Climbing Fear (CoalCliff Stud, #1)

by Leisl Leighton

  She shook her head. No. She wasn’t going to think of that. Except, by the look on his face, he was thinking of that too. He’d moved a little closer—or had she moved a little closer—her breasts now brushing against his chest—when had she dropped her clothes? She looked in his eyes and had to look away, the molten heat there was scorching, but found herself looking at his lips and that was just as bad, so she raised her eyes, only to find him staring at her lips. She licked them. His eyes darted up to hers.

  ‘Nat.’ It was a plea. For or against, she couldn’t tell.

  ‘No.’ She took a step back. They’d cleared the air but she’d been a fool to think that meant she wouldn’t feel as drawn to him as she’d ever been. Friends? What a joke! She took another step back, away from him, away from falling back into the trap of giving in to desire, giving in to emotion when it never did her any good.

  Oh god, but it was one of the hardest things she’d had to make herself do, because all she wanted was to lean forward, to give in to this pull between them that wasn’t friendship, that would never be friendship, no matter how many lies they told themselves. Even with her head pounding, she wanted her lips on his, or his on hers, arms wrapped around each other, nothing between them but heat and sweat and desire. He knew her, as she knew him, deep down, past all the surface bullshit everyone else saw, into the fears and guilt and pain that he shared with her, and it was terrifying. As terrifying as it had been that night he’d begged her to stay after they’d had a week of losing themselves in each other’s arms, and she had turned and run.

  She took another step back. ‘I need to lie down.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He hadn’t moved. ‘You need to get me a cup of tea.’

  ‘Yes.’ He was still staring at her, her eyes, her lips, back again.

  ‘Reid!’

  He blinked, shoulders twitching as if coming out of a spell. ‘Sorry. What was I …? Tea. I’ll get you some tea.’

  He picked up her clothes and put them on an armchair in the corner, then left.

  She stared at the empty doorway, her breath caught in her chest. Finally, on a shaky breath, she sank onto the bed behind her and put her head in her hands. Hell. What was she going to do?

  ***

  Reid stared out of the kitchen window. Shit. What was he doing? He shifted, his cock a hard rod pushing against his jeans as he tried to banish the thought of Nat, the way she’d looked at him, the glistening on her lips when she’d licked them. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as he wanted to kiss her in that moment. To be truthful, he’d wanted to do far more than kiss her, and he thought he’d seen the same desire in her eyes just before she’d come to her senses and stepped back.

  Thank Christ she’d come to her senses, because if it had been up to him, he’d have her naked and spread under him, lips drinking from her as he sunk deep inside her warm, tight core and kept going until they both came screaming each other’s names.

  He swiped his hand through his hair, fingers grating against his skull. He had to get his shit under control. He couldn’t lust after Nat. Not now. Not until she’d had far more time to get over what she’d been through. Not to mention he’d told himself he wasn’t ready for any kind of deep relationship, not until he’d got himself up and out of the depths he’d fallen into after Luke’s death, and figured out just what his life should be now without his best friend.

  He thumped the bench with his fist, the pain a bright spark he could concentrate on. He took in a deep breath, let it out, another in, out. Good. Right. His cock was still hard as granite. He looked down at it. ‘Behave, mate.’ Hell, was he talking to his cock now?

  He swung around and faced the open plan kitchen and living area, the large folding glass doors on the other side giving him a view of the valley behind the house as it fell away and across to the surrounding hills. Peace. Solitude. Safety. It’s why he’d brought Nat here. Not to seduce her because they were alone and unlikely to be interrupted. She was here to recover from a horrible attack. Her home was in disarray, her daughter was being kept away, she had a horrible bump and cut on her head. He didn’t have to look at her to know that her head had to be throbbing like a son-of-a-bitch. He’d whacked his head too often not to know exactly how it must feel. Painkillers were going to help, but they weren’t going to keep that kind of pain fully at bay. And he could barely keep his cock in his pants, slavering all over her, just about to jump on her? What kind of friend did that? And how the hell was he going to go back up there again and face her after he’d made such a dick of himself?

