Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6) (8 page)

But when he finally stole a glace, she looked enchanted. The box was open, playing its little tune, and she was lovingly staring at the works like it was a kitten.

“Oh, Beau! I can’t believe you even remembered this.” Good Lord. She was tearing up. He knew how to deal with bad tears—find the problem and fix it—but there was no dealing with happy tears when there was no reason for the happiness. He didn’t remember a damned thing. How could that be? He remembered everything.

Emory flew across the room. “Beau, these are beautiful.” Yeah, they were—thanks to the girl at the gift store. Emory turned to Christian. “Mine plays ‘Lara’s Theme.’ What does yours play?”

“‘All I Ask of You’ from
The Phantom of the Opera
. It’s my favorite.”

Oh, that. A few years ago, the traveling Broadway production had come to Nashville. He’d been home and Christian had roped him into going. He hadn’t even known what the music boxes played, and it was pure blind luck that Christian had gotten this one.

Neyland and Abby came over to gush and give him hugs he didn’t deserve.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” Christian said again. “I didn’t even think you were paying attention that night.” He hadn’t been, but she saved him every time, even from himself. At least the guilt kept the ghosts at bay.

But not for long. Neyland came in the room carrying a large garbage bag. “Let’s clean up. It’s almost time for Gwen to come back to make lunch.”

Exactly what they needed—four more people.

Abby leapt up from where she was helping Bella, Alice, and Phillip unwrap the stuffed animals he’d gotten for them. “Don’t throw away the ribbons and boxes!” she said in a panicky voice. “Next year’s coming.”

And a cold wind blew through the room and through Beau, paralyzing his soul and stopping his heart. He’d thought the coldest cold he’d ever know were the two days and nights he’d spent in Afghanistan waiting for a target, waiting to do a job that had to be done but he’d never gotten used to doing. But Christmas memories were colder. That’s what his mother used to say about the ribbons and boxes—not verbatim, but close enough. And they had never wanted to stop playing to straighten ribbons and match tops to boxes.

He couldn’t take much more of this, even with his anchor. He had to get out. But when he looked at his anchor, she was looking at him curiously. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a little nod. Then she stood.

“Emory, I hate to bail on lunch preparations, but I need to go back over to Firefly Hall for a little while. I need to check on the horses, and while I’m there, I want to call my mother and wish her a Merry Christmas.”

Christian was leaving?

“Of course,” Emory said. “Take your time. You and Neyland cleaned up after breakfast. You’ve done your part. Lunch is at one.”

That was three hours away. How could he live three hours with the ghosts and no lifeboat?

“I’ll be back by then.” Christian met Beau’s eyes and barely widened her own. It was so slight no one except him could have possibly noticed.

Then he got it. “Hey, I’ll drive you. You’ve been drinking eggnog.”

She pretended to hesitate. “All right. If you don’t mind.”

Relief washed over him.

She saved him every single time.

“You really didn’t have to drive,” Christian said as she and Beau stepped through the front door of Firefly Hall. “I didn’t even finish my eggnog.”

 He leaned on the newel post. “And you really don’t have to check on the horses, do you?”

“Yes—” she began.

But Beau protested with a raised eyebrow and tilted head.

“No. No, I don’t. I fed them early this morning.” She hesitated but decided to go on. He would ask anyway. “And I’ve already talked with my mother.”

“I know.”

Time for a change of subject. “Let’s go upstairs where it’s warm. We’ve got a few hours to kill.” Maybe they’d watch
Talladega Nights
again.

But apparently he wasn’t ready to change the subject. Once they were inside the apartment, he said, “How did you know I couldn’t take any more?” He ran a hand up her arm, and she fought the yearning to lean into to him, the way they had leaned into each other at Beauford Bend.

“You could have taken it.” Christian meant for it come out light and breezy, but there was heartbreak in her voice, and no wonder. Her heart had broken into a million pieces as she’d sat and watched him try so hard to be as happy as his brothers wanted him to be. “You could have taken it, like you’ve taken everything that has been dealt you. But I didn’t want you to have to.”

