A Safe Place

by Margaret Watson

  AN HOUR LATER, as Cal drove away from Hope House, Frankie watched the streetlights illuminate him in tiny bursts. “Do you think she’ll stay?” he asked.

  “I hope so. She’ll be safe with Annie.” The grandmotherly African-American woman had taken one look at Martha and opened her arms. To Frankie’s surprise, Martha had stepped into her embrace and exhaled, burying her face in the shoulder of Annie’s faded blue bathrobe.

  After Martha told them she wanted to stay, Frankie had promised to keep in touch, then watched as Annie led the exhausted girl to a bedroom.

  “Annie needs a bigger house,” he said.

  “She also needs ten more arms and twenty more hours in a day. None of that is going to happen.”

  “Is your life always like this, Frankie?” he asked. “Staggering from one crisis to another, missing meals, scrambling to help the next kid who shows up?”

  “You make it sound like FreeZone is a hotbed of intrigue and trouble,” she said. “Mostly, the kids come after school, they leave, I go home. That’s it.”

  “That sounds boring.” He touched her hand, a quick brush of his fingers that made her skin burn. But instead of moving away, he lingered. Let his hand hover over hers.

  “Right now, boring would be good.” It would mean she wasn’t worrying about Ramon and now Martha.

  It would mean she didn’t have to think about Doug Bascombe.

  Cal stopped at a red light, the truck rumbling gently beneath them. “Really, Frankie? You like boring?”

  She glanced at him. Big mistake. Even in the dim light, she recognized the heavy-lidded expression on his face.

  Parts of her life could be very exciting. If she wanted them to be.

  “You’re too rich for my blood, Cal.”

  His slow, sexy grin emphasized his dimples and curled her toes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  She snorted. “Immune to charm, remember? Even if I wasn’t, you’re way out of my league, and you know it.” She didn’t want to be immune, though. She wanted what Cal was offering—flash and heat and mindless pleasure. A distraction from the problems trying to consume her.

  Someone to lean on, at least for a little while.

  He’d leave, and she’d go back to her life. But until then, she wanted to throw caution to the wind.

  He pressed a kiss to her palm. “What’s going through that fascinating brain of yours?”

  I figured out that I need somebody, and it’s terrifying. “Just admitting that I’m too tired to think rationally tonight.”

  They were almost at FreeZone again, and Cal pulled into the parking lot where she’d left her car. It was the only one there, almost hidden in the shadows of the church.

  He stopped, but left the truck running. “Long night for everybody. Tons going on.”

  Both on the surface and beneath it. She’d learned some things about herself tonight. That being the Lone Ranger wasn’t always the best approach. Or the smartest.

  That she liked having a shoulder to lean on.

  Specifically, that she liked leaning on Cal.

  “Yeah. I’m glad we found Martha.”

  He nodded slowly, his face in the shadows. “She didn’t want to ask for help. But I’m glad she did. Glad she’s safe.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Thanks for bringing the truck to the restaurant,” he said quietly. “My knee was killing me.”

  For a moment, Frankie was too shocked to speak. Finally, she murmured, “Thank you for letting me get it.”

  “You didn’t give me much choice.” He sent her a lazy grin, and serious Cal was replaced by the Cal who took nothing seriously. “I’m gonna have bruises on my shoulders where you held me down. Probably need PT.”

  She opened her mouth to offer to kiss them and make them better, but caught herself just in time. “Poor baby.”

  He moved a little closer. “You pack quite a punch, Francesca.”

  Her stomach fluttered and her mouth went dry. So do you. “Frankie’s pretty tough. Francesca? Not so much.”

  “You have no idea how wrong you are.” He was close enough for her to see the bristles of his beard, the tiny indentations in his cheeks where his dimples came out when he smiled, the laugh lines at the corners of his mouth. The desire in his eyes. “Francesca terrifies me.”

  “I didn’t think you were scared of anything, Cal.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Tell me,” she whispered, afraid to breathe.

  She expected him to back away, tell a joke to deflate the tension growing between them. Instead, he gripped her hand.

  “I’m afraid I won’t make the team. Don’t have a clue what I’ll do if that happens.” He ran one finger down her face. “And I don’t understand what you’re doing to me.”

  Had Cal said this to anyone else? Admitted his football life might be over? She doubted it. She wasn’t sure he’d even admitted it to himself.

  She wanted to reassure him. Tell him he could do anything he wanted to. Instead, she leaned over the console, grabbed his shirt and pressed her mouth to his.

  He stilled for a moment, then swept his tongue over her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she fumbled with her seat belt, then knelt on the seat to lean closer to him. His hands shook as they moved restlessly down her back, curved over her hips, dipped into her waist.

  He lit fires beneath her skin wherever he touched her. Desperate to feel more of him, she stretched across the console. Her hands were still fisted in his shirt, and she opened them and pressed her palms to his chest.

  He was so much bigger than she was. Solid. Hot. As her fingers explored his sculpted muscles, he shivered. When she touched the hard nubs of his nipples, he froze. Then he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. He swung her over the console and settled her so that she straddled his thighs.

