When the Neon Moon’s front door swung open and out came Curly and Dean, Ian decided it would be best to go. He didn’t want to make matters worse—as Charlee said he would—by provoking the two who’d been looking for a fight the better part of the night. He started to get on his bike when a hand landed on his shoulder. Ian pulled a deep breath because he knew how this was destined to end.
Charlee took turns watching the clock and the long winding dirt road leading to Ian’s cabin. She paced, made tea, paced some more. Scolding herself for saying such harsh and hurtful things to him. He’s not one of my brothers. This, she’d repeated like a mantra because Ian was all man and man defended woman. It was in their genes and under normal circumstances with a normal woman was really a sweet gesture. But Charlee wasn’t a normal woman. She’d had four brothers growing up and never got to fight her own battles until one by one they left and she had to learn how to use her wits to get out of tight jams. They had, in fact, done harm to her by not letting her fight her own wars, and she’d grown up with that survivor part of her still in its infancy. But as an adult, she’d learned; oh, she’d learned. She’d fought and clawed her own way to the top of Respect Mountain. And hated when her brothers showed up and knocked her off her throne. You’re not one of my brothers. Oh boy, was that easy to remember when he’d touched his lips to her ear. She lifted a hand to the spot and could almost still feel the sting. Ears were so sensitive. She’d never noticed before, but his soft mouth against them caused ice in her stomach and sweat on her brow. When she spotted the single headlight coming down the road and into his drive, Charlee grabbed her flashlight and ran out, not bothering to slip on her shoes.
There was a wide path through the trees that led from her front door to his. She walked it most mornings and could do so with her eyes shut—which was good because now she ran barefoot over the path. “Hey!” she yelled, but he didn’t turn around at the wave of her flashlight. She didn’t blame him. She’d said some hurtful things but she was here to make amends. “Ian, wait.”
No answer as he parked, stepped off his bike and headed for his porch. She ran the rest of the way to him and noticed he was moving slowly up the steps. Charlee reached forward to grab his arm and spin him around. When he yelped, she dropped the flashlight. It crashed to the ground and rolled, the light flashing across his face. A face red and swollen and—oh my gosh—bloody. She grabbed his shoulders and tried to make him out in the dim moonlight. Her eyes searched him frantically. “Ian, what happened?” He must have wrecked his bike.
He slumped toward her, and Charlee gathered him in her arms. He draped over her like a bearskin and smelled like sweat. She could feel fear creating tears in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
Ian clung to her as she helped him into the cabin. She flipped on a light as she passed through the door and hustled him over to the couch. Ian collapsed there, and with his head lying back on a throw pillow, she got a good look at his face.
Her hands came up in horror. One eye swollen and bruised with dirt and blood caked at his temple. More blood on his mouth, and coming from his nose. There was a footprint on his T-shirt and anger shot into her gut that someone would stomp on him while he was down. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No.” He grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Please, Charlee. Just stay with me.”
At that, her knees gave way and she floated down until she was sitting on the edge of the couch. When he didn’t let go of her hand, she used the free one to brush the dark hair from his forehead. “What if your lung is collapsed?”
He opened one eye. “It’s not.”
“What if you broke ribs and they punctured your spleen?”
At this, he frowned, then smiled. “My ribs are bruised, maybe cracked, but my spleen is fine. Believe me, I’ve had worse.”
“Ian. I’m so sorry. What happened?”
His eyes opened and focused on her. It seemed to take great effort but she could tell he didn’t mind. “You’re beautiful,” he said, words coming from cracked lips.
Her heart stuttered to a stop. One brow winged up. His fine dark hair was a mess of tangles clumped with dirt and small splatters of blood. He sported a rakish five o’clock shadow. “So are you,” she whispered. For a moment she took his hand and held it against her beating heart. “Although it’s hard to see you under all that dirt.”
“I’ll go clean up. Just . . . just promise me you won’t leave.” He started to lean forward, winced, and she used her hands to push him back down on the couch.
“Stay here. I’ll take care of you.” And in this moment, there was nothing she wanted more than to take care of beautiful, damaged Ian Carlisle with the handsome face and haunted eyes.
