by Alex Grayson
I look over to Alexander and raise my brow. “I didn’t take you for the type of guy that rides motorcycles.”
His eyes turn mischievous. “I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff about me that would surprise you.”
I have no idea what to be surprised about more, the playfulness of his tone, the words themselves, the humor in his eyes, or the fact that it seems as if he’s flirting. I know I like all four of those reasons, especially the last one.
I’m so far out of date with how flirting works that I have no clue how to respond. Luckily, Gigi comes up with little fur balls trailing behind her and saves me from having to form a reply.
“Oh, my goodness!” I exclaim, and squat down. “They’ve gotten so big!”
I scoop one pup in my arms and he immediately starts lapping at my face. I laugh and rub my hand up and down his back.
“They’ve turned into menaces,” Alexander states, squatting beside me. He grabs one pup by the scruff of his neck and settles him against his chest. Gigi, appearing jealous of her own pups, puts her front paws on Alexander’s thigh and her face right in his, as if reminding him she’s there. “They’ve started chewing on my shoes. One found my wallet on the coffee table and chewed the corner off.”
I laugh, setting down the puppy and picking up another. “They only want to play.”
“Then the little shits need to play with each other and not my stuff. I’ve had to keep them in here when I’m not in the house. There’s no telling what the state of things would be when I come back in.”
I plop down on the concrete floor, the coolness of the slab immediately chilling my butt, and a horde of puppies starts climbing on my lap. I notice one of the pups, a black one with white on its face, off to the side watching what’s going on. It’s the one that Daniel named and grew attached to the most.
“Is there something wrong with that one?” I ask, pointing the lone pup.
“Nope. She’s the runt and quiet one of the group.” He pauses. “I also think she misses a certain little boy.”
I smile, finding it sweet he thinks the puppy misses Daniel.
Now that he’s mentioned it, she does look smaller than the others.
I pat the floor beside me. “C’mere, Pepper,” I coax her softly. Her head tilts to the side, then the other way, before she gets up from her haunches and slowly walks over to me. I pet her head and back, then pick her up. She doesn’t wiggle around or try to get to my face like the others. She just looks up at me with calm eyes.
I hold her up to my face and rub my nose with the tip of hers.
“Aren’t you just a sweetheart,” I murmur.
I look over to find Alexander watching me. I duck my head back to the puppy, feeling warmth come over my cheeks.
“Is it okay if I take Pepper?”
“Sure,” he says, a hint of gruffness in his voice.
I smile at the puppy. “You hear that? You’re coming home with me. Daniel’s going to be so excited to see you again!”
We both stand, me with Pepper in hand. I laugh when I look down and see both our feet covered in the rest of the puppies.
“There’s no way we’ll make it out of this room without at least one making it through the door.”
“They’ll be all right. They need to be let out for a bit anyway.”
Taking careful steps so we don’t squish one, we walk to the door. As soon as it’s open, there’s a mad dash of puppies bounding out.
Watching them tumble over their feet, I remark with a giggle, “I wish I could take them all home.”
“You’re more than welcome to,” Alexander says with his own chuckle. The deep laugh still sounds strange coming from him, but I love hearing it.
I wrinkle my nose when I look at him. “No thanks.”
He grunts, but I see a small smirk playing on his lips. “And of course you’d pick the calmest of the group, leaving me with the rambunctious ones.”
I shrug, letting my laughter show in my eyes. I snuggle the puppy to my chest and her cool nose touches the underside of my chin.
“Yeah, but I think we were meant to have this one.” I look down at the soft eyes of the puppy. “She was calling to me.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I look at him and find him watching me and the puppy with an expression I’ve never witnessed on his face before. The look holds me captive, and I’m stuck staring into his dark gray eyes. I saw several different emotions in those eyes in the time the kids and I were here, but never the look they hold now. Something’s different in their depths. Something that both scares me and sends shivers all over my body.
“I think you may be right,” he says quietly.
Feeling a warm tongue on my chin, I break our stare, give my head a shake, then look back down at the puppy again.
“You wanna play with your brothers and sisters for a few minutes before we go?”
I bend and set the pup down on the floor and her siblings rush over to check her out, as if she could possibly be different than she was a few minutes ago. I opt to watch them for a few minutes versus looking back at Alexander. Seeing him again has left me a flustered mess, and I need a moment to compose myself.
When I do lift my head, it’s to find him still looking at me. I caught him doing that several times during our stay here, but he normally looked away when my eyes met his. He isn’t this time, and I wonder why. What’s changed about him?
Suddenly feeling the need to talk, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“What are you doing for Christmas tomorrow?”
He blinks, taken aback by my question, then turns away, but before he does, a look of pain so fierce washes over his face it nearly has me stumbling back.
“Nothing,” he grunts.
Forging ahead, I say, “Why don’t you come with me and the kids out to Mrs. Myers’ house? She’s actually my friend’s grandmother, and I know she’d love to have you there as well.”
