Chapter Eleven
Kendall finished her short set to booming applause that filled all her empty spaces and made her feel whole. The roar of clapping hands and hoots from townspeople she thought despised her did weird things to her belly, making her feel wildly uncomfortable in her own skin, but strangely excited at the same time.
She loved performing. She always had. However, the past two years she had begun to hate the drama and large-scale productions that bordered on theatre her shows had become. That had been all Ben. Ben’s additions to her shows had been so subtle at first—a new backup singer here, a lower cut costume there, an extra night here—that she’d barely noticed. He’d been the experienced one of the crew, the one they deferred to on all things music business.
“Now, darlin’, who’s the star maker here?” he’d ask her with his weird little laugh. “Let me do my job.” So she had. Even though her gut had told her to get a better handle on her career, Ben had assured her she was the talent and he was the businessman. She’d approved his changes until he stopped asking and just made them on his own without her input. She’d accepted his explanations every time lies were printed about her or pictures were leaked of her with a new guy. He said that all PR was good and that her heartbreaker image would sell records and concert tickets. It didn’t matter that the photos were all contrived and that she went out less and less. Soon her life outside of her small LA apartment consisted of only concerts, media appearances, and practice.
Ben had even forged her signature on the contract for the last recording offer saying she gave her approval “by proxy.” By the time he’d disappeared with her advance, her band had unraveled and quit—apparently, they preferred to be paid actual money instead of promises for services rendered—and she’d lost her taste for the business of music. She couldn’t write, couldn’t sing, couldn’t even listen to any kind of music without a gaping yaw of grief and emptiness. Unfortunately, the record company could care less about her feelings. They either wanted a record or they wanted their cash back. After her repeated excuses for canceled shows and postponing practices, they just wanted their money back.
Until the call from her former producer. Now the label was interested in making a deal. Maybe they’d gotten calls from fans, maybe from venue owners or sponsors. She didn’t really know. Frankly, didn’t really care. She was willing to do anything they wanted if it meant getting straight with them, wasn’t she? Whether it was cut the album or go back on the road, that’s what she’d do. Then Damian could keep his profits and run the farm the way he wanted to. And she wouldn’t have to take any more from the man who’d tried to give her everything.
And now she was back in Blackberry Cove and she’d found her voice again. Her eyes flew to the man sitting with Delilah. God, he was beautiful. Sitting there in his cowboy shirt with the pearled snaps and those perfectly cut jeans. All man, focused on her with a huge grin that transformed his handsome face into something from the gods. How had she ever walked away from him? How had she been so deluded to think there could ever be anything or anyone that remotely compared to him let alone replace him altogether?
But fear was a powerful motivator and she was driven by it. Something sharp tightened in her chest. Was her fear stronger than Damian? This time around would she be brave enough to do what was right instead of letting her emotions, her fear, dictate her direction?
As she made her way back to the booth, she was greeted by well-wishers—among them old classmates, a former teacher, new residents, the minister and his wife. Never in her entire time in Blackberry Cove had she been so accepted, felt so much a part of the town. She wondered if maybe she had been a little bit too severe in her condemnation of the entire town because…because of her damn fear.
But before she could go deeper with that thought she was standing in front of Damian and Delilah. Damian stood, unfurling his long body from his seat, and stood toe to toe with her so that she had to bend her neck up to see his face, that handsome face with the big smile. “Hello, wife,” he said simply, all traces of the enigmatic anger from earlier gone.
“Hello, husband,” she said quietly, not wanting to break the spell he’d cast.
Reaching for her hand with his, he bent down and kissed her full on the mouth. Another public claiming, another proclamation that she didn’t quite know the meaning of. He pulled back slightly; at the same time he drew his arm tighter around her waist, his lips barely touching hers. “That was amazing, sweetheart. I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”
Her forehead was damp from performing, but her skin caught fire and warmth crept up her neck and down her torso. This man did her in. Broke her open and left her feeling exposed. Every. Damn. Time. Her heart grew, pushing against her ribs, making it hard to breathe. He pulled back and brushed his lips over her cheek and whispered into her ear. “I’ll be over at the bar having a beer. You finish your visit with Delilah. And then I’m taking you home to remind you why we’re so good together.”
The hot lick of flames building in her body was mirrored in his eyes, but there was something else there too. Was there a little bit of a threat crouched there in his gaze or in the possessive hold on her hand. What did he mean? Sex…he must be talking about sex. They were always great that way—their chemistry was undeniable even now. Her heart deflated. At least they would always have that. She would take what she could get and be happy with it since she’d given it all up so long ago. She’d just have to ignore the weird settling-in feeling she had whenever he held her, but it was getting just as hard to ignore as the erection pressing into her hip.
Swallowing hard she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, allowing herself a moment to lay her head on his hard chest, letting his warmth and strength seep into her skin, into her bones. This would be enough. It would have to be.
Kendall kissed his shirt right where it covered his heart and then slid into the booth. “I’ll just have one drink and then we can go, okay?”
