The Road to Redemption: Finding Grace, Book 1

by DM Davis

  I take pity on him and relinquish my connection with Lauren, if only for a moment. My hand feels the stark absence of her warmth as I drop a tenner in the jar.

  When I reach our table, she’s already sitting with her back to the wall, facing the room.

  Scowling—not happy I didn’t get to pull her chair out for her—I lay her coat and mine across the back of the other chairs and take the one to her right.

  Her eyes scan the room as if she’s looking for someone, but when her shoulders relax on an exhale, her eyes meet mine.

  “Everything alright?” I try not to stiffen at the possibility that she looks for her attacker in the nameless faces of every room she enters. The need to protect her and make her feel safe hits me hard.

  But she’s not the one who needs saving.

  I am.

  She’s like a life preserver to a drowning man. I need to grab her and hold on tight. I press my fists into my thighs, rerouting that energy, a necessary tactic to ensure I take this slow.

  “Yes.” Her response, while not clipped, is entirely too brief.

  The waitress takes our drink orders, mentioning the specials, and flutters away.

  “Tea?” I’m surprised Lauren ordered an iced tea to my dark ale.

  A bashful flush warms her face. “Yeah, I don’t drink.” She lays her napkin across her lap, adjusting her silverware, ensuring proper placement.

  She’s nervous. I’d like to ease her nerves with my lips.

  “No?” I cock a brow and tilt my head, drawing her gaze back to mine, silently urging her to elaborate.

  “Well, sometimes. If there’s an ocean involved.”

  An ocean? Her mischievous smile and bright eyes make me want to sweep her away to the nearest Caribbean island so that twinkle never fades.

  I’d like to see the ocean try to compete with the blues in her eyes.

  “I interpret that to mean a coconutty-strawberryish-frozen concoction of some sort?”

  Her lips curve in a playful smile. “More than likely. Frozen concoctions go rather well with sun and sand, dontcha think?” She sweeps an errant curl from her eye—my fingers twitch to do it for her—as she takes a sip of water.

  “Yes, I suppose they do.”

  She fidgets in her seat, and her swaying handbag reminds me... “May I have your phone?”

  “My phone?” Her eyes search my body as if she’s trying to find mine.

  Her perusal has me stiffening, inconveniently. “Yes,” I strain, my vocal cords as tight as my cock in my trousers.

  Silently, she unlocks her phone and hands it over, watching my every move as I enter my information.

  Leaning forward, she laughs. “Address too?”

  “Yes.” I save my contact information, just short of my complete life history and blood type, then send myself a text. Once my phone chimes in my pocket, I hand hers back but don’t release it until her eyes meet mine. “I’ve lost you three times. I will not lose you a fourth.”

  Her quick intake of air and the softening of her features make me want to draw her into my lap and tell her all the ways I intend to keep her. Instead, I hold her gaze until she finally nods in acceptance.

  Taking up her phone, her thumbs type furiously, holding it close so I can’t see what she’s doing. Then she locks it and puts it away.

  The chime from my pocket sets my heart pounding and my cock clamouring for attention. When I see what she sent, I’m floored. “You sent me your address.”

  “Yes.”

  “And your birth date.”

  Now she’s full-on blushing. “Yes.”

  “Your work address.”

  “Yes.”

  “And work number.”

  “Yes. And email addresses—work and personal. Every conceivable way to find me, should you choose to do so.”

  Abso-bloody-lutely. It’s like stalking—with permission. “I most definitely choose to do so.”

  When our drinks arrive, I talk her into trying one of the house specialties, Duck Fat Back Bacon Cheesy Fries.

  “It sounds horrible for my figure.” She giggles as she reads the ingredients from the menu.

  My eyes peruse her this time. There’s not a damn thing wrong with her figure—curves in all the best places. “Worth every decadent bite.” I make no attempt to hide the fire burning in my gut.

  Red flares on her cheeks—again—but she ignores my double-entendre. “There’s no way you eat like this on a regular basis and manage to look like that.” Her hand sweeps up and down, indicating my body.

