The tension seemed to leave her body as his arms tightened around her waist. Her body trembled beneath his touch; her soft skin seemed to turn to liquid in his callused hands. Even though they had been together for a number of years, their bodies were perfectly in tune with one another. They were a perfect fit; they were made for each other.
Being a typical man, Scott had always thought there was no such thing as the perfect mate. He had just assumed it was romantic nonsense dreamed up by women, until he had met Bree. He couldn’t explain the pull she had over him. From the very beginning, it had seemed as though they were kindred spirits. When they had made love for the first time, their bodies and souls had seemed to merge together as one. He had never known he could feel this complete. She was his other half, his better half. She was his perfect match in each and every way, and he would be an absolute wreck without her in his life.
The sound of her sweet voice broke through the barrier of his daydreams. “Penny for your thoughts.” Bree teased.
Staring down at her, he grinned as he ran his hand through her crimson curls. Pulling her body tighter against his chest, he leaned in and gave her a tender kiss on the forehead.
“They’re not worth that much.” He returned her smile. Heavens, he loved this woman.
Rubbing the slight rise of her stomach absently, he questioned, “Do you and our daughter feel up to finishing the tree decorating tonight?”
They had started decorating their Christmas tree the night before. Twinkling lights covered almost every square inch of their tree, to the point Scott had made the joke that he would need sunglasses just to look at it. But his Bree absolutely adored those twinkling lights, and she could never have enough of them on the tree, and he just didn’t have the heart to tell her no. It amazed him how her face had simply lit up. He would hang those damn lights every night, all night, just to keep that happiness on her expressive face.
Scott felt warmth spread through his body as he watched a smile light up Bree’s face. It never ceased to amaze him how little it took to please her. She didn’t need exclusive, name-brand clothing or priceless jewelry. All she needed was to know that she was loved and cherished. She was just as happy with a sweater from the discount store as she was with one of those cashmere sweaters he loved to buy for her. He enjoyed feeling the expensive and delicate material sliding across his skin even more than his wife did. The simplest things made her happy, and as her husband, sometimes he couldn’t help but to wish he could afford to give her more. She deserved to be dripping in diamonds and showered with lavish presents.
*
Bree wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling her body snugly against his. His long and lean body pressed her against the frozen ground, but she couldn’t feel the cold. All she could feel was heat as Scott’s body pushed erotically against hers.
His hands cupped the sides of her face, his rough, newly-grown whiskers rubbing against her sensitive skin. He grinned as she giggled against the side of his neck. Turning to face her with a wicked expression on his handsome face, he leaned down to nuzzle the delicate column of her throat. His hands brushed along the sides of her heaving breasts, lightly tracing a path along her ivory skin.
Scott’s lips came down to meet hers, careful to avoid the fresh bruises on her pale skin, his tongue winding its way into the moist cavern of her mouth.
She grasped the pulsating core of his manhood. She heard the sharp intake of his breath as she began to stroke him, an impish smile on her face. Being married is so much fun! It depends who you’re married to though, she corrected herself. She stroked the full length of his shaft, tormenting him with slow and deliberate movements.
She groaned into his mouth as his hands roamed underneath her sweater, removing the delicate and expensive material from her body in a frenzied motion, pulling it off her with a powerful yank. His large hands cupped her breasts, which were newly-sensitive due to her pregnancy, fondling her hardened nipples. The icy coolness of the snow pressed against her bare back, the tingling sensation only heightening her pleasure. Her breath caught as he tenderly rubbed her swollen and aching breasts in a circular motion, sending waves of ecstasy shooting up and down her body.
Scott closed his eyes as she continued to stroke him, moaning at the pleasure of her ministrations. Bree was being positively wicked, and she was enjoying each and every minute of it.
He reached for the tiny silver button on the waist of her black jeans, tugging at it with impatience. He heard Bree’s throaty chuckle in his ear as his fingers refused to cooperate.
“Need some help?” she questioned, her breath tickling his ear.
“Nope.” Scott grinned as he forcefully grabbed the button and jerked, the offending button landing in the palm of his outstretched hand.
Bree stared at her husband in mock outrage, her green eyes narrowing into slits as her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Accusingly, she poked her finger into his chiseled chest. “First, you tear one of my brand-new bras into tatters, and then you pop the button off a pair of my designer jeans.” Sighing, she threw her hands up into the air in defeat. “What is a girl to do?” she queried in exasperation.
“Quit wearing so many damn clothes,” he growled against the corner of her mouth.
The sound of Scott’s voice reverberated in her brain, repeating itself over and over again. How the sentence was phrased struck a chord deep in Bree’s subconscious. It triggered a memory in her head, a memory she had tried stubbornly to forget.
This voice wasn’t her husband’s voice; it was filled with anger. She clapped her hands over her ears, trying to drown out that cruel voice that kept repeating itself like a broken record. The voice was calling her names and insulting her, and all she wanted to do was to get it to stop.
*
Scott looked down when his wife’s body became rigid in his arms. She was staring straight at him, but it was as though she wasn’t really seeing him. His heart seemed to stop beating as a horrified expression flitted across her face. She seemed to be absolutely terrified. Of what, he couldn’t even begin to imagine.
