Page 70 of Protector

“And I ain’t the same man that you left on a porch almost five years ago.”

He dropped down into the mud, staining the knees of his slacks brown. “So, we’ll start over. Together. I’ve known the truth of that night, and it didn’t change jack shit for me. You’re all I want… you’re all I’ll ever want. Can you say the same?”

I nodded immediately, and his shoulders relaxed. “Celia… cry.”

At his command, something opened up inside my chest. The grief I’d felt over losing our baby had been locked away for five long years, but Jamie had been the key. Instead of running from it, I let my head fall back in an anguished scream as the first tear fell onto my cheeks.

The numbness faded away, and I forced myself to feel every memory as it bubbled to the surface until I was on my knees in the muck beside him, gasping for air. “It hurts.” I clutched at my aching throat. “God, it hurts so much, Jamie. I can’t—”

He nodded and pulled me into his arms, rubbing small circles across my back. “I know.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” I wept for the secrets we’d kept, and the life we’d never had. Fighting against the pain in my throat, I let my body release all of the pain the only way it could.

“Shhhh…” He cradled my body, gently rocking us back and forth as the storm raged all around us. “That’s my brave girl.”

The feelings of security that I’d been searching for since the night our lives changed, returned under his touch. He tightened his hold with each strangled exhale, holding me together.

When the sobs turned to hiccups, Jamie lifted me in his arms and carried me back to the house. He kicked off the motorcycle boots I hadn’t noticed under his slacks, never once loosening his grip.

As we passed the pictures on the wall in the hallway, I realized the dreams we’d started out with had become nightmares.

But we were still here.

We were still fighting.

Chapter Fourteen

Celia: 2005

“So much for a nice afternoon picnic,” I noted, from the couch. The storm hadn’t let up, and I watched in fascination as the porch light illuminated the droplets of water as they trickled down over the gingerbread trim.

The shirt he’d let me borrow while our muddy clothes were being washed fell almost to my knees, yet I continued tugging it down over my chilled skin.

Jamie retrieved another blanket from the hall closet and brought it back to wrap around my shoulders before going over to mess with the record player. His suit had been replaced with a plain white t-shirt and jeans, and as my eyes trailed down his body, I wondered if he still went without underwear.

I should’ve been exhausted.

My head ached, and my eyes were swollen from my tears, but I was oddly refreshed. I’d thought that relief would only happen with the deaths of the men who hurt me, but it had come in the form of forgiveness.

A second chance.

“You warmin’ up now?”

I nodded, feeling the heat of a flush work its way up my chest. Purging my pent-up emotions had also succeeded in leaving me open for new ones; namely lust. “Are you?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m good now.” He padded back over to the couch with a grin, and I tried to recall the last time I’d seen him with bare feet; the last time I’d seen him completely relaxed.

Organ music filled the room, and I frowned in confusion before realizing what he’d put on. I brought my hands up over my mouth, muffling my giggle before exclaiming, “No! Really?”

Jamie’s lips twitched as he leaned toward me, waggling his eyebrows suggestively before crooning, “Well, I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body. I know not everybody has got a body like you…”

We were no longer sitting in his living room, but perusing stacks of records, searching for our favorites. This time around, though, I knew exactly what I wanted. There’d be no mistaking it for Stockholm syndrome or living in fear of someone finding out.

Jamie Quinn was it for me.

Always.

I shrugged the blanket off my shoulders and launched myself at him, knocking him back against the couch as I straddled his lap.

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