Page 8 of Second Chance Christmas

“I still hate you for what you did, Leonardo. This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“It just means you like being kissed by me. I get it.” He brushed his lips against her. “I’m more than happy to oblige…”

This time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t like before. It wasn’t combative. It was gentle, at first. Slow, inquisitive, magical. Her lips parted and her whole body melted against him, her pulse raging through her body, her legs trembling with the power of her desire. His hands held her hips, as if he knew she needed his support, and his mouth moved over hers, his tongue inside her mouth until she was groaning against him. There had never been a better time for the Christmas karaoke to be raging.

A gentle kiss brought Cassidy back to life, just as she’d wanted, but it wasn’t enough. Her own hands, at first immobile, pressed to her side as she felt the power of his exploration, suddenly came to life, and began to explore his body, lifting his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, just because she needed tofeelhis skin, to see if it was as warm and smooth as she remembered. And yes, it was so delightful beneath her touch. She groaned against his mouth as she ran her fingertips over his hips and then around his back.

He said something into her mouth. Her name? A curse? She didn’t know, didn’t care. It felt so good to touch him, to touch him in a proprietorial way, to know that she had every right to do this.

For years she’d been tormented by images of him wherever she went. Any time he had a professional success, which was frequent, it would be in the newspapers and on the television. He was inescapable, but not hers anymore. And now, tonight, for a brief moment, she could pretend. Or maybe it wasn’t pretending? It was just very, very temporary. That didn’t take the pleasure out of it.

“God, Cassidy,” he groaned, pulling away to stare down at her, his chest moving with the rapid rise and fall of his breath. “I don’t want to feel like this in your father’s kitchen.”

Her heartrate speeded up. “Like what?”

His smile was sardonic. “Like I want to rip your clothes off and take you right here.” He moved closer again, pulling her lower lip between his teeth so she trembled and lifted a hand to his chest. His words struck a blade through her heart. His words were the antidote to the last several years of pain. His words were a ticket to empowerment, to taking something just for herself.

She balled the fabric of his shirt into her fist, feeling as though she was standing on a ledge from which there was no escape.

“Well, there’s no one at your dad’s place,” she pointed out.

He hesitated a moment though. “Are you sure?”

In that moment, she was. She had never been more sure of anything. Suddenly, this felt like a doorway she needed to go through, and for so many reasons. To erase Grant’s touch from her body, once and for all. To make him her past, not the last man who’d been with her. And to give herself the gift of Leonardo, one last time, because their break up had been so cataclysmically unexpected, she’d never really appreciated that the final time they’d made love was exactly that.

“I’m sure,” she said, reaching down and lacing her fingers through his. “But let’s hurry.”

A muscle throbbed in his jaw and an emotion she couldn’t interpret crossed his face, but he didn’t hesitate. A moment later, they were on the porch, Leo silently clicking the front door closed before striding across the street so Cassidy had to half-run to keep up. He unlocked Paolo’s house and they stepped inside—yet another place that was a clarion call from the past, with its décor and photographs being almost exactly the same as the last time she’d been here. With the one exception: the hallway was plastered with framed newspaper articles about Leonardo. All of his successes and wins were celebrated, by a father who was doting and oh so rightfully proud.

Cassidy barely saw the articles though. She didn’t need to. She’d read them all at the time, her anger towards Leo only increasing when she reflected on the hellscape of her own life. She blamed him for it all.

And she didn’t want to think about that now. She didn’t want to be angry with him at the moment. Not when this was about to happen.

“I’d explain about my childhood room but hey, you’ve been there before,” he said with a charming lift of one shoulder, and she tried not to analyse that off-the-cuff remark, the implication being that if she were any other woman, he’d make apologies for the smallness of it, the single bed, the fact that it too was frozen in time, reflecting the needs of a fifteen year old, rather than a grown man. She didn’t particularly want to wonder if he’d brought other women here, who’d required that explanation.

It didn’t matter.

This was just a single night. A Christmas present to herself, that she richly and royally deserved.

“Let’s not talk,” she said, grinding her teeth. “It will be better that way.”

His eyes flicked to hers and there was something in their depths that momentarily made her feel like a piece of crap, but she ignored it.

She’d been badly treated by the two men who should have known better. She’d been trampled over for years. Her feelings had been disregarded, rendered unimportant and unnecessary. Wasn’t this Cassidy’s chance to do the same?

Taking the bull by the horns, Cassidy moved up the stairs and into Leonardo’s room. She remembered it well. She didn’t want or need to look around. But it was impossible to miss the strip of photographs of them, taken on one of their first dates, to a movie theater in town. They’d pulled cheesy, silly faces for the first two shots, then there was a photo of them laughing, and finally, kissing. Tears threatened and she reached for the light and flicked it off.

“I prefer the dark.” God knew, that was true.

Grant had liked have sex with the lights on, and the reason was so depraved it made Cassidy’s stomach hollow even now. The scars he’d inflicted on her seemed to give him an extra level of pleasure, of possession, of domination. He’d run his fingers over them when he climaxed, staring at her side, so Cassidy had become sickened by the sight of them.

“Okay, suit yourself.”

She heard the rustle of clothing, and when he came to her, his shirt was off, his chest bare. She shivered at the pleasure of that, ran her hands over him, feeling every inch, remembering what was familiar, noting what was different, appreciating every piece of him. He was more a man now, broader, stronger, filled out. Her heart raced as he pulled her shirt from the waistband of her skirt and dropped it to the floor. Against the lace of her bra, her nipples strained and tingled. He dropped his head and through that lacy fabric, took one in his mouth so she dropped back her head and cried out at the suddenness of it, the unexpected pleasure like a lightning bolt through her core.

He made a noise, from deep in his throat, as he shifted his attention to her other breast, his hand slipping behind her back to unhook the bra, pulling it down and immediately bringing his mouth back to her skin, his tongue swirling around her nipple so she made a feral, desperate cry. Her hands roamed his body, pushing at his pants, hungry for him, and as he stepped out of them, he pushed them backwards, onto his bed, but sideways, so her head tilted off the edge and she laughed, a raw, husky sound in the silence of his room.

But he was kissing her, swallowing the sound, making her pulse throb and her insides twist, his body on top of hers a weight that was more divine than she could describe. Familiar, yet not. He was so warm, so soft, his hair-roughened chest sending arrows of desire darting through her body. He worked quickly to remove her clothes completely, kissing her hard, pausing only to open the bedside drawer and remove a condom.

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