbelly and baby-shampoo fresh curls that had been warmed by the sun.

  And then, ah, Jesus, and then she was in his arms, hugging him for all she was worth, vibrant, strong and wonderfully sweet.

  Scooping her up, he straightened, staggered back against the door frame so there was no chance of toppling over and crushing the poor child to death, and held on for dear life because she—and her mother—were his life.

  Don’t cry, man. Do. Not. Cry.

  But the hot tears wouldn’t stop coming. They burned a trail up his throat, made his chin quiver, his nostrils flare and his vision blur. If he’d been in his right mind, he’d be embarrassed by this show of over-the-top emotion, but ever since the accident, everything was different and nothing was right.

  And yet things were more right with him than they’d ever been.

  Laughing and crying, absorbing Allegra’s kisses, which were clumsy and wet, he looked at Jillian. She’d get a laugh out of seeing him reduced to this slobbering mess by a toddler, no doubt. After a quick swipe at his cheeks, their gazes connected and…

  Whoa.

  Jillian had the stunned look of a woman who’d just seen a lion fly or an eagle swim. So much emotion coalesced in her whiskey-brown eyes that he had to look away or risk going blind. If his thundering heart didn’t give out, that was.

  Fleeting thoughts raced through his mind.

  To think that he’d let his pain make him self-destructive enough to nearly throw all this away. To think that he’d turned to other women when all his answers were right here. To think that Jillian had claimed it was all over between them. To think that he’d worried about what kind of greeting Allegra would give him. To think that he’d wondered if moving here was a big mistake.

  Hah.

  If there was one thing he had to say for himself, it was this:

  When he was wrong, he was really wrong.

  On this one thing, though, the big thing, he was right.

  These two females were his everything. Period.

  Swiping at his eyes one last time, he held Allegra high overhead. She shrieked, legs dangling and kicking.

  “Stop with the kisses.” He scrunched up his nose, giving her his best grossed-out face. “I don’t want all those slobbery kisses. I don’t even like kisses.”

  Allegra didn’t believe him for a second. “You love my kisses!”

  Beau gagged and stuck his tongue out. “Yuck.”

  As punishment for this insult, Allegra patted his face between her palms and planted a big one right on the tip of his nose. There might have been more, but at that moment she spied the dog and her breath caught. That one glance was enough to relegate Beau to second-class status.

  “There’s a dog,” she whispered.

  Beau settled her on his hip, ignoring the corresponding protest from his leg. Distributing the increased weight a little better, he glanced over his shoulder.

  Seinfeld, who loved children and relentlessly sought them out every time he and Beau went for a walk, seemed to be in love. His delighted dark gaze was glued to Allegra and his tail-wagging exuberance threatened to levitate him until only the tips of his paws touched the ground. He crept closer, woofing a welcome.

  “Daddy.” Allegra could hardly speak with all her hopeful excitement. “Whose dog is that?”

  “Mine.”

  Leaning closer, she whispered in Beau’s ear as though she didn’t want Seinfeld to overhear her talking about him and feel offended. “Does he like little girls?”

  “He loves little girls.”

  “Can I pet him?”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Allegra wriggled to get down, and Beau pressed his nose to her fat little cheek one last time and breathed in as much sunshine and clean girl as his lungs could absorb before setting her free. “Seinfeld.”

  Jillian, meanwhile, seemed to have recovered some of her composure and was now firmly back in charge. Stepping closer, she hovered just between girl and dog, ready to intercede if needed.

  “Careful, A. Make sure you let him sniff your hand first—” But Seinfeld didn’t need this kind of formality. Bypassing Allegra’s outstretched fingers, he walked right up to her and licked her face. And then, when she giggled herself into hysterics, he licked the other side.

  “That’s hygienic,” Jillian muttered.

  Beau laughed. It might be disgusting, yeah, but they both knew better than to come between their daughter and her new BFF.

  “Let’s go in here.” He grabbed Seinfeld’s leash and steered him into the living room, which was a sea of boxes—some opened and some not. Allegra raced alongside, and Jillian, moving at the reluctant pace of a prisoner about to undergo a couple rounds of waterboarding, brought up the rear. Allegra plopped, crosslegged, on the floor, and Seinf
eld took that as an opportunity to stretch out, belly side up, and rest his head on her lap.

  “How do you like my new house, Allegra?”

  “It’s nice,” Allegra said, now shaking Seinfeld’s paw.

