Baby Love

  Rafe stroked her hair. “And that’s how Jaimie came to be.”

  She nodded. “I’m lucky it didn’t happen a lot sooner than it did. It’s been three years since he added on to the back of the house so I had my own room.”

  “Your own room?” Rafe circled that, not entirely sure how it related.

  “Before then, I shared with Heidi. He looked at me funny up until then, but he never did anything. It was only when I was sleeping at the back of the house, where he knew Mama couldn’t hear, that he started—waking me up at night.”

  Rafe’s stomach lurched. He tightened his arms around her. “And after you had your own room—did he wake you a lot?”

  She shivered. “Yes.” She fell quiet for several seconds. “I suppose you find it disgusting that I didn’t leave. You probably think I’m one of those weak people who allow themselves to be victims.”

  He closed his eyes. “No, Maggie. You’re one of the strongest people I know. If you stayed, I know you had a reason, and I think I know what it was.”

  “He said if I left, Heidi would be next. That she was almost old enough.” Her voice went shrill. “I went to legal aid then. Tried to get custody of her. But the lawyer said I didn’t stand a chance until I could prove Lonnie had actually done something to her. Proof. They needed proof. It was my word against his. He even kept me home from work when I had bruises. How could I get proof?”

  “So you stayed—subjecting yourself to the abuse, rather than let him victimize Heidi.” Rafe felt physically sick.

  “After seeing the lawyer, I took Heidi and tried to leave. That time I used the car. It was in Mama and Lonnie’s name, but I made the payments, so it wasn’t like I really stole it or anything.”

  “What happened?”

  “Lonnie reported it missing, and the cops pulled me over. Lonnie came and took us back to Prior. He was so mad, I thought he’d kill me that time. A part of me almost wished he would.”

  Rafe had experienced that feeling himself a time or two. “And you were right back where you started, with Lonnie visiting your room.”

  “Yes. He started coming again, and just like before, when I told him no, he’d become so enraged, he’d beat me up. I couldn’t scream. I was terrified if I did that Mama or Heidi might hear, and I was afraid he’d kill one of them if they burst in.”

  He squeezed his eyes closed again, his heart breaking for her. Recalling the bruises he’d seen on her body, he knew Lonnie had pulled none of his punches. “Ah, Maggie. How could you help but scream?”

  “I pulled my pillow over my face.”

  “What?”

  “My pillow—to muffle the noises I made.”

  His stomach lurched, and nausea slithered up the back of his throat.

  “And after he beat you up,” he managed to say. “Then he would rape you?”

  She went unnaturally still. “No,” she whispered. “Then he’d leave.”

  Rafe felt sure he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Leave?”

  “He always came back. Sometimes the same night, sometimes the next. He told me he’d never had to rape a woman, and he wasn’t going to start with me. That when he came back, my attitude better be improved or he’d give it another adjustment.”

  Rafe could feel her tears slipping down his neck. He began to rock her and massage her back. “And when he came back, rather than take another beating, you did what he wanted.”

  It wasn’t a question. Rafe could see it so clearly, and the pictures that took shape in his mind made him want to do murder. Whenever he wanted, however he wanted. You name it, I did it, she’d told him that afternoon. At the time, he couldn’t conceive how that might have been possible, not with Maggie. But he understood now. Imagining her, pressing the pillow over her mouth to stifle her screams…Oh, God. He wanted to hold her tight and never let her go. Until this moment, Rafe had known Lonnie was sick, but he hadn’t realized just how sick.

  “I had to do what he wanted or he would hurt me again. He’d never stop until I gave in. The worst part was, if hurting me didn’t work, he’d threaten to go to Heidi’s room. She was so little. I was so afraid he’d do it.”

  The whole ugly story came pouring from her then, the details so sordid that Rafe cringed.

  To rape a woman was horrible enough. Rafe could think of few things that were worse. But for the bastard to beat her into submission and then return later so he could pretend she wanted it?

  A sob erupted from her, wet and tearing, the sound coming from so deep within her that it frightened him.