  “No. I’ll have to run a few extra miles tomorrow.” Maybe for a few days.

  “You mean the salads we ordered don’t counteract the effects of all that fat?”

  “Sadly, no.” But there are other ways we can work off those calories.

  “I guess I had better get up extra early tomorrow to pound it out on the treadmill.”

  Pound it out. Bloody fucking hell. She’s either an angel or the devil. I’m not quite sure which.

  I’d happily settle for either—or both.

  “Oh. My. God.” I think I just had an orgasm—a mouthgasm. Theo wasn’t kidding, these duck fat French fries are to die for, and I imagine if you eat too many, you’d do just that.

  His tight jaw and fiery stare mean I probably moaned entirely too loud for public consumption. He speaks around his bite. “Do that again, and I shan’t be responsible for my actions.” It’s not a threat. It’s a promise—one hell of a delicious promise.

  “Actions?” I nearly chirp, my pulse speeding up at the idea of him not being able to control himself with me—me.

  He loads up his fork, laboriously so, getting a chunk of the smoked BBQ back bacon, then a spiral or two of the gooey cheesy mac, and finishes it by stabbing a few duck fat-fried French fries. “Open.” He dangles his fork in front of my mouth. “Make that sound again.”

  Holy hell. I open my mouth. His eyes narrow. I manage to wrap my lips around his offering—big as it is. He groans as he slowly slips the fork free.

  I try, I swear I try to stifle it, but it’s a duck-fat, cheese-laden, salty-pork, Theo hottie-induced moan that won’t be denied. It vibrates in my chest, sending goosebumps rippling along my skin as it travels up my throat and around the most decadent thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.

  “Bloody fucking hell.” His molten gaze ignites a fire in me I’ve never felt before. His hand lands on mine, gripping it like a lifeline.

  The zing that sizzles up my arm has me seeing white, my ears ringing, and my head thrown back in an instantaneous, total-body, muscle-thrashing orgasm.

  Oh. My. God!

  “Goddamn.” His lips crash over mine. His mouth consumes my cries of ecstasy as he pulls me into his lap before hoisting me into his arms. "I don't know what the hell is happening, but your pleasure is only for my eyes.” His growl is intimately close as his lips graze my neck. “Hang on." We're on the move, crashing through a back door as my mind reels and my body quivers with aftershocks.

  Darkness. Everywhere. He carries me through the night, his lips pressed to my temple.

  “Close your eyes,” he says gently as light sweeps our surroundings. Then a chirp, a click, and I’m lying on something soft. His lips press to mine. “Don’t move. I’ll be back directly.” He squeezes my hand before pulling away. “I’m going to pay our bill and get our belongings.”

  The moment his comforting touch is gone, I miss it. I miss him. Crazy as it sounds, it’s like a part of me left me behind, and I physically ache for it like it's a phantom limb. I roll to my side, my eyes tightly shut, another tremor taking my breath away as I shudder, hugging myself for comfort.

  It could be minutes, hours, or a lifetime, but the moment he’s back in the car, my limb is back. I feel whole again. “Theo,” I whisper from the backseat of his car.

  He glances over his shoulder. “Relax, baby, I’ll have you home in no time.”

  Baby? Home. He speaks to me as if we’re already something.

&n
bsp; Strong hands urge me to sit up. “Lauren, we’re here.”

  I blink until his face comes into focus, and I right myself in the backseat. “Theo.” My hands clasp his cheeks, not too gently by the surprise on his face. “Here?”

  His hands cover mine. “At your apartment.” He dangles my keys in front of me. “Which key?”

  I blink and widen my eyes, pinpointing the one I need. I pinch it between my fingers and show it to him. “This one.”

  Why do I sound drunk? Why do I feel drunk?

  No, not quite drunk. High, maybe?

  “Alarm,” I murmur.

  He stops, studying me, then understanding sweeps across his face. “You have a security system?”

  I nod and say yes, but it falls short of gaining any sound.

  “Can you disarm it? Or tell me the code?”

  “Text.”

