Page 45 of Stealing Home

He grabs his bag out of the back seat, and climbs the stairs. I follow behind him, much slower, to give him time to cool off. He holds out his hand for my keys, and I pass them over without arguing. Every part of me is screaming not to go inside with him. Out here there are cameras, I hope someone would come to my aid if I needed help. Inside we’d be alone, anything can happen. I know that all too well.

Scott sees my hesitation, and reaches out for my hand. His thumb brushes across the top, soothing a bit of my fear. His touch is gentle, and at odds with the tension I can still see tightening his muscles. “Did he hit you?” he asks.

My body goes rigid as each time Nando raised his hand to hit me pops into my mind. Does it matter that he stopped himself? In the end I was still afraid, knowing the next time he might not. It’s not like I’ve kept this secret all these years. I told my grandmother, but she pushed me to stay. “Nando is such a good provider. Other women have it worse. At least he stops himself,” she told me the last time I spoke to her. It’s been years now, and even though I’ve held that against her, I stupidly followed her advice anyway.

Fear can be paralyzing. All the lies have stacked up, and I’m the worst offender. For years I’ve lied to myself, made myself believe I needed to stay for Leena, needed to save money, when the truth was at some point I stopped believing I deserved better.

“No, but he’s come close. He has pushed me, grabbed me hard enough to bruise, and he choked me once,” I admit.

Scott runs his hands through his hair and pulls, his arms stretch out to the sides putting all of his hard earned muscles on display. “Jesus Christ, Harlow. Fuck!”

He’s breathing hard through his nose, and paces back and forth. I back up until I’m cowering against the corner inside the doorway, wondering if this is the moment he turns on me. He’s done nothing to deserve my reaction, but I slip into a survival mode I can’t seem to override.

When he sees me, he freezes in place. His hands come up to cover my face, and I flinch. He sighs, but doesn’t let go. After a moment, he rests his forehead against mine. My body recognizes that I’m safe in his arms before my brain does, and I melt against him.

“Just because he didn’t hit you doesn’t mean you weren’t abused by the one man who was lucky enough to have you as his wife. You should have been treasured, protected, and loved. The fact that he put his hands on you at all is not okay. He might not have struck you, but he did hurt you. That is abuse, Low. Fuck,” he breathes hard, but this time I know it’s because he’s mad for me. “He choked you. I could have lost you before I ever met you, and I feel like I’d still have felt the loss. Hell, I suspect his words were just as painful as his touch. You deserve more, and I’d like to be the one to give it to you.”

His breath fans against my face as he strives to calm himself. I’m not used to someone being angry on my behalf. Mad at me, yeah, but not for me.

“I will never put my hands on you in anger. And since you seem to be determined to give me the nice-guy brush off, let me show you how nice I can be. Then when you shake expecting my touch it will be in anticipation of pleasure and not pain,” he says in a low, husky tone.

“H-how are you going to do that?” I ask in a shaky voice.

“You’ll have to trust me.” He holds out his hand. “Can you do that?”

Is trust a feeling, or a decision? Scott certainly hasn’t earned my distrust, and he’s done nothing since we’ve gotten closer to make me think I can’t take a chance on him. I know I don’t want to live the rest of my life in fear. The only choice is to take this chance and follow my heart, even if it does lead me in the wrong direction.

My hand shakes, but I make myself move forward until my hand is wrapped in his. He gives me a tug and I collide against his chest. Scott strokes my hair until I turn my face up to look at him. Our eyes hold each other while he bends down to kiss me.

I expect a sweet press of his lips, but I get a demanding crush that quickly turns my mind to mush. His hands slip down my back, over my ass, and he hoists me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and continue to kiss him as he carries me through my apartment and up the stairs to the loft where my bedroom is. If he weren’t a top athlete, I doubt he’d have been able to make it with me hanging on him like a baby koala.

He sets me down and reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off. For a moment I’m rendered silent while I gawk at all the muscle so clearly on display for the first time. His tongue peeks out to lick his full bottom lip. “Like what you see, Low?”

I nod. “You’re beautiful,” I admit.

His lips twitch. I’m amusing him, and I like his playful side. It somehow lifts the weight of all the things I told him a few minutes ago.

“Your turn,” he states.

“Me?” I squeak. I’ve thought about touching him, having him touch me. I’m a healthy woman with needs after all, but never once in my fantasizing did I think of being naked in front of him.

My hands drop to cover my stomach and the extra weight Nando never lets me forget I’ve put on. I know Scott is used to seeing younger women without the extra roundness that comes after your metabolism starts to slow down. I can’t imagine he’s going to be looking at me with the same heat in his eyes once he sees all of me.

He steps closer to me once again. “Who’s voice are you hearing in that head of yours right now?” He taps his finger against my temple. “Because I know it’s not mine. How many times have I told you you’re beautiful? But, right now, I’m guessing it’s his voice negating every compliment I’ve ever given you. Shut him out, Low, and give us a chance. If you need more time, that’s fine. I can wait for you. I know this is faster than you planned, but it feels right to me. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I close my eyes and reach for the hem of my t-shirt. Yes, this is fast, and maybe part of me is still operating off the adrenaline from this afternoon, but I want him. No, I need him. The insidious voice inside my head tells me I shouldn’t need anyone, but for once I’m telling it to shut the fuck up. I’ve been emotionally alone for years, and I want this connection with him.

Fuck, I guess I’m doing this. Being vulnerable sucks. Exposing myself, literally and figuratively, is like standing on the edge of a cliff, and hoping he’ll still be there to catch me when I fall. I can’t look at him when I do it though.

The cool air hits my stomach, and I fight the urge to cover myself again.

His voice sounds strangled when he speaks again, “All of it.”

There’s a part of me that is thrilled he’s become more demanding. One would think after living with a controlling and abusive husband for the last eleven years I’d bristle when faced with a dominant man. Perhaps I would with anyone else, but with Scott it makes me feel like I can share my burdens. I take a deep breath and unbutton my jeans. As I wiggle them over my full hips I curse my decision to wear my tightest fitting pair.

At least my underwear and bra match. Not that they’re fancy silk and lace, but they are still flattering. He’s silent, so I brave cracking open one eye. His eyes slowly slide up and down my body, and he doesn’t look repulsed.

“Everything,” he rasps.

---