Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (24 page)

He wiped drops off his face. “Front door’s locked and you didn’t answer my knock. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Lightning flashed, illuminating fast-moving dark clouds. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need you following me home and checking on me. Just like I didn’t need you to step in with Andrew tonight.”

He ruffled a hand through his hair, looking to his feet, before lifting his face again. “Dammit, I know that in here—” he tapped his temple “—but something happens in here—” he splayed a hand over the white of his shirt “—when I sense something is wrong. I can’t seem to stop myself from charging in. I’d rather have you mad as hell at me than see you hurt when there’s something I could do to prevent it.”

Hard, stinging raindrops dissolved her exasperation like sugar. Part of her wanted to lay her problems bare to him, but it smacked of dependency. No one, not even Regan, knew how bad things sometimes got with her mother. Anyway, as he kept reminding her, he was leaving soon. Depending on him for anything was dangerous. She would handle things on her own like she always had.

“Everything’s fine. My mother needed help, that’s all. So you can go.” She cursed the crack in her voice and shut the window before he could sense a weakness and exploit it.

Through the thin cloth of the drapes she watched him retreat. The rain fell faster now, pelting the gutters and obscuring her view through the window.

He was gone. It was better this way even if the urge to run after him had her gripping the window frame.

“Hey.”

“Fudge!” Monroe whirled around, losing her balance and grabbing hold of one of the curtains. Cloth ripped, and her butt hit the sill. A man stood framed in her doorway like a figment from her nightmares. How many nights had she thrashed through a sweaty nightmare of a man standing over her or where she was unable to push the bureau in front of her door?

It took less than a second for her brain to align with reality, but the second seemed an eternity and it was too late to rein in her body’s response. Her heart raced and her body trembled, her breaths too short and shallow to bring the panic under control.

She hated the instinctive fear she couldn’t stem no matter how long and hard she trained. No matter how confident she was in her ability to defend herself. The same panic had overtaken her in the alley with Dylan and again in the field with Cade when she ran.

“Wow, you have such a dirty mouth, Monroe.” Cade’s amusement rubbed like sandpaper against her raw nerves. He strolled into her room, his jacket hooked over his shoulder with a finger, his hair slicked back from the rain. He was playing a part in an old Hollywood musical while she was in a B horror movie.

Then, in a blink, he tossed his jacket on her bed and put his hands on her upper arms. “What’s wrong?”

The warmth of his touch jump-started her lungs, but she reacted instinctively, breaking the hold. He held both hands in front of him as if coaxing a scared animal but took up too much of her space. Her chest tightened even as her head chanted logic. Cade, this was Cade. He wouldn’t hurt her. Her heart sped along like a runaway horse, wild and panicked. It didn’t help that they were in her childhood bedroom. The scene of so many of her nightmares.

“You scared me. I thought—”

She closed her eyes, the scene as clear as if it had happened yesterday—Sam looming over her, his pants undone, his honeyed voice twisting her insides. A trembling spread through her body. Had it even been real? Dream or memory, it didn’t matter anymore. She heaved in a deep breath.

“How’d you get in?” She cursed the telling shake of her voice.

“A rusty key under the flowerpot outside.”

Tentatively, he reached out again, giving her time to protest. She should tell him to get out. She didn’t need anyone to lean on. She’d performed this dance with her mother a depressing number of times. When he chafed his hands up and down her bare arms, she didn’t push him away this time; she fell into him.

His rain-splotched white shirt stuck to various muscles along his chest and shoulders and dampened her cheek. Still sitting on the sill and with his hands caressing her arms, she draped her arms around his hips.

Her cheek pressed against his breastbone, his heart thumping in her ear. Hers sought the same rhythm, slowing its cadence. His scent was a combination of subtle cologne and fresh rain.

She stood, but an outside force not yet identified by scientists held her against him. She moved her hands to his chest, flattening them on either side of his heart. He kept up a gentle, soothing caress along her arms. Heat built in her belly.