  “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t. Please, don’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

  If she heard him, she gave no sign of it. Rafe cradled her against him, rocking more violently, yearning to make her hurting stop, but not knowing how. So he let her cry. Until she lay limp against him. Until she ran out of tears. Until an awful silence settled over them—demanding that he say something. Only, heaven help him, he couldn’t think what.

  When he finally did speak, he was so focused on her and her pain that the words came instinctively. “I love you, Maggie girl. I didn’t think anything could make me love you more than I already did, but this has. Do you have any idea how extraordinary you are?”

  “Extraordinary?” she echoed faintly.

  “Extraordinary. Wonderful. Amazing. That you stayed there—for Heidi. And that you never let the bastard break you. I’m so proud of you, knowing that. Most people wouldn’t have taken the beatings, over and over. He tried his damnedest to break your spirit, to strip you of your dignity and take you to your knees—and you never allowed him to win.”

  He felt her grow unnaturally still. After a moment, she made tight fists on his shirt. “Oh, Rafe. He won every time. That was the nightmare.”

  He pressed his nose against her hair, which smelled of wood smoke, evergreen boughs, and the scent that was exclusively Maggie’s. “No, sweetheart, no He never really won, not in any way that counts.”

  The clench of her arms became almost frantic. “I feel so sick inside. When I think about the things I did, I feel like worms are crawling around inside of me. An awful, dirty feeling I can’t wash off.”

  “Ah, Maggie.” Rafe felt as if a sock had been shoved down his windpipe. His larynx refused to budge when he attempted to swallow. He damned near choked trying to clear his throat. “You can’t wash away those kinds of feelings with soap and water.”

  “I know,” she said hollowly. “I’ve tried. Scrubbed until my skin was raw. It never worked.”

  Tears filled his eyes. He twisted to lie on his back, drawing her down with him. He pulled the blankets over them, his hand threaded through her hair to cradle her head on his shoulder. “When you’re ready, we’ll wash that feeling away together.”

  “With what?” she asked warily.

  He smiled, aware even as he did that tears were trailing down his cheeks and into her hair. “Trust me, I’ve got just the cure. There’s only one way to get rid of bad memories, Maggie girl, and that’s to make beautiful new ones.”

  “Oh, Rafe, I wish I could believe that.”

  His heart caught at the desperation he heard in her voice. “Well, believe it then. Have I ever lied to you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then? What seems dirty or ugly or frightening with someone else seems magical and perfectly right with the person you love, Maggie. You do love me. Don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Then it’ll be like that for us—sheer magic. So beautiful and good and sweet that there won’t be room in your head for any bad memories. They’ll be crowded out by fantastic new ones, and all that will be left is that wonderful, magical feeling.”

  She hooked a heel over his leg to pull her body closer to his. Rafe accommodated her by tightening his embrace. He felt her hand make a fist on his shirt again. “Then let’s do it,” she whispered fiercely. “Do it now.”

  It was the last thing he expected her to say. He lay there a moment, his body taut, his pulse pounding. ??
?Maggie,” he finally said gruffly, “I don’t think now is the best time.”

  Where her hand had closed over his shirt, he felt a tug on his chest hair.

  “Sometimes,” she whispered shakily, “after you go to sleep, I touch you when you don’t know it and I—wonder about it.”

  He knew the times she referred to, and he hadn’t been asleep. She had traced his features, etched the shape of his mouth with a fingertip, and lightly run her hands over his arms.

  “You wonder about making love, you mean?”

  “Yes,” she said thinly. “What it’ll be like.”

  He curled a hand over her shoulder. “What do you think it’ll be like?”

  For the longest time, she didn’t answer. “I’m hoping it’ll be nice. I like it when you touch me. Like right now. It feels good.”

  He realized he was gently caressing her shoulder through the cotton weave of the baggy shirt and stopped. Then, reminding himself that she’d just admitted to liking it, he began again, deliberately this time. “Like that?”

  “Mmmm.” She dragged in a shaky breath. “It makes my skin tingle.”

