Chapter 24

 

~ ANNIE ~

 

 

With Cam and Fen at my side, I settle into their leather sectional to watch the news. Dodger is the last to join us, sparing me a concerned look as though he’s about to write me a prescription for Xanax.

“How are you holding up, Annie?” he asks.

“I’m hanging in.” I force the words past my heart which is lodged in my throat. I shouldn’t have let Cam do this. It wasn’t until he was actually talking to Mrs. Petronel that I realized just what kind of a risk he was taking.

My life—my name—is already in the gutter.

But now, his own is in peril, and possibly his brothers right along with him.

Yet as nervous as I am, I feel an odd assurance settling over me as I sit with the three of them. Here, with the support of Cam and his brothers, I feel stronger somehow—like these men are my support system.

My six.

Cam turned on CNN within five minutes of ending the call with Mrs. Petronel. And as the hour deadline approaches, the uncertainty inside of me can’t be subdued by the confidence I see in his eyes. He is, after all, a guy who used to jump out of airplanes into enemy territory.

I glance at my watch even though I see the clock on the DVR. It’s like I need to verify that there are only fifteen minutes left.

Cam takes my hand. “Remember, I gave her an hour. But she doesn’t have control over how much time it takes the networks to put together a story. And who knows? Maybe this story isn’t big enough to get air time on the big networks.”

I nod inwardly, though in my heart, I know how quickly D.C.’s reporters would jump on this. I know, because I’ve already seen it happen once in my life. D.C. loves a scandal.

The hour-marker passes without fanfare. Just a sense of dread—this worry that now I might have ruined Cam’s life right along with my own.

“What if she called the police, Cam? Or a lawyer? Or—”

He only shrugs in answer.

“His word against hers, Annie,” Fen reminds me.

“She might have recorded the conversation,” Dodger, always the practical one, suggests.

My eyes dart to Dodger. “Don’t you need consent for that?”

“Depends on the state,” Cam answers simply. “It was the crack of dawn there when I called, though. I don’t imagine she was sitting around with recording equipment at the ready.” He takes my hand. “Look, don’t worry about me in this. Let them come after me. I’ve got two brothers, six cousins, and a platoon’s worth of Rangers who’ll vouch for me.”

“And a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star.” Fen grins. “Who’d go after a war hero? It’s un-American. Now how about we order a pizza? I’m sitting here watching news on the mainland. You need to feed me to watch this shit.”

“Okay. Grab the—”

“Guys!” Dodger interrupts Cam and points to the TV.

And we read the headline appearing at the bottom of the screen.

Wife accuses Senator of nanny assault, it reads.

Holy shit. It worked—a thought that is echoed out loud by all three brothers.

“Oh my God,” I breathe out.

I feel heat rise to my face, my heart thunder in my ears, and my palms grow thick with sweat. As Cam turns up the volume, I struggle to even hear the words of the newscaster as she leads up to the sight of Mrs. Petronel, sitting in her living room talking to a reporter I recognize from D.C.’s local news broadcasts.

“I should have known that night.” Mrs. Petronel has tears in her eyes as she says it. “Arianna returned early that night from her class, along with a friend. She was visibly upset when she quit. No notice. It was so unlike her. Then when I saw the photo that made headlines of my husband and her in the car, I assumed she had quit out of guilt.” She shakes her head. “I was so wrong.”

The report cuts back to the newsroom. “It wasn’t until last night, nearly two months after the initial photo made headlines, that several photographs arrived in Mrs. Petronel’s mailbox.”

They break to a montage of photos—photos I’ve never seen before—ones that show me fighting him off, even fleeing from his car.

They’re more revealing than I could have even hoped. One has me pushing him away with both hands. In another one, I’m actually striking him in the face.

“You got a good smack at him, kiddo,” Fen retorts at the sight of that one.

“I don’t even remember doing that,” I confess, almost breathlessly.

I feel better somehow, just seeing it. Stronger.

