by Caisey Quinn
His breath was warm on her neck as he reached around and zipped it for her. “Temperature drops a good bit when the sun goes down.”
“Yeah,” she breathed, unable to come up with a more intelligent response.
“There. You good?”
She turned to face him, expecting him to back up. But he didn’t. Instead he placed his large hands on her arms and rubbed. The temperature had dropped. She could tell by the chill bumps rising on her bare legs. But looking into those hooded eyes of his while his hands were on her had Stella feeling anything but cold. The exact opposite of cold, actually.
“I’m good,” she said softly, forcing herself to back out of his embrace. “I should probably get on back to my—”
“Hey, I really didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I was just walking by and saw you out here alone and…” He cut himself off with a shrug. “Anyways, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other down here.”
“We will?” Stella felt her eyes widen. She’d been doing everything in her power to steer clear of him all week. And they’d still crossed paths a few times—mostly in the Atrium, and now here. Why in the world would she suddenly be seeing even more of him?
“Dr. McLendon, my, uh, whatever she is… She and I talked about my having too much free time on my hands. It makes me kind of nuts not to be doing something. Not exactly like I can play music or get a job or anything. So I’m going to be helping out. Here.”
Oh no. This was not good. Panic began to churn in her stomach. This was her sanctuary. The place she came to relax, to let go of the tension. The last thing she needed in her safe haven was this tatted-up sex-on-a-stick man all in her space. And they’d be alone. Probably a lot. At night.
A few possible solutions came to mind, but they all seemed unnecessarily hurtful. She could tell Dr. Ramirez that Van made her uncomfortable, that she didn’t feel safe being alone with him. It wouldn’t even be a lie exactly. But then her boss might assume Van had done something, which, okay, he kind of had. Though he hadn’t done anything she’d felt threatened by. And she knew the deal. If he didn’t make it through this program, he was done. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize his recovery or his career.
His expression was open, almost sad, as he waited for her verbal response while reading the obvious horror on her face.
“Um, wow. Okay. I didn’t know that,” was all she managed.
“You don’t look too excited for the company. I’ll try to stay out of your way,” he bit out.
“It’s not… I mean, it’s not personal. It’s just I like to be, um, alone.”
“You like to be, um, alone? Really?” He glared at her before huffing out a humorless laugh. “That the best you can do? Because if I make you uncomfortable, cowgirl, you can say so.”
Her fists clenched at her sides. “It’s just—”
“And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I heard you down here spilling your guts to your four-legged friends. Our secret.”
He smirked at her, and anger, guilt, and bitter regret swirled together inside her chest. She’d hurt him with her response. Hurt this big tough guy who’d said that he didn’t have feelings. And for reasons she didn’t care to analyze, she hated herself for it.
“Don’t be an ass,” she snapped. “I didn’t mean to be rude. In fact, I rarely am rude. You seem to bring out the worst in me.”
“At last. You finally admit I have an effect on you.” He winked.
She became aware of her own erratic breathing and began to measure out careful breaths to keep calm. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Ransom.”
“Can I ask you something, cowgirl? Off the record, of course.”
She raised her eyebrows at the unexpected turn in topic. “Of course.”
“If I fuck you—or rather, when I fuck you, because, let’s face it, we both know you’re just delaying the inevitable here—are you going to keep calling me that?”
Her gasp was audible, but her speech center apparently shut off because words didn’t reach her lips. They just slammed together in her brain as she stormed past him.
“Hold up, cowgirl. Dammit. I’m sorry. Don’t run off and—”
She whirled on him abruptly as he followed her out of the barn. “Let’s get one thing straight right now, Mr. Ransom. The only thing I’m going to call you is delusional. Because clearly you are.”
She poked him hard in the chest and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her to his dangerously enticing body. Stella’s eyes darted around. Now that they were out of the protective shelter of the barn, anyone could see them. She felt complicit in this forbidden interaction. Neither of them needed the prying eyes of her colleagues witnessing this and reporting it to Dr. Ramirez. She hadn’t forgotten the warnings and reminders about inappropriate relations between employees and clients. It would get her immediately fired and Van kicked out. Why he was willing to risk his entire career for a random woman, she couldn’t figure out. But she sure wasn’t willing to risk hers.
“You seem to bring out something in me too, sweetheart. But I shouldn’t have said that, not when you obviously weren’t ready to hear it. And I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“Y-you. You…” Had he upset her? Flustered—she was definitely flustered. He’d confused her. Pulled the world she knew out from under her and thrust things at her she had no clue how to handle. “You make me…”
“Yeah. I can see that,” he said with a tentative smile. “You make me too, cowgirl.”
She rolled her eyes and stood perfectly still as he retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of the shirt of his she was wearing.
“You smoke?” she asked, not making an attempt to hide her disgust. Frowning, she pulled the cigarette from his lips and handed it to him. “Not around me you don’t. Sure you want to help out down at the barn?”
He arched a brow and slid the pack back into his pocket. “Compared to what I was doing a week ago, smoking a cigarette now and then is nothing.”