*
“Where in the hell are your damn clothes?” Bryan exploded as he stood in the doorway of their bedroom, adjusting his diamond designer cufflinks and watching her dress with an observing eye.
Bree stood expressionless, like a statue, her voice faltering as she replied, “I’m wearing a dress.”
“That isn’t a dress,” he muttered as he slammed his closed fists against the doorway, splintering the wood and causing her to flinch. “It’s just a damn scrap of material. You might as well be naked!” he roared, his midnight blue eyes flashing with anger.
She cleared her throat as she watched her husband pace around their bedroom like a caged animal. She knew what was coming, and she didn’t know how to stop it before things got completely out of hand.
Bryan stood directly in front of her, stripping her with his eyes. She fought the uncontrollable urge to cringe. “Do you like to make me angry?” he questioned her calmly. Too calmly.
“No, Bryan,” she answered.
“Do you do this on purpose?” he inquired as his right hand grasped a handful of her long hair. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my family, my friends?”
Bree closed her eyes and prayed with all of her might she wouldn’t cry. She knew that would only make things even worse for her. Bryan considered tears to be a form of manipulation. “No, Bryan.”
His mouth twisted into a cruel sneer as he jerked his hand, ripping out a handful of her beautiful auburn hair in the process. He laughed out loud when she cried out in pain.
She shivered when his hand touched her skin, tracing a path beginning at her shoulder and continuing down the length of her arm.
He reached for the thin straps tied in a bow around her neck. Instead of simply untying it, he ripped the strap, nearly choking her. The lacy dress fell in a black pool on the carpet. His hands cupped her breasts roughly, his fingers leaving dark bruises on
her delicate skin.
Bree’s body trembled underneath his touch, his hands on her body making her flesh crawl.
He grabbed her and harshly shoved her onto the bed. The force knocked the wind out of Bree, and she cried out when her head slammed against the solid oak headboard.
She swallowed hard as he removed his black silk tie, slapping the fine material against the palm of his hand menacingly.
“Why do you insist on testing me?” he queried, an evil glint in his midnight blue eyes. “It’s like you purposely try to piss me off,” he added as he removed his white dress shirt and tossed it carelessly onto the floor.
Bree struggled, attempting to fight him off. Her breathing quickened as she pummeled his chest with both fists. “Get off me, you bastard!” she screamed. “Get off me!”
But no one could hear her. And no one would come.
*
“Get off me!” Bree shrieked as her fists beat Scott’s chest. “Get off me!” she repeated, her green gaze glazed as she looked up at him with unseeing eyes.
She whimpered as he reached for her, drawing her trembling frame against his chest. Her hands came up weakly, the previous fighting spirit in her exhausted. She was now physically and emotionally drained.
She had stopped screaming, and she now had her eyes closed, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Scott held her in his arms like he would an infant, holding her, cradling her as he began to rock slowly. He had brought her back into their house, alarmed that her screams would bring the neighbors running, and knowing the last thing she would want was for the entire neighborhood to witness the two of them cavorting half-naked in the snow.
He decided this would be the time to get through to her, to try and break through the nightmares of her subconscious. “Bree, baby, it’s me. It’s Scott,” Scott murmured as he caressed the curve of her face. She continued to tremble against his chest. He had to get through to her; he just wasn’t sure exactly how.
“Red, it’s me,” his voice shook as he continued. He called her name over and over, his voice reaching out to Bree like a beacon through the storm.
After what seemed like forever to Scott, her emerald eyes opened and focused on his face. He felt like dancing a jig when he realized she recognized him. Releasing a deep breath, his grip tightened around her. “Are you all right?” he questioned, his eyes etched with concern.
“I am now.” Her voice was shaking with emotion as she hugged him tightly against her.
Kissing her temple, he watched her. “What just happened?”
Bree stopped him by placing a single finger onto his lips. Shaking her head, tears filled her eyes. “I can’t talk about it right now.” She shook her head again when he opened his mouth to speak. “I just can’t talk about it,” she repeated, her words slightly softer this time.
She could see the confusion on his face, and she could read the love and concern in his eyes. But she just wasn’t ready. There were things she couldn’t share with him right now; there were things she couldn’t say.
“What can I do?” he asked as she snuggled against him, sniffling as she wiped her tears away with one hand.
Bree’s eyes met his, a lost-little-girl expression on her face as she answered, her voice so low Scott struggled to hear.
“Just hold me, Scott. Just hold me and love me.”
Chapter 12
Karen Rhoades was a woman who wore a mask. She wore a mask so no one could see the person she really was. She was a chameleon, blending her personality to be the woman she wanted to be, the woman people thought she was. Like most women, she had secrets that she kept, but her secrets were more damaging than most.
She had made the decision years ago that she was through with sacrificing all of her time, all of her youth, and all of her life on people who had never appreciated it. She was a very busy woman. She was a professional woman, one who had touched the hearts of millions with her words. Her poetry was a celebration of love and joy, which honestly, she was no longer convinced existed in this cold and cruel world.
