A Love Worth Living

by Skylar Kade

  “I changed when I lost my father and couldn’t be the girl my boyfriend wanted anymore. My focus shifted, and he couldn’t roll with it.”

  Not the whole story, but all she could manage. Just enough to appease David’s curiosity before the dam burst and tears rolled from her eyes. It was stupid, aching about her high school boyfriend after this long, even though she knew her tears weren’t really for him.

  David muttered a curse and kissed her deep and long.

  He moved against her and the pleasure cleansed years of repressed anger. His thrusts increased, deeper and harder, and she clung to him, knowing she’d be lost without him.

  “Tell me the rest, baby. I can feel you holding back.”

  She shook her head.

  One hand hitched her leg up around his back to change the angle of his thrusts. He brushed against her clit now and every grind stole her breath.

  “I’m right here. I’ll hold you.”

  And she believed him.

  “He was one of the meth dealers taken down in the sting after my father’s death.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He buried his face in her neck and paused before trailing his lips upward to kiss away the tears that tracked down her face. She writhed beneath him, begging him to move, even if it meant ripping open her past. She’d never find a better place for confession.

  “Second question. What happened at the park earlier?”

  “No, not that. Please.” She wanted to both escape him and take him deeper. She wouldn’t get away from this one though.

  If she told him, would he leave her? They both might be better off for it.

  He grabbed her jaw and held her in place, his kind eyes breaking through her resistance. “Nothing you say can change us, Care. I swear it.” His hips twitched in slow, shallow thrusts that muted the pain of her admission.

  “Grace would be a teenager now.”

  Instead of asking the obvious question, he dipped his head to take her nipple in his mouth. The bite of pain urged her on.

  “She was my daughter,” she whispered, because saying it any louder would have ripped at her vocal cords. Like the levy had burst, the rest flooded the bedroom. “I lost her the same time as my dad. Same accident. My fault!”

  Once she’d admitted it, the crushing weight of her old sorrow eased enough to give her hope that someday she might be able to breathe without feeling it on her chest.

  David never stopped moving, flooding her body with wonderful endorphins, even as his own tears dropped from his face to mingle with hers. “Carrie, sweet Carrie.” His voice was as ragged as her heart. He slowed his thrusts, and her breath caught in her chest. She needed this release.

  His teeth found her earlobe and nibbled. His mouth trailed down to her neck and bit the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

  “David, more.” She needed this, needed him.

  He slammed into her as if physically banishing her pain, and she welcomed it, feeling the muscles of his back tense with effort.

  “Last question. Why did you leave me that night?” His whispered question dug into her open wounds.

  She shook her head no, not wanting to go there, not when she was so close. Hadn’t she told him enough?

  His thrusts grew shallow and her orgasm cooled under the frigid reality.

  Desperate to keep him moving, choked with the need for release, she blurted out, “I was afraid. No one gets me like you.”

  He groaned and muttered something she didn’t quite catch, but he took her, harder and deeper, and nothing else mattered.

  His lips ravaged hers, and she was warm and safe and loved and she shattered in his arms, crying out in a never-ending release. His rhythm broke, and he called out her name before his body shuddered and came inside her.

  She didn’t want to be alone. She expected him to fall asleep or leave—she itched to do the same, even as she ached for his arms around her.

  When David rolled off her, she felt exposed, raw, until she realized he wasn’t going anywhere.

  She buried her face against his chest, already missing the blissful orgasm-induced silence of her mind. With her defenses shredded, her past bubbled from her chest and up her throat to choke her with a decade of unshed tears and unacknowledged terrors.

  Her mental barriers lay in rubble around her, but it was hard to panic with David’s arms securely around her.

  She snuggled closer to thread her leg between his, until she didn’t know where she ended and he began. Stillness settled over her and eased her fears. She synced with David’s slow, calm breathing, and the knot in her throat dislodged. She still wasn’t sure where to go from here, but she’d figure it out. With David, she could do anything.

  Chapter Eighteen

  David lay in bed with Carrie in his arms. She fit him perfectly, her head nestling into the crook of his arm, her long, red hair spreading across the pillow. At work, she always wore it off her face, so he was fascinated to see it loose.

  In sleep, her face was relaxed, and he got a glimpse of the girl she had been before her life regularly tangled with death. Forensic anthropology could be soul-sucking work. He’d seen more than one employee hit emotional breakdown and leave the field before their student loans were even paid off.

  Now her desperate drive to be better, quicker, more coldly logical, made sense. If her stepfather had not only helped solve the homicide, but helped her mother heal, of course she’d want to follow in his footsteps and offer the same solace to other victims.

  He’d never seen her fully focus on anything but work—not until their first night together. And tonight.

  Passion, side by side with such intense pain. It was buried, toxic pain, but talking about her losses would help her heal. She wasn’t beyond saving. He’d caught the warning signs in time.

  He drifted off to sleep, reassured and twined around her sweet body.

  A scream rent the air, and his eyes shot open. Carrie thrashed in his arms as tears dampened her cheeks. Heart racing, he wrapped his arms gently around her as he crooned her name and laid kisses on her lips.