  ‘Stop being an arse, Stratton. You’re not the randy teenager you once were. Get a grip, get the tea and keep your hands to yourself.’

  He grabbed the kettle and put it on, then after staring at it for too long—as if that would hurry it up—he paced over to the pantry to get out the Buddha Tears Luke had picked up on one of their travels and introduced him to. He wasn’t really a tea drinker and if he was, it was usually a true country-bloke tea—black as pitch with too many sugars to hide the bitter taste of the over-brewed tea. But when Luke insisted he open his palette and try new things, he had tried it and found that he liked the almost vanilla flavour that managed to be slightly bitter and yet mellow at the same time. He’d taken to drinking it before a difficult climb or jump or adventure they were attempting. It helped to soothe his nerves and centre him. He hoped it would help Nat in the same way now. Perhaps he should have a cup as well. He got out two Bodum glass tea mugs and dropped in three Buddha Tears.

  The kettle still hadn’t boiled. He didn’t want to stand still. Standing still meant thinking too much. What could he do? He spied the big biscuit tin Barb had given to him when he’d moved his stuff up here. It was full of his favourite Anzac biscuits. Doctor Prita hadn’t mentioned if she should eat anything or not, but he could take her some biscuits in case she was hungry. She had emptied her stomach in the hallway when he’d found her. Anzac biscuits could be just the thing. A glass of water would be good too. Her throat was probably dust-dry and she’d need to replenish the water she’d lost when she’d thrown up. He also needed to call Mac and make sure he got someone to clean up the vomit in the hall.

  After he made the call, he put together a tray of biscuits, a glass of water and the mugs. The kettle began its low warble and he poured the boiling water into the glass mugs, watching the Buddha Tears unfurling. ‘Right, you can do this.’

  Fingers curling around the edge of the tray, thankful there was no longer a tent in his jeans, he headed upstairs, lecturing himself all the way about friendship and keeping his hormones under control.

  Nat was lying on the bed when he got back up there. She’d got changed into the soft yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. Her eyes were closed. ‘Nat?’

  She turned her head, opened her eyes a little, her lips curling into a warm smile that made something relax and unfurl in his chest. ‘Reid.’ Her eyelids fluttered, eyes unfocused, then closed. ‘Sorry. Sleepy. Think the tablets finally hit.’ The words were more breath than sound.

  ‘That’s fine, you sleep.’

  ‘S’okay. You donhaftostay.’

  ‘I know.’ The doctor hadn’t said he must sit with her at all hours. But he was going to. He set the tray down on the bedside table, pulled the blanket up over Nat that had been draped over the end of the bed and then settled into the armchair.

  He sipped his tea and ate a few biscuits and watched her as the light faded in the room, her breath slow and deep. Twilight came and went, folding the bedroom in darkness, but he didn’t turn the light on. He didn’t want to wake her.

  An hour later, she jerked on the bed, her breath coming short and sharp. ‘Nat!’ He sat forward, tried to grasp the hand she’d flung out, but she snatched it back and sat up with a scream.

  Then she saw him standing beside the bed and bolted back against the headboard, arms outstretched in front of her. ‘Andrew, no!’

  ‘I’m Reid. Reid.’

  She stared at him
blindly in the dark. Shit. He should have turned the light on. ‘I’m going to turn on the light. Shield your eyes.’ He flicked on the bedside light. She threw her arm over her eyes. Trembling. She was trembling. ‘Don’t hurt me, Andrew. Don’t hurt Tilly.’

  ‘Oh god, Nat. It’s okay. I’m Reid. Andrew’s not here. You’re safe, Nat. Safe.’

  Slowly, she lowered her arm and blinked at him. ‘Reid?’

