I actually was dizzy, and I’d drawn the water too hot because I was sweating a little. “I’m getting out now.” Using more energy than the simple task should take, I managed to climb out and wrap a towel around me before sinking into a chair near the fire. It was so cool, and I loved how the cabin had been built so that the fireplace warmed the bedroom and bath.
It was crazy how out of breath I was from doing so little. Leaning forward, I placed my forehead on my knees as I fingered my four-leaf clover, repeating own luck, own love, own life, own legacy in my head.
“You okay?”
As if a million pounds were riding on my shoulders, I slowly raised back into a sitting position. “Yes.” The sound was weak, and I cleared my throat to shout a little louder, but he knocked again and the doorknob turned, the door opening an inch.
“Zoe?”
Pulling the towel higher onto my chest, I managed to say, “I’m okay.”
“You don’t sound okay.”
I glanced into the mirror. My skin was pale, looking even more so in contrast to the dark mop of hair falling limply down each side of my face. With my big toe, I snagged the t-shirt he’d given me from the floor, inching it in my direction.
“Zoe?”
I was sweating hard now. Apparently, one shouldn’t take a bath with a concussion. But the idea had sounded so wonderful fifteen minutes ago. Obviously, today wasn’t my day for wise decisions. I should probably go to bed, wake up tomorrow, and try again.
Reaching down for the shirt, I let out a little gasp as I kept going forward, keeping myself from falling with a palm on the floor. I was holding the towel together with the other hand, my ass still on the edge of the seat, my butt cheeks holding on for dear life.
And that was how he found me.
“Jesus,” he said, coming through the door. In seconds, his hands were on my biceps, lifting me until my entire behind was firmly on the seat.
Damsel in distress.
I wrote about them, but never saw myself as one.
I’d been forced to grow up early with a mother such as mine. I’d always been watchful of the people around me, picking up on the weird vibe the porn crowd exuded. I’d given my mother her medicine, made sure she ate. When I was ten, I began paying the bills, forging her name on the checks. I took self-defense classes. Carried mace.
Still, all those efforts had been futile — I’ll make you feel real good. They were futile then, and they were futile now. Except now, I didn’t feel scared. I was just mortified and worried at how very weak I was.
“I’m sorry.”
“Shhh, stop saying that,” he said, picking the shirt up from the floor. “I didn’t know a long soak would be harmful either. Then I started thinking…” He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Arms up.”
Tightening the towel around my breasts, I raised my hands up, and he pulled the fresh t-shirt over my head. I smiled and let the towel fall to my waist. “We’re going to have to stop meeting like this.”
He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling so attractively, and picked up the dark green flannel shorts. Crouching in front of me, he held them down until I could poke one foot through the hole, then the next.
“Hold onto my shoulders and stand.”
My knees didn’t want to cooperate, but I managed to get to my feet. As his hands guided the shorts up my legs, I forgot how to breathe. He wasn’t breathing either. There was no sound in the bathroom as we stood in the soft light of the lantern, my hands on his shoulders. His hands on my hips.
That thing I’d never felt until today grew stronger and I wanted to circle my hands around his neck, pulling him to me until our mouths connected in the way I’d only read or wrote about. With him, I didn’t feel claustrophobic like I normally did when people stood too close to me. Instead, I wanted to press closer. I wanted to know how close two people could get without merging into one. I wanted to be the women in my novels. I wanted to know how sex was supposed to be.
Because, for some reason, I knew this man could show me.
He stood and lifted a hand, pushing a piece of hair back from my face. “Goddess,” he murmured as his fingers moved into the long strands, his fingers cupping the back of my head.
My hands dropped to his chest, grasping at his shirt, and I tried to draw him to me. “Please.”
It was a question. It was a plea. It was all the hopes and dreams I’d never dared ask for, but instead of kissing me, he took a step back and let me go, pushing both hands through his hair.
I immediately felt the loss of him, then reality came racing back. I’d only known him for a few hours. No, less than that if you only counted the short time I’d been conscious. In that time, I was practically throwing myself at him. I was a slut. I was a whore. I was… like my mom.
With that thought, I sank back onto the chair, holding onto the arm this time as I reached for the robe. No. I’d told myself I’d never be like that. Like her.
Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe my morals were jogged loose when I hit my head. Maybe… it was just him. The man looking down at me with so much guilt written across his handsome features. He looked so tormented that I dropped my gaze from the pain of witnessing his expression.
Stuffing my arms through the sleeves, I stood, locking my knees so I wouldn’t sway, and belted it tightly around my waist. Forcing a smile, I took a tentative step toward the sink. He was right beside me, not touching but ready to catch me if he must.
But I made it, and also managed to unwrap the new toothbrush and brush my teeth. I’d never done that with a man standing beside me, but it didn’t feel as awkward as I imagined it would.
When I was done, he offered me his arm, and I took it. To my surprise, he led me to his bed instead of the living room, where I expected to sleep on the sofa. There was a second fire glowing here, almost as big as the other. He clicked off the lantern, using only the firelight to lead the way.
“No. Please. I’ll take the sofa.” It was like he hadn’t heard me because he continued to pull the duvet and blankets down to expose a soft gray sheet. I pulled away, staggering back a step. “Seriously, I’ll be fine in the other room. I don’t want to take your bed.”
He made a sound. Did he just growl?
“You’ll sleep here tonight,” he said, his voice harsher now as he gripped my arm to steady me. Sterner. So were his eyes when they met mine. “I’ll take the couch. It’s custom-made for my length. Don’t worry. Just try to get some rest.”
“Thank you.”
His nostrils flared as I sat down and pulled my feet beneath the covers. His face looked like it was made of stone as he covered me up.
Click. Click. Click.
Meow-eek.
I raised my head to see Maggie come through the door, the kitten in her mouth. She jumped on the bed and settled on my feet before letting the little furball go. The kitten launched into a fit of hissing and swiping of claws, his back arched up, his tail a straight white line as he did some strange pouncing dance across the bed. Maggie, looking for all the world like a harried nanny, plopped her head down in what appeared to be complete exhaustion. After a few nose swipes, the kitten’s temper seemed to deflate, and he settled down beside her, curling into her side.
Precious.