  At last, her cries ceased.

  Her eyes fluttered open, midnight blue and far-seeing with the vestiges of her nightmare. She glanced at the clock then back at him. “Why are you still awake?”

  Another kiss to her cheek, wet with tears. “You had a nightmare.”

  Her body tensed and twitched away, but he held her tight. The placid mask that slipped over her face was a dagger to his heart.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  His laugh was harsh in the quiet room. “That’s your worry? Baby, what the hell is lurking in your mind?”

  Frown lines creased her forehead. “It’s nothing.” She tried once again to turn from him, instead pressing her head into his shoulder when she failed. “Let go, please.”

  The pain in her words lashed him. He loosened his grip, and she shifted to face away. David prayed she’d be more willing to talk like this. He tucked one arm under her neck. The other arm snaked around her waist to settle over her heart, which fluttered beneath his hand like a frightened bird.

  His lips found her neck and kissed the tan skin. He moved to her shoulder, paler, and down to the tee-shirt tan line that any other woman would have shuddered at. It didn’t matter to his Carrie, and he loved her all the more for it.

  He continued to caress her skin, calming the skittish woman in his arms.

  Once her breathing slowed, he tried again. “Tell me.” Soft, gentle, but leaving no room for refusal.

  She cleared her throat and spoke in raw tones. “Rwanda. I dream—”

  She shuddered and cleared her throat once more. He found her outstretched hand with his. “The children. So many of them, killed. Beyond identification. Mutilated, scarred, begging me to bring them home to their mothers.”

  David’s heart wrenched. This was the burden she had to bear, and it grew heavier with every case. He’d work to convince her to seek professional help with someone who
would be unbiased. Some of the finest counselors in the country owed him favors, and he’d call in every single one for her. They’d see every therapist in the world if that’s what it took to find one she could tolerate.

  For his part, he’d do what he could. Hold her, let her cry, live through every horror as she recounted it—he’d do anything to ease her pain. “Tell me about them. Talk to me.” She stayed silent for so long he feared she would refuse. Then she turned in his arms and settled her head into the crook of his shoulder once more.

  The story started off in sharp fragments, but once Carrie started, the words poured from her.

  He stroked her hand and tried not to flinch from her account. He still had to look through the pictures from the case, but he knew they’d be devastating, even without the sounds and smells that haunted Carrie’s nightmares. His respect for her soared in proportion to his concern. How had she not burned out already?

  Cool tears dampened his chest as she finished. “I feel better.” Her soft voice was filled with awe.

  David tilted her chin up and kissed her full lips. “Exactly.” Another kiss, deeper. She tasted like sorrow. And hope. He’d leave it for now, but at some point his help alone wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t be objective enough with her needs to be the only professional outlet she had.

  Her tentative laugh lifted his spirits, as it always did. A smile even perked up the edge of her lips. This time he kissed her long and slow and deep, throwing his heart into it because he knew she wasn’t ready to hear the words. The kiss ended with both of them trying to catch their breath.

  “We’ve got big plans tomorrow. Think you’ll be up for it?”

  “Are you assuming I’ll agree to spend the day with you?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her, and her smile grew. God, she was stunning when she smiled. He’d be a happy man if he could spend his next fifty years working to put that look on her face.

  “Okay, I guess it’s a safe assumption. Do you have another surprise planned?” This time she sounded excited.

  “Of course. It’s no fun if I don’t get to see the look on your face, going somewhere new and amazing for the first time.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her eyes, though red, weren’t distant like they had been during her last nightmare, when she’d shut him out.

  Progress.

  “I guess that means we need some sleep, huh?”

  “Yeah, baby. Sleep. I’ll hold you.”

  He wanted to fall asleep like that every night, forever. Just when he thought she’d drifted off, she broke the silence. “Thank you, David. For everything.”

  He followed her to sleep, his dreams filled with visions of his future with Carrie.

  David slipped from the bed early in the morning, thankful he hadn’t woken Carrie. She looked so peaceful he didn’t want to disturb her, especially after the night they’d had. Though he ached for her pain, he couldn’t help feeling honored she’d opened up to him. If that wasn’t progress, he didn’t know what was.

  Assured that she continued to sleep, David ran down to the coffee shop on the corner and grabbed two big, flaky croissants, a hot coffee, and a large Americano for Carrie. With the amount of caffeine she drank, he wasn’t surprised she had trouble sleeping, nightmares notwithstanding.

  Purchases in hand, he returned home.

  Home. With Carrie waiting for him inside, what else could it be?

  He tried to remember the first day his world started to revolve around her, but it seemed he had loved her forever. Not the smack-you-over-the-head kind of love he’d fallen into as a teen, the kind that burned hot and fast before it fizzled out.

  This was more like a good roaring fire that started with kindling and grew to consume everything in its path.

  Yeah, that’s how Carrie made him feel—consumed. Like nothing before her mattered.

  He hoped Carrie would continue to relax and open up to him. They’d be lazy in the morning, have breakfast and watch all kinds of trashy TV. Anything to help soothe her.

