Authors: Kaylea Cross
“I wish I knew how to make it go away.” He felt even more helpless when her head dropped into her hands. “At least I can help get rid of that headache. Come with me.”
In the living room he perched on the edge of the couch and motioned for her to sit on the floor in front of him. Then he swept her hair over one shoulder, running his fingers through the silky mass.
“Here,” he murmured, “lean against me.” He eased her shoulders toward him. “Now close your eyes.”
She stiffened at the intimate contact, but didn't pull away. His legs bracketed her body, her head resting against his stomach. She sighed when his strong fingers began to soothe the tension in her neck, careful to avoid the bandage near her shoulder blade. He wanted to lull her, turn off that busy brain of hers for a while.
The movement of his hands grew languorous, and she let her head loll against him, absorbing the comfort of his nearness. He relished the swish of her dark hair, the softness of her skin. She always smelled so good. That she trusted him so implicitly after all she had been through amazed and humbled him. His little Christa was a survivor, and her inner strength made him proud of her.
Since when did he consider her to be ‘his little Christa'?
When he'd first met her he hadn't wanted a serious relationship with any of the women he'd dated. He'd had lots of one-night stands because it was less complicated that way, had been in lust lots of times, had even cared about some of them a lot, but had never been in love with any of them. The sex was safe, hot and plentiful, but when he got restless, he broke it off. He'd never given it much thought, but until he knew he'd found ‘the One’ he refused to make promises he might not be able to keep. In case he had even one shred of his father in him.
It was different with Christa. She'd awoken something in him he hadn't known was there. The problem was how to go about convincing her he cared. She was well aware of his checkered past and would no doubt take any move he made toward her as purely physical. Silvery words and calculated touches would only scare her away, especially after the ordeal she'd just suffered. So he'd decided to try a tactic previously foreign to him— patience.
If that would help his little Christa heal her scars, he was willing to give it a go. For weeks now his daydreams had been filled with images of him making sweet love to her. A quiet moan, his whispered name, her eyes closed, her face caught with the strain of ecstasy.
It might never happen now, after what that bastard has done to her
. Rayne swallowed, her hair caressing his wrists as he massaged her neck.
If she had any idea what he was thinking right now she would probably leap up and run from the room. That was the dilemma. Between what Teryl had said and the way Christa looked at him he knew she was attracted to him and that she cared about him. But thanks to her asshole ex-boyfriend the very idea of intimacy scared the hell out of her, even before she'd been attacked. And so far, she seemed oblivious to his feelings for her. Normally he would just lay it all out, but he was sure she'd bolt. He'd never felt so unsure of himself and he hated the weakness, the loss of control.
She stifled a yawn. She must be exhausted, poor thing. He pulled her onto the couch and patted his lap. Again, the hesitation.
In the end she stretched out beside him, letting him cradle her head, and closed her eyes, snuggling closer. The small victory was heartening.
She drifted off, turned her face into his abdomen and nuzzled him with her cheek. Rayne thought he might stop breathing. Her fatigue had lowered the protective shield around her. Without her mind dictating every move, she was responding more naturally to his nearness. He knew she had no idea what she was doing to him. His body was rigid with longing but thankfully she was too sleepy to notice. He had to put her in her own bed, now.
She jerked awake as he lifted her and peered at him with startled eyes. “What are you doing?”
“It's okay, sweetheart. I'm putting you to bed.” She relaxed slowly, her sleepy brain processing the words. Raising her arms around his neck, she sighed and pressed her face against his throat. He fought a groan and hurried to her bedroom, where he turned back the covers and set her down, helping her into the sheets. She stretched, her supple body arching against the mattress like a cat. He blinked at the innocent display. She was driving him crazy.
Moving fast, he tucked her in and smoothed the hair from her face. “Sweet dreams.”
She'd made him ache inside. God knew he'd never get to sleep now.
