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Redemption's Kiss
Ann Christopher
After Jillian Warner's much-publicized divorce from her ex-governor husband, Beau Taylor, all she wants is a quiet life—out of the political spotlight.And quiet it is: the heiress and single mom runs a quaint B and B in Atlanta. But Beau is back, vowing to win her heart. With desire reigniting, Jillian's more confused than ever. Her seductive ex betrayed her once. How can she ever trust him again? A near-fatal accident has changed Beau in ways he never imagined.Now his number-one priority is becoming the devoted husband and father he knows he always should have been. He's determined to atone for the sins of the past and build a new future with the woman he's never stopped loving. Beau wants Jillian—and this time he's doing it right.
She gasped, a whisper of hot air against his neck
And then she did it again, a curling of fingers in that one spot that wound him up tight.
His breath caught and held because he would do nothing—nothing, God, not even breathe, even if it led to his ultimate suffocation and death—to force her along at this moment.
But…where was this going?
Slowly she pulled back, her face wet with tears and her breasts heaving with uneven panting that sounded, to his confused ears at least, like passion rather than pain. Then she raised her lids to stare at him with wet eyes that glittered with every conceivable shade of brown, from amber to deepest mahogany. And then…
Was he imagining this? Was this a dream after all? A hallucination?
And then she leaned closer…tipped up her chin, just a little…and waited.
Disbelief pinned Beau right where he sat, dazed and frozen, and he could swear he felt his skin vibrate with leashed tension that strained away from his control.
She had to know that he would swallow her whole right now.
Was that what she wanted?
Could he get this lucky? Was this a test? Did anyone really expect him to let this opportunity pass him by when he’d prayed for it for years?
He wanted to do the right thing, but he’d be damned if he knew what that was. “Jillian?”
There. He’d been honorable and raised the question, dumbass that he was. This was her chance. If she wanted this train to stop so she could hop off and run away, now was the time. Run while you can, Jill.
Books by Ann Christopher
Kimani Romance
Just About Sex
Tender Secrets
Road to Seduction
Campaign for Seduction
Redemption’s Kiss
ANN CHRISTOPHER
is a full-time chauffeur for her two overscheduled children. She is also a wife, former lawyer, and decent cook. In between trips to various sporting practices and games, Target, and the grocery store, she likes to write the occasional romance novel featuring a devastatingly handsome alpha male. She lives in Cincinnati and spends her time with her family, which includes two spoiled rescue cats, Sadie and Savannah.
If you’d like to recommend a great book, share a recipe for homemade cake of any kind or suggest a tip for getting your children to do what you say the first time you say it, Ann would love to hear from you through her Web site, www.AnnChristopher.com.
Redemption’s Kiss
Ann Christopher
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Richard
A million thanks to writer pals Kristina Cook,
Lori Devoti, Laura Drewry, Caroline Linden,
Sally MacKenzie and Eve Silver for their invaluable
friendship and support, and especially to Naked Sally,
for helping me with a crucial plot point.
Dear Readers,
Disgraced former governor Beau Taylor has nothing to live for and no one to care if he dies. Once, long ago, he had everything in the palm of his hand: career, prestige and, best of all, the love of Jillian, the woman he’s always worshipped. But then things went horribly wrong, he made poor choices and he lost it all, including his zest for life.
These days, he drinks, parties and fills the excruciating hours with meaningless women. Every day he hates himself just a little bit more than yesterday. Every day he searches for a reason to exist and comes up empty.
And then, in a nightmarish flash, everything changes.
Suddenly, Beau has a second chance at life, one he’s determined not to waste. Now, nothing will stop him from healing his damaged soul and becoming a worthwhile human being. Nothing will stop him from becoming the world’s best father to his precious little girl. Nothing will stop him from becoming a deserving partner to Jillian, and reclaiming her love. Nothing.
I hope you enjoy reading Beau and Jillian’s story as much as I enjoyed putting them back together!
Happy reading,
Ann Christopher
P.S. Please look for my next Kimani Romance, which will be part of the Love in the Limelight series, in October!
Chapter 1
Beau Taylor wasn’t sober, but he wasn’t drunk, either.
Luckily, the Miami night was young enough for him to change that.
Drinking took the edge off. Drinking was good. Drinking was necessary.
How else could he survive in the toxic waste dump of his life without some sort of buffer between him and reality?
As the disgraced former governor of Virginia, Beau was only slightly higher on the social scale than, say, venereal warts, but after a couple of drinks—preferably scotch on the rocks—he could look on the bright side. People thought he was scum. That being the case, it was easy to fulfill their low expectations.
Perfect, eh?
If he wanted a drink, he’d drink. If there were a party somewhere, he’d go. If he met a woman who was beautiful and willing, he’d screw her. Why shouldn’t he? Because he’d disappoint someone who loved him? Easy solution there: no one loved him.
So he found his consolations where he could. Living in Miami, with its astonishing array of after-dark activities, helped. There were always clubs to discover and drinks and women to be savored.
Lucky him.
He was momentarily between clubs, but no worries. A quick glance outside the limousine’s darkened windows showed the Intracoastal Waterway streaking by and the city stretched out before him like a glittering jewel.