  His thumb grazes my cheek, a wisp of a smile softening his chiseled face. “What the hell is this between us?” His warm brown eyes glisten with equal parts awe and desire.

  He snaps his fingers. “Ah! The text you sent me earlier.” His phone lights up the back seat as he searches, then scowls. “Don’t ever send someone your alarm code.”

  I flinch from his reprimand and push around him, barely managing to climb out of his SUV and remain on my feet. I’m so frigging weak, my legs wobble, but I brush off his hand clasping my arm.

  “I’m sorry.” His arm bands my waist. “Let’s get you inside. We can address this later.”

  As if he’s done it hundreds of times, he unlocks the door, disarms the security system, and ushers me inside before the chill of the February night has me shivering.

  The lock clicks behind me. Alarm is reset.

  I slip off my shoes.

  He picks them up, sets them by the dining room table.

  I drop my coat.

  He swoops down, catches it, drapes it on the back of a chair.

  My keys hit the bar.

  My purse lands next to them.

  His coat and shoes mirror mine.

  He guides me into the kitchen, backing me up against the counter, his hands landing on either side, caging me in. Pulse pounding in my ears, my breath hitches as he leans down, nuzzling my neck. “You alright?”

  “Yeah.” I clutch on to his forearms, wanting him closer. “You?”

  His laugh brushes my neck with warmth, making me shiver. “You’re cold.” He captures me in his arms.

  “No.”

  “You’re shaking.” His heated gaze caresses my face.

  “You seem to have that effect on me.”

  “About that.” He pulls away soberly. “We need to talk.”

  “I can’t think straight if you keep doing that.” She’s the devil, most definitely the devil.

  “Doing what?” She does it again.

  “Grinding against my cock like a cat in heat.”

  I don’t know how we even got in this position. Me on the couch. Her straddling my lap, and my hands squeezing her ass, urging her on.

  “You pulled me into your lap after saying we needed to talk.” It’s an accusation, though it came out more like a pout.

  Bloody hell, I’m so gone for this woman. And her warm heat rubbing me into oblivion is making it hard to remember that I want more than just a quick fuck. I don’t know what this is between us, but I’m sure as hell staying around to find out.

  “We’re not having sex, Lauren.” I squeeze her hips, and she whimpers her disapproval.

  “No.” She nods in agreement, then shakes her head, trying to clear the cobwebs, I imagine. “Why is that again?”

  I cup her cheek, bringing her face closer. “Because you’re drunk.”

  “But I haven’t had anything to drink.”

  “I know. I can’t explain it. But you’re drunk all the same.” I kiss her lips, relishing the way it makes my head spin. “I’m not doing much better. I think we’re drunk on each other.”

  Maybe it’s pheromones.

  Maybe someone roofied us.

  “Oh my god.” As if a bucket of cold water has been dumped on her, she jumps off my lap and backs away, her head shaking as she increases the distance between us. She grips the back of the other couch so tightly her fingers turn white. “This…” She points to me and then to herself. “I…”

  I’m on my feet, cautiously approaching her, my hand out. “Lauren.”

  “Stop.” She moves to the other end of the couch. “Please. Just stop.”

  I freeze. I don’t want to scare her.

  “I can’t…” She straightens her shoulders. The fog she’s been in seems to dissipate. “I can’t have sex with you.”

  “I know.” I motion to the other end of the couch where she was straddling me mere moments ago, nearly grinding me to a happy ending. “I just said that.”

  “No. You don’t understand. I don’t only mean tonight.”

  “Alright.” I venture a step closer. “I’m not rushing you.” I can feel the panic radiating off her. She’s like a feral cat getting ready to run.

  “I don’t do casual sex.” The regret in her voice is palpable.

  Another step. I take deep breaths to calm my racing heart, hoping it will ease her anxiousness. “I never thought you did.”

  “No?” Surprise softens her features, her panic abating.

  “No.” I close the gap between us, cupping her cheek. “The woman I’ve run into over the last three weeks, and earlier this evening, wouldn’t sleep with a bloke after only one date.”