He made her forget why she was here and what she was trying to hide. She skimmed her lips along his jaw to his mouth. The kiss was slow and toe curling. His hands trekked over her body. One delved into the open back of her dress. Her bare skin ignited. She pulled his shirt from his pants and slipped her hands underneath. Despite the dampness, his skin was hot.

His back muscles shifted under her hands, and she skimmed her fingernails across the planes. He hissed and dropped his mouth to her neck, biting her gently. One of his hands pulled at her skirt and slipped under. The roughness of his fingers, the scar across the palm, rasped up her thigh until he cupped her bare buttock. She squirmed. The raging storm added to the primal undercurrents.

He hummed. The sound vibrated the nerves along her neck and sent tingles through her body. “This dress is dangerous. I’ve wanted to peel it off you all night.”

The extravagance had been money well spent. He removed his hand, and the skirt fluttered against her bare skin. A soft mewl of protest escaped. She needed his big hand on her again. It seemed he was only moving on. He slipped one shoulder strap over the curve of her shoulder, kissing along its retreat.

The fabric pulled across her breast. He tipped her backward over his arm, her balance upset enough she clutched at his upper arms. He trailed his fingertips down the front of her dress, one breast nearly exposed. Her back arched, her body begging him. She wanted him to rip the expensive dress off her.

Something outside banged against the house startling them both. The heart of the storm was over them. The wind came in great gusts and whistled its way through cracks in the window.

He slid her shoulder strap into place and kissed her again, this time with less passion and more regret.

“Is your mom down the hall? How is she?”

“Fine.” She didn’t want to think about her mother. She wanted to be selfish. He turned his face, and her lips landed on his cheek.

“Last thing I want is to get caught with my pants down by your mama.”

“She won’t be bothering us. Promise.”

She slipped her hands back under his shirt, but he took her face in his hands and forced her back enough so their gazes met.

“You need me to help you get her cleaned up or into bed?” His calm understanding made her wonder if he made a habit of putting middle-aged puking women to bed.

“How’d you know?”

“I remember.”

The denials and excuses she trotted out for everyone else were worthless with him. “She made it to the toilet this time, and I got her in bed.”

He massaged her nape, the action more comforting than any trite expression of sympathy.

“I can handle her. I’ve done it for twenty years now,” she said weakly.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to, Monroe. Has she tried AA?”

“She can’t—or won’t—admit she has a problem. She’ll go for weeks without drinking. This time she made it a few months before she went on a binge. Every time I’ll think, this is it, she’s going to stay sober. And every time I get a call or text.”

The feeling of having someone to lean on literally and figuratively lowered her defenses. His arms came around her, and she laid her head on his shoulder, looking to the wall where the edges of an old poster curled. This time the hands on her back offered comfort and support and nothing more.

“What about rehab?”

“I saved up a few thousand to cover the costs of a nice one up in Jackson, but she refused. Said people will make assumptions.”

“Haven’t people already guessed?”

“Maybe. She covers well, laughs it off. It’s not like she stays drunk twenty-four-seven.” Frustration poured out of her. He continued to rub her back. She let out a shuddery breath, letting more of her weight fall into him.

“Doesn’t make her less of an alcoholic.”

“I know.” She hesitated only a moment. “It’s all about maintaining a certain image with her. She had to get a job now the alimony has run out, but she tells everyone she’s doing it for fun. Something to get her out of the house. Sometimes I wonder if I let her wake up on the bathroom floor in her own vomit she’ll finally admit she has a problem. Isn’t that awful?”

“Sounds pretty normal to feel that way if you ask me. Anyway, you’d never not be there for her.”

“She wasn’t always there for me.” Her voice cracked, and his arms tightened around her. She took a shuddery breath. “I’m saving to send her to a fancy treatment place in Arizona. Somewhere gossip won’t be an issue. They recommended at least a month stay, preferably two.”

“Have you got enough?”

“Half maybe.”

“All your extra money is going toward your mom?”