  Knowing she liked it made his borrowed jeans feel another size too small. This was dangerous. She was encouraging him to do something he wasn’t sure she was ready for yet. And he was a little too ready.

  “Only as nice as I hope it’ll be, I’m afraid, too,” she admitted. “Not really of you anymore. Just afraid. That maybe it won’t be nice. That maybe it’ll even be—terrible. And I never woke you up because I was scared to find out.”

  “I swear to you, Maggie, it won’t be terrible.”

  “What you said about the magic?” She suddenly pushed up on an elbow to gaze into his eyes. He felt as if he were drowning in wet silk. “If you—” She broke off and swallowed. “If you can make magic and chase this awful feeling in me away, I want you to.”

  Rafe studied her small face, which had been ravaged by weeping. Tear streaks lined her pale cheeks. Her eyelids were puffy and red. The end of her nose was pink. And her mouth. Oh, God. It was swollen and shiny and soft-looking—and begged to be kissed. He reached up to smooth a dark tendril of hair from her cheek, and somehow his hand ended up cupped over the back of her head.

  “Sweetheart, you’re upset. We’ve just talked about Lonnie. It’s all fresh in your mind. I think we should wait until another time.”

  “Don’t you want me?”

  Oh, God. He’d never wanted anyone or anything more. But he also wanted the timing to be right. What if he failed to make it magical for her? Let her down? “Oh, sweetheart, I want you. Of course I want you. More than I can say.”

  “I don’t mean to push. It’s just—it’s like having a monster in the closet. You know?”

  Where that had come from, he had no idea. “A what?”

  “A monster in the closet. When you were little, didn’t you ever believe there was a monster in your closet?”

  He’d never seen eyes as beautiful as hers. Her every thought and feeling was reflected in those liquid brown depths, and the mixture of emotions terrified him. She obviously wanted to face her demons, and somehow, in her mind, he was one of them.

  “I never believed a monster was in my closet. But I used to think there were ghosts in the stable after dark.”

  “How’d you come to realize there weren’t?”

  “When I was about twelve, I took a sleeping bag out and slept in the tack room. It was a hell of a cure, but by the time daylight rolled around, I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

  “Well, when I was young, I thought there was a monster in my closet. Night after night, I lay in bed, staring at the closet door, afraid to go to sleep. Finally one night I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I jumped up and opened the door. Guess what? No monsters. I was never afraid again.”

  “Maggie, are you saying I’m a monster in your closet?”

  Her gaze clung to his as she shook her head. “No. Lonnie’s my monster now, and you’re the door I’m afraid to open.” She nibbled her lip, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “I know it’s stupid. Please don’t be hurt. It’s just—”

  Rafe angled a fingertip across her lips. “You don’t have to explain. I understand, and I’m not hurt. There’s nothing inside me you haven’t seen, Maggie. No monsters lurking. Nothing of Lonnie in me.”

  “I know that. I’ve known for quite a while,” she admitted shakily. “But I need to prove it to myself. You know? Unfortunately, it’s not quite as simple as grabbing hold of a doorknob this time.” She smiled tremulously. “You don’t come equipped with one.”

  He could think of other things she might grab that would get the job done in damned short order. He drew her face closer to his. He’d never contemplated making love to anyone who looked more frightened, and conversely, that scared the ever-loving hell out of him as well.

  “If you really want to make love, Maggie, all you have to do is kiss me,” he told her. “I’ll take it from there.”

  To his shame, he was hoping she’d back off. Give herself some time. Wait until her mood was better. Instead, her gaze dropped to his mouth. She licked her lips, then flicked the corners with the pink tip of her tongue. His guts knotted and fire sluiced through him, liquid and racing.

  “I’ve never,” she murmured. “Been the one to start, I mean.”

  She dipped her head, then drew back and angled her face in the opposite direction. Several false starts later, her silken lips finally grazed his—so lightly, so shyly and tentatively, that he made a fist in her hair, yearning to draw her closer. But no. As she’d so aptly put it, this was her door to open, her monster that needed to be vanquished. And he had to let her do it in her own way and at her own pace.

