Page 3 of Completing Her

“Kind of.” He shrugged and took a long swallow from his soda. “I never met anybody who was crazy about their foster family before.”

“True, there are some bad families out there. I heard the stories from some of my siblings. They told me what their life was like before the Paulsons took them in. But honestly, I met a lot of good families. People who give their all to take care of kids, who have no one else.”

He pointed out the window to the cat whining for her on the landing. “I’m surprised you don’t take some in yourself.”

“I would if I could. But right now, the business has me working twelve-hour days. And then I come home to this tiny one-bedroom apartment. Not ideal when applying to be a foster parent. And then there’s my age.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“A baby.”

Her spine pressed against her seat when she sat up taller. “Older than the kid you almost killed. You didn’t think he was a baby. How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

She gulped down a big swallow of her drink, trying to cover her surprise. Damn, he looked good. She would have guessed at least five years younger. “So, you were six or seven when I was born. Not exactly Father Time.”

“Lived a lifetime, baby girl.”

“I guess.” She gathered up the dishes. God, how long had they been sitting there? Who would have thought he was so easy to talk to? They’d had a lot of conversations, but this was the longest they’d ever reallyspokento each other. She flinched when he came up behind her carrying the soda. “Sorry, still a little jumpy, I guess.”

“It’s okay. That’s why I’m here. I know what it’s like when violence comes to you. Especially when you’re not expecting it. Been there. Done that.”

“How do you deal with it? It’s like I calm down and I think it’s nothing. Nothing really happened. Just a kid trying to get some easy money.” She shuddered. “And then I think what could have happened. I saw his eyes spark up when he ripped my shirt. It’s like something occurred to him and a light went on. He knew he had me. There wasn’t much I could do about it.” She rubbed the spot on her neck. Felt the knife still pressing against her skin, and couldn’t breathe. But then Michael was there, rubbing her shoulders and pulling her back against his chest. His hands wrapping around her belly as her breathing slowed. He laid his head on her hair. Nuzzling her like a kitten. An enormous kitten. One scary-looking kitten, but when he held her, she didn’t feel afraid. In his arms, she’d never be afraid again. And that was scarier than anything else that had happened. No use leaning on people. Mom and Daddy Carl had done everything they could to teach her that she could depend on people. They wanted her to trust that some people wouldn’t leave. But some lessons couldn’t be unlearned. She sighed. Taking the soda from where he’d placed it on the counter and returning it to the fridge. “So, what do you do to settle?”

She turned around when he didn’t answer. His brown eyes flamed again before his voice broke the silence like a hard stone thrown at glass. “I drink. That helps a little.” His eyes blazed. “I have hot wild sex. Screaming, almost break your back sex. That helps. It helps a lot.” He arched a brow. “I’m up for either one if you need me.”

Chapter 3

She gulped like she accidentally swallowed a lump of gum. It should have made her look small, vulnerable, innocent. Instead, that gulp made his dick harder than a pool cue. Straight up and pointing in her direction, ready to push his balls home. Ready to empty his cock down her throat and have her gulp him, just like that. He was wrong. Dead wrong. He’d been raised Catholic, and he knew the thoughts that sent you straight to hell. And damn if he didn’t have every single one of them right now. But then she’d raised her hand to the wound on her neck. Shit, how could he have forgotten? What made him any different from the asshole who’d attacked her?

He turned his back and strode to the couch. Picking up the movies she’d dropped when she’d taken them inside. “I didn’t know what kind of movie you’d be up for, so I got one of everything I could stand. Comedy, action, horror, even a rom com. Sorry, I couldn’t do the chick flicks. I can’t take two hours of women bitching about men. Even if it’s true.” She stayed planted in the same spot by the kitchen counter. “So, what’s your pleasure?”

Damn, he didn’t mean that the way it sounded, but then again, he kinda did. She gulped again. Guess he wasn’t her pleasure. But damn, he would kill to be. Her shaky voice bridged the awkward gap. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you prefer. I don’t think I’ll be able to focus, anyway.”

“You want to talk about it?” He patted the couch. “Come sit down. I would say make yourself comfortable, but it’s your house.”

Molly chewed her lip into her mouth. The mouse looking cautiously at the cheese. Would she take a bite? “You don’t have to stay. I know you’re just being nice…”

His brows rose. “First time I’ve ever been called nice.”

“But…”

“Molly, sit down. Relax.” She took a tiny step forward. Before taking a deep breath and moving to his hand. Clasping it as he pulled her down beside him. “Now, isn’t that better?”

“Um, yeah. I guess.” Her lip was still getting worked on by her teeth and she glued her eyes to the tv’s blank screen.

“Why don’t we try this?” He stood up and pushed her body down on the couch. Damn shame to hide those breasts. But… “Let me give you a massage. Work some of the tension out.” His hands started rolling her shoulders and working his thumbs deep. She had more knots than a tree trunk. Poor little mouse. He moved her hair, curling it around the opposite shoulder. Focusing on one spot at a time. Her head whipped to the other side, hiding her scar. “Why do you do that? Why hide?”

The knots bunched into baseballs. “It’s nothing. I just. Habit, I guess.” Her shoulders rolled down into the couch pillows. He wanted to shout as she laid down her armor. “When you guys first opened. After, um, I got used to you. I thought about asking if I could get a tattoo to cover it up. What do you think?”

“Hmm, let me see.” He took her chin and turned her head. Smoothing the curls away from the side of her face. Molly’s breath hitched when he ran his calloused finger over every grainy ridge. “How does it feel when I touch it? Some scars are numb forever, but some are sensitive to the slightest brush.”

“I think, um, sensitive.” Her breath hitched again, stuttered to a stop, and then revved back up. “Definitely sensitive.”

“Has anybody ever touched you here?”

---