“Yep.” He turned and nodded to Delilah. “It was good to see you again, D. Don’t be a stranger.” And then he disappeared into the crowd.
“He’s different. The same, but different,” Delilah said.
Kendall ordered an iced tea and turned back to her friend. “Yeah. Tender and thoughtful still, but rougher and more aggressive. More…I don’t know…”
“Possessive,” Delilah offered with a teasing lilt.
Kendall nodded. “The boy I married grew into a man while I was gone.”
“A pretty angry man. But not so much right now.” Delilah narrowed her eyes at Kendall. “Be careful. If you leave him again he’s liable to snap altogether.”
Kendall sighed, a deep, dramatic breath in and out. Wasn’t that the truth? And she couldn’t bear to hurt him like that again, but she had to go make it right with the label. And making it right with them might very well mean she’d have to record an album she didn’t have any interest in making and then touring to support it. Either that or she’d end up taking Damian’s money and giving it to the label, but then Damian would probably still want her to go.
“I know. But…” She paused. How much to tell Delilah? Maybe she should just trust her friend for once. Kendall took a sip from her tea, looked her friend in the eye with her most sincere expression. What she saw on Delilah’s face wasn’t really a surprise, an answering tacit assurance that she could trust her…that she’d always been able to trust her. Starting from the beginning when both her father-in-law and her grandmother had confronted her and ending with the call from her rep at the label, she spilled all her secrets, ending with the odd exchange with Damian’s mom and her sprained-not-sprained ankle.
“I almost think she insisted I go for an X-ray so she could spend time with us.”
“Us?”
“Yeah. Both of us. His mom seemed genuinely heartbroken about the crumbling relationship with her son and totally remorseful about her part in pushing me away. She hinted at leaving Mr. Sloane. It was all kind of surreal.”
“Maybe she is sorry. I mean, she’s his mother. Both her sons aren’t part of her life anymore and her husband is a controlling asshole who doesn’t have a nice thing to say about anyone. You know, kind of like your grandmother,” Delilah said and it was a shock to Kendall. Because it was so true. Her grandma and his father were very much the same despite the details of their lives. They consistently chose misery over love or happiness to make themselves feel more important, more powerful, more relevant. Maybe that’s why her grandmother had told her about her mother in the manner she had. Maybe it wasn’t really true. Or, if it was, maybe it didn’t matter because love was so much stronger than misery, or fear.
Kendall looked around the room, observing the crowd, but always searching for that one face. Damian’s. He was there at the end of the bar, sipping a bottle of beer and talking with Brian and Colin. He smiled at her, the curve of his mouth hidden behind his bottle, but she could see it in his eyes even across the room. The soft crinkle of his eyes and the dip of his head told her everything. He was watching her just like she was looking for him.
Colin clipped him on the shoulder and Damian turned back to the conversation. Remembering Delilah’s bristly reaction to Colin she asked, “What’s the deal with you and Colin?”
“No deal,” Delilah said. Kendall waited for her to fill in the empty spaces but Delilah just sipped her water and said nothing.
“Liar. I told you everything. Now it’s your turn.”
“First nothing happened. He asked me out and then flaked on me. Not once, but twice. I never give a guy a third chance. But he doesn’t seem to want to give up. End of story.”
Kendall decided that there was definitely more to that story and it sounded infinitely better than discussing her kerfuffle of a life at that moment.
“You’re not going to tell me anything else, are you?” Kendall asked. But Delilah clearly wouldn’t be persuaded to disclose more and seemed dead set on helping Kendall unscrew her own issues.
“Nope. But I will tell you one thing. Love, real love, like you and Damian have had since you were a teenager is a rare and beautiful thing, my friend. And if I were you I’d consider that before you make your next move. Speaking of which, punk rock cowgirl, what’s your plan? How do you appease the suits at your label, pay back the money that douchebag stole from you, and keep your husband?”
Kendall shrugged. “Here’s the thing. If I leave again he’ll never trust me to come back. Would you?” Of course Delilah wouldn’t. Hell, she wouldn’t even give a hot guy a third chance at a date. “Yeah. Didn’t think so.”
“Have you told him about the call?”
“Nope. And I don’t want to keep it from him. I really do want to tell him everything. I’m just afraid that it will be the end of us for good.” Because she’d already hurt him so badly, she was terrified he’d never trust her to come back, never trust her not to just stay gone. What if that look that was coming back in his eyes went away? That terrified her more than anything.
*
“Sweetheart, we’re home.” Damian unbuckled his sleeping wife’s seat belt and pulled her into his arms. Her hands automatically wound around his neck as he lifted her and kicked the truck door closed with his foot.
“Cold,” she mumbled, burrowing against his chest a little, and sighed. “What time is it?”
“Nearly midnight.” They’d dropped Delilah off at her little rental house in town before driving home to the farm. Home. Was this their home now or was he living in a fantasy, the one he’d tried for so long to erase from his mind? He walked through the darkened house straight to the bedroom and set her gently on his bed.