  Chapter Twenty

  Maggie had barely begun kissing Rafe when she realized he meant to just lie there and let her run the show. For an instant, she found the idea appealing. It was a novel experience to feel in control—to be the aggressor and know nothing would happen unless she wanted it to happen.

  But that feeling quickly waned. She remembered how it had felt that day in the airplane when he kissed her—the breathless, exciting, heady sensation that had come over her. She wasn’t experiencing the same feeling now. She was new at this and wasn’t sure how to proceed. She’d always found Lonnie’s lips revolting, and she had tried to twist her face away, swallowing her gorge.

  Her heart squeezing with nervousness, she touched the tip of her tongue to Rafe’s lips, hoping that might inspire him to take over. But he still just lay there, kissing her back—sort of—but not touching her and making her nerve endings sing like he had the other time. She wanted that, needed that. As it was, she felt awkward, not to mention nervous. After kissing him, what was she supposed to do next? Touch him? Undress him? If he intended to follow her lead, they might lie here all night with their lips glued together.

  Wholly unsatisfied with their progress thus far, she drew back to search his gaze. His eyes glittered strangely, the twinkling warmth she was accustomed to gone. He was aroused, she decided. He wanted her. So why didn’t he do anything about it?

  “You said you’d take it from here,” she reminded him shakily.

  His satiny lips twitched, and his long, black lashes dipped low, momentarily veiling his eyes. “I changed my mind. It’s better if you set the pace. I’m afraid I’ll rush you.”

  “Maybe I’d rather be rushed.”

  His eyes filled with questions.

  She shrugged, her gaze drawn to his mouth. “The last time you kissed me, I could scarcely think.”

  “You couldn’t?” He looked surprised to hear that. “I thought you were scared to death.”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “I was.” She caught the inside of her cheek in her teeth, working the sensitive tissue until the sting made her quit. “I need you to start this,” she blurted. “I, um—feel self-conscious doing it.”

  Issuing no warning, he shoved her elbow out from under her. The next instant, she found herself flat on
her back with him looming over her. “Self-conscious, huh? Well, Maggie girl, we can’t have that.” The warmth had returned to his eyes. He bent his head to kiss the tip of her nose. “I feel like I’ve been waiting a lifetime for this,” he whispered huskily. “It’s hard to decide which part of you I want to taste first.”

  “My mouth?” she suggested hopefully.

  He slowly shook his head and grinned. “Can I choose?”

  Maggie’s heart thumped wildly at the base of her throat. She’d been counting on him to kiss her and make her feel mindless before he started exploring elsewhere. “I guess,” she agreed reluctantly.

  “Your ears,” he whispered.

  “My what?”

  He arched a raven brow. “I have this thing about your ears. I can’t explain it. They’ve been driving me crazy for weeks. I’ve dreamed about kissing them. Fantasized about it. Those ears of yours have been responsible for my taking at least a dozen ice-cold showers.” His gaze burned a slow path to her hair. “I like to drool for a while before I actually taste the entrée. Is there any chance I can convince you to push your hair back?”

  “You want to look at my ear? You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m dead serious. You’re not territorial about those, too, are you?” When she didn’t immediately push her hair back, he gave her a mock scowl. “Maggie,” he said in a low, scolding tone. “I’m only asking to kiss your ear. I promise not to ravish your canal.”

  She giggled in spite of herself. His putting it like that made her feel silly.

  “Please?” he cajoled. “I’m at the end of my rope. If I don’t get to kiss one of those ears soon, I’m going to get pneumonia from cold showers, I swear to God.”

  She smiled and reached up to push her hair back. It was insane, but she felt shy. Stupid, so stupid. He wasn’t asking her to strip. It was only her ear he wanted to see, for pity’s sake. When she lowered her hand, she glanced up and saw that he was staring at the side of her head like a starving man who had just spied a heavily laden banquet table.

  “That is, without a doubt, the cutest little ear I’ve ever clapped eyes on.” With a twist of his waist, he rolled off of her and sat up, resting his broad shoulders against the wall. “Come here, Mrs. Kendrick,” he said softly.