She rose and found a first aid kit in the bathroom and a bucket and washcloths under the sink. She filled the bucket and returned to her patient. Water ran in rivulets from her hand as she squeezed the excess from the rag. It made tiny little tinkling sounds filling the quiet. When he tried to scoot over to give her more access, he winced and she dropped the rag back into the bucket. “Shirt first.”
Ian had wide, powerful arm muscles and when he tried to wrestle the shirt from his own torso, it proved a futile task. He lay back, breathing heavily. Charlee took scissors from the kit and began at his waist. “It’s ruined anyway,” she said, blinking several times and brushing the hair from her eyes as bit by bit she exposed the taut, long muscles of his abdomen. A swatch of springy dark hair rose and fell with his breathing and disappeared into the waistline of his pants. She continued to cut, forcing her eyes to follow the line upward. Soon, his chest was exposed and Charlee pressed her lips together hard. There was a jagged cut beneath one of his pecs. A smooth spread of flesh that should never be interrupted by such a crude slice. She’d bandage it first because when she looked at his face she wanted both to cry and to drop beside him just to nestle against his body.
He trembled as she ran the cloth over his chest, removing traces of dirt and the sweat he’d accumulated. The single light of the cabin was enough to illuminate the cuts and scratches. It was soft light, the kind couples danced to before slipping off into an adjoining room to make love. At that thought, Charlee’s eyes darted up to Ian’s face, expecting to find him watching her. But he wasn’t. Mouth slightly open, body lax, eyes closed, and she could only imagine what he must be thinking. When a long, surrendering sigh escaped his lips, she knew. He’d been deployed a long time. And been home only a short time. Had female hands been on his body like hers were now? Charlee used her forearm to brush the hair off her brow. Gently, she pressed her fingertips, then her palm, to his flesh. The cloth was in her other hand, gliding over his skin. Another sigh from him and the sound, so soft, so intimate, wound around the lowest part of her stomach.
Her fingers wrapped in cloth continued to trail and now the other hand joined. When she’d find a bit of gravel or dirt, she’d remove it, then continue as her hands cruised over his flesh. “Okay,” she whispered, her heart hammering. “Now the face.”
She thought she’d find his eyes still closed, but was surprised to find them open wide, dreamy and locked on her. Charlee tried to smile. “I’ll get you cleaned up, then we can put some bandages on.” She didn’t need to tell him—the steps of wound care were pretty universal—but she needed to fill the air with more than just the thick tension of her hands so intimate on him.
Ian blinked. One side of his mouth tipped up ever so slightly. It didn’t matter to him, the pain; he had a smile for her. “Thank you,” he said and the words hung in the air between them like magnets drawing two helpless pieces of metal together.
“Be quiet,” she whispered and attempted a frown. “You’re ruining my focus.”
Ian lay back, let out a long sigh and said, “Really? Because you’re perfecting mine.”
Trembling fingers hovered over his neck. The cloth dangled from her hand and dripped onto the hollow of his throa
t and there, Charlee McKinley was stalled because she’d never been anyone’s focus before and if she had been, it was surely that she’d gotten in the way of that person’s true purpose and destiny.
And something about Ian Carlisle made her feel powerful. Strength born of determination. Power born of a desire not only to care for someone but also to nurture him. Nurtured. That’s what she’d felt like while Ian held her when she cried, and she wanted, needed, to return the favor. Nurtured was different than protected. Oh, she’d always felt protected. By her dad first, then her brothers. But she’d never felt important. Never felt as though she mattered. She was a footnote, a detail. A possession one protected because it was one’s duty.
But Ian made her feel different. Like she was the focus. And that was scary.
She continued cleaning his wounds and exchanging the dirt and blood for fresh, clear water. Soon, his face was a wash of clean skin interrupted by the cut at the edge of his mouth, one small one above his eye that zigzagged into his brow, and a strawberry-like scrape on one cheek. After she’d applied Neosporin to the wounds, refusing to notice how the slick slip of it glided between her fingertips and his flesh, she placed bandages on all the sores except the one at the edge of his mouth. When she leaned in closer to it—in an attempt to make sure he didn’t need stitches there—she was surprised to find hands landing gently on her back. Strong, warm hands. Touching ever so lightly. When he spoke, her eyes flickered up to his.