  He nodded and sat carefully on the side of the bed. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Reid.’ She didn’t cry, didn’t sob, just threw herself against him, so hard he almost lost his balance and tumbled off the bed. Steadying both of them, he wrapped his arms around her, muttering words against her hair, he didn’t even know what, stroking her back.

  Finally, her trembling slowed and stopped, her breaths slowing, deepening, her arms going slack around him.

  She was falling asleep again.

  Good, good, that was good. She needed sleep. He shifted, lowered her back down, pulling the soft blanket back up over her, even though the night was warm. ‘Sleep,’ he whispered, smoothing her hair back from her face. He bent forward and kissed her forehead, her cheek—god help him, he couldn’t not—and then stood to return to his armchair.

  She rolled over, her hand flung out, eyes opening a slit again. ‘Reid. Hold me.’

  Oh shit. How could he deny her?

  He kicked off his boots and lay down on the bed beside her, pulling her into him. Her arm went over his stomach, her leg pulling up to curl over his, and then, head nestled on his chest, she relaxed into sleep.

  Reid lay there for a long time, fingers twining in her hair wondering if this was heaven or if it was pure hell.

  Chapter 15

  Reid stared at the document he’d printed out, the words blurring. Printing things out always made it easier to read them than when they were on the computer screen, but it wasn’t working this time and now he had two piles of pages to go through, emails and contracts and invoices and offers, which made it all seem worse somehow. He wiped his hand across tired eyes.

  Jesus fucking Christ. Why was this so hard? Luke used to do all this shit with his eyes closed—well, that was how he made it seem. He’d always been so good at school when he’d turned up, where Reid had always found it so difficult to concentrate, to sit still. Ants in his pants syndrome, that’s what Gran had called it, but now he’d probably be diagnosed with ADHD. Not that he wanted a diagnosis. He knew what he could and couldn’t do. Physical activity helped, so that had become his thing, the thing he was good at. Luke had always told him that it wasn’t the only thing he could be good at, that he could do anything he put his mind to. Luke had always been into all that holistic, ‘you can change it if you believe it’ stuff. Neuroplasticity he’d called it.

  Reid had almost come to believe him, but then the prick had gone and overdosed and killed himself and dropped all of this in Reid’s incapable hands. He raked said hands through his hair. ‘I can’t do this shit!’ He shoved the papers in front of him so hard they spilled off the desk, fluttering like a mass-migration of one-winged birds across the polished wood floor. ‘Ah crap.’

  ‘Reid? I was wondering if I could have a shower before we go...’ Reid’s head snapped up to see Nat in the doorway, her gaze going to the mess on the floor. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ He jumped up from his chair but hadn’t pushed it back far enough. His leg banged the desk. ‘Bloody hell!’ he said, rubbing the sharp pain.

  She raised her brow at him. ‘I can’t remember you being such a klutz. Or having a temper.’

  ‘I’m not. A klutz. And everyone has a temper sometimes.’

  ‘And now you have a mess.’ She bent to start sweeping up the pages nearest her.

  ‘One you don’t have to clean up.’

  She met his eyes. ‘I want to. You helped with my mess last night.’

  ‘That was hardly your mess.’

  ‘Still.’ She kept picking up the pages scattered on the floor. ‘I want to help.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The silence was almost companionable as they tidied up, the shuffle and crinkle of paper a friendly sound filling the space between them, his frustration of before fading away. He glanced up at her a few times, wondering if she would mention anything about last night. But she was too focused on the task at hand and showed in no other way that she even remembered having the nightmare and asking him to hold her, sleeping in his arms. It was all he could think of, now she was here.

  She finished clearing the papers that had fallen to the left of the desk and began to stack them, her gaze running over the top page as she did so. Her hands faltered. ‘Are you closing up your production company?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe. It’s an option.’

  Her eyes lifted to meet his then fell back to the page in her hand. He held his breath, hand hovering as if to snatch the page from her, an odd ache in his chest as he waited.

  Then her eyes met his again. ‘Why?’

