Not Over You (Holland Springs #5)
Page 18Her legs widened, giving him an extremely nice view of her wet folds, all pink and waiting for him to fill her up again. Grabbing his cock, he eased it inside of her, pausing to give her time to adjust. “How’s that?”
“I won’t say it.” There was a little hitch in her voice.
Exhaling, he closed his eyes. “You don’t have to.”
“Angel,” she said tentatively.
He didn’t want to answer her. All he wanted was for her to agree, and for them to make love like nothing was wrong between them. But he did anyway.
“I’m still here.” The snug feel of her made his eyes water. He couldn’t help it.
“Order me to tell you to move.”
His eyes flew open. “What?”
“Please,” she said. “I can’t…”
Their damnable pride. That’s what had brought them to this point, and yet, here she was, asking for his help. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want…” He slid the smallest of distances and she moaned. “That. I want that.”
He gripped her hips, pulling out and thrusting inside of again. “This?”
“Yes.”
In and out, he thrust inside of her, every slide, every roll of his hips, encourage by her reverent yeses and pleas for more. His heart pounded, and their skin grew slick. Bead of sweat rolled down his back, but there was no way he’d come before her.
Slipping a hand under her body, he cupped her and made her sit back on him, sliding his fingers to where they were joined. She tightened around him, her breasts bouncing as she moved.
Her head fell back. She turned slightly to kiss him. He fastened his mouth to hers and drove deep. She cried out and he joined her, growling like some animal.
But none of that mattered, because she was weeping in his arms and he was pulling out of her, turning her to face him, and kissing her tears away.
There were no need for words, no need for questions. Only comfort, only love, and he had it all to give her, even if she still believed she didn’t deserve it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gabriel pulled a shirt over his head. “I have to go into town tonight. There’s an emergency with one of my clients.”
Summer sat up in bed, arms wrapped around her legs. “Does that happen a lot?”
“No, but this kid in particular is extremely stubborn.” He sat down in a chair and began to lace up a pair of sneakers. “She keeps running away from her uncle’s home, and the law keeps finding and bringing her back.”
“Maybe she doesn’t belong there.”
“What if her uncle is hurting him?”
Gabriel pinned her with a look. “Not all men are like Patrick Johnson.”
“He’s not my uncle.”
“But he is dead.”
Summer blinked at him. “How… are you kidding? Please tell me you’re not kidding.” She felt light in the head. This was something that had come between them for years. His belief that she had started sleeping with Patrick to get back at him, and when he learned the truth, she’d made him pay for years by allowing the men and women around here to talk about her, to spread rumors and lies. It was only fitting since Gabriel had believed them, without getting her side first.
By the time he had come to her for her side of the story, she’d been so hurt and furious that she refused to have anything to do with him. She’d refused his calls, his visits… everything until he had asked her to prom and she’d told him to drop dead.
He’d taken Zoe Ambrose instead, but Summer wasn’t mad at her. She still wasn’t mad at her. She wouldn’t have been even if Zoe and Gabriel had gotten married and had beautiful children. It wasn’t Zoe’s fault, and none of the Ambroses had ever treated her or her sisters like second-class citizens.
Come to think of it, there had been many times, Leah Ambrose, the matriarch of the family, had come to Strawberry Grove with some extra food that was about to spoil, or so she claimed.
But that extra food always ended up being fresh, home-cooked meals. Azalea had taken it all, like Leah Ambrose owed her, but the baby, Skye, had always hugged the other woman in thanks. Summer and Rose would stand silently, watching from the porch and wishing a hole would swallow them up.
Funny how little memories like that sneaked up on a person when they were feeling most vulnerable. But right now, she didn’t want memories of Patrick Johnson. She wanted all the gory details of his death.
Gabriel crossed the room and sat down beside her. “He was caught raping a twelve year old. Her dad blew his head off.”
“Good,” she said, refusing to look at him. “Don’t you dare say vengeance only belongs to the—”
“I would have castrated him,” Gabriel said softly. “I blame myself for not doing it years ago.”
Tears clogged her throat. “But you would have gone to jail.”
“Sweetheart, I did go to jail for assaulting Patrick.” Her gaze flew to his as he continued. “I stayed locked up for six weeks, and then had a years’ worth of probation.” He picked up one of her hands, lacing his fingers through it. His wedding ring caught her eye, a sign of his commitment to her, though he’d been committed to her since they were children. “Why else do you think those kids listen to me?”
“I never knew,” she said. He’d done all that after he’d found out what Patrick had done, and hadn’t bothered to tell her? “If I had, I would have—”
“Gone to jail for stealing his car and taking his money?” Gabriel gave her a sad smile. “Justice doesn’t always work the way we want it.”
“I didn’t steal it,” she gulped. “His dad gave it to me, so I’d be quiet. He said if I didn’t take it and be quiet, then he’d…he’d bring Skye to his son. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Get out of here, girl,” Patrick, Senior had shouted at her, shoving her from behind.
She limped to the mustang, the pain between her thighs excruciating. One eye was swollen and her lip was busted, but she was alive.
“I’m trying,” she managed to snap.
“Don’t you tell no one either. You tell, then so do I.” He took her by the arm, and began dragging her to the car. “Ain’t no one going to believe the daughter of a whore, who raised nothing but baby whores.”
Now that, Summer believed. “Why are you helping me, then?”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his logic.
He opened the car door and shoved her inside. Pain shot through her, making black dots dance in front of her eyes. “I’ll be keeping my ear out. If I hear so much as a peep, I’ll get that sister of yours, the redheaded one, and let Patrick play with her.”
