More Than You Know (18 page)

She'd crawled down the length of his body, leaving a trail of hot kisses, until she'd used that talented mouth to drive him wild and give him a birthday present he'd never forget. The feel of her lips, her tongue, so warm and wet . . . she'd owned him. He'd lost control, and she'd loved every minute of it.

His blood started heating up again just thinking about it.

He walked into the cabin and stopped at what he saw. Julia was asleep, her flaming red hair in stark contrast to the white sheets tangled around her. He'd never seen her asleep before. She looked so pretty . . . and so peaceful. When she was awake, he'd seen her in many different ways: fired up, singing, laughing, concentrating, pissed off, playful, sensual, even screaming out his name in the throes of passion . . . but never as calm and serene as she looked right then.

He hated to disturb her, so he slipped beneath the sheets as carefully as he could, then wrapped his arms around her to pull her close. She gave a sweet sigh and instinctively curled into his side, resting her hand on his stomach and her head on his chest.

Something inside him warmed, then melted. Quietly, almost unnoticeably at first. But the longer he held her, the more he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. He played with her hair, twirling the thick, soft strands between his fingers as he watched the patterns the sunlight created on the walls. The boat barely rocked on the water, cutting across the Sound nice and steady. His eyes grew heavy and slipped closed....

When he opened them again, he was disoriented for a minute, not sure where he was. The dappled sunlight in the room had changed angles. Time had gone wavy; how long had he been asleep? He lifted Julia's hand from his chest to peek at her watch and grimaced. It was a quarter to five. He'd been out for about an hour, and the yacht would be back at the marina fairly soon.

He stroked his hand along her smooth, naked back and kissed her temple. “Hey, beautiful,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

“Mmm . . .” she moaned softly and snuggled closer.

He breathed her in, a mixed scent of sunscreen on her skin, saltwater in her hair, and the faint hint of their sex. It was intoxicating. “Wake up, Red. Gotta go home soon.”

“Huh?” She startled, lifting her head to blink and look at his face. “What . . . how long was I asleep?”

“Maybe an hour and a half,” he guessed, still caressing her skin. “Guess I wore you out.”

She snorted. “Last round,
I
did the hard work.” Her head dropped to his chest again.

He was surprised she was letting him hold her. She usually didn't, not for more than a minute or two. It was nice. He savored it.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly. “Nice and relaxed, I hope? I sure am.”

“Um . . . yeah, actually,” she said, as if she were admitting a secret. “I'm very relaxed.”

“It's okay to be cozy, you know,” he said, only half-joking. “You don't have to be so . . . on guard all the time.”

She stiffened ever so slightly, and his arm tightened around her.

“I mean . . . it's been a few weeks now,” he murmured. “You're allowed to relax and enjoy the ‘after' part. It doesn't mean I'm expecting anything from you. There can be no strings and still be . . . postsex cuddling.”

“I'm not big on cuddling,” she mumbled. “Haven't been with many cuddlers.”

“Then let's just try it for a few minutes because it's nice,” he said. “Consider it a birthday present.”

“You mean doing you outside on the deck of your daddy's yacht wasn't a memorable birthday present?” she countered. “Or the oral I gave you that made you beg?”

“Well, yeah, those were . . . amazing. Damn.” His hand lowered to pinch her ass and she squeaked. “But hey, it's still my birthday. That's an all-day pass, as far as I'm concerned.”

“You're so greedy,” she joked. But she stayed in his arms and didn't push away. He exhaled.

“You look nice when you're sleeping,” he told her.

“I do?” she asked, surprised. “Nice how?”

“Like . . . at peace,” he said. “Sweet. Serene.”

She snorted again. “Those are several words that don't describe me at all.”

“Then that's a shame.” Taking a deep breath, he decided to push after all. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes. Doesn't mean I'll answer it, though,” she warned.

“Fair enough.” Did he really want to do this? Yeah, why not. “I've just wondered . . . because you're so untrusting, so suspicious of anything I do or say to you that's nice . . . your ex-husband. He was awful to you, wasn't he?”

She went stiff as a board in his arms. He didn't let go.

“You don't have to tell me,” he said quickly, regretting his words as soon as he'd said them. “I'm not asking for details. I just want to know . . . or, understand a little better . . . what happened to you that made you this way. Because, Julia . . .” He tipped up her chin to make her look at him. “I've seen you in a few rare, unguarded moments. You're actually, despite your best efforts to hide it from me, a really nice person, with softness. You seem to think that's a bad thing.”

“I'm not a sad sack. Don't do that,” she warned him.

“I'm just trying to figure out what makes you tick.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“I don't
need
to. I'd
like
to.”

She was quiet for a minute, playing with the hair on his chest, and he waited. Then she said, “Yes, he was awful to me. He was nice at first, but soon after we got married, the good behavior ended, the mask fell off, and it turned horrible. I was so young when I met him, so open and trusting . . . took no time at all for him to sucker me, manipulate me . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Was he abusive?” Dane asked quietly.

“Emotionally, yes,” she said. “Physically, no.”

“Abuse is abuse,” Dane said. “And the emotional scars tend to run deeper.”

They lay in silence. He could feel the tension in her body and caressed her smooth back with long, gentle strokes.

“Is this line of questioning over?” she asked. “I really, really don't like to talk about him, or anything that happened. The past is the past, and it should stay there.”

“Still hurts that much?” he guessed.

She paused before admitting, “Some of it always will.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” He pressed his lips to her forehead with the utmost tenderness, and felt her shudder slightly in response. “It's okay, Julia. It's okay.”

She nodded against his chest. He wondered what she was thinking about, what memories were torturing her at the moment. He decided to let it go and not say another word.