The next morning, Christa curled up on the sofa on the screened-in porch, her journal in her hands. Writing down bad experiences was supposed to be good therapy, according to the social worker who'd visited her in the hospital. She flipped the page, absently reached to scratch Jake's ears as he sat warming her feet. Maybe if she vented her trauma onto the paper her nightmares would stop and she could sleep without waking up in the middle of a panic attack. Maybe she could sit here without her spine tingling, as if someone were lurking outside, tracking her.
The door banged open and she jumped, the book flying to the floor. Post-traumatic stress disorder, they called it. P.T.S.D. It made her feel like a head case, especially when people stared at her like she was some skittish, trapped animal, like Rayne was doing now.
“Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.” He bent and retrieved the journal, and she fought the urge to snatch it from him before he handed it to her.
“No problem,” she said, feeling stupid. He'd been so good to her last night, massaging her pain away and comforting her until she dozed in his lap, then putting her to bed like the frightened child she now was. She tried to stop the nervous movement of smoothing the bent pages, keeping her head downcast to disguise the purple smudges of exhaustion under her eyes.
“What's that you're working on?”
“Just a journal I'm keeping.” She sighed. “I'm supposed to write down some things before I go to my first counseling appointment.” She let out a relieved breath when he didn't question her further.
“I wanted to tell you Bryn's coming for dinner tonight.”
Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Oh. That's nice.” Was he trying to tell her politely to get lost? “Do you want... I mean, should I go?”
His brows drew together. “You're not going anywhere, darlin'. Don't you want to have dinner with us?”
“Sure I do. I only thought maybe you'd want a quiet evening to... catch up.”
“We already did that.”
Yeah, she could just imagine. “Do you need some help with dinner?”
“Nah, I'll pick something up.” He edged Jake aside to sit next to her, stroked a thumb over her cheekbone, making her skin tingle. “You okay? You look tired.”
“I am, I guess.” That was the most pathetic understatement in the history of humankind.
“You should go take a nap then, sweetheart. This is supposed to be recuperation for you. If you want to spend all day in your pajamas and sleep every two hours, then go for it.”
What she really wanted was to sleep through the night like any normal person. She was so sick of dreading going to bed, afraid of falling asleep when she knew perfectly well she'd wake up with a scream lodged in her throat and her heart freaking out. Maybe if she could exhaust herself during the day with long runs her brain would be too tired to create more nightmares.
“Some vacation you're having, thanks to me, huh?”
“Oh, I don't know. I'm spending some time off in my favorite beach cottage with a beautiful woman who can cook so good it brings a tear to my eye, plus I have my own personal lap warmer. So I can't complain.” He reached down to rub Jake's ears, then pushed to his feet. “Will you be okay here while I head to the gym? I'll pick us up some groceries on the way home. You want anything?”
He was leaving her alone? Despite herself she sent a skittish glance around.
“Hey, you'll be fine. Do you think I'd even consider leaving you here if I didn't think you'd be safe? But of course I'll stay, if you'd rather.”
He was right and she was being clingy. He'd already explained to her how difficult it should be for her stalker to cross the border into the States, and she had to get used to being on her own sometime. “No, thanks. Think I'll try and take a nap.”
“Okay. I've got my cell phone on me if you need anything. Won't be long.” He kissed the top of her head and left her sitting there with Jake.
Energized from pumping so much iron, Rayne loaded the grocery bags into the rental car and was climbing into the driver's seat when his cell phone rang.
Please don't let Christa be in trouble
. He'd been so wary about leaving her on her own, had almost decided to skip the gym but figured she'd prefer him out of the way so she could concentrate on her journal. When his caller ID announced his mom he sagged, then winced.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he answered. He hadn't called her in over a week and hoped she wouldn't give him a guilt trip about it.
“Hi handsome. I've left a few messages on your machine, but you never called back so I thought I'd try your cell.”
“Yeah, sorry, I'm out of town right now. Everything all right?”
“Oh yes, fine. Where are you?”
He sighed, knowing what she'd say. “Down at the beach house.”
A telltale pause ensued. “Oh, really? I didn't think you had holidays till August.”