Instead of answering, he walks over to the stove and a thick cloud of steam floats from the pot as he lifts the lid. Grabbing a big metal spoon from the counter, he starts stirring the contents. All I can do is stand there and watch his tense back. I want to go to him and offer whatever comfort I can, but I know he won’t be receptive. If it wasn’t his stiff form that screamed to stay away, then the clenched fist resting on the counter certainly would.
I’m just about to apologize—for what, I have no idea—when he lifts the spoon from the pot and some of the hot liquid spills onto his scarred hand.
“Shit,” he curses.
Even from several feet away, I feel his pain from the scalding liquid.
Without thought, I rush over to him, grab his forearm, and drag him over to the sink. I turn the water to cold and stuff his hand under the stream. The skin, already marred by burns, is turning an angry red. I keep my head down and make sure his hand stays in the water.
“I’m sorry,” I say, barely loud enough for him to hear me.
“For what?” His question comes out gruff, and I wonder if it’s from the pain of being burned or the pain he felt before. “You didn’t do anything.”
I look up to find his gaze locked on me once again. The pain is still there, but there’s also curiosity.
“For whatever reason my question brought on your pain.”
His eyes flicker away for a brief moment before coming back to me.
“I don’t do well at Christmas,” he comments quietly.
I hold his eyes for a moment, then dip my head back down to look at his hand. “I understand.” I don’t really understand, but I get the sense it has something to do with his wife and little girl, so in a way, I guess I do. This will be the kids’ and my third Christmas without Will. With each holiday that passes, the pain of not having him with us comes back tenfold. There will always be that heartache, no matter how much time goes by, but there’s something about the holidays that brings it to the forefront and makes it fresh again.
I look back down and see the
redness of the fresh burn and the shiny taut skin of the old. I’m not sure what comes over me, but I run my finger over the tight flesh, making sure to avoid the new burn, and am surprised at how smooth it feels. I trail my finger past his wrist and slowly make my way up his arm, feeling the slight dips and rises of the scarring. The hair follicles must have been damaged because his arm is hair-free. When I reach the edge of his rolled-up sleeve, I turn his arm over. The same damage appears on this side as well.
An ache forms in my chest, right where my heart sits, at the pain this man has gone through. Both physically, but especially mentally. And I know there’s no way for him to escape it. Every time he looks in the mirror, every time he uses his hands, he’s reminded of that pain.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I force them away. Me crying for him is the last thing he needs, and I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate it.
Suddenly realizing I’ve overstepped my bounds by touching him, I pull my hand away and reach for the towel on the counter. Gently, I tap the towel against the red skin.
“Does it hurt?”
His voice is deep when he answers. “No. Some of the nerves in my hand are damaged, so I don’t feel everything I should.”
My heart hurts for him. His life has been affected by that one accident in so many ways. And it’ll continue to affect him for the rest of his life.
I put the towel down and turn off the water. I’m just about to tell him I should go, when his next words stop me.
“When you touched me….” He stops, and I look up at him. “I felt it when you touched me.”
My breath catches; I’m not sure how to take his statement. The look he’s giving me is intense but at the same time unsure. Like whatever he’s feeling is strong, but he’s unsure what that feeling is. I know just what he’s going through. The feelings running through me leave me confused and, if I’m honest, a bit warm.
My legs become jelly when the look in his eyes turns to something more intimate. It’s not crude or offensive, but it’s definitely not innocent, and not a look he’s given me before, but one that I find that I like.
I hold my breath as his eyes track down my body, and I swear every place his eyes touch, I feel a soft caress, as if it’s more than his eyes perusing my body. Tingles start in my belly and make their way down my legs. I grip the counter behind me because I seriously worry they won’t be able to hold me up much longer.
He’s only a couple feet away from me, so when he takes a step closer, the heat of his body and his scent engulf me. It leaves me dizzy, and goose bumps appear on my arms. He reaches out with his scarred hand, and the moment his fingers go beneath my hair, cupping the side of my neck, my stomach does somersaults. I close my eyes as intense sensations race through my body, heating it up twenty, forty, sixty degrees.
I feel the slight tremble of his hand against me, and I open my eyes. His gaze is on the hand that’s resting against my neck, then moves to my face. They hold both yearning and wonder.
“What is it about you that makes me want to be close to you?” he marvels in a low voice. His thumb rubs gently against my neck. “Why do I want to touch you so badly when I haven’t wanted to touch anyone in years?”
I swallow, mesmerized by both his questions and the reverence in his voice as he asks them. Not to mention the way his hand feels against my skin. I haven’t let another man touch me intimately since Will died. Except this… this feels like so much more than Will’s touch ever made me feel. We always had a very good physical relationship and we always found pleasure in each other’s arms. Our lovemaking was sweet but passionate, and I felt that tingle of desire up until the very last time Will touched me. The feeling I get from Alexander’s touch is different. Stronger.
I suck in a sharp breath when Alexander closes the small gap still separating us. My tongue slides out to wet my suddenly dry lips, and his eyes track the movement, then land back on mine with even more longing. I release the counter and lay my hands against his lower stomach, unable to keep them off him a moment longer. His eyes close for a fleeting second at the contact.