Kendall struggled to sit up, but he placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back on the bed before sitting next to her. The bed shifted, and her body rolled into his slightly. Pulling one booted foot onto his thigh he ran his hands from her delicate ankle up her calf, slowly massaging the soft flesh underneath the suede. Her low moan as he reached her thigh and pulled the tab on the boot zipper, easing it down slowly, filled him with so much masculine pride. God, he loved this woman.
Damian’s hands froze on her leg.
He loved Kendall.
No. No he didn’t.
But he did. And he probably always had, never stopped. Yes, he’d been angry and felt hollowed out like a rotting tree, still alive, but just barely. But that had never kept him from loving her or missing her or wanting her back.
He kept moving the zipper down and the rich female scent of arousal reached his nose and he inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with her as if trying to replace the stagnant air he’d been breathing for years. His desire for her was overwhelming, an entire body experience, even though she was clearly hiding something from him. She’d stepped away from him that afternoon to take a call she seemed none too pleased to receive. Afterward she’d been distant, obviously working over something in her head. He knew she wanted to share it with him, and yet she hadn’t. And just as he’d begun to feel anger and revert to his distrust of her he was struck by a thought. Perhaps he’d never really demonstrated his trust of her. Not really.
Maybe he’d been so caught up in keeping her, tethering Kendall to him, the farm, and Blackberry Cove, that he’d only pretended at trust. Only pretended at marriage and being a family. He’d always laid the burden of not understanding family at his wife’s feet, but since he hadn’t come from the most loving of family environments perhaps he was just as much to blame.
So maybe it was time to give her the benefit of the doubt for once and trust her to sort out whatever that call was about. And since it probably had more to do with her life away from him than her life with him, he shouldn’t push her so much. If Kendall was meant to be with him then she would be. If she wasn’t, well they’d cross that burning bridge when they got to it.
Damian tugged off her boot and set it beside the bed before moving to her other leg, placing her boot on his thigh. This time he considered her eyes as he worked his way up her leg. “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You sound surprised.” Her voice was low, gravelly like it always was after she performed, with a breathless edge that was pretty much the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be. I was just so pissed for so long. I guess I forgot.”
“About how I look?” She lazily quirked a brow.
“No, baby, about how you make me feel.” He pulled her other boot off and set it next to the one on the floor.
“You don’t feel angry?”
“Anger is definitely not what I’m feeling right now.” He smirked. He needed to get the rest of her clothes off. Like now.
“I think these pants are going to be more of a challenge. I basically painted them on.” Her hands flew to the buttons on the front of her leather pants, but he brushed them away.
“Oh no, sweetheart, that’s my job. I haven’t thought about anything else since I saw you walk into the room with those pants on earlier tonight.”
Slowly he peeled her pants off, admiring the reveal of pale skin beneath the dark leather. He made quicker work of her T-shirt and bra before sitting back on his heels and admiring her body laid out on his bed, a veritable buffet of sex, of beauty so deep it made his heart beat harder. She gave him a sweet smile and it woke something hot, something possessive and needy inside him.
The absolute conviction that she belonged with him here in Blackberry Cove rolled over him like a semi-truck. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to push these feelings back. There were so many truths, both spoken and not, that needed to be aired. But for now he would concentrate on her body. For now he would focus on her and this thing building between them. The decision of whether or not he was up for the battle for her heart would have to wait.
“Put your hands above your head.” He practically growled at her, but she didn’t flinch, just moved her hands above her head in an elegant, fluid movement. So sweet. So beautiful. So ready for him and only him. Was he an asshole because he knew he was the only man to touch Kendall? Probably. He didn’t care. Not one bit. She was his and she always had been.
“Grab on to the headboard,” he ordered and pulled protection from the drawer and tossed it on the bed. Kendall bit into her bottom lip and wrapped her fingers around the iron bars of the headboard.
He undressed quickly and sheathed himself, keeping his eyes pinned to hers, loving the way her chest rose and fell on shallow breaths, the way her fingers gripped the headboard so tightly they were turning white, the way he knew she wanted him. And he just didn’t have it in him to question what he was doing, how far down this path he was willing to go before she turned right while he went left.
When Damian crawled over her and settled in between her thighs, he took her mouth with his, showing her with his body what he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Then he stroked his hands down her curves and explored her as if he hadn’t memorized every rounded peak years ago. He stroked and licked and sucked and bit until she was nearly sobbing for release.
“Come for me, baby,” he said and plunged his fingers into her and rubbed that tight bundle of nerves. Kendall cried out his name and her whole body went rigid.
Before her breathing normalized he removed her hands from the iron slats and placed them on his shoulders, then slid one hand under her and lifted her. Finally he slid his achingly hard cock into her pliant body and then everything else simply faded away.
And it wasn’t until she was wrapped in his arms later that night that he realized she still hadn’t told him about the call.