But after a minute she said, “He wrecked my life. Meeting him was the worst thing that ever happened to me.” Surprised that she was volunteering more information, he stayed silent to let her talk. He felt how rigid the muscles in her body had become, and kept rubbing her back in an effort to soothe her as she spoke. “We met in Boston, when I was still in college. I was young and stupid. He was handsome, and oh so charming, and from a rich, well-connected family . . . a lot like you.”

Ahh, there it was.
“Then it's no wonder you were wary of me from the start,” Dane said.

“Yeah. The similarities . . .” She swallowed hard, keeping her cheek to his chest so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye. “He swept me off my feet. Then he manipulated me, used me, lied to me, and eventually hurt me however he could. He was sick. He just wanted to feel powerful over someone. Then, he wanted to punish me for standing up to him. And he did.” Another long pause before she whispered, “He took our son away from me.”

Her voice was so sad, Dane had to close his eyes against the rush of pain he felt for her. He'd been right about that, at least: she had borne a child. She had a son. Things were somehow a little different now, knowing that.

“He took my son from me, he took
everything
away from me, and I had to rebuild my life from ashes.” Her tone turned bitter. “At first, I had to go live with my mother. She and my older sister treated me like I was a pariah. They actually blamed me for everything, because Max made me out to be . . . whatever, they believed him, not me. And my teenage princess younger sister was mad that I was getting so much attention, even though it was negative attention, so she was just a mean brat. They were all angry at me, made it clear they thought less of me—like I'd had any control over the situation.
I
was the one who lost my son, my home, my bank account. . . .” She cleared her throat and shifted a bit beside him. “I took the first job I could so I could support myself and get the hell out of there. I ignored them the best I could, moved out after a year, and never looked back. I don't speak to any of them. I don't think they care. Too much damage.”

Dane sighed and hugged her tightly, not knowing what to say. In response, she pulled away and sat up, pulling the sheets up over her breasts. He stared at her pale back, at her mane of red hair tangled and tumbling over her shoulders, and as much as he wanted to reach out and grasp her, he knew instinctively not to touch her right then. “Julia, I'm so sorry.”

She nodded, but didn't turn back to him or say a word.

“Um . . . where's your son now?” he asked carefully.

“With his father.” Her voice was a mixture of bitterness and resignation. “Max turned him against me. Poisoned him, filled his head with lies . . .” She cleared her throat again before admitting in a defeated whisper, “He doesn't speak to me. I've tried to call, e-mail . . . I still do on his birthday, holidays. He doesn't reply. His father did a thorough job of brainwashing him.”

Dane closed his eyes and winced as a shaft of heartache lanced through him. “That's one of the worst things I've ever heard,” he said softly.

“Isn't it?” She got up from the bed, leaving him with the heavy comforter as she wrapped the sheet around her, and went to one of the windows to look out at the water.

He watched her for a few minutes, giving her room. A lot more things made sense now. Her instant distrust of him, her defensive stance, her need for armor . . . and he still had no real idea of what she'd been through. The little she'd revealed to him was a nightmare, but he had no clue how deep the horrors went. He wanted to find this bastard ex-husband of hers and beat him senseless. Whatever he'd done to her, she was scarred for life, that was obvious. Max had broken her, her family had rejected her . . . thankfully she'd had the strength to rebuild, but
damn.

She was so quiet now. His heart squeezed for her.

“Julia,” he finally said. “Come back to bed.”

She turned to look at him. Her expression was placid, yet haunted. Sunlight from outside backlit her, turning her hair into a ring of glowing fire around her face and shoulders. Sadness had etched a frown into her face and shadowed her eyes. He'd never seen her seem . . . fragile. Yes, she was still her strong self, but he saw the hint of fragility. It made him want to hold her for days.

“Thank you for telling me . . . any of it,” he said. “I know you didn't want to.”

She huffed out a resigned breath, and he watched her face tighten. “Why do you need to know anything about my past?” she asked tersely. “It's got nothing to do with us. I'm not your girlfriend. We're just sleeping together. No strings, remember? Why did you even ask? I hate talking about it. I don't want to again. Okay?”

He felt like she'd slapped him. But she wasn't wrong. That was their deal. She wasn't his girlfriend. In fact, he didn't have a label for her. She was his . . .

His breath stuck in his throat. Damn. He had no label for her, but he simply thought of her as his. She was
his.
When and how did
that
happen?

But right then, she was scrambling to get her armor back on. He got that. She was feeling vulnerable, regretting what she'd revealed, and needed both assurance and distance. This wasn't about him, it was about her. No more pushing today.

“No problem,” he said softly, holding her eyes with his. “Understood. Now please come here.”

She hesitated for a few seconds, but slowly crossed the cabin and got back into bed. He pulled her against him, kissed the top of her head, and held her close. Her arms snaked around his waist, and she let him hold her.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“I could snack,” she said.

“I can have someone bring us some food here,” he said. “We don't have to get out of bed yet. What would you like? Name it. Fruit? Chocolate? A sandwich?”

She kissed his shoulder and whispered, “Thank you, Dane.”

His fingers slipped under her chin, raised it, and he looked into her eyes, searching. He saw so many things in her expressive, gorgeous eyes. The gold flecks seemed to glow in the sea of light brown, reflecting sadness, wariness, and some of the fiery strength he knew so well. He also saw such stark vulnerability there, it touched his heart.

He lowered his mouth to hers, brushing his lips gently against hers. He wanted to kiss away all the things that had hurt her, that made her look pained even now, that made her fight him and lash out and put on protective armor. He kissed her with all the tenderness he possessed. Then he swept her hair back from her forehead and said, “We'll be docking soon. I'd invite you to join my brother, my sister, and me for dinner, but something tells me you'd rather not.”

“Maybe another time,” she whispered. “But thanks.”