“Why is it you?” he asks, opening his eyes to reveal a tortured expression. “Someone so soft and sweet and good. Someone I don’t deserve, but for some reason I desperately want more and more each day.”
“Alexander,” I whisper, hating the agonizing pain I hear in his voice. I want to tell him he deserves so much more than he thinks. That whatever plagues him, which I know has to do with the loss of his wife and child, doesn’t prevent him from deserving love or happiness.
Before I get a chance to voice my thoughts, his head dips and he rests his forehead against mine. The scars on his face stand out from the tenseness of his expression. I lift my hand and rest it against his marred cheek, badly wanting to erase the uncertainty I see.
“I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve whatever could happen between us.” I want to object, but he continues before I get a chance. “But there’s something I want more than my self-loathing for wanting something I shouldn’t.”
“What?” I rasp.
“A chance to know what it feels like to kiss you.”
My response is immediate and without thought. “Please kiss me, Alexander.”
His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, and when he sees the same want in my eyes, he lowers his mouth.
The second our lips touch, a soft groan leaves his throat, and a moan leaves mine. My eyes close automatically and my fingers fist his shirt. His lips are soft and velvety as he gently rubs them against mine. The kiss is innocent by many standards, but it still sends my body skyrocketing, leaving me feeling like I’m floating.
As chaste as the kiss is, I want more, and from the tightening of Alexander’s hand around the back of my neck, he wants more too.
Tentatively, I open my mouth and offer my tongue, hoping I’m not being too forward. A shiver races through me when his tongue touches mine. Mint, that’s what he tastes like. Fresh and cooling. I love the taste and want more of it.
Taking over the kiss, he gently invades my mouth. I accept him inside and make soft mewling sounds. Using his other hand, he tilts my head to the side, giving us both better access. His lips leave mine and he nips at my bottom lip, then they come back and tenderly take my mouth again.
The kiss doesn’t last longer than a minute or two before he pulls back, resting his forehead against mine again. I keep myself from protesting and asking him to kiss me again. Even with the kiss lasting such a short time, the impact of it has both of us panting.
His eyes are closed and a small smile plays on his lips. “So sweet,” he whispers, then opens his eyes. The smile disappears and the pain is back. “So much more than I thought it would be.”
He pulls back, but my hands stay locked on his shirt. I’m not ready to let him go yet. The feelings he’s conjured in me… I’m not ready to release them. I want to hold on to them and him and never let go. I want more from this man than I’ve wanted in a long time.
There’s half a foot between us now, but his hands are still in my hair, the palms against my neck. His eyes close tightly, and I watch as he pulls in a deep breath before reopening them.
I dig my fingers into his shirt more, and he moves an inch closer.
Finally finding my voice, I tell him, “I know about your wife and daughter,” I say gently. “I know they drowned.” I want to take back the words at the profound pain on his face, but this is something I need to get out. “I can see the guilt in your eyes because you blame yourself.” I take a step closer to him and lower my voice. “I’m going to tell you what I’ve told Kelsey many times. It wasn’t your fault, Alexander.”
“You don’t know the whole story,” he says thickly. “If you did, you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“I don’t need to know the whole story to know it wasn’t your fault. I may not know much about you, and we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but I know you’re a caring and compassionate man. I saw that when you went out of your
way to help a stranger and her kids on the side of the road during a snowstorm. I saw it when you spent time with my kids. I saw it in the way you looked when I told you about my husband. I don’t need to know the story to know that you would protect your family fiercely.”
He’s quiet for several moments, and several different emotions flash in his eyes. Anger is one of them.
“You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew what happened, how I didn’t protect them,” he says, his tone bitter.
“Then tell me.”
I want to know why he feels the way he does, because there is no doubt in my mind that his view of the events will be much different than mine. There’s no way this man, this wonderfully strong man, would stand by and watch his family die and not do everything in his power to stop it. I know this deep in my gut.
“I can’t.” His jaw clenches and even more pain fills his face. Moisture appears in his eyes, and he looks away for a moment, before pushing the tears away and bringing his gaze back to me. “It hurts too much to remember.”
To see such a strong man on the brink of falling apart has my own tears rushing to the surface, but like him, I force them away. He needs the people in his life to be strong, not break down.
I can see in his eyes that no matter how much I tell him that it wasn’t his fault, he still won’t accept it. The pain is too deep and he’s had years to embed the guilt inside himself. It makes my heart weep for him.
My curiosity to know exactly what happened to his family grows. What makes him think it was his fault? I’m sure I could ask just about anyone in town and they would tell me, but that doesn’t feel right, and I run the risk of them not knowing all the facts. I want to hear it from Alexander, not from someone who could mix up or warp the facts.
I step up, get to my tiptoes, and press my lips against his for a soft kiss. I want to memorize the taste of him, because I get the feeling I probably won’t get another chance to do it again.
