their own.
When Ben saw James with his hands all over his daughter, he snapped. Striding forward with a furious growl, he lifted James off Carly and threw him on the ground. It might have ended there if James’ instinctive reaction hadn’t been to come up swinging.
“Leave her alone,” James yelled, launching himself at Ben.
Having little experience with the cycle of abuse, Ben didn’t realize that James was only protecting himself-and Carly. Sonny, however, recognized the feral gleam in the boy’s eyes all too well. James only understood what he knew, and he’d been taught that when a man put his hands on you, he intended to inflict pain.
Sonny was forced to intervene. Subduing two overwrought males at the same time was tricky, in that there were twice as many flying fists and elbows. James was smaller, but he was scrappy, agile, and combative, not an unworthy opponent. She went for Ben, for having instigated the fight, he deserved it more.
Jumping on his back, she slid her arms up under his and laced her fingers behind his neck, rendering his upper body motionless. It was a good way to get her teeth knocked out by a bucking head, so she kept her face close to his neck. “He’s just a kid,” she said into his ear, trying to appeal to reason.
“Goddamn it,” Ben grated, struggling against her, his chest heaving.
Sonny held tight. Carly was wailing, begging for him to stop, and James, lost in the haze of violence, broke loose with a right hook so well placed that Ben’s head rocked back, hitting Sonny’s lower lip so hard she saw stars.
Carly switched sides in a split second. “Don’t hit my dad, you asshole!” She dove toward James, tackling him, and they landed in a tangle of arms and legs.
Sonny almost couldn’t bear to watch the impending disaster. If Carly hit James, James would hit her back, Ben would beat James senseless, and in the end, someone would be dead, badly injured, or in jail.
It didn’t happen. Carly drew her arm back to strike, but James caught her wrist midair, stilling her hand. Blinking rapidly, like a just-awakened dreamer, he scanned the mayhem in the room. Carly was crying, tears streaming down her pretty face. Ben was rubbing his jaw and glaring, daring him to feel lucky.
Sonny felt blood trickle from her lower lip. When James saw it, his face paled.
“Shit,” he said, letting his head fall back against the hardwood floor. Still sobbing, Carly crawled away from him, into her father’s arms.
Without another word, James got to his feet, walked to the door, and left.
CHAPTER 10
James awoke at the coldest hour of the day, just before dawn. He was curled up in the fetal position, in a damp, uncomfortable crevice between rocks, at what he’d come to think of as his own personal hideaway on Windansea Beach.
He was warm in some places, freezing where his body touched the sand. A hand was shoved down the front of his pants, for heat, he supposed, or comfort. He awoke this way almost every morning and it never failed to embarrass him.
Wiping grains of sand from his face, he realized that he wasn’t alone. And the hand down his pants wasn’t his.
“Carly,” he whispered, cranking his head around to see her, snuggled up behind him. “Wake up.”
She mumbled something unintelligible and shifted, pushing her hand down farther, seeking warmth.
He groaned, wondering if it was too cold for him to get hard. Nope.
“James?” she asked, feeling his reaction.
“Take your hand out of my pants.”
Sleepily, she complied, moving away from the danger zone. “It’s so cold,” she said, sliding her palms over his clenched stomach muscles. “Make me warm.” She put her mouth against his neck and did that thing she knew he liked.
“Carly, don’t,” he protested weakly. “Don’t touch me right now.”
“Why?”
He turned to face her, and she initiated a frontal attack, throwing one of her legs over his hip and slipping her arms around his neck. Arching her back, she put all of her soft parts against his hard ones. “Touch me,” she said against his ear. “I’m so cold.”
She didn’t feel cold. She felt hot, all over. Her mouth, when it met his. Her hands, in his hair, under his shirt. Her stomach, silky and smooth, when he splayed his fingers over it.
“Yes, James,” she moaned, tracing his lips with her tongue. “Make me warm.”
How could he deny her? He couldn’t remember why he’d tried. Instead, he slid his tongue into her mouth and his hands underneath her sweatshirt, covering her naked breasts.
The simple act of touching her, with no barriers between them, was so exciting that he stilled for a moment, reveling in the feel of her. Beneath his fingertips, there were lines, marks she’d made with the razor, but they were rough with healing, not tender and new. A wave of pride and protectiveness washed over him, so strong he wanted to place his mouth there, to worship every inch of her skin and tell her how lovely she was. Because he was afraid she might misinterpret the gesture or push him away, he didn’t raise her shirt. Instead, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, over and over again until he thought he would surely embarrass himself if he continued.
The sounds she was making were driving him crazy.
Breathing hard, he moved his hands over her back, pulling her tight against him. She was wearing the same jogging pants he’d seen her in before, the ones that said JUICY across the butt. He traced the letters with his fingertips then slipped his hands beneath the fabric, finding nothing but soft skin and a lacy thong.
James’ heart thudded painfully. Any blood left in his head rushed south.
He took his hands out of her pants slowly, afraid to move too fast. The danger zone was on red alert. “Turn around.”
Her eyes flew open in surprise.
He smiled at her reaction. “Your butt is like ice. Turn around, and I’ll warm you up.”
Smiling back at him, she turned around and snuggled into him. He opened his jacket and enveloped her in warmth, experiencing an intense satisfaction when she murmured her pleasure.
“Do you think I’m too skinny?” she asked, after a few minutes.
“No,” he said, clenching his teeth against the renewed urge to take her hips in his hands and surge forward, testing those slender proportions.
“Really? How about these?” She brought his hands up to her breasts. “Too small?”
He gave them an exploratory squeeze. “You’re perfect,” he said in all honesty, hoping they’d laid the subject to rest.
She wasn’t quite satisfied. “Then why don’t you want this?” she asked, putting his hand between her legs and covering it with her own.
“Carly,” he said in a tortured whisper. “I want it so bad I’m shaking.”
That, he knew she could feel. And the other evidence, prodding her backside.
“Then why aren’t you trying to convince me to do it?” she asked.
He tried to calm himself with slow, even breaths. “Because we’ve only been going out three days. For pretend.” Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from stroking her through the thin material of her jogging pants, feeling her heat.
“I don’t care,” she moaned, tilting her hips up and pressing the tips of his fingers against her, harder. “I want to.”
“No,” he said, denying himself, as well as her. Putting some very necessary distance between them, he rolled away from her and sat up, resting his forearms on his bent knees. “You shouldn’t let me touch you.”
She cozied up beside him and put her head on his shoulder, slipping one arm under his. “I like it when you touch me.”
“Your dad doesn’t.”
“So? What do you think he and Summer were doing in the Jacuzzi?”
