Unbreak My Heart (32 page)

"So you just let it go?"

"I felt guilty as hell about what happened to her. But I still didn't know anything. I didn't see the point in asking my father or my brother—I wouldn't have believed anything they said about it. And without any evidence... what could I have done? She was dead."

"I don't know," she said. "All those questions... All those doubts..."

"You lived with them yourself for years," he pointed out. "And I'm not saying that to hurt you or to criticize you. I'm saying people make compromises all the time. Your mother was all you had left. You lived with the questions, you made your peace with it, for the sake of your relationship with her."

Allie closed her eyes, not quite able to bring herself to admit she'd done just that.

"This is my family," Stephen said finally. "I've been trying to find a way to co-exist with them for years. Mostly, I go my own way now. I love my mother, but I don't understand her. She stays with my father even though he treats her like shit. My father and I are like polite strangers. I tolerate him for my mother's sake, and I tolerate my brother, as well, but I don't trust him and I worry about what he's capable of doing to someone else or even to himself. We gather around the dinner table on national holidays and act as civilized as possible. I run into them every now and then when I go see my mother. But that's it. That's my big, happy family.

"Did I do the wrong thing all those years ago? I don't know. I regret a lot of things—especially the fact that your sister died. But regrets don't change anything. I've tried hard to live my life the way I see fit and be comfortable with the man I've become. But looking at it all through your eyes, I don't really like what I see. I'm afraid you won't, either."

Allie squeezed his hands more tightly, hating the bleakness of his tone. He'd been hurt, too. "Stephen—"

His hands were on her arms, gentle and soothing where his brother had no doubt left bruises. He seemed to feel the need to atone for what his family had done, so Allie let herself rest there, nearly in his arms, nearly back under the mesmerizing spell that was Stephen Whittaker.

"I'm sorry, Allie." He brought one of his hands to the side of her face. "I'm so sorry. I hate what my family's done to yours."

She leaned into him, into the luxurious warmth and reassurance of his touch. In a few short days she'd become addicted to it. She didn't protest when he shifted, bringing his body in line with hers, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. He pressed her head down to his chest and gently stroked her back. She felt some of the tension seep out of her, some of the ugliness of that scene with his brother fading away and that awful, enveloping loneliness fading away. Even now, he just took it all away.

"How do you make every bad thing seem not so bad when you touch me this way?"

"I don't know, Allie. I do know life looks a whole lot better when you're in my arms."

Allie didn't know what she could say to that. She liked the whole world so much better when she was in his arms. But she didn't trust the feelings, either. Didn't trust them to last, didn't trust him not to hurt her again.

He made her feel so much, as if her heart was so full it hurt. It scared her, and she didn't understand it, and it hurt. She felt raw and utterly exposed. But she didn't know how to walk away from him, either.

He rested his chin on the top of her head, her face was buried in the sweet-smelling curve of his neck. Heat radiated from him, and she snuggled closer. After years of being so empty inside, she didn't know how she could go back to the way things had been without him in her life.

Chapter 16

Martha heard about the runaway boy during the lunch shift, and she hurried home to tell Tucker, hoping it would put his mind at ease about his silly notion that the boy could be Janet Bennett's son.

It hurt Martha that her man was still so hung up on a woman he hadn't seen in fifteen years that he was in a tizzy about this boy. Martha had been living with that kind of hurt for as long as she'd been involved with Tucker. He'd been up front with her from the start. He'd given his heart to someone else, and even if he couldn't be with that woman, he would never love anyone else. Martha heard him loud and clear. She simply hadn't believed him at the time. But it turned out to be the truest thing anyone had ever told her, and she couldn't even find it in her heart to hold it against Tucker when he'd warned her so plainly. What he didn't understand was that Martha didn't have a choice at that point, either. She was already in love with Tucker, even if he couldn't love her back.

She pulled up in front of the house. Tucker, looking grim, was waiting.

"You heard?" she said.

"Some nonsense about the boy being a runaway from Mississippi who's been hiding out at the Bennett house."

"Alabama," she said. "The boy's from Alabama. Birmingham, I heard. The sheriff found a bulletin on him."

"Bulletin?" he said. "What did the kid do?"

"Ran away."

"Why'd he come here? Why the Bennett house?"

"I don't know. It's as good a place as any."

Tucker shook his head. "Something's not right. That boy... for him to be there. For him to look so much like Janet.... It can't be a coincidence."

"What else could it be?" Martha asked.

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

* * *

They were once again near downtown Lexington when Stephen turned into a street of elegant, brick town houses in a lushly landscaped, garden-like setting, pulling into the driveway of an end unit. There were wide sidewalks, a profusion of fall color from the trees and the flowers. He led her to the back of his town house to a patio that bordered a small lake. Allie stared at the water, a calm silvery blue. Some ducks paddled lazily across the water in the distance. Birds soared overhead. She was so tired, and she just wanted to forget about every ugly thing they'd found out today. She wanted to let this place soothe her, let herself have just a few more moments with Stephen.

"It's lovely here," she said. "You built this development?"

"Rebuilt it."

"I like it, Stephen."

"I was hoping you would."

He slid an arm around her waist and led her inside. It wasn't flashy or fancy, the room filled with solid pieces of furniture, the overall feeling one of understated elegance, but comfort, as well. The walls were an off-white color—a chalk-like shade that looked rich and wonderfully textured against the accents in dark green. She could see Stephen here, sprawled out on the big, striped sofa, walking down the beautiful staircase in the morning with his shirt unbuttoned, the tails untucked, his hair still wet from the shower.