  Her sad eyes peruse my face, leaning into my touch. “No, she wouldn’t.”

  She takes a fortifying breath, closing her eyes momentarily, and then steps out of my grasp, but not out of reach. “She also doesn’t plan on having sex again until she’s married.”

  Again? Married?

  She says it as if it’s a deal breaker. It’s not.

  I step into her space, capture her chin, and kiss her softly. “I can work with that.” I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give me. I need her in my life and not running away. “Can you tell me why?”

  “Why?” She steps into me. Her lips may be saying no, but her body isn’t quite on board.

  “Why you’re waiting for marriage.” I’m not pressuring her. She doesn’t plan on having sex again. I want to understand why she changed her mind. Was it bad? Was it the attack? What happened after she had relations to make her change her mind? I want to understand. And I need words between us to keep my hands to myself. Her pull, her need, her innocent passion is hard to resist, but she needs to know I’m not here to use her for physical release. No matter how good it sounds and might feel—I want more, more from the vulnerable woman in front of me whose words hold me at bay, but her eyes beg me to listen to our baser desires.

  She’s a contradiction, and she has no idea.

  “Sex brings about a false sense of intimacy, heightened emotions—connection—that hasn’t been earned. For some, it’s no big deal. It’s just sex. But for me, I can’t keep my heart out of it.” Her eyes, full of passion before, now plead with sadness and pain.

  “I’ll never hurt you.”

  “Maybe not intentionally.” There’s so much more she’s not saying. She steps back and schools her face as her well-fortified walls fall into place.

  She doesn’t know you. Show her. “I’m not pressuring you for sex. I only wanted to understand.”

  She shrugs. “Now you do.”

  There’s more she’s not saying, but I don’t think I’ll get any more tonight.

  I slip on my shoes. “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She crosses the room, closer to the door than to me. Her eyes study me as if she’s cataloging every feature.

  She’s preparing for goodbye.

  My gut clenches at that realization. Pulling on my coat, I’m struck again by the sadness in her eyes. She doesn’t want to do this, and yet she is, all because she thinks I don’t want her for more tha
n something quick and physical. “I’ll call you.”

  “Don’t.” Her chin trembles.

  “Fuck if I’m letting you go after finally finding you again.” I step into her, tipping her face to mine. “You’re scared. I’ll never hurt you.” I wipe a tear as it escapes. “You don’t know that because you don’t know me, and you never will if you don’t give us a chance.”

  She presses a hand to her quivering lips. She’s killing me here. I want to wrap her in my arms and make it all better. But she’s not ready. She may want it—deep down—but she’s not giving herself permission.

  I capture her free hand, and I’m relieved when that buzz between us ignites, sizzling up my arm and through my body, making the hairs on my skin stand at attention. Her eyes widen and she frees her muzzled mouth on a whimper of pleasure.

  “We’ve got an unworldly connection, Lauren. You feel it. I feel it. It means something. Whatever it is has proven it’s not to be ignored. But I’ll give you space—time—if that’s what you need.”

  Reluctantly, I step back, and it’s as if my skin is being torn from my body the farther I get.

  She shudders on a gasp.

  “You feel it too, don’t you? It hurts like hell, but I’m doing it—for you.”

  Full-on sobs rack her body as I open the door and step into the cold night that feels like salve to my burning skin.

  Every step I take is a study in determination and sacrifice. I’m ripping my heart out to give her what she thinks she needs. I’m leaving to prove I’ll come back for her—that I’ll always return to her.

  But she has no idea.

  Her sobs claw at me, and she offers no leniency by closing the door. No, she stays, gripping it like a lifeline out of cruelty or out of necessity to witness—take part in—this agonizing valediction.

  When I drive away, I spare a glance over my shoulder and regret it immediately. I don’t know what I thought I’d find. A closed, solid door between us? But what I see is pure torture.

  My vision is on her knees, head towards the heavens as if she’s praying to God himself. Her body rocks in sobs I can no longer hear but feel with traitorous clarity and devastating finality.