Helpless fury rose. Summer might not be able to save any other girls from what she went through, but she could at least keep her sisters safe. “You touch her or Rose, and I’ll burn your house to the ground with Patrick in it.”
He paled a little, and then shut the door. “Just remember what I said.”
“As long as you remember what I promised.”
He nodded and she drove away.
She didn’t come back for almost a year, but she had to check on her sisters to make sure they were safe. However, when she came back, Azalea was gone and everyone looked to her to be the new town whore—after all, every small town had one. Only the newest one of Holland Springs had never had consensual sex with any of the men there. She never touched a single one of them. Ever.
Gabriel wrapped his arms around her, taking her out of her head—thank God. “If I could have saved you, I would have.”
“I’m not some fragile doll,” she lied, leaning into him and letting his warmth fill her. “I won’t break.”
“Never thought you to be a doll, but you are fragile, just not in ways you think you should be.” He kissed the top of her head. “And we all have our breaking points.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise to be honest?” He gave her a come-on-this-is-me look. “How many men do you think I’ve been with?”
He didn’t hesitate when he answered, “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“But I let you think I’ve—”
“Remember our conversation about mathematical impossibilities?” he asked, one dark brow raised.
She blushed, actually blushed, over the memory. “I seem to recall the one about chemistry and biology getting us all hot and bothered.”
He grinned, and then his expression turned serious. “One day, if you still feel the need to tell me how many or how few men you’ve been with, I’m all ears. But for now, I want you to keep it to yourself, because you need to know in my eyes you have always been worthy of everything good in this life.”
Gabriel watched her face as his words sank in. Maybe, just maybe, she would let his words process this time.
“You should probably go,” was all she said, and he tried not to let his disappointment show.
“I should be home before ten, but I’ll call you before I get back.” He let go of her, grabbing his cell phone from the nightstand and pocketing it. “I’ll text you.”
She nodded, and he felt his heart pinch a little. Time, he told himself. They couldn’t erase years of history in only a month. But a selfish part of him wanted her to at least go ahead and try.
“Summer.”
“I love you.”
Her brown-eyed, desolate stare nearly ripped him in two. “I know you do, angel.”
As he left the house, he prayed for guidance and strength. He prayed that Summer would see herself the way he saw her, and he prayed for her to receive the forgiveness she didn’t think she deserved. They needed help in the coming days, months, and years.
This he knew, because there was no way either of them could do it on their own.
Chapter Twenty-Three
By the end of July, Rose, Ivy, and Alexander still hadn’t returned from their travels, and Summer was getting restless. Each day she was growing closer to Gabriel, to his family, and to abandoning her plan of getting custody of Ivy back from her sister.
She couldn’t allow that to happen. It was bad enough that she went to church and ate dinner at Gabriel’s parents’ house every Sunday. It was bad enough that she’d gone on couples dates with Jemma Leigh and her husband, Jeremy. It was bad enough that the bells on Carolina Dreams’ door never seemed to quit ringing, and people never stopped smiling. At her.
What was worse though, what was almost unpardonable, was the way she allowed herself to become vulnerable and surrender to Gabriel, like last night.
“Come sit with me and watch the sunset. It’s almost as pretty as you to look at,” he said when she joined him on the patio.
Next thing she knew, he had her in his arms, kissing her hard, and sliding his fingers deep inside of her. “So wet, sweetheart. So wet for me,” he whispered while she’d trembled in his embrace. “Let me take care of you.”
“Yes. Please,” she moaned.
She trusted him to keep his word, because he always did, right down to the littlest of things, like picking up toothpaste for her. Something she could have done it herself, but it was like she was testing him.
Pick me up at five, she would tell him, and he would show up at 4:59.
He brought her flowers every Tuesday. On Thursdays, he would take her to lunch and share the latest software his company had in development, which had led to her point blank asking him how much money he had, if only to make him think she was interested in that and nothing else.
“Not that it’s my business, or that I need it,” she said. “But you never ask me to contribute to paying the bills, and I’m living with you.”
He pulled out his phone, ran his fingers over it, and then handed it to her. She almost dropped the phone. “My money is your money. No secrets. The house is paid for, so our bills are minimal.”
She’d merely nodded and handed it back. “You want to see mine? I don’t have that many numbers in front of the decimal point.”
“Whenever you want,” he said. “If you need help investing it, let me know. I have a buddy down in Charlotte that’s brilliant with numbers. But pretty soon, we need to sit down and go over finances for our future plans.”
The thought of the future scared Summer to death, mostly because her future had been more about them, and less about her and Ivy. He never brought up her plan to get her daughter back, and she wasn’t sure if he hoped she would forget about it, or would abandon her plan.
Tonight, however, she would put him to the test, instead of making love after dinner, like they usually did. She still couldn’t believe he’d talked her into becoming his dessert after one meal. Since then, she’d made it a point to be his dessert and to make him hers. She was very inventive when she wanted to be, which was all the time with Gabriel.
She couldn’t blame him though. He was making up for twenty-nine years of abstinence.
“That’s the last dish,” Gabriel said, placing it on the drying rack. “Ready for dessert?” He wriggled his brows suggestively.
“I thought we could talk finances tonight.” His face fell, and she almost said forget it, but she had to do this. She had to remind him of why they’d gotten married in the first place. It was only fair. It was the right thing to do, even if it hurt like hell to do it.