“What if,” he said quietly, “what if those things weren’t dealt to me? What if they were my fault?”

That made less than no sense. “As much as you’d like for everything to be your fault because you want to think you’re always in control, that isn’t true. But for argument’s sake, let’s say that you were to blame for a string of accidents. So what? You still deserve not to hurt. You still deserve to have joy. And I’ve not seen any of that in you lately. If I could see some real happiness in your eyes, it would be the best Christmas present ever.”

“Would it?” His expression turned intense, but a little smile played with his mouth. “Would that really be a good Christmas present?”

She didn’t see it coming, didn’t feel it coming, had no idea where it came from.

But all of a sudden, she was in Beau’s arms and his mouth was on hers, exactly like she’d dreamed a million times.

No. It was better than she’d dreamed. In her dreams, she hadn’t known he would smell like cedar and taste like nutmeg, hadn’t known he’d tease her lips open and draw her tongue into his mouth.

She would have imagined that in such a moment, her knees would go weak and she would become pasty, passive, putty at his mercy. But no. A volcano erupted within her, sending energy-charged lava to all parts of her body, vitalizing her and making her a match for this man. When that energy settled and concentrated between her thighs, she became aware of his erection pressing there, making a promise to fulfill a wish she’d had all her life.

It wasn’t a promise she was going to let slip away. She would probably never have another chance.

Should she tell him? Tell him she was a virgin? She’d tried to take care of that pesky little problem—had even come close a couple of times—but, at the last minute, had never been able to close the deal because Beau’s face would invade and take her out of the moment. No. She wouldn’t tell him. He might stop, would probably go running for Beauford Bend at the thought of a twenty-eight-year-old who hadn’t been able to do this one, basic thing. Anyway, he’d know soon enough, probably. At least that’s what she’d heard. But by then it would be too late. She would have already had her moment.

He didn’t break the kiss, but continued to caress her tongue with his, as his penis rose harder and larger against her. Then he placed a hand on her hip and ran it up her side underneath her sweater. The delicious feel of his cold hand on her warm body turned her skin to gooseflesh and gave the raging blaze between her legs new power and a life of its own.

She wished he’d press harder there.

But wait. She’d been wishing all her life for him to do so many things—wishing and waiting. She was done with that; it was time for action. She grabbed his bottom with both hands, slammed him into her, and began to blatantly slide her pelvis against his rock hard penis. Up and down, back and forth, harder each time. He broke the kiss and cried out with maybe surprise, maybe pleasure, hopefully both.

He seized her bottom, pulled her in closer, and said again her ear, “I want you, Christian. I want you so damned bad. I thought I was going to bend you over and take you right there on that couch in front of the Christmas tree, Santa Claus, and my family.”

 
He wanted her.

Then he took charge. He buried his face in her neck, unzipped her pants, and reached inside her panties.

“Wet. You’re so wet.” His voice was raspy. “Come on.” As he took her hand, he looked deep in her eyes. She saw something there she’d never seen in any man’s eyes, yet she recognized it for what it was—intense, pure desire and need.

It felt good to be needed, better to be desired.

Christian expected him to lead her to her bedroom, but instead he took her to his—the same room that had been hers before her mother moved to Florida. That seemed so right. He wanted her, so he was taking her to the place that was his, but it was the same room where she had ached for him for so many years.

Now she knew a different kind of ache.

It was almost as if Beau knew she would be embarrassed if she were the only one naked in the room. After one last kiss, he threw the covers back and eased her down on the bed. “Lie there. I want to undress you myself.”

And then the most miraculous thing that had happened to Christian so far in this life occurred. Beau stripped off every stitch of his clothes and stood before her in all his broad shouldered, muscled, tapered-waist perfection.

He was Adonis, Chris Hemsworth, and the boy she’d loved her whole life, all rolled into one.

And best of all, his penis stood at attention like a beefeater outside Buckingham Palace. She’d never touched a penis—which was part of the reason her attempts to lose her virginity had come to nothing. She’d been waiting to touch this penis—and she was done waiting.

She rolled to her side and held out her hand. “I’ll have that now, please,” she said primly.