For so long, I thought I was a victim that night. But seeing these photos of an event that is nothing but a blur to me, tells me that I really am a fighter. A survivor.

And scrappy. Wasn’t that what Cam called me once? I’m scrappy.

Still in a state of disbelief, I watch the broadcast continue.

“I feel horrible that she was obviously falsely accused. My husband likely held that press conference to distract us all from what really happened that night. To protect himself,” Mrs. Petronel continues. “I knew I needed to make things right for Arianna the moment I saw these photos, no matter what the cost might be to my family and me. I’d rather do what’s right than what’s easy.”

Cam’s spine straightens next to me. “Hey—she stole my line.” His rebuke is quick, but even so, his two brothers hush him as the report continues.

My hand rises to my chest as the story ends, almost as if I need the assurance that my heart is still beating, and that yes, I still am taking in air to my lungs. I should be smiling, beaming, laughing right now. Yet I feel in a haze of disbelief.

Fen glances at his watch. “Two minutes of air time? That’s all the story of the year got?”

Cam’s grin is wide. “That’s all we need. It’ll pick up speed now.”

I watch the TV in front of me as Cam flips the station to other news networks. Within the next thirty minutes, the story, minus the exclusive interview with Mrs. Petronel, is picked up elsewhere.

My name is back in the headlines. And this time, the press depicts a very different Arianna Bradshaw.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” I finally manage to say.

“Believe it,” Cam says. “Your phone’s going to be ringing off the hook with reporters calling you.”

“Don’t be silent this time,” Dodger advises.

And I know I won’t. I’m aching to tell my side of the story now that I have an audience that isn’t sharpening their skewers when they look at me.

My eyes turn to Cam, and I feel the sting of tears. “You did it, Cam. You fixed it.” As I lean into him and press his mouth to mine, I can feel his smile against my lips. A laugh bubbles up inside of me as his hands weave into my hair, pulling me closer till I feel his tongue touch mine. The taste of him heats me, fueled by the glory of freedom from the weight that’s been pulled off my shoulders.

Dodger clears his throat.

“Uh, guys…” Fen butts in and Cam waves him off, deepening his kiss and urging me backward onto the sofa as a laugh vibrates in his chest.

Sighing, Dodger stands. “So… Fen and I were going to toss the football around on the beach for a while before Stella gets home.”

Giggling behind a kiss, I’m pinned to the sofa by Cam, savoring the feel of him on top of me, even if it is just to make a point to his brothers that they aren’t wanted right now.

“You’re free to join us, if you want.” Fen’s voice is thick with humor as he stands. “But I’m thinking you’re… busy.”

Cam barely moves a millimeter from my face. “Get out,” he manages to grumble before dipping his tongue into my mouth again.

As I taste him, I hear a shuffling… the slide of keys on a countertop… and then the click of the front door.

“I thought they’d never leave,” Cam laughs.

“You did invite them,” I remind him as I savor the feel of him sweeping me into his arms and carrying me up the staircase to his room.

“We all make mistakes,” he answers, then kicks his bedroom door shut behind us after we enter.

He stretches me out on the bed and lets his lips make a searing path from my belly upward, taking my shirt and bra off me in the process. His hot breath makes the tiny hairs on my arms stand at attention.

I’m smothered by sensation now, his lips, his hands, his body on me. He tugs off his shirt and I sigh at the heat emanating from his skin. Exquisitely sculpted abs beckon me to touch, to stroke him, to knead the soft skin that covers his hard form.

How did I get here again? I’m not even sure of what happened these past hours. It all feels dreamlike to me; barely two hours ago, I’d walked into his condo to take a look at his changes to my website like it was any other day. Yet now, a phone call set a pattern of events into play that pulled Arianna out from the cave where she’d been forced to hide for two months.

“Is that really it then?” I breathe the words out involuntarily, more to myself than to him.

Brow arched, he lifts his moist lips from the line of his kisses up my neck.