“Tell that to people in chemo.”
“It really bothers you?” he asked, his face still mere inches from hers.
“It does.” She nodded, maintaining eye contact.
“Then I won’t do it around you. Scout’s honor.”
Stella couldn’t help but smile. “Why do I have the distinct impression that you were never a Boy Scout?”
He grinned in response. “Because I wasn’t. I kicked a few of their asses as a kid though. Does that count?”
She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”
Pulling out of his reach, she turned toward her bungalow. Feeling his presence close behind her, she stiffened. “Van,” she whispered without turning back to face him. “Whatever this is… We can’t. You get that, right?”
“Relax, cowgirl. I won’t bite,” he said low in her ear. “Well, that’s not entirely true, but I promise you’ll like it when I do.”
She turned and placed both hands firmly on his chest. “That. That right there. You have to stop that. I’m serious.”
“Because it turns you on and you’re scared you might give in and admit you want me?”
“Because it’s inafreakingproppriate! How do you not see that?”
“Stella Jo, just because I’m me and you’re—”
“No, just stop. Please stop.” She shook her head. “You want me to admit that I’m attracted to you? Fine. I have eyes. I get the appeal. Tattooed bad boy. You certainly have that tortured-soul thing going for you. But I am not one of your damn groupies. Period. I am an employee in a facility that you checked into to get help. Help with a serious problem, not just help getting off. So please. Stop this.”
“Okay,” he said evenly. “Breathe, beautiful. Before you hyperventilate and pass out on me.”
Unable to mask the reaction this interaction was having on her, she did as he said and took a few slow, deep breaths.
“Van,” she said, his name a soft plea on her lips. “This
job is important to me. I’m happy here. I feel at home. Wanted. Needed. I never felt that way before. Not in my own home and not with college roommates. I belong here. I want to be here.”
He opened his mouth to speak but she placed a finger against his lips. She tried to ignore the thrill that raced through her at the sensation of touching his lips.
“And you can’t afford to be kicked out for having an indiscretion with an employee. I’m sure there will be women lined up to be with you when you get out of here.”
His smoldering stare almost broke her resolve. But she knew she was right and that they needed to stop this before it went any further. Apparently he knew too because he backed up a step and glanced around.
“But you won’t be in that line, will you?”
Stella closed her eyes briefly to keep him out of her head. “You don’t even know me.”
“Feels like I do,” was all he said.
When she looked up into his face, she was slightly relieved to see that he’d begun surveying the surrounding property. She watched as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sighed.
“I don’t want to mess this up for you, cowgirl,” he relented, backing up a step. “I’ll behave from now on. Or I’ll try to at least.” With a wink and a small grin, he turned to leave.
“Van,” Stella called out softly, surprising both him and herself. “Um, it’s just…” She waved a hand between them. “You know, there’s a reason they refer to y’all as clients instead of patients here.”
Half turned in her direction, he raised a brow. “I think I’m missing the punch line.”
“You basically pay my salary, Mr. Ransom,” she informed him gently. “What you pay to stay here is pretty much what they use to write my paycheck. So, if anything happened and we…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. Couldn’t bring herself to voice that not only would she get fired, but that giving in to the pull of her strange curiosity about him would be an awful lot like prostitution. “This isn’t a brothel. Despite what some of the nurses may be willing to do for you.”
There. She’d said it. Laid it out in plain language. Surely he’d understand.
He let out a short humorless laugh and shook his head. “Message received. Have a good night.”
The wounded expression on his face tugged on her emotions. The unfamiliar sensation left her disoriented as he walked away.
For as long as she remembered, she’d kept her feelings at bay. Swallowed the hurt when her mom had treated her like a doll or one of the prized livestock instead of like a person. She’d been numbing herself against the sting of her father’s rejection since she was a child. Had taken her first serious boyfriend’s relief at being done without shedding a single tear. Wished him well when he’d moved on to her roommate without a backward glance.
But for some reason, this near stranger, this man she barely knew, had managed to break through her impenetrable barrier and reach her in a place she kept buried. And worse, she was still wearing his sweatshirt.
Because I’m cold, she told herself.
The stifling realization that this was the reason for more than why she was wearing his shirt kept her up half the night.
Van lay in his bed that night trying for the life of him to figure out what it was about her that had him so intrigued.
He tended to find women like Stella Jo Chandler boring. With their five- and ten- year plans and their refusal to step outside the lines. He liked his women a little edgier. Easier. Liked to watch them crawl to him on all fours and beg. He had a feeling that would never be something he’d get to see the beautiful brunette do, except in his fantasies.
His dick twitched as the image flashed in his mind. Despite the temptation, he didn’t take care of himself. Aching for her felt necessary. Restraint was a small price to pay. He didn’t even allow himself to imagine how wet and willing she’d be for him. Nothing his mind could conjure could possibly compare to the real thing.
Her warm, sweet vanilla and honey scent enveloped him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Dreaming of her—her slow, sensual walk, the small smiles he had to work so hard for, the determination in her eyes that wavered only when he got too close—kept the nightmares at bay.