  Beau waited for his words to sink in, which took a minute. But then Allegra’s head jerked up, eyes wide with even more astonishment, and the words flew out in one hopeful gasp.

  “This is your house?”

  Beau grinned. “This is my house.”

  “Yay!”

  Jumping up, she raced over to bounce in his lap and slobber a few more kisses onto his face. But then—Uh-oh.

  Allegra pulled back, all shadowed expression and furrowed brows. “You can live with us—”

  “No,” Jillian said sharply. But then she caught herself and toned down the vehemence. “Daddy has his own house. He’ll live here, but you’ll get to see him all the time now. Won’t that be great?”

  Beau’s sudden tension eased. He really had to hand it to Jillian. She’d always done a great job keeping her personal feelings out of the mix, and for that he was eternally grateful.

  Whenever he had a reunion with Allegra, which was every couple of weeks or so, he half expected to start right back at square one with her:

  Allegra, meet Beau. He’s your father. You can call him Daddy.

  When he was feeling insecure, which was most of the time, he expected Allegra to hate him on sight:

  Hello, Daddy, you punk. Why did you cheat on Mommy and break up our family?

  Neither scenario had ever happened, though, and he had Jillian to thank for that. Pretty much the only thing he’d gotten right in his sorry existence was to choose a woman strong and classy enough to be an outstanding mother to his child. Allegra came first with Jillian, period. Allegra’s needs, Allegra’s feelings and Allegra’s innocence.

  So, yeah, the girl didn’t know he was a punk and, if it was up to Jillian, she’d never know.

  Allegra frowned. “But why can’t Daddy live with us? We have lots of room.”

  Beau held his breath, but Jillian’s placid expression never wavered.

  “Because Daddy bought this beautiful new house. I’ll bet he even has a room for you.”

  That was hitting the girl where she lived. Allegra’s face lit up with a glowing excitement for one brilliant second, but then she seemed to realize that she was being handled. Her pointy little chin firmed into open defiance.

  “But I want Daddy to live with us.”

  “And I want a spotted pony,” Jillian told Allegra. “Looks like we’re both going to be disappointed. Now do you want to see your room, or should we leave right now?”

  The females faced off in an extreme battle of wills from which only one could emerge the victor. Allegra thought it over for several tense beats, her jaw tight with stubborn defiance. Finally, she stood, looking grim.

  “Where’s my room, Daddy?”

  Beau tried not to smile, but couldn’t keep his lips from twitching. “This way.”

  He, Seinfeld and Allegra started for the steps and were halfway up when it occurred to him that Jillian wasn’t following. He turned to discover her staring up at them from the bottom, looking forlorn and trying to hide it.

  “Aren’t you coming?” he asked, sounding every bit as needy as he felt.

  She shrugged, keeping her expression so relentlessly upbeat that the effort must be exhausting. “I’ll see it next time.”

  Next time. Yeah. Good. She probably wanted to give him time to reconnect with Allegra, and God knew he needed it. Outstanding. O, happy day.

  Except the sun didn’t seem to shine when Jillian was gone and, man, he needed that light back in his life. Even when she hated his guts and wished him a painful death and subsequent resurrection just so he could repeat the painful death cycle again, he wanted her there, in the room with him. Where he could see her smile, even if it wasn’t directed at him.

  But…he could be patient. She deserved that much and more from him.

  Opening his mouth, he worked on pretending that her departure was no big deal and then, when that effort was a miserable failure, worked on telling her how much her cooperation with Allegra meant to him.

  Aaaaaand…No. He couldn’t manage that, either.

  The emotion congealed in his throat, blocking everything, so he shut his mouth.

  “I’ll see you later, pumpkin.” Jillian waved to Allegra and turned to go. “Daddy’ll bring you home in a little while.”

  But Allegra was already gone, sprinting down the hall in a flurry of curls and pumping legs, Seinfeld at her heels. Her voice echoed down the staircase as she disappeared. “Okay, Mommy.”

  Beau almost made it. Almost managed the cool, unconcerned, laid-back thing. And then Jillian put her hand on the knob, and a sudden desperation rose up in him, the blind need to keep her nearby, even if it was only for another three seconds.

  “Jillian.”

  Jillian paused, looking down at her hand or the floor, something that held her rapt attention and prevented her from looking at him. Even at this distance, he could see the thin line of her lips and the subtle pulse of a muscle in her temple.

