Page 20 of One More Kiss

He scowled so hard, the skin around the furrows in his brows turned white. “How’s your arm?”

“Healing.”

“I’ve worried about you,” he said, his deep voice vibrating against my chest and making my nipples stand to attention. I was well past the time of crazy hormones and lovesickness. But damn if this man didn’t manage to return me to school-girl sighs and giddiness—as well as achy lady bits.

The last revelation ticked me off and I scowled back. “Then why did it take you two weeks to visit?”

His long suffering sigh fluttered my hair. “Because I had to lay my demons to rest.”

“Did you?”

“I think so.” Then, he said, firmly, “Yes. And now I’d like to take you out, please.”

I straightened my spine so hard that something popped. “I’ve given up dating and men.”

“I don’t blame you after the experiences you’ve had. But I’d still like to take you out.”

I sputtered. He held up a large bouquet of blue blooms—my favorite color. “These are for you.”

“What the ever-lovin’ hell is going on?” Even I noticed the thickening of my accent, which was always noticeable.

“Well, I heard that you wanted to be romanced.” His lips turned down and misery entered his intelligent gray eyes. “And I can’t stand the idea of you with another man. Dammit, Jasmine. I just…couldn’t.”

His obvious distress softened me. “Who I date…that’s not your decision to make.”

“I know.” He shifted his bulk. “But…”

“Come in. We don’t want to let all the cool air outside.”

I shut the door, sighing with relief that I didn’t have another overzealous asshole to fend off. Steve was safe…to my physical well-being, if not my heart. Still, my hand shook where I leaned it against the wood. “We can have some coffee in the kitchen and talk over this nonsense—”

“I steered clear because I’m not good enough for you.” Steve stood, chin lifted, shoulders back. Military proud, just like Camden.

“I beg to differ with that statement,” I said.

He tapped the pretty bouquet against his thigh, sending some petals raining down onto the carpet.

I swooped in and grabbed the plastic, prying his fist away. I noted the tremors in his hand and instead of heading into the kitchen to put the flowers into a vase, I leaned in. I wrapped my arms around his waist. After a terrifyingly long moment, he relaxed enough to hug me back.

“When you’re ready,” I murmured.

His exhale was long and ponderous. “I went back to my hometown. I needed to see my father’s grave, let him know what I thought of him…and my mother.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and began to pace between my two couches, long legs eating up the space. “I joined the army at seventeen. I would have cheated the system and left earlier, but my mother needed me.”

I forced my muscles to remain lax even though I began to understand where this story was going. Very different from my experience a few weeks ago. But not that different from Cam’s, except Laurence never physically hurt me.

By hurting Cam, Laurence hurt me. I bit my lip, wondering, as I often did, if that’s why Laurence did what he did. If so, it made him an even smaller man in my eyes.

“My father…”

I went to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. His hands came up and cradled me with gentle care. I sighed, soothed, and I hope he was, too. The tick-tick-tick of the wall-mounted clock in the living room continued, as did the steady thump of his heart against my cheek.

“He beat your mother,”I said. “You told me that before.” His heart rate sped up and he tensed. . “Don’t. I’m right here. Not looking. No judgement, Steve. Finish the story.”

“He hurt us both. Bad. Often.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped him tighter.

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