Pulling himself from an excruciatingly vivid dream involving tasting her, he woke with knowledge he almost wished he could forget.
Stella Jo Chandler was beautiful. And she was intrigued by him. That much was obvious. But as she teased and taunted him in his dreams, he realized how very similar they were.
I belong here. I want to be here.
Her words echoed around him. Distracted by the bruises she was inflicting upon his ego, he’d missed it. Missed the hollow longing in her eyes, the carefully masked loneliness she carried.
I’m happy here. I feel at home. Wanted. Needed. I’ve never felt that way before.
It was the last part that struck the deepest chord. She’d never felt happy, or at home, or needed.
Christ.
He was broken. He knew that. His childhood made the most horrific depictions of Hell look like paradise. The angel who’d rescued him from his living nightmare had abandoned him, shattering him into a million fragmented pieces. That combined with the fame and the drugs had ultimately twisted him into a destructive monster of a man. One who inflicted pain and damage and felt no remorse for it.
He was broken beyond repair, and Stella Jo Chandler was empty inside. The dangerously compelling need to see her, to look into the endless depths of her eyes and confirm what he already knew, almost sent him outside in the middle of the night.
She wouldn’t be able to fix him, and he couldn’t possibly give her the kind of love she needed, but a new brand of torture descended upon his already decimated soul.
He wanted her to try to fix him. And he had no idea how he was going to stop himself from at least attempting to fulfill the lust-drenched need that lingered in her eyes when they were together. Since he’d lost his angel and taken on the world alone, he’d never been denied a single thing he’d wanted. Because when Van Ransom wanted something, he didn’t ask for it.
He took it.
“You don’t look well, Mr. Walker. How have you been sleeping?” Dr. McLendon frowned at him as if she were disappointed.
He settled into the plush chair in her office and shrugged. “I haven’t been. Not much, anyways.”
“Any particular reason why?”
He cleared his throat. “You tell me, Doc.” Feigning nonchalance he did his best not to think of the reason why. His new strategy was to force himself to focus on his recovery—or at least learn how to fake it so that he could get out of here and back on the road with his band.
An empty woman couldn’t fix him and neither could any of these doctors.
“What do you think about when you’re lying there not sleeping?”
He shrugged and gave her the obvious answer. “Getting high. Getting the hell out of here.”
She wrote something down quickly before raising her eyes to meet his. “That all?”
He shrugged again and took a long look around the room. Bookshelves full of thick books, probably about why fuck-ups like him did what they did. Shiny degrees in expensive wooden frames perfectly lined up along the walls. Everything perfect, even, and in its place. He was the one thing that didn’t belong. Just like he didn’t belong in a world with someone as beautiful and graceful as Stella Jo Chandler.
He inhaled and took a moment to appreciate the scent of the leather. Which reminded him of the riding crop and the saddles down at the barn. Which reminded him of Stella Jo Chandler.
His hands tightened on his knees and he returned his gaze to the doctor. Despite the attractive blonde sitting in close proximity, it was a brunette who might as well have been a million miles away who prompted him to speak.
He wouldn’t ruin this for her, this place where she finally felt at home. But he would do his best to let go of some of the darkness he carried so that when he got out of
here, he could maybe, just maybe, be worthy of at least getting to know her.
“No, that’s not all,” he said evenly. “When I’m alone, sober, and it’s quiet, I can’t sleep because…because all I can think of is her.”
The office around him ceased to exist—the books and the framed degrees disappearing from his view. The screams and pleas rose in his mind. An unforgiving wind whipped in his ears while heavy metal chains clanked against one another, almost drowning the doctor’s response. He stood on the riverbank, helpless under an overcast sky.
“Her, who? Mr. Ransom? Mr. Ransom, can you hear me?”
He could hear her, but he couldn’t respond. He was unearthing the memory the same way they’d dragged up her body—slowly and steadily, feeling every excruciating moment.
The storm grew in his soul as he met the doctor’s worried eyes.
“The woman I couldn’t save. The one I watched die.”
Dr. McLendon shook her head. “I don’t understand. What woman? There’s no mention of a woman in your chart or in the—”
“There wouldn’t be.” He stared at his hands, clawing his way back to the present. They were trembling so hard it was like they were vibrating. “No one knows about Val. Not my manager, not anyone.”
“Val was your…”
“Sister,” he informed her quietly.
“I see,” she said, setting her notebook aside and relaxing into her chair. “How long ago did she—”
“It’ll be ten years this summer. I was sixteen. It was her nineteenth birthday.”
She nodded. “I don’t want to push you. Just tell me as much as you’re comfortable sharing and stop when you need to.”
She was using kid gloves on him. Maybe he should’ve appreciated that, but for some reason, it only added fuel to his already raging fire.
“As much as I’m comfortable sharing?” He glared at her, standing and spreading his arms wide. “Do I fucking look comfortable to you?”
Her eyes widened but she kept her composure. “Fine. Then tell me what makes you uncomfortable. Push yourself until you can’t. You’re safe here.”
