Under Her Skin

by Adriana Anders

  “Thanks for letting me warm up, Ivan.” She’d let the warm fire, booze, and the sight of those hypnotic hands caressing the peacefully snoring dog all work together to lull her into a false sense of safety, of belonging. It was time to go before she started believing it.

  When she handed him her empty mug, their fingers touched briefly, and something flared, so ephemeral that she wanted to reach out and touch him again, just to see.

  “So, you want to go out sometime?” His words stopped the glow, made it real and not something she’d imagined.

  Go out? No. No, Uma couldn’t go out with him, even though he didn’t scare her anymore. She couldn’t get embroiled with another man.

  No rebounds for Uma. Not here, not anywhere. She couldn’t rebound after a relationship like the one she’d just left. She couldn’t anything after her relationship with Joey. It had been the relationship to end all relationships.

  This body might never succumb to a man’s touch again, and that would be fine.

  Except that last thought felt a little like a lie. Some small part of her might be the tiniest bit curious about doing things with Ivan, might even welcome it if she were a different girl in a different life. Images of pure, wonderfully disgusting animal sex came to mind until she pushed them firmly away. No, certainly not that.

  Wining and dining and first dates and stuff? Oh God. Even worse. She didn’t even know what that looked like anymore. The thought alone was enough to make her sweat. Dates meant intimacy and relationships and the possibility of love. None of which she could fathom.

  So, no. Uma couldn’t go out with Ivan.

  Above all, she had a feeling that this was a nice guy she was dealing with. And she was decidedly not a nice girl. She’d lost the chance at being just another nice girl the day Joey Chisholm had flashed his baby blues at her and wended his way so firmly under her skin that she feared she would never get him out.

  “You don’t want to go out with me, Ivan.”

  He looked ready to argue for a moment and then nodded, slow, like everything else about him. He didn’t look defeated, just calm, maybe a tiny bit determined. Uma wondered if he was a stubborn sort of person. She thought he might be.

  For some reason, she didn’t mind the idea that he might try again. As a matter of fact, a contrary, selfish little piece of her hoped he would, in case she decided to change her mind.

  “Where you goin’ to stay tonight?”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Got a bed right here.”

  Her body clenched unexpectedly at the idea. She couldn’t tell if it was a good clench or a bad one. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

  “Don’t mind.”

  Uma waited to feel frightened at the idea of sleeping in this man’s bed. Nothing.

  Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. She trembled. An image of their bodies entwined on the bed rose from her thoughts, so close she could reach out and touch it.

  “Not lettin’ you sleep in that car.”

  “I can’t take your bed from you.”

  “We got another option,” he said, voice smoky and full of promise.

  * * *

  Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. Frankly, he hadn’t meant to do any of it. The flirting, the teasing, the easy conversation. It had all come as one enormous surprise to Ive. Like one second he was saving a damsel in distress, and the next he wanted to rip her clothes off. With his teeth.

  Ah, hell. He really shouldn’t have invited her back here. He should have given her money, made her get a hotel room. Anything but this…this…temptation. Because this woman was clearly not in any place to be ravaged.

  But, instead of responding the way she should have, the way she was supposed to, all shocked and offended—a new voice, warmer and darker, said, “Yeah?”

  To which he couldn’t help but respond, “Could share.”

  The silence lasted a moment too long, landing them for the first time in awkward territory. The fire popped, pulling them out of it, and Squeak let out a massive, satisfied doggy sigh before flopping her head back onto the floor.

  Uma started to shake her head and then stopped. Ive was amazed at how much he could read in her eyes. Even though he’d never been overly perceptive when it came to women, this one was an open book. Not good. She needed more protection against…well, against guys like him.

  “I’m kiddin’, Uma. Place is all yours, princess.” He said that last bit to annoy her. To protect her from him. He threw in a wink to seal the deal.

  Was that disappointment he saw or—no. Just wishful thinking on his part.

  “Where will you sleep?” she asked, and he liked that she worried about him.

  “Don’t you worry about me. I got plenty of options.” He smirked, lacing the words with innuendo. “Bed’s all yours.”

  “What? Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

  “I insist. Stay. Please. Else we’ll have to get you a hotel room.” He went to the fire, loaded it up with logs, and headed to the door, Squeak slow to follow—the traitor.

  “Thanks, Ivan,” she whispered, and he was glad.

  “Anytime, princess.” He smiled at her annoyed little breath.

  Before heading out, he paused. “You want breakfast in the mornin’? Girls are still layin’, so I got fresh eggs.”

  “Oh, no. No, I’ve got to get back to Ms. Lloyd’s place.”

  “Lock this door, okay?” He waited until she nodded, then turned before adding, “Sweet dreams.”

  “Thanks, Ivan. You too.”

  He pulled the door closed behind him and waited. A few beats later, the lock thunked, followed by the sound of a chair sliding up behind it. Good on her. Looking out for herself.

  Ive walked to his big house, went inside, and brushed his teeth, peed, then turned to look at the stairs heading up to the second floor. He kept the place just above freezing, so the pipes wouldn’t burst, but it was barely warmer than outside. Why bother heating an empty house?