  She was wedged between his chest and the steering wheel, barely able to move. His erection pressed into her thighs, and she undulated against him.

  “Stop that,” he muttered, nipping her earlobe. “Or I’ll embarrass myself.”

  She moved again.

  He groaned. “I’m losing my mind. And you wonder why I can’t resist you, Francesca?”

  “You can’t?” She leaned back to look at him. His eyes were hooded, his face taut with desire.

  “Are you kidding me?” He swept his hand down her spine, slid one finger between her waistband and her skin. “I haven’t made out in a car since high school.”

  “I never have.” She wriggled again. “I like it.”

  “You’re a devil,” he muttered as he fumbled with the button of her pants. When he’d popped it loose, he slid his hand down to cup her rear. “I’m going to make you pay for every one of those squirmy things you’re doing.”

  He kissed her again, and she smiled as she welcomed him into her mouth. She’d never teased a man while making love.

  No man had teased her, either. Sex had always been a rush of desire and heat. Never just fun.

  She began to unbutton his shirt. His blond chest hair was coarse against her palm, and she wanted to feel it against her own chest. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it out of his pants, and he put his hands over hers.

  “Not here,” he murmured. He let her go slowly, his fingers releasing her one by one. His palm brushed down her back, as if he couldn’t bear to break contact with her.

  Finally, he scooped her up and set her in the seat beside him. “Buckle your seat belt. I’m not paying attention to any speed limits.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  FRANKIE FUMBLED with the seat belt. “My car,” she panted. “I need to drive it home.”

  “Later.” His hoarse voice slid over her s
kin like velvet. He pulled out of the parking lot, tires squealing, then raced toward her apartment. As he turned onto her block, scanning for a parking spot, she said, “Down the alley. Behind the building.”

  He wrenched the steering wheel and shot into the dark mouth of the lane. The side mirrors were only inches from the brick walls, and the truck jolted as he hit the potholes. Frankie dug her nails into the leather seat, as desperate as Cal to get to her apartment.

  He slowed as he reached the small parking area. “There.” She pointed to the spot next to the bakery door, in front of the wooden staircase that led to her second-floor apartment.

  She slid out of the truck before he could open her door, then wrapped an arm around his waist as they headed for the stairs.

  He gripped the railing worn smooth by countless hands. As they started up the stairs, he leaned heavily on her. He probably weighed twice what she did, and her head barely reached his shoulder. But instead of objecting, she braced herself to keep from stumbling.

  Cal would be mortified if he knew how much of his weight she was supporting. My knee was killing me. She shifted to take more of it.

  At the top of the stairs, he accidentally kicked the metal water bowl she kept for the neighborhood cats, propelling it into the dish of dry food. “You have a cat?”

  “A couple of strays hang around.”

  He nodded at the small plastic box in the corner of the porch—a pet carrier with the door removed. “They’re not your cats, but they have a house?”

  “Winter is hard on them.”

  He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “So it’s not just stray kids you take in.”

  “I’m a sucker for the lost ones,” she said lightly.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I noticed.”

  Are you one of the lost ones, Cal? Their gazes met, and neither of them looked away. The yearning in his expression made her want to hold him close.

  When her chest was too tight to breathe, she fumbled with the door. She flicked on the kitchen light, stepping aside so he could enter.

  As she locked the dead bolt behind them, she watched him take in his surroundings. The stove beside the door was old, but immaculate. The compressor in the avocado- green refrigerator next to it wheezed and struggled to pump out cold air. The slow drip, drip, drip from the sink on the far wall echoed loudly in the small room.

  Her battered kitchen table wobbled, even with a piece of folded-up paper under one leg. But the yellow tiles on the bottom half of the wall were cheerful, as were the bright yellow, blue and red flowers on the wallpaper above it.

  His kitchen was no doubt equipped with the latest appliances, granite countertops, fancy cabinets. Her shabby apartment was a reminder of how different they were.

  She rubbed her palms down the sides of her pants. “Um, want a beer?”

  He turned and slid his hands over her shoulders. As he backed her toward the wall, he said, “What do you think I want, Francesca?”

  She wanted to tear off her clothes to feel his hands on her bare skin. She gripped the front of his shirt to hold herself steady. “Not a beer.”

  “Smart woman.” He ran his hands down her arms and crowded her closer to the wall. No other part of him touched her, but his shoulders blocked out the overhead light, and she flattened her palms on his chest. She usually stayed away from big men. They made her edgy. Made her feel boxed in. Trapped.

  Not Cal. She wanted to touch him, feel the strength of his muscles, the power in his limbs. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him close.

  “What can I give you instead?” she whispered.

  He stared down at her, his cheeks flushed. Then he fitted her against him. “Everything,” he said, his voice a low rumble that made her shiver. “I want everything, Francesca.”

  He finally kissed her. This time, his kiss was soft, asking instead of demanding. He nibbled at her lower lip, ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth. Tasting. Testing. He was holding back, trying to go slowly. But his quivering muscles, the way his hands gripped her as if they’d never let go, betrayed his need.