She had devoted too much of her life to everyone else around her, forfeiting her own happiness in the process. She had sacrificed most of her youth to help her ex-husband, Vincent Montgomery, fulfill his own dreams instead of pursuing her own. She had helped him build his ministry and his reputation, only to have him break her heart and divorce her to be with another woman. A woman who had been Karen’s best friend and confidante for over twenty years, and who was now married to her ex.
Even her own daughter had betrayed her. Bree had been only fifteen when her parents’ marriage had fallen apart at the seams. What had broken Karen’s heart was to discover her precious daughter had known about the relationship, but hadn’t said a word.
Bree had accidentally discovered that her father had been engaged to another woman while he was still legally married to her mother. Before their divorce had even been finalized, her former best friend had been seen traveling the globe with Karen’s own husband, flashing the extravagant diamond ring he had presented to her while he was still married to Karen.
Not only had she lost her husband, but she had lost her only child as well. For the last two years of her marriage to Vince, her husband had insisted she stay at home with their daughter, claiming Bree needed a more stable life, with her mother at home raising her instead of the parade of nannies that had taken both Karen’s and her husband’s place raising her practically from infancy while the two of them traveled around the world. Now she knew why he had been so persistent.
She had felt like such a fool, as though everyone in the world had known about her husband’s infidelity. Everyone that is, except for her. Now she was nobody’s fool. Once the divorce had been finalized, and her ex-husband had immediately gotten remarried, she had reevaluated her life and had come to the conclusion changes needed to be made.
Before Bree was born, Karen had spent almost every spare minute of her life writing poetry. She had started writing when she was a little girl, short stories and poetry her own parents wouldn’t take the time to listen to. She could remember back when she and Vincent had just started dating, sitting with him at their booth in the town’s local diner. When inspiration would strike and she would find herself thinking up an idea for a poem, she would grab one of the paper napkins out of the dispenser and just start writing.
Vince had never encouraged her writing. He had claimed it was nothing but a pipe dream, and nothing would ever come of it. But three years after their divorce, she had proved him wrong. Although even now, he was still condescending. He had actually had the gall to tell her he was glad “her little books” had worked out, and he was surprised people even read poetry anymore.
Her first book had been published soon after Bree turned eighteen. Karen had simply wished her daughter well and walked out the door. She had never returned and had lived out of a suitcase ever since. Even to this very day, she barely bothered to speak to her daughter.
She couldn’t see any reason to. As far as her daughter was concerned, she had nothing to say. Bree had her own life, and Karen had hers. Truth be told, she was somewhat ashamed of her daughter.
Bree had gotten married at a young age, and she had very little to show for her life. She might be happily married, but she was a children’s author, for heaven’s sake. Her daughter had no drive, no ambition. Instead of reaching for the stars, she was settling for something mediocre. In Karen’s opinion, writing children’s books was not a real career. But then again, her daughter had never given a damn what her own mother had ever thought of her.
Her daughter enjoyed playing the victim. Bree always claimed she had had a rotten childhood, with parents who were cold and unloving. Hugs and kisses were not freely given, nor were any words of love or encouragement ever spoken. Karen did have to admit, that part was true. But to hear Bree talk, you would think she had been terribly neglected. Although she had been raised by experienced nannies and caregivers and had lived in a two-story house where the
re had always been plenty of food on the table, she had always wanted more.
She hadn’t been beaten by her parents, and she had always been given a generous allowance to do with whatever she wished. She had been allowed to have her friends spend the night almost whenever she wanted, including on school nights, and she had been well-liked and popular with the girls and boys at school because she had wealthy parents, popular evangelists who were well-known worldwide.
But nothing had ever been good enough for Bree. She had always wanted love and stability, the only two things her parents had been unable to give her. None of the other things had mattered. She had gone to an exclusive private school; she had been allowed to take both ballet and piano lessons. When she became older, it had been cheerleading and color guard. Tutors had been hired whenever she had struggled with her classes, from Calculus to French, Trig to Chemistry. She had travelled to foreign countries as a foreign-exchange student for three years in a row when she reached high school.
She had been given opportunities other girls her age could only dream of. Opportunities Karen herself as a teenage girl had dreamed of, but those same opportunities had been wasted on Bree.
But now that her daughter had nothing, Bree insisted she was at her happiest, and she was loved. Claiming that if she had been given the chance between marrying her husband and love of her life or marrying a wealthy man, she would have chosen Scott each and every time. This, as far as Karen was concerned, showed just how stupid her daughter really was.
The only person Karen cared about now was herself. It was her turn to shine; it was her turn to live the life she had always wanted. No self-absorbed husband to cater to; no spoiled child to raise. For the first time in her life, Karen Rhoades was being completely and totally selfish. She was finally looking out for number one. The only person she was going to make happy was herself. She had no more family responsibilities and obligations to deal with. Her father was deceased, and her mother was in the best nursing home her hard-earned money could buy. Her ex-husband was now someone else’s problem, and she didn’t care to have any correspondence with her only child. Scott Weston could deal with her daughter because Karen refused to.
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