  No beds, no blankets. Only the one threadbare towel and about five slivers of soap smashed together on the side of the bathtub.

  He considered taking his towel into the kitchen, firing up the stove, and trying to make the place his own. But it was no use. He’d tried before. He’d even brought his entire bed in here once, in a bid to make it a real home.

  At this point, he should probably just sell the house. This place wasn’t him. It was too good for him. Too nice.

  But he needed to finish fixing it up. The banister and then the porch. That windowsill upstairs looked like it might be rotting out a bit and—yeah. There was a ton to do still. He’d move in once he finished. Or sell it.

  On that thought, he pulled the front door shut behind him and went to his truck, where he and Squeak would spend the night snuggled under a sleeping bag. He didn’t usually mind being out in the great outdoors, even in weather like this. Only tonight, for the first time in forever, there was a woman in his bed, and the thought of her wrapped up in his sheets would be enough to keep him from getting any sleep at all.

  9

  Uma knocked on Ms. Lloyd’s door the next morning, feeling more rested than she had in months. Ivan’s bed had been the warmest, coziest nest she could imagine. She’d spent long minutes this morning, half-asleep, with her face pressed into his pillow, shamelessly breathing him in. It was one of those tricks of chemistry or genetics or whatever that made his particular smell exactly what her body craved.

  When she rounded the drive, and his house had come into view, she’d been oddly relieved to see his truck parked there, rather than in front of some random booty call’s place. Silly, so, so silly, to care about that.

  As expected, Ms. Lloyd kept her waiting on the porch. Uma was freezing again by the time her boss limped to the door, opened it, and grudgingly allowed her back inside.

  “You st
ink,” the woman said over her shoulder as she walked away.

  “I didn’t get a shower last night, did I?”

  “You smell like smoke. Been over there again with that married man?”

  “He told me the truth about that.”

  Uma followed her boss into the kitchen, watching the woman’s shoulders shake with laughter.

  “Yeah, you sure got me there, boss.”

  “You still managed to worm your way into his bed, didn’t you?”

  “For your information, I slept alone in his bed.” Uma kept her voice as hoity-toity as possible. “Not that it’s any of your—oh my God.”

  They hung on the threshold of the kitchen, looking in. Uma swallowed hard.

  Good. Lord.

  It looked like a crime scene, a robbery gone bad. A frat house hit by a hurricane. The room had been destroyed. There was junk everywhere—dirty dishes in the sink, broken china strewn about, a dish towel dripping some viscous yellow fluid, something too red to be blood sprayed up the side of a cabinet, and about a centimeter of water covering the floor.

  “Don’t just stand there, girl. Place ain’t gonna clean itself.” With that, the woman turned and sashayed out to the living room.

  This is a means to an end. That’s all this is, thought Uma. I’m big and strong and soon I’ll be brand-new. I’ll get through this.

  For some reason, this time, she almost believed it.

  Nothing Ms. Lloyd did at this point could burst the bubble of a good night’s sleep, she told herself. That, and the prospect of her first laser appointment in three days. Yes, darn it. Things were looking up.

  She had a timeline now, and a haven away from this place. A self-defense class, a doctor to help her, and a strong man’s bed to sleep in. Yeah, right. Nix that last thought.

  Oh, but Ms. Lloyd had made her point. Uma would be punished if she disobeyed. It took all day to clean the kitchen—a mess that had probably taken only a few minutes to make. As she worked, Uma tried to imagine Ms. Lloyd doing the damage, but she couldn’t quite picture it. Had it been done gleefully or in anger? Both images were creepy.

  Something had to change.

  * * *

  The day passed painfully slowly, which had the dubious benefit of giving Uma time to think.

  She thought of Ivan and his delightful strangeness. He appeared rough and mean, and if you didn’t scratch the surface, that was all you got. But given the opportunity to delve a tiny bit further, the man wasn’t an ogre at all. Far from it. He was… She wasn’t sure what he was.

  Sweet? Not quite. Gentle? Almost. But there was too much underlying violence there for that to be right. Good? Was that it? Was he a good person? Maybe. Yeah, just maybe.

  She also thought of her boss and how very messed up she was. It was all a play for power, Uma knew that. Every little thing the woman did at this point was a test, to see how far she could push her new employee. And that meant one thing: if Uma was to have any chance at surviving this long-term, she had to counter with a play of her own. At least until something better came along.

  That night, after dinner, Ms. Lloyd roped Uma into washing her hair, although she was fully capable of doing it on her own.

  Uma managed to fit a single wooden chair into the house’s only cramped bathroom, flush to the sink.

  Rubbing the old woman’s head was an oddly intimate activity, considering. It also, she quickly learned, put her at a distinct physical advantage.

  “How did you wash your hair before I got here?” she asked.

  The older woman’s eyes were closed. She looked like she was enjoying this. A wisp of a memory floated to the surface—something Uma had heard about how spiders liked getting their bellies rubbed. Without her glasses, Ms. Lloyd looked young, naive. She looked like someone who needed protection. The way her hair flattened to her skull left her looking small, like one of those dogs that shrink to half their size once you get their fur wet.