  He sucked in a breath, wasn’t going to answer, but then, ‘I can’t climb. I can’t do any of it anymore. Not without Luke. Not after what happened.’ He dragged his gaze away, not wanting her to see just how broken he was, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. ‘I see him, just before he fell, over and over. When his line snapped, he managed to hold on for a few seconds and he looked up at me, the knowledge of what was about to happen in his eyes. I tried to reach him, to grab him and hold on, but I couldn’t get a good enough hold. His fingers slipped from mine and he was gone, his eyes on mine as he fell. That’s what I see every time I try to climb. That’s what I remember every night in my dreams.’ Except for last night. He hadn’t had the nightmare last night. Huh.

  ‘Oh, Reid.’ She grasped his hand, held it against her chest so that he could feel the heat of her through her soft t-shirt, the thump of her heart. ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but you shouldn’t give up on your dreams.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t know if they are my dreams anymore.’

  ‘Then you need to make new ones.’ She reached out, touched his face, and something jerked open inside him so that he found himself staring dumbly at her, like a startled deer in headlights.

  ‘I want to,’ he whispered. ‘But I don’t know how.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Yes. You can.’

  He didn’t mean to, had spent much of last night and then again this morning, telling himself he couldn’t, he shouldn’t. Apart from the fact he should give her time to get over the attack, he knew he wasn’t right for her. But the way she was looking at him, the way she touched his face, the way she leaned towards him, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her to him and covering her lips with his.

  She moaned a little and opened to him, allowing him inside, to lick, taste, suck the sweet fire that was her. Holy crap, it felt good. Kissing her was like being licked with flames, but the kind of flames that brought honeyed pleasure, not pain. It rushed over him, through him, burning thought before it, leaving tingling sensation in its wake, sensation that built and fanned more flames, burning, building, higher, higher.

  Someone groaned, maybe both, as their tongues met, tangled. She tasted of honey and berries and summer and he wanted more. So much more. She pressed more tightly against him and he wrapped her in his arms, closer, until they were intertwined, his hand in her hair, his other sweeping over her back, her bottom, his mouth on hers, her hands in his hair, over his shoulders, his back, her hips pressed up and into him.

  ‘Reid.’

  ‘Nat.’

  ‘We shouldn’t do this. We’re not good together. We agreed.’ His words were punctuated with long, tongue-tangling kisses.

  ‘Maybe this is what we need.’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  They stopped, looked at each other. ‘This is insane,’ she said and then her lips were back on his.

  He knew s
he was right, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Something was pushing outward inside him, a bubble in his chest that was growing until it was painful and about to burst, but he couldn’t stop. Breathless, needing Nat more than air, he kept kissing her, unable to think, to care about anything but this moment, with her in his arms, her lips under his. It felt right. It felt...

  The shrill sound of a phone alarm going off pushed them apart to stare at each other, breathing hard.

  ‘What is the alarm for?’ she asked as he rose to turn his phone off.

  ‘I set it to get you up so you had time to have a shower and change before I took you to the hospital.’

  ‘Ahh.’ She swallowed hard. ‘That was thoughtful.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He smiled, she smiled back and it was like the sun had come out for a second time that morning. He was staring at her again. She was staring back, hadn’t run away, had kissed him back. Did that mean something? Anything? Maybe it just meant that she felt sorry for him. It hadn’t felt like a pity kiss though. No, it had felt like something much better than that. But now wasn’t the time to go into it. Besides, he’d prefer not to talk about what had led into the kiss this morning. Or any time soon for that matter. It would give too much away. He cleared his throat and reached out a hand to help her to her feet. ‘We need to get going soon. It’s half past seven.’

  She held onto his hand. ‘I need to get some clothes from my place. These aren’t exactly hospital going clothes,’ she said, gesturing down at the flowing yoga pants and soft green t-shirt she’d slept in. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a shower and getting this bandage off my head too.’

  ‘Your place should be cleaned up by now. I’ll take you there so you can shower and change.’