“Charlee.” The single word rolled off his tongue and created a hot pool in her gut.
She let out a few quick breaths in answer because she knew he’d hold her there if she tried to pull away. And she didn’t want the fight. She didn’t want the struggle. She just wanted . . .
His eyes opened and focused on her. “I made you a promise, Charlee, and that’s something I don’t take lightly.”
Her mouth was cotton and when he moistened his lips, she wished he could do the same for hers. And she cursed herself for wishing that. “I know.”
And now his hands were moving slowly, rhythmically, like she was an instrument and he was the master. Fingertips glided over the bumps of her back ribs, finding the hollow, tracing the space until his hands were at her sides. “And I swear I’ll uphold that.” His eyes opened wider. “I swear, Charlee. But . . .”
Her flesh heated with anticipation. “But?”
He lay back again and let his eyes shut. “But I’m weak right now. And I’m finding it very difficult to not kiss you.”
When she moved closer, his eyes slid open to find her there, less than a breath away. She’d pay for her weakness later. Of that she was certain, but right now, she very much wanted to be kissed. And not just kissed by anyone, but by Ian Carlisle, a man she was certain knew exactly how to give her what she needed most. So she leaned in.
Their mouths came together, her hair creating a blanket around them. His fingers dug into the strands and angled her so that he could taste more, touch more, feel more. His lips were salty and soft and as his mouth parted ever so gently as if exploring a new discovery, Charlee couldn’t stop the tiny moan that escaped into his mouth. This changed the momentum. What had been tender and soft, morphed into a deep, full kiss that had her dragging her hands up over the chest and fighting not to rake them into claws. Hands at the sides of her head, he broke the kiss.
Desire, heat, fire, all of those and more flew between them as they sucked the oxygen-depleted air from the scant few inches that separated their faces and mouths. He started to pull her in again, but she froze. A moment later, after he licked the taste of her from his mouth, Charlee lost all thought of tomorrow and started to tilt toward his lips again, drawn by his tongue and the desire to quench the thirst for more. This time it was Ian who stopped her. His eyes shut tightly, he tried to slow his breathing, as did Charlee, but she was helpless, and a lack of oxygen made her giddy and stupid and if she didn’t get up—rise up right now!—she was going to dive in so deep she just might drown. “I have to go,” she whispered, and he locked his hands into fists at the sides of her head and brought her forehead to his own.
“I know,” he whispered into her mouth. For a few long moments neither moved. Then, Ian’s eyes popped open and he gently moved her away from him. In his gaze, she saw he was the soldier, the warrior who could put personal feelings aside and accomplish the mission. And that gave her strength too.
“Before you go, I have something I need to tell you.”
Suddenly, he looked tired, spent. Finished. Her heart bled. “Tell me tomorrow, Ian. I’ll come by in the morning to check on you, okay?”
“I’ll be here.” He grinned.
“Are you going to be okay alone?”
Irony entered his gaze. “I fought in a war, Charlee. I’ll be fine.”
She nodded. “Okay. Okay, so I’ll be by at first light.”
When she got to the door, his voice stopped her. “Thank you. This won’t happen again.”
She paused, wondering if he meant the fight he’d obviously not done well in or the kiss. Charlee was surprised to find she hoped it was the first and not the second. If she’d thought he’d know how to kiss her, she’d been wrong. He didn’t just know. He instinctively moved to every whim of her desire. This man could thoroughly wreck her. If, of course, he hadn’t already.
CHAPTER 6
Eight hours and two cool showers later, Charlee was once again at Ian’s door. She knocked, listened, jiggled the door handle. Still unlocked. She opened it a crack and peered inside. “Ian?”