  “With great difficulty.”

  “Yeah, right. I’ll bet you roped someone else in to doing it for you.”

  “Now why would you say that?”

  “I can’t imagine you doing something for yourself if you can get some sucker to take care of it.”

  Ms. Lloyd cackled at that. “You saying you’re a sucker?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What if I told you I had your boyfriend over here sudsing me up like this?”

  The thought made Uma laugh. “You mean Ivan?”

  “Oh, so it’s Ivan, is it? Not Ive? You don’t like the way the rest of us say it? You just waltz into town, all secretive and big city, and use your hoity-toity voice to—”

  Uma took a breath. She couldn’t do this anymore if she didn’t take a stand. Not another frickin’ second.

  “Ms. Lloyd, I need you to listen to me.” Her hands stilled on the woman’s head. “I have regular doctor’s appointments. That’s why I came to Blackwood. If I can’t go to those, then I might as well go back to where I was before.”

  “You want me to pay you to take off whenever you want?”

  “No, I want you to pay me to do my job and let me leave your home when I need to.”

  “Well, I need you here all the time.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you—” Damn it, this wasn’t working. She sucked in a Pert-scented breath and tried again. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave sometimes. I’ll try to keep it to the evenings—that way you’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

  “No. We can’t open the door after dark.”

  Uma tried her best to sound calm and reasonable. “I’m not your prisoner, Ms. Lloyd. If you don’t let me leave, it’s like…slavery.”

  “You’re fired.”

  She should have known this would happen. “Fine.” Uma turned to go.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going. You’re firing me, so I’m leaving.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Oh, I think I can.”

  “Think you’ll find another job with your…secrets and fake name? Go on and try it. There’re girls like you all over the place. New one every week. But jobs? Around here, they’re hard to find.” The woman’s bravado was admirable.

  “Right.” Calm. Stay calm. This was a gamble, nothing but a gamble, and the odds were in her favor. “You know what, Ms. Lloyd? We both know you’re fully capable of rinsing your damn hair. You’re on your own.” The sound of the door closing behind her was so final, she came close to turning back. But if she did that…she’d get nothing from the woman. No time off, no respect. Decisive, she started down the hall.

  “Don’t you dare leave, Irma. Don’t you… Wait! Wait! Irma!” It was hard, but she kept going. “Irma! Get back here! Come back! We can make this work.” A pause. “Please.”

  God, this was harder than she’d imagined. Uma knew—they both knew, though Ms. Lloyd wouldn’t admit it—that this wasn’t about leaving her without someone to wash her hair or cook or clean up her crap. Those were simply the excuses she’d devised. The big ploy, the cover-up for what her real job was… No, the reality was, if Uma left, Ms. Lloyd would be alone. Utterly alone in this stale box of a place. And that was why this gamble would pay off, even if it made her feel cruel to exploit the other woman’s fear. Uma couldn’t imagine anyone had ever stuck around Ms. Lloyd for long. She would stay—so long as she could have just enough freedom to actually feel free.

  Standing in the hall with that wedding picture staring her in the face, Uma waited a second, then two. “I’ll go back in there and help you, Ms. Lloyd—I’ll stay—but first, we need to agree on new terms.”

  The woman’s breathing was audible through the door. She wasn’t suffering from a heart attack or something, was she? Impossible. Her kind of mean outlived everyone—l
ike a postapocalyptic cockroach.

  “Fine. Fine. What do you want?”

  Uma opened the door but kept to the hallway. “First of all, I will fulfill my duties to you. I’ll help you out, but I am in no way your prisoner. You understand that, right?”

  “Never said you were.”

  “Yeah, well, this way, we’ve got everything out in the open. So you understand, that crap you pulled with the kitchen? You do that again, and I’m gone. No questions asked.”

  “I didn’t mean it, Irma. Keep your job. And evenings. Evenings are fine.”

  “Thank you.” Here it was: the power of standing up for herself, but also, unexpectedly, the soft thrill of being needed. She hardened herself before going on. “Next time you make a mess like that, you’ll wallow in it, because I’m not cleaning up that kind of mess again. Got it?”

  “Yes, yes, I get it. Fine. Just…” Ms. Lloyd paused, clearly hating this. “My eyes are stinging. Could we wrap this up?”

  “Could we wrap this up, please.”

  “Oh, you—” Ms. Lloyd stopped, breathing hard, her eyes staring at Uma with a strange mix of angry, pathetic, and proud. Apparently her need for companionship won out over her stubborn temper, because she gave in with a quietly whispered, “Please.”

  “And my name’s Uma.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Say it.”

  “Oooma. Okay? You happy now?”

  Right. Thrilled.

  Without answering, Uma allowed herself the tiniest of smiles as she turned on the faucet and tested the temperature before rinsing her boss’s hair.

  Happy? No. Not even close. But satisfied? Certainly. And maybe a little bit hopeful that things could get better.

  She’d just have to wait to see how it played out.