Jill Shalvis - Long-Lost Mom

“You were trying to help.” Wonder filled Jenna as she mulled this over. “You never hated me-you were trying to protect me.” A warm feeling prevailed, and it felt good, so very good, to let go of the past. “I do understand.”

“Do you?” Kristen’s eyes filled with tears. “Do you know how much I loved you, still love you, how I always wished I could make you believe it?” She reached across the table, grasped Jenna’s hands and held tight. “How desperately afraid I was for you, especially when I couldn’t reach through that angry barrier to get to the real Jenna?” She drew a ragged breath and blinked her tears away. “I wanted my sister, Jenna, and I couldn’t get her. I had to stand around and watch you try to destroy yourself, and it killed me.”

“I’m sor-”

“Do you think I don’t know how Mom treated you? How she loved me best? God! I hated that. I still don’t understand it, but I never meant for it to be that way. When I realized I couldn’t change you, I used to do everything I could to make her hate me so she’d like you more, but nothing worked. Nothing. And by the time we were old enough to talk about it, you were gone from me.”

“I’m-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Kristen practically shouted, rising from her chair and pulling Jenna from hers. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want you back.” She placed a hand to her chest as if she ached. “I want you back in my life, because you never left my heart.”

Jenna swallowed hard, but the tears came, anyway. Before she could let out the muffled sob, Kristen had her in her arms.

“It’ll work out,” Kristen promised, rocking them both. “It’ll all work out.”

“How?”

“With faith.”

Jenna wanted to believe that. Oh, how she wanted to. “I don’t have much of that,” she admitted.

“It’s okay. I have enough for both of us.”

Their hug tightened and it felt so good, so right. Jenna closed her eyes and held on for all she was worth.

“I love you, Jenna,” Kristen whispered fiercely. “I love you so much.”

It was the first time in far too many years Jenna had heard those words. She’d never said them out loud before and wasn’t sure she could now, but she continued to hold on, soaking up all the love she could get.

Stone squared his shoulders, gritted his teeth and came shockingly close to putting his fist through the wall of his office. “I realize she doesn’t want to take any calls right now.” He refrained from adding an unflattering oath to the man claiming to be his parent’s butler. “But she might change her mind.”

“I doubt it, sir.”

And just who the hell still had a butler in the 1990s? Stone wondered.

“She’s in mourning, sir.”

Mourning. He’d discovered he was, too, even for a brother who’d written him out of his life with an ease that still disturbed Stone.

It didn’t stop the grief any. “Just tell her it’s her son,” Stone suggested tightly, eyeing the clock and feeling thankful he still had three hours before Sara got home from school.

God help him, he needed a break from the child who’d had nonstop questions flowing from her mouth since the day before, when he’d learned about Richard.

Why is he dead, she’d asked. Why didn’t he ever want to talk to you when you called? Why didn’t he answer your letters?

And why are you crying, Daddy?

Yeah, he needed a break. Sinking onto the stool in front of the counter, he rested his head in one hand. His other hand still gripped the phone.

“Who is this?” that horrible flat voice questioned.

“I told you,” he replied carefully. “Her son.”

“Her son has passed on.”

“Her other son,” Stone grated. “I’m sure she’ll remember.” Was he sure? Seemed she hadn’t remembered his past ten birthdays. The past ten Christmases. Sara’s past nine birthdays.

Dammit, he was furious all over again, at himself and his parents.

For Sara, he reminded himself, repeating it like a mantra. This is for Sara, so swallow the pride and just do it.

“Please.” A muscle in his jaw worked. “Please tell her Stone is on the line. Stone Cameron.”

While silence filled the air, Stone set his hot forehead down on the cool counter.

He was an idiot. An idiot who loved his daughter beyond reason, enough to try to give her the family she’d always wanted.

“I’m sorry, sir,” came that damn voice.

The outer door, the one to his shop, opened. A minute later his office door opened behind him, and before it shut again, he caught that light sexy scent he would forever equate with one woman.

Cindy.

From behind, she lightly touched him, set her hand on his shoulder, and just that simply, some of his burden lifted. He couldn’t explain it any better than that, even to himself, but he wouldn’t hide from it.

“What do you mean, you’re sorry?” Stone said into the phone. He didn’t turn to face Cindy, but reached up and grabbed her hand.