Man, he enjoyed Miami.
He also enjoyed being rich, one of the benefits of the beer distributorship his late father started back in the day.
Thanks, Dad.
Having money had its pluses, and riding in style was one of them. Every car should have plush leather seats, a fully stocked bar, a discreet driver and a privacy divider. Beau enjoyed riding in limousines.
Sabrina enjoyed riding him.
And she was good at it.
Sliding his hands up the shapely thighs straddling him, Beau gripped the flexing globes of her naked ass. Ahhh…nice.
Sabrina kicked it up a notch. Flashing a wicked grin, her long black curls wild and falling in her face, she pumped her hips nice and hard, taking him deeper into her body.
Worked for him.
Laughing now, she rubbed her jiggling breasts against his tailored shirt. It was all good. Nothing like a quickie in the car to loosen him up.
Then Sabrina slowed things down. Moaning loud enough to be heard on the other side of the divider, she levered herself up until only the sensitive head of his penis remained inside her.
Yeeeaaaah. That worked, too.
Her back arched and one of her walnut-tipped nipples skimmed his lips. Was that an invitation? Looked like. He sucked it, hard, into his mouth. She rewarded him with a high-pitched cry and impaled herself again, up down, up down, faster, harder, and the fun continued.
Except…the fun wasn’t that much fun. Never really had been fun.
Beau let that nipple pop free, rested his head against the seat and wished again that he were drunk. Things were easier then. He didn’t have to work so hard to feel alive or, depending on his mood, to sink into oblivion.
Oblivion was his own version of heaven, the blessed place where he hated himself just a shade less than he normally did. Oblivion—not another party—was his ultimate destination tonight. Too bad he couldn’t seem to get there.
Staring up at Sabrina through half-closed eyes, seeing the straining column of her neck and the faint smile on her lips, he wondered why he always did this to himself. Always picked women with sparkling amber eyes, straight brows and fine cheekbones. Always wished he were just a little drunker or could pretend just a little more that these women were someone else.
It had never worked. Not once.
Maybe he should try harder.
Holding Sabrina’s hips tighter, he pumped in a blind fury of movement, screwing her mercilessly until sweat ran down his temples and Sabrina began her chanting routine. Yes…yes…yes. Whatever. He just wanted to be done—with this, and with her.
Waiting only long enough to hear the surprised yelp that was his signal that she’d climaxed, he came, too. For five perfect seconds, relief—and it was only relief, not pleasure—surged through him. But then it was over, and nothing had changed.
Did that make sense? Was that fair? When he thrust so much of his emptiness into another body, why did it still fill him to overflowing?
Why, God?
That emptiness always stayed, no matter what, or who, he did.
Jesus. He made himself sick.
He eased the limp Sabrina off his lap and onto the seat beside him, wishing he could shower or, better yet, spray himself with a bleach-filled pressure washer.
Like that, or anything, would ever make him clean.
Every sexual encounter these days—and there were plenty—ended this same way: with relief and disgust. Relief because his body had cooled a little, but disgust because he still hated himself and what he’d become, and knew he’d do it all again tomorrow anyway.
Disposing of the condom, he adjusted his boxer briefs, zipped up, rebuttoned his shirt and smoothed his hair. Great. Good as new. Oh, and don’t forget the seat belt. He buckled up. Now he was ready for more partying.
If the self-hatred didn’t kill him first.
For now, he needed to get the everlasting bitterness off the back of his tongue, so he reached for his snifter of cognac and drank deep. He waited for his brain to fog, but…nothing. Shit. He drank again, draining the glass.
Sabrina, meanwhile, adjusted her negligible black dress, reached for her glittery little purse and found her lipstick. A few minutes of primping followed. “Where are we going now?”
Beau heard the slight slur in her words and hated her for it. Why was she drunk and he wasn’t? Where was the fairness in that? Reaching for more brandy, he shrugged.
“I forget. We’ll let it be a surprise when we get there.”
No arguments from Sabrina, who closed her compact with a snap. “How do I look?”
He would have preferred not to see her again just now—if ever—but he did the polite thing and glanced over. By the dim interior lights he surveyed the skimpy-skanky black dress, the cleavage, the bare legs, the screw-me heels, the makeup and the hair. It was funny how she looked equally naked whether she was dressed or not. How did she manage that?
Sabrina waited for his answer and, focusing on her total package, he tried to frame one. The bottom line on this lovely lady was that she was vacant, shallow and soulless enough to be his ideal companion for tonight’s debauchery.
Knowing she’d never hear the sarcasm in his voice, he raised his snifter in a toast and flashed a smile that felt as natural as shoving glass shards through his cheeks. “You look perfect—”
The sudden painful glare of headlights directly into the car was their first warning.
Then came the earsplitting screech of tires and a violent lurch strong enough to knock the drink from Beau’s hand.
His seat belt tightened across his hips and his body jerked.
Shit.
Sabrina screamed.
With a surge of full-blown panic crushing his throat, Beau whipped his head around to see Death barreling at them in a brilliant yellow glow bright enough to power two suns.
Truck, his brain registered. Semi.
The driver tried to veer the limo out of the way again, but that truck kept coming.