“It’s expensive. After tonight, I’m thinking I should take out a second mortgage on my house or maybe a personal loan. If I can convince her to go.”

“Can’t she cover some of the cost?”

Another fear tumbled out. “I don’t think she can afford the house anymore, and her car is falling apart.”

“She could downsize and pay for her own rehab.”

Her laugh held no humor, only an inescapable irony. “You’re too logical. Nothing about my mother is logical. She’s an emotional creature. It’s why she ends up with manipulative men. And it’s why I won’t be manipulated. By anyone.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you. I want you, but I want to help you, too. Will you let me?” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips barely brush down her neck.

She did want to lean on him, lay her troubles bare, share the burden. Except, after a decade gone, he had blown into town like a tornado and would blow right back out, leaving everyone else to survive the damage.

It didn’t seem to matter. She would take him any way she could get him, which was scarily reminiscent of how her mother approached relationships. Monroe felt full of emotion and bereft of logic. A dangerous combination.

She tried logic anyway. “You’re not sticking around Cottonbloom long enough to help me.”

“Monroe.” The way he breathed her name opened another door between them, but he didn’t make any promises to the contrary or offer up a platitude.

She appreciated his reticence. It was better to accept the destruction that awaited at the end of the path she tread. With the acceptance came the knowledge she would continue as long as she could. She wasn’t sure how long they stood in an embrace that was sexual and comforting at the same time.

“I had a chat with Sam Landry at the party tonight. How long has he been back?” His voice was soft, almost hypnotic, and a moment passed before tension wound tight in her stomach.

She pulled away from him and plopped on her bed. How could she put into words her doubts over what was real and imagined? She toyed with her skirt and stared at the carpet.

“Since last fall. He got divorced, moved back, and restarted his insurance business.”

“Has he been hassling you?”

“Why would he hassle me?”

“He’s under the impression you had a crush on him and went running off that night to get him in trouble.”

“It was a long time ago. It’s not important.” The lie squatted between them like a living thing, but Monroe didn’t know how to take it back. The ugliness colored the silence.

“Liar,” he said softly but with no judgment.

“What else did he say?”

“Thought you’d called the cops on him the other night at the Tavern.”

Her head shot up. “I didn’t.” She took a breath, blew it out, and forged on. “What if I exaggerated the threat that night?”

At the lengthening silence, she raised her gaze to Cade’s face, afraid of what she might see. Lightning flashed, casting him in sinister tones, but only curiosity shaded his voice. “Why do you think that?”

“He only touched my cheek.”

“Because you ran.”

She pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead and closed her eyes. “I did, but he said—”

“Hold up right there. Did you let him feed you a bunch of bull?” His anger permeated the room accompanied by a roll of thunder. Her knees liquefied.

“What if I misjudged the situation because I was young and inexperienced? What if I was wrong?”

“His hand was in his pants and you think he wanted to read you a bedtime story that night?” The incredulity in his voice cast more doubts.

“When he moved back, he seemed different than I remembered. He set up an insurance agency, got elected to town council. He was right about me not wanting him to marry my mom. Maybe I really was jealous.”

Lightning flashed and the cracking thunder made her jerk. He sat next to her. The old mattress dipped, and she slipped closer, her thigh against his. “So you’ve convinced yourself your memory is faulty? Tell me what you remember.”

She closed her eyes and eased her hand toward his, needing his touch but unable to explain why. He threaded their fingers, and she ran a thumb up and down the scar on his palm, the motion somehow anchoring her in the present even as she cast backward.

“I was scared. No, terrified. He was standing over me, his pants undone. At first, I didn’t understand.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice was soft but commanding. Light flashed behind her closed eyes. “Trust yourself. You remember every detail about that night. Just like I do.” Another roll of thunder nearly masked his whispered confession.

Their meeting had been important to him, too. A warmth sparked in her chest. Trust. She needed to trust in her instincts. Ironic that was exactly what she preached at her girls as she’d spent the last few months wallowing in her doubts.