She held on and squeezed. Then stepped closer so that he could feel the heat of her body against his back. It comforted him as little else could have.

“Mrs. Cameron refuses to take the call,” the butler said. “You’re not to call here again.”

Betrayal slashed through him, chilling him. Hurt had a taste, he discovered. Bitter as hell.

“Did you hear me?” asked the butler, his voice a bit louder. “Please do not call here again.”

Behind Stone, Cindy stiffened, her anger and shock flowing through her to him as she clearly heard the words through the receiver.

For some reason, that gave Stone strength. It’d been a long time since he’d felt someone on his side. For years he’d been alone in this, alone against the world in his fight to survive with Sara.

“She’s unbelievable,” Stone muttered beneath his breath. “Unbelievable.”

“Goodbye, sir.”

“The funeral,” Stone said quickly before he was hung up on. “When is the-” At the disconnecting click, he shook his head, then slowly set the phone down.

Cindy held him close, and he was enveloped by her as well as her welcome compassion.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “Just like I promised you I would be. Is…it enough?”

“More than enough,” he whispered back, and turning, he wrapped her slight body in his arms.

He wasn’t ever going to let go, Stone thought as Cindy pressed close to him. Desperate, a little needy, he held her tighter, closing his eyes in relief when she clung to him, just as needy.

“Let me be here for you, Stone.”

A buzzing in his head nearly drowned out her words.

Richard was gone, truly gone.

His mother refused to acknowledge her only living son.

Sara and her precious childhood threatened because he hadn’t provided properly for her future.

So much-his mind couldn’t take it all in. And then there was this warm, caring woman looking at him as if he were her entire world. As if she could make him forget everything bad. As if she alone could make his life perfect.

How to resist that?

“You’re so strong all the time.” Her dark solemn eyes blinked at him. Cupping his face, she met his gaze. “talking care of everyone but yourself.”

“I’m okay.” But he’d started to shake with the effort to remain in control.

She continued to touch him, softly, tenderly-and it was so damn irresistible. “Let me do it for once,” she whispered. “Let me be the strong one for you. You deserve that, Stone. Just let go.”

His heart beat so hard and fast that it almost hurt. His throat was tight, but he managed a strangled “I’m okay.”

It was a lie, a damn lie, and she saw right through it.

“No,” she murmured. “You’re hurting, and I can’t bear to see it.” She met his gaze, hers strong and sure and confident in a way he’d never seen before. “Let me give you this.” She ran her hands over his chest, a light tentative touch that inflamed him so his hurt turned into something else. “Let me…”

She could have no idea how just the thought of making love to her, here, now, had his blood humming. Yet it wasn’t his usual style, using sex to forget the harsh reality of his world. And he refused to use her that way. “I don’t-”

Her fingers brushed his mouth, holding his words in as she shook her head slightly. “Let me.”

And there, in his daze of grief and hunger, he saw it, the flicker of hesitation, the brief flash of emotion that told him she wasn’t nearly as sure and brave as she’d like to be, but was trying her damnedest to hide it from him.

Slipping his hands beneath her short curtain of hair, he cupped her jaw and drew her mouth to his, needing the contact, desperate for the compassion and sensitivity and hope he knew he would find in her arms.

He felt her slide her hand beneath one of his, so that it was between his skin and hers. He wondered, then realized… she was protecting the webbed line of scar tissue from his touch.

“Does it hurt?” he asked huskily, tenderness flooding him.

She dipped her head. “No.”

He could feel the heat in her skin and knew she felt humiliated “You’re lovely, Cindy. Don’t hide from me.”

“It’s ugly to the touch.”

“No.” Gently he pulled her hand away and kissed the hot skin, inching little love bites along the nearly undetectable web of scars, intending nothing but to ease her discomfort. Just holding her eased so much for him. Reality faded a bit, all hurt faded, as he held this wonderful, giving woman.

At first she remained rigid in his arms. But he didn’t give up; he simply pulled her onto his lap and rained a shower of kisses over her jaw and neck, gradually coaxing the tension loose from both of them as he continued to taste her skin before shifting back to her mouth.

Her parted lips responded warmly, eagerly seeking his. With a low sound of consent and need, she pressed close, arching her body against him, fueling the urgency.