Jared’s heartbeat returned to its normal speed, but his stomach was still tight with unease. He leaned in close to her. “Charisma,” he said again, taking advantage of the moment and running his thumbs along the line of her cheekbone. He told himself he was only touching her in the hopes of isolating any injuries, but his thumb brushed the swell of her lip and he knew he was lying to himself. He swept her up into his arms, moving as carefully as he could, cradling her close to his body, her head resting against his shoulder in what he hoped was the least jarring position.
Scruffy followed closely, pressed against his leg, caught somewhere between supporting him as he moved and hindering his gait. She whined, a low, worried sound that pierced the night silence, and Jared murmured in response, to himself, to the dog, to the woman who lay limp in his arms.
He moved on autopilot back to the house, juggling the needy dog, the non-responsive human and a too-big, currently useless, flashlight. He abandoned it by the front door, the dim beam lighting on the baseboard of the house while he fumbled with the front door. Jared, Charisma, and Scruffy spilled into the house at the same moment, the dog continuing her painful sound. Jared carried her down the hall and into his bedroom. She looked just as mangled in the fresh artificial light of his house as she had in the near dark. Dark smudges of dirt covered her body. He unbuttoned the oversized men’s Oxford she wore and stepped back. Her dark hair spilled out over his pillows and her body looked small and colorless on the white sheets. He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair back from the curve of her face and pulled the Oxford shirt out from underneath her.
He left her there, on his bed, while he went to the bathroom and ran the bathtub. The water was shallow and cooler than he liked. He lined the floor with the fluffy white guest towels he had somehow acquired and never chose to use. He couldn’t bring himself to pull the cotton shorts over her slender hips so he set her down gently in the water still partially clothed. He sloshed the water up over her legs, rinsing away the dirt and hoping it would penetrate whatever fog she was in.
A rash of goosebumps spread over her skin, peeking out from beneath the vanilla of her bra. She began to shiver beneath his finger tips, but she was newly clean, and in just a few minutes she was wrapped tightly in a towel and being returned to the bed.
“And now, I’m an idiot,” he said aloud to no one, the soaking wet shorts dripping through the towel and onto the bed.
He was standing over the bed, listening to the dog whine on the other side of the door and debating the best way to remove her wet clothing without violating some sort of privacy expectation when she made her first sound. The moan was almost guttural, mostly breathy, and it brought with it a new wave of relief. He leaned close over here. “Hey, Charisma,” he touched her face with his hands again, stroking the side of her cheek and running his hands over her hair. “Hey there. Go ahead and open your eyes. Come on, now. Don’t keep me waiting here forever.” She turned her face into his hand. Her eyes opened, just a sliver, their gleaming darkness almost obscured by the length of her lashes.
“What?” she mumbled, and he smiled at the irritation in her voice.
“I just wanted you to wake up and maybe talk to me a little.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Her mouth pursed into the slightest pout.
He chuckled, “I think it would be awful nice of you if you would. I found you outside. What were you doing there?”
Her eyes opened suddenly, and she lurched forward, as though she would sit up. He pushed her back down with a gentle hand and the barest amount of pressure; she offered little protestation. “Scruffy! Scruffy is out there and there was this horrible sound. And I had to go get her.” She reached one hand up to him and slipped it into the collar of his shirt, tugging urgently, albeit weakly. “We have to go get her.”
He pried her fingers from his shirt. “It’s alright honey, I found her. Well, she found me. And you, actually. She’s in the house.”
She began to nod, seemed to think better of it and change her mind. “That’s good. That’s good.” She settled more deeply into the pillows and raised a hand to her head, let her eyes fall back shut. “I think I need to sleep now.”
“I think,” Jared said, turning her face back toward him and waiting for her eyes to slide back open, “that is the last thing you should be doing right now. First, we should take off your wet clothes.”
She raised one hand to her chest, searching for her wet clothes.
“I took your shirt off already.”
“Oh,” she said, as if that were a perfectly acceptable answer.
“Your shorts,” he said, shifting from one foot to another, hoping she would take them off herself so he wouldn’t have to. He also had the aching wish that she would suddenly be able to entertain herself so he could hightail it away from her and take some deep breaths. And maybe a cold shower. He doubted that was in the cards.
Her hand tugged down the sheet he had carefully pulled up over her shapely body, thankfully hiding it from his view. The curve of her waist was visible again, the creamy expanse of her skin. “They are wet,” she said, her hands twisting into the fabric.