No answer, so she stepped in to find the couch empty. A coffeepot gurgled on the counter; that was a good sign. She walked to the sofa and stared down at the place where his body had been. Blood stained the throw pillow. Beyond her, she could hear the shower running and this fact gave her tremendous confidence that all was well with the world. She needed all to be well . . . with Ian. Needed him to be fine and not in need of a caretaker.
Planning to busy herself until he was out, she strode to the kitchen in search of a washrag to scrub out the bloodstain. Drawers whooshed and clinked as she went through them. She pulled the far right drawer open to find a leather journal resting atop the washcloths. She tried to reach beneath it, but the towel snagged so she pulled the journal out and sat it on the counter edge. She chose an old washcloth and started to return the journal to its spot when a photograph slipped from between the pages and fluttered to the ground, landing upside down.
Charlee started to return it, but curiosity got the best of her. Was this a photo of Ian’s first love? A picture he still carried to this day. When she flipped the photograph, her breath caught. Black spots appeared before her eyes, and everything in her periphery began to fade.
Charlee stared down at a picture of herself.
Her free hand lurched out to grab the counter, her knees weak. She knew this photo but hadn’t seen it for a long time. Mind spinning, she tried to make sense of it. Ian hadn’t been in her house, couldn’t have retrieved it from there, and besides, it had been years, years since she’d seen the photograph of herself.
When she heard noise behind her, she spun around to find him mouth agape, staring at first her, then the photo, then the journal.
“Where’d you get this?” Her voice was high with panic.
But the look in his eyes told her this was no innocent mistake.
“How long have you had this?” She slashed the photo through the air.
But Ian didn’t answer. The cuts above his eye and at the edge of his mouth looked better today, less swollen, but his eyes were pleading and filled with pain. It twisted her gut, but she couldn’t let it, so she took a shaky step and slammed her hand on the table. “How long?”
“A long time, Charlee.”
She sucked a breath. “Before you met me?”
He nodded, shame blanketing his features.
Her mind couldn’t, wouldn’
t wrap around this. “You carried a picture of me before you met me? Did Jeremiah give it to you?” She tried to remain calm, slow her heart, but the Mack Truck that had just run her down seemed to be circling back to make another pass.
“No, Charlee. I tried to tell you last night. I’ve tried a couple times.”
She stumbled back, hands flying up beside her face. “Get out.” Her head shook from side to side as she moved toward the door. “Get your things and get out.”
Dark eyes filled with tears and if she wasn’t so freaked out by the whole thing, Charlee might have been tempted to let him explain.
“Please. Just give me five minutes so you’ll understand.”
Her hand closed on the doorknob and squeezed for support. “There’s nothing you could say to me to make this right.”
Desperate, Ian rushed to her but she slipped through the front door and slammed it shut. He stood just on the inside but it could have been a hundred miles away from her. His hand fell on his heart, fingers twisting into a fist. Nothing could make this right. He knew that was true. He could see it. Everything he needed to accomplish here was destroyed. Screwup. Why had this task been entrusted to him?
In silence, Ian moved around the cabin in a daze, packing his things into his military-issue backpack. He’d have nothing to remember her. She’d taken her picture, leaving him utterly alone. Empty. And at the back of his mind, a voice teased him that it was destined to turn out this way. He could handle himself on the battlefield, but Ian Carlisle was no match for the battleground of the heart.
He’d need to stop by Mr. Gruber’s cabin before leaving. Though Ian didn’t have much in the way of belongings, it took him an hour to gather his things. He wrapped the journal in plastic bags; it would need protection from the elements. At one point he was tempted to stop to read a few lines, but what did it matter now? Charlee was gone from his life and he’d let down the only person he swore he wouldn’t. When he got outside and looked at his bike, he was well aware he had no destination. So for a long few minutes he just stared at the chrome and leather as if it would indicate where he needed to go. His body ached with the abuse he’d taken last night and now his chest ached with a deep and hollow sensation of real pain. Heart pain. The kind he’d hoped he’d never feel again. By comparison, he’d take a beating from three guys any day over this.
Along the Broken Road (The Roads to River Rock Book 1) Page 10