"It suits you," she said.

"How is that?"

"Solid, strong, dependable." She believed he was all of those things.

He winced. "God, I'm that boring?"

"No." She shook her head. "Nothing like that."

Stephen put his keys on the foyer table. Allie followed him, admiring the massive mahogany door with its elegant cut-glass window, the antique light fixture that hung in the hallway in front of the elaborate gold-tinted mirror.

She could see them reflected in the mirror. He caught her staring and came up behind her, slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her body back to rest against his. Heat radiated from him. He spread his fingers wide, his palm flat against her abdomen. Pleasure unfurled deep inside her belly, his effect on her that potent, that instantaneous.

"I don't want to take you back just yet." He nudged her head to the side, his mouth settling on the tender skin at the side of her neck. "You scared me today. The way you looked at me. The things you were thinking about me."

Allie shivered as his teeth nipped at her neck, her body coming alive. She could feel his erection pressed against her hips. Instinctively, she arched against him, increasing the pressure, unable to stop herself from wanting him. Hours ago, she'd been crushed, thinking he'd gotten her sister pregnant, believing everything between him and her had been a lie.

"It scared me, too," she admitted.

"I'm afraid you're going to hate me before this is over," he said, through lips pressed to her skin, his mouth doing terribly erotic things to her neck.

And then she knew he'd brought her here to make love to her again, to bind them even more strongly together. She shivered at the thought. And she wanted it, too. To be bound to him to the point where nothing at all could ever come between them again.

Stephen lifted his head. His gaze met hers in the mirror. "Are you afraid of me?"

"I've never been afraid of you. Just of the way you make me feel."

He turned her in his arms until she faced him, letting her rest there against him for a minute, unashamed of his blatant arousal, letting her think of what he wanted, letting her make up her mind about what she wanted, as well.

"Come upstairs with me, Allie. I have a big, old mahogany bed with cream-colored sheets, and I've been picturing you there. I've been thinking you're going to look absolutely perfect in my bed."

Trembling at the erotic image he painted in her head, she slipped her hand into his and let him lead her upstairs. The bed was magnificent, the wood rich and positively gleaming, the mattress sitting high off the floor. He pulled back the comforter and the top sheet, lifted her up onto the mattress, and eased her back until she was lying on the bed. Then he undressed her.

Watching her the entire time, he slipped off her shoes, unbuttoned the cuffs of her sleeves, then the tiny buttons down the front of her dress. He pulled the ends of the dress open, leaving her in a lacy pair of panties and a matching bra and stockings that stopped at the top of her thighs.

The bra fastened in front, and he undid that and pulled it open as well, then slid her panties down her hips and stepped back to study her as she imagined he might study a painting in a museum.

His look alone was enough to heat her body, to have her itching to touch him, to look at him as he was looking at her. She felt her nipples bunch up, begging for his touch, until they almost hurt. She watched him watch the changes in them, nearly arched up off the bed in anticipation when he reached out a hand and slowly stroked one of her breasts, then the other.

He used one hand, five fingers, running all over her body, as if he might memorize her by touch alone. He stroked her jaw, ran the pad of his finger along her bottom lip. She touched the tip of her tongue to his thumb and was rewarded by the first, brief break in his control. He looked for a minute like he was going to devour her whole, but pulled back a second later and resumed that sweet, slow stroking of her body.

When his hand finally dipped between her thighs, there was no hiding what he'd done to her. Her body was soft and moist, ready for him. He slid one finger deep inside of her, and she cried out, wondering if he was going to do nothing but watch her. If he was going to make her writhe and beg and cry out.

She'd never seen a man more intent on learning her body, learning what she liked and how she responded to his touch. She was twisting and turning on the bed, fighting to stay still but unable to, fighting not to reach for him, not to beg for him. But she was dying to touch him.

She closed her eyes, was breathing as if she'd just ran for miles. There were tears seeping out of the corners of her eyes, and then she felt his tongue, warm and smooth and velvety soft, against the inside curve of her knee. The bed gave beneath his weight. He settled himself between her legs, a hand on either side of her legs as he leaned over her.

He slowly worked his way up her thigh, licking and sucking and biting gently. She cried out when he reached her center, at the first sweet touch of his tongue, and moments later when her whole body convulsed around him. He was merciless, going on and on when she knew she just couldn't take anymore. Sensations piled on top of sensations, overwhelming her, leaving her drained and weak and still so very needy. Until he finally stripped off his clothes and came to her, covering her body with his, filling all the empty places until she thought she would never be alone again, that she would never be afraid, and knowing she would always, always need him.

* * *

The phone rang, pulling Stephen out of a deep, satisfying sleep. He grabbed the receiver and rolled onto his back. Allie followed him, sleepily settling herself against his side, trusting him at least in her sleep.

Stephen brought the phone to his ear. "Hello."

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" a voice roared at him.

"Hello, Dad," Stephen said casually.

"Have you lost your mind?" his father said. "Knocking your brother down in a public place. Bloodying his nose. Your brother is so upset. I've never seen him like this. I don't know how I'm going to calm him down, and with the election coming up, he doesn't need this, Stephen. None of us do. I still can't believe you did it. Despite our differences, I never thought you'd forget who your family is. Or hurt your brother this way."

"What can I say? I never knew my brother had taken up raping sixteen-year-old girls as a pastime."