When he was able to pull his gaze away from her hand and the cotton he found her watching him, her doe eyes wide and seeming suddenly very cognizant of the whole situation. He swallowed hard, and told himself he should take this opportunity to step back from the edge of the bed. Even though he was sure that would be the best thing he could do for the both of them, he didn’t. He just stood there, watching her watch him.
Her hand fell away from the material of her shorts and lay by her side. “You’re right,” she said, her voice still subdued, her eyes watchful, “I should get out of these wet clothes.” A long moment passed where neither one moved. She shrugged a shoulder, the strap of her bra slipping from its perch and gliding down her arm. Now that he knew how soft her skin was he could imagine the feel of the strap against her skin.
When he tore his gaze away from the errant strap and the silken skin, her eyes were closed again. There was a long moment of silence in the room. He thought for a moment that she had fallen asleep, and was almost thankful for the intrusion when she said, “Well?”
“Well,” he repeated dully, waiting for an explanation he was sure would make no sense and be directly related to some sort of massive head trauma.
“Are you going to help me out of my wet clothes or am I going to have to do this all by myself?”
Jared was sure he had misheard her. At the very least misinterpreted what she was saying. His gaze rested on her face again, and her eyes were open, dark and inviting. He swallowed hard, and he could have sworn the corner of her lip twitched upward at his discomfort. He dragged his hands across his blue jeans twice and tried to focus on not thinking about Charisma on his bed without any clothes.
“No, no,” he said, once he’d relocated his voice. “Of course I’ll help you out of your clothes.” Jared winced. Prince Charming, he was not. Not that he could really be blamed for his sudden ineptitude. He was pretty sure it had something to do with the sodden beauty smirking at him.
He took a step toward her. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts and tugged the wet material over her hips and down her legs. The cotton didn’t come willingly, clinging to Charisma’s legs and requiring him, on more than one occasion, to adjust his grip. He was practically counting the inches until the cotton shorts were free of her limbs, and then he was balling the fabric up in his fists and propelling himself backward. He wished he’d had the foresight to pull the covers up over her nakedness, but the truth was he hadn’t been able to think about very much at all outside of taking off her clothes and getting as far away from her as possible. And there was no way in hell he would be taking off her panties. If she wanted those off she was just going to have to do it herself.
“Let’s get you to somewhere a little more dry.” He sighed in anticipatory self-pity, swallowed hard and grimly readied himself to gather her nearly nak
ed body to his. He was too good a person, he thought as he slipped his hands under her knees and back, gently lifting her body to his chest. Her arm crept up around his neck, her fingers brushing against his nape. He reminded himself that she couldn’t spend the night in a soaking wet bed as she found the space between his shoulder and his chest to cradle her dark head. His breath came in rapid bursts, not from the exertion, but from the sweet scent of her hair and the way her hand had snaked its way around his neck and twisted in the fabric of his shirt, not with panic, but with trust.
The trip to her bedroom seemed to take forever. When he was finally safely in her quarters he lowered her to the bed, her hand relinquishing the fabric of his shirt, lingering on his body just long enough to give him pause. He hovered over her exposed body, her eyes peeking out from between half-opened lids to meet his. She was less concerned with her lack of coverage than she was with his presence. Her hand slipped lightly from his collar to her side, but her eyes remained steadfast, holding him in her depths.
“Did you need any more,” he struggled to find the right word, “help?” Even to his own ears the offer sounded incredibly lame. He kicked himself for his clumsiness. Who asks a girl if he can undress her? “Or I can just leave you for a little bit if you’d prefer…”
“No. No. Please.” There was an edge of panic to her voice and Jared froze where he stood, his hands lingering in the air between them. Charisma took a deep breath, the sound harsh in the quiet room, “I mean, I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep in this,” she leaned forward to reach for the pale colored quilt.
“You’re still wet. Your clothes.” To his dismay, he could feel a rush of heat sweep his face. He was too old to be blushing and this whole conversation was utterly ridiculous.
“Oh it’ll be just fine.” Charisma raised a hand and swiped it through the air as if this were an every day experience, climbing into bed wearing soaking wet undergarments.
He sighed, an audible projection of his irritation, “You are not.” She was going to make this as horrible as possible for him. He wondered if she knew how cruel she was being. He didn’t want to, but his hands were already moving toward her, of their own accord. The skin of her shoulder was as he imagined it would be. Softer even than the skin he remembered. He lifted her up and unfastened the back of the bra in one easy movement. He watched her watch him with curious eyes, totally unaffected by her impending nudity. If only he could say the same thing for him.
The bra fell away from her body, and he was careful to avert his eyes and spend an excess amount of time laying the damp garment out to dry on the