  Swallowing hard against that knot in his throat, he tried to find the words, but they remained hidden just out of his reach. In the end, he fell back on the old standard, which was lame but the best he could manage.

  “Thank you.”

  No reaction for the longest time and then, suddenly, she looked up and met his gaze straight on. Jesus.

  Maybe a direct lightning strike would be more of a heart-stopping jolt to his system, but he doubted it. There was so much blazing turbulence in her eyes, so much pain wrapped in anguish and surrounded by heartbreak that it nearly knocked him flat on his butt.

  There was something coming next, something harsh, and he could guess what it was.

  Screw you, punk.

  Or maybe: I did it for Allegra, not you, so don’t thank me. Punk.

  Or maybe the old favorite, appropriate for almost all occasions: Drop dead.

  Whatever it was, he’d earned it. So he stood tall, squared his shoulders and prepared to take it on the chin like the man he was trying to be.

  Only, she didn’t curse him or wish him a gruesome death followed by eternity burning in the deepest pits of hell. She didn’t do much of anything except stare at him with those stormy eyes for a few more beats and then issue a warning before she slipped through the door and into the night.

  “Don’t make me regret it.”

  The dreams started up again that night.

  It was Jillian’s bedroom, but not. A hot breeze fluttered the sheer white curtains at the French doors, bringing in the heady scent of magnolias in bloom, and promising rain.

  She stretched across her bed, nude except for the whispery touch of a pale satin sheet across her oversensitized skin, waiting…hoping. Her hungry body was beyond patience or shame, and she stroked a hand across one heavy breast, and then the other, tormenting the hard pebbles of her nipples with the sheet’s sleek slide until her inner muscles clenched and throbbed for him.

  Only him. Always him.

  Lightning flashed once…twice…and he was there, tall and broad-shouldered, a threat and a gift, cast in shadow except for his gleaming gaze. It tracked the movement of her hand as it smoothed over the sheet, lower, between her legs.

  Closing her eyes because she couldn’t bear to see the satisfaction and triumph in his, she allowed herself the arch of her back and a moan, low and earthy.

  Another blink of lightning, and he was closer, at the foot of the bed, pulling the sheet inch by slow inch down her body, revealing her to his hot stare.

  Agonized, she stretched her arms overhead and nearly wept as the sheet trailed across her nipples…her belly…her wet sex.

  “Do you want me?” he asked.

  Because it was a dream, she couldn’t lie.

  “Yes.”

  “Want me to what?”

  He was at the middle of th
e bed now, somehow, leaning over to dip his hot tongue into her belly button until she writhed and her hips lifted off the bed.

  Because it was a dream, there was no embarrassment in the request.

  “I want you inside me. Right now. I want it hard, and I don’t want you to ever stop.” At the risk of being redundant, she planted her feet, bent her knees and opened her thighs for him.

  He laughed, a wicked murmur of male pleasure.

  Finally, he loomed above her, naked and aroused. Magnificent. She reached for him and he settled between her legs, where he belonged, big and heavy and utterly right. With another earthy laugh, he reached between them, gripping himself.

  She was ready. Past ready, because it had been too long and she could barely scrape by an existence without him.

  Beau.

  “Beau.”

  He tapped her arm, distracting her, and she twitched her arm away. “Beau.”

  “Mommy?”

  Jillian bolted upright, her empty arms reaching for him, but he was gone, snatched away, and she was alone in this bed with an unsatisfied body that needed only one touch or squeeze to push her over the edge into a climax that would rip her apart.

  Beau. Come back. Don’t leave me alone.

  Agitated and sweaty, she wanted to scream with frustration and then, when her room came into focus, along with her plain old cotton nightgown, cotton sheets and bleary-eyed daughter standing by the bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning, she wanted to scream with outrage.

  God. He’d done it to her. Again.

  “Mommy?”

  Squeezing her head between her hands, Jillian scrunched her face and swallowed back the desperate desire and the phantom imprint of his hands on her hot skin. She remembered what she was—a single mother—and what she wasn’t: a big enough fool to give that man a place in her life.

  Back to the real world.

  “Yes, baby?”

  “I can’t find Archie.”

  Ah, yes. Time to find Archie, the stuffed lion.

  “He probably fell on the floor.” Jillian stood and took Allegra’s hand. The floor’s chill was another layer of separation between the here and now and the dream, so she welcomed it. “Let’s go find him.”