Uh-oh. Busted. He'd promised to fly home for a visit during his next vacation time.
“Well, this kind of came up at the last second. I have a friend... she was attacked.”
“Oh, the poor thing, how terrible. Is she all right?”
“She will be. But the guy who attacked her is still loose, so I've brought her down here with me until things cool off at home.”
He could practically hear the gears turning in his mother's head.
“So you two are dating, I take it?”
“No, Mom, we're not dating.” He fought the urge to roll his eyes, even though his mother was safely on the other side of the country and couldn't see him. Grown up as he was, he didn't want the sharp side of her tongue on the subject of being respectful to your parent.
“You're not dating?”
“No, we're just friends.”
“I see.” Her tone said she clearly didn't. “Has Bryn met her?”
This could not be good. Ever since he'd invited his mom to come and spend a few weeks at the beach house all those years ago, Bryn and his mom had been close. They still emailed each other and they'd be gossiping like old hens about this in no time. “Yeah, they met yesterday, and Bryn is coming over for dinner tonight. I'm picking up the groceries now.”
“Oh, that's nice. Say hi to Bryn for me will you, sugar?”
The Scarlett O'Hara drawl didn't fool him one bit. He'd bet his last dime his mother would be speed-dialing Bryn the second he hung up. “I will.”
“Listen, Rayne, about this girl— ”
“What about her?” He couldn't help the note of irritation that crept into his voice. He was sick of everyone questioning his motives when it came to women.
“Don't be upset,” she soothed. “I'm worried that you might be getting involved in a dangerous situation, that's all. I mean, you said her attacker is still on the loose— ”
“Mom, I'm a cop, in case you'd forgotten. And I guess that's the difference between me and other people. I don't just up and leave someone I care about when they need me.”
The gasp on the other end of the phone confirmed he'd hit way below the beltline with that one. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”
“Your father had his reasons for leaving, Rayne.”
All these years later she would dare defend his actions? “Whatever.” As far as he was concerned, there could never be a good enough excuse for a man to desert his wife and young son. Period.
“Maybe it's finally time you talked to him about it, honey.”
“You know what, Mom? I don't really want to talk about Dad at all, so why don't you tell me what's new in Charleston?” That was as clear as he could make it.
She brought him up to speed with the goings on in his hometown and he laughed at her new jokes, relieved she'd let the matter of his dad drop. For the moment.
“You're going to call Bryn now, aren't you?”
“That's a wonderful idea,” she gushed. “Maybe I will.”
“Uh-huh. Don't think about pumping her for information, Mom, because there's nothing to tell about Christa and me.”
“Why, darling,” she managed to sound affronted, “your personal life is your business. I just wanted to say hello.”
Oh, brother. Like he was born yesterday? “Okay then, take care and thanks for calling. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Any moment now Bryn would be answering a barrage of questions.
Back at the cottage he set the groceries on the counter. “Christa?”
No answer.
Adrenaline pumping, he checked the living room, her bedroom, the whole house. Had something happened to her? God, if she wasn't here, then— Why had he been confident enough of her safety to leave her alone? He'd played down the chances of her attacker crossing the border but hell, it wouldn't be impossible.
He nearly collapsed with relief when he heard her footfalls on the porch steps. She pushed open the screen door and poked her head inside, the sight of her there, safe, hair tousled from the wind, weakening his knees.
“Kiddo, where have you been? I was worried.”
“Sorry. I was sitting on the steps. Didn't go far.”
He tamped down his irritation. He had no right to get mad at her for venturing as far as the porch steps when he was the one who'd opted to leave her at the cottage by herself. In a way it was a boost that she'd felt brave enough to go outside at all and besides, he didn't want to spook her by admitting he'd been afraid her attacker had followed them. “I bought you some flowers. You like tulips, right?”
Her lower lip trembled and he feared she might burst into tears. Then, for the first time in days, she smiled. Actually smiled.
“I love them.” She came over to sniff the burst of pink, yellow, purple and red petals. “They're so beautiful, Rayne. Thank you.”