“That’s not what any man wants to hear when he’s making love to a woman,” he says.

I laugh, and can’t miss the beauty of the word love when it falls from his lips, even if it isn’t in the way that I sometimes dare to dream he might say it one day.

“It just seems surreal.”

“Believe it,” he says simply, then sucks in one of my nipples before adding, “I’ll pinch you if you want, but I’d much rather keep doing this.”

“I’d much rather you kept doing that, too,” I admit, letting my eyelids flicker shut as I savor the feel of him. My body is already thrumming, heat pooling at my center as he pulls off my shorts without even unzipping them.

“Aw, no thong today?” He feigns disappointment as he kisses me through the material of my panties.

“I wasn’t expecting this today,” I murmur, my voice hiking up a half octave when the heat from his mouth tickles my mound. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You look great in practical cotton.” His finger slides past my panties and into my moisture. “Feel good, too.”

“Really? I think I prefer them off.” I nearly stutter the reply as my hands move downward, tugging at the sides of my panties until he obliges me by pulling them off my legs.

He grabs my feet and puts them on his shoulders, letting his mouth consume me while my body rocks in a primal rhythm. I cry out, almost in pain from the need building inside of me. All the worry and stress that I’ve kept pent-up pours from me, and my soul seems lighter for it.

I shudder as I thread my fingers into his dark hair. My knees open even further, as though this activity makes me more limber than I thought even possible.

I love when he takes me like this—owning me—making me completely vulnerable to him. I love the way his fingers work in perfect accord with his mouth. I love the way he anticipates every gasp, how he coaxes out my most desperate fantasies.

I love how he mates with me as if he’s branding me as his own.

I love him.

My heart seizes up again at the knowledge of it. But I give into it. I let myself love this man even though I know it won’t last forever. I let myself revel in the feeling of it because right now, in this moment, it makes my life surpass perfection.

Shattering against him, my mind murmurs sweet nothings to him as I sink into the sheets. I love you, Cam.

But I know better than to say it out loud.

When he parts from me to retrieve a condom, I’m incomplete until his warmth is blanketing me again.

He slides into me, and my body breathes out a sigh.

I love you.

Words I won’t say. Because I won’t let a day this perfect be ruined by the resistance I’d undoubtedly see in his eyes if I let my confession slip.

He nibbles on my breasts, his rhythm quickening. Digging my fingers into the muscles of his back, I pull him in deeper, arching my pelvis, wanting him completely fused with me. Even if I can’t own his soul as he does mine, I can have his body. I can relish in it.

Our skin is slick with moisture, an urgency of this lovemaking apparently shared by both of us. Time alone is precious and I know he shares my need to climax. Even so, he slows his pace, letting his groin rub against me when he’s completely filling me. My core rejoices from the pressure.

With each thrust, it’s as though he takes complete ownership of me. And just to punctuate that fact, he’s going to draw this moment out until I know no other way of survival than through his complete possession.

“Cam…” My voice cries out just as I reach the peak of my desire. I hold back any other words; it’s too dangerous with the feelings welling inside me. I just let him drive into me, claiming me.

Fireworks explode behind my eyes. My channel seizes up around him, drawing him in harder with each quake. Until finally, he thrusts one final time making me scream.

His body sinks on top of mine as the aftershocks consume me. Each tiny ripple, each shudder, feels so tender, and I milk the sensation of it. Finally, depleted, my muscles relax completely beneath him.

Heaving a breath, he rolls to the side of me. Wordless, my eyes absorb him. The slow grin that stretches his lips is lazy, satisfied. I watch his firm chest rise and can’t resist resting my hand on him, stroking his pecs and feeling his heart thumping behind his ribcage.

His head lolls to the side, as his eyes meet mine.

“Now that’s what I call a happy ending,” he chuckles.

I laugh at his words, and I laugh even harder when I feel the relief of them, knowing that my life has just changed for the better.

And I have him to thank for it.