  TV worked for now, but sooner or later he’d take its place and become the thing that made her forget the horrors of her job and her past. He didn’t have any other choice—he wouldn’t lose her like he did his brother.

  David shuddered and quietly let himself into the condo.

  Hell, even if Carrie didn’t fall in love with him, saving her was what mattered. He could love her from afar—he was used to that—but to lose her to depression or burnout? No.

  He threw the croissants in the toaster oven to crisp while he tiptoed into the bedroom to wake Carrie. Settling on the edge of the bed, he stroked her hair until her eyes fluttered open. “Good morning.”

  She stretched and smiled, eyes heavy with sleep. “Morning.”

  He saw the moment she remembered where she was. Her expression flattened, and she stiffened under the blanket. He removed his hand and gave her the space she seemed to crave.

  “I have croissants and coffee when you’re ready.”

  She started to sit up but froze, clasping the bed sheet to her naked body. The tinge of red on her cheeks brought a youthful innocence to her face. She looked healthier than she had yesterday, her eyes more alert, her skin more glowing.

  Not that he’d ever tell her outright, but her exhaustion had been obvious in the drawn lines of her face, the dulled tone of her hair and skin. He touched her hand and then left her to her own devices, pleased to the marrow at her improvement—even if she was still skittish.

  Ten minutes later, she joined him on the couch, wearing yesterday’s clothes but lacking the nervousness she’d woken up with. For his part, he acted as if this morning-after was nothing out of the ordinary.

  With a recorded episode of some makeover show in the background, he and Carrie ate their croissants in amiable silence, aside from her occasional espresso-induced moans.

  Her sounds of bliss did little for his comfort level. The last time he’d shifted to adjust the growing erection in his jeans, she’d given him a questioning stare, which he’d ignored as best he could, just like she’d been ignoring the fact that she’d actually stayed the night with him.

  He hid a smile behind his coffee cup.

  Her jaw dropped as one of the show contestants did something ridiculous and overblown, surely playing to the camera. She looked so damn adorable caught up in the drama that he leaned over and kissed her.

  She blushed, and it took all his willpower not to pull her onto his lap and kiss her senseless. Instead, he took their dishes to the kitchen.

  “Anything special I should wear for today’s outing?”

  “No.”

  A smile drifted to her mouth. “Lovely. I’ll just run to my place, take a shower and we’ll head out?”

  Visions of Carrie in the shower, water cascading down her naked body, almost made him swallow his tongue, but he managed to choke out a reply. “I’ll be ready when you are.”

  She stood and sauntered to the door. “Don’t bet on it.”

  His eyes stayed glued to her toned ass until the door closed behind her.

  The knob’s click jerked him to action. He headed to the bathroom, threw his clothes into the hamper and took a cold shower to discourage his insistent hard-on. There wasn’t time for that, not when Carrie had thrown down a dare to get ready before her.

  After toweling off, he hopped into a comfortable pair of jeans, a plain black tee-shirt and his cowboy boots. Though he didn’t often go anymore, he was a sucker for a good line-dancing club. Maybe he’d convince Carrie to go with him some night.

  Smirk in place, he sauntered back to the main room and did a double take. Carrie sat on the couch, reading a magazine.

  She looked up and a wicked grin graced her lips. “What took so long?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the car, David continued the playful banter that had made the morning-after easier to handle. She was still emotionally raw from the night before but, surprisingly, a weight had been lifted from her chest. Her nightmar
e hadn’t made a comeback and she hadn’t woken feeling like she’d been an overzealous puppy’s chew toy.

  Instead, when her eyes had opened, David’s gentle hand had rested on her cheek, his body far enough from hers to give breathing room, but close enough to feel his comforting warmth.

  She watched him drive, as confident behind the wheel as he was everywhere else. The muscles of his arms flexed against his black tee, and the hard planes of his chest begged for her touch.

  Whatever he was doing to work out had sculpted his muscles to create bulges and dents she wanted to—and would—run her tongue over. He wasn’t overly built, but had a subtle strength.

  When Carrie realized the gentle lull of the car had almost rocked her to sleep, she lifted her lids and snuck a look at him.

  She’d done her best to keep everyone at bay, but he’d snuck in. Unassuming, generous…he’d never once asked anything for himself, aside from dodging questions about his brother, which she not only understood but forgave.

  Trembles started in her midsection and filtered through her muscles. She cared for him. More every day, like a runaway train she had no chance to escape.

  She dug her nails into her thigh and armed herself with memories of her mother’s devastation after they lost Daddy, and her own chasm of despair after losing a father and daughter.

  If Chris hadn’t given her something to live for—a career that would help other families going through tragic losses—she would have missed this life path completely.

  She never would have met David, or had the chance to try to love again.

  It should have terrified her that David had inserted himself into her life. Every time she had a thought about her future, David popped into it. But there was no room for anything but her gentle, tentative…hope.

  The warm weight of David’s hand on her thigh soaked through her shaking body. “Okay over there? Sure you’re not too tired to go out?”

  “Yeah, everything’s great.” And for the first time, her words held truth.