He laughed a warm, easy laugh that washed over her and made her love for him increase at least tenfold.

“Yes, please.” He stepped closer to the edge of the bed so she could take it in her hands.

It felt so right to hold his pulsating penis—warm, smooth, and throbbing with a life of its own. She stroked and rubbed, fascinated with how she could make him moan with pleasure each time it jerked against her palms. She grew bolder, increasing the friction even as she gently cupped his testicles.

“Good, so good. Yes. That’s right. Perfect,” he moaned when she found the rhythm that made him tremble until he had to grab the headboard to steady himself.

“I want to make you feel good,” she whispered, so as not to break the moment.

“Oh, you do. You do.”

“I love this. I could do it forever.” And that was true. If she could do nothing but lie here fully clothed touching Beau like this, making him groan with pleasure until she starved to death, she would die in paradise.

“I could let you do it forever.” He laughed a little. “I have perfect control. It would have been over a long time ago for most men.”

Christian was at a loss as to how to describe the emotion that came over her then—love, gratitude, lust. Maybe all of that. Suddenly, she wanted to do more, had to do more, had to have the perfect intimate moment. Not only had she never done such a thing before, but she also would have never imagined she’d be ready right now—but she’d read plenty of books with her hand between her legs and her mind on Beau. And in the books, one thing was always sure: No matter how the woman went about it, the man never thought there was a wrong way.

She rolled closer to edge of the bed, urged him nearer, and took his penis in her mouth.

The sound Beau made was somewhere between anguish and rapture—and she knew it wasn’t anguish. She concentrated on the taste. Salty, maybe a little metallic, like clean sweat. And there seemed to be a small drop of something at the end—not enough for the Big Finish. Just a little leak. She’d read about that, too. She flicked at it with her tongue.

“Damn, Christian!” he growled, and his knees buckled a little.

She backed out. “Should I stop?”

“No! For God’s sake, no.” Now that was a sound of agony. She slid her tongue up and down the base and then around the head. “Ahh.” He sighed contentedly.

But she didn’t want him content. She wanted him in heaven, so she took him fully in her mouth again and began to suck in earnest.

He took her hand and guided it to the base. “Do this. Hard.” And with his hand over hers he set the rhythm.

Christian began to suspect that this might be the moment. And she was okay with that, even if this was all there would be, even if she left this room still a virgin. She hadn’t come in the room feeling that way, but it was different now. She wanted to give him pleasure, to make him happy, and that was all that mattered—all that had ever mattered.

But then he pulled back. “No more.”

He pulled her to her feet, and just for a moment, she thought he was stopping. But then he pulled her sweater over her head, threw it on the floor, and pulled her pants down around her ankles. “That’s better.” He eased her onto to her back and finished removing her pants. When he came to lie beside her he began to laugh.

“What?” How dare he, after she’d put herself out there like this? “Why are you laughing at me?”

He kissed the corner of her mouth and ran his hand over her silk-clad bottom. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m delighted with you. Interesting underwear choice.”

Shit. She’d forgotten. “I try.” There was a little wail in her voice. “I mean well. I buy matched sets, but I can’t manage to get them on at the same time.” And it was true. Today she wore the baby pink balconette bra that wasn’t much more than a lacy whisper, but the matching Brazilian bikini underpants had been nowhere to be found. So she’d worn the purple paisley boy shorts, whose matching bra was in the wash.

“I like that you aren’t all matched up.” He lightly ran his hands over the lace of her bra. That was nice, though she didn’t like to have her nipples touched. Maybe she could endure it without him noticing. He stroked again. “It reminds me that you don’t have time to match up your underwear. Because you are taking care of the things and people who are important to you.” He kissed her cleavage. “You take care of your business.” And then the top of her right breast. “Your friends.” He let his tongue drift over and give her left breast a mirror image kiss. “And me. You take care of me. You always have.” And he kissed his way down between her breasts and ran his tongue along the band of her bra.

 “I’ll bet your other women always match.” Why had she said that? Remind him of other women? Stupid, stupid, stupid!