  His chest was solid against hers, his muscles hard. Unyielding. His erection pressed urgently into her belly. He was all about power. Strength. Aggression.

  But he was gentle with her.

  She curled one leg around his, and he groaned into her mouth. Their kiss became harder, more demanding, as he cupped her rear end and lifted her. She struggled to get closer.

  His grip tightened and he thrust against her. Needing more, Frankie opened her mouth in invitation, and he swept in.

  He lifted her higher, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Bedroom,” he managed to say.

  With her mouth fused to his, she waved toward the hallway. He held her tightly and lurched through the door to her bedroom. He laid her on the bed and followed her down.

  The security light from the courtyard filtered through the curtain, spilling over his head. The planes of his face were sharply defined. When he opened his eyes, she saw raw need in them.

  “Cal,” she murmured against his mouth.

  He eased away and stroked her face. His thumbs caressed her cheeks as he asked, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

  In spite of the desire that smouldered between them, he was careful. Respectful. “I’m sure.” She brushed her mouth over his. “You?”

  “I’ve been sure for a long time.”

  He kissed her again, and as his tongue tangled with hers, she tasted the coffee he’d had at Hope House. She lifted her hips, and he pressed against her.

  “I need you,” he murmured into her mouth. He swept his hands down her sides, over her belly, as if trying to learn her by feel alone. When he cupped her breasts, she arched up.

  A seam ripped as he tore the T-shirt over her head, then stared down at her. “This is what you wear beneath those ugly-ass T-shirts?”

  She glanced down at the black scrap of nothing that was her bra. “You don’t like it?” she asked, raising her eyebrows as she tugged his shirt out of his jeans.

  He rolled over, lifting her on top of him. “Oh, sweetheart, I like it. I like it a lot.” He drew one finger down the edge of the bra, thumbed the clasp, let it fall open. He sucked in a breath as he stared at her breasts. Then he lifted his head and took one nipple into his mouth.

  Arousal shot through her blood like lightning, all flash and heat, making her burn. She could feel his erection through the thin material of her cargo pants, and she rocked against him. She clawed at his shirt, trying to undo the buttons, but her hands were shaking too badly. Finally, she ripped it over his head.

  His muscles weren’t bulky, but they were defined and chiseled. His abs rippled down his belly and the dark blond hair on his chest was wiry against her fingers. She touched him everywhere, entranced by his body, trying to learn every ridge of muscle, every inch of hot skin.

  When she bent to put her mouth on his chest, he froze again. His skin was salty on her tongue, and he smelled like clean sweat and the outdoors. He groaned when she trailed her mouth over one of his nipples.

  He reached for the waistband of her pants, opened the button and shoved them down her hips. After tossing them aside, he stared at her as she straddled him again the way she had in the truck.

  He ran his hands down her sides, touched the sheer black thong that barely covered her. “I have never seen anything sexier in my life.” He trailed a finger along the edge of the fabric, building a drumbeat of need inside her.

  He rolled her onto the bed, cupped her and slid one hand inside her panties. To her shock, she convulsed at the contact. She grabbed his hand and held it against her as her climax went on and on. Finally she stilled, feeling completely drained.

  “Cal.” She opened her eyes and reached for hi
m. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… That’s never…” She brought his face down to hers and kissed him.

  “Don’t apologize.” He swept his hand over her, chest to thighs, and she trembled. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

  She kissed him again. Softly. Tenderly. Saving every taste, every touch, every sound to remember later. Then, as her mouth moved over his, she unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down his legs. His penis was hot through his boxers, and she held him for a moment before she removed his shorts, too.

  Then he was in her hand. As her fingers moved over him, she savored every hitch in his breathing, every jerk of his hips.

  Suddenly, he lunged for his discarded jeans, fumbled a foil packet out of his wallet and rolled the condom on. “Francesca,” he murmured, coming back to her, his hands twining with hers. “I can’t wait any longer. I need you.”

  “I need you, too, Cal.” She closed her legs around him, drawing him in. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and they moved as if they’d been lovers for years. She held him tightly, tangled her mouth with his, wound her legs around his waist.

  Heat built again as they moved together, both of them shifting, angling their bodies as if determined to give the maximum pleasure.

  Frankie didn’t try to hide behind a cool exterior. She didn’t worry about being in control, didn’t think about what she was revealing. She opened herself completely to Cal, let him see how much she wanted him, how he made her feel. And as her release crashed through her, she felt him join her.

  WHEN CAL COULD MOVE AGAIN, he flipped onto his back, carrying Frankie with him. She sprawled on his chest, her face buried in his neck, her delicate hands still touching him. Mapping him with her fingers.

  She traced gentle patterns on him, and he shuddered at her touch.

  She’d given him everything, and he wanted more. He wanted to lie here with her forever, learning everything about her. Her favorite color. Her favorite food. If she cried at sad movies. What made her laugh.

  She was passionate, caring, fiercely loyal. She gave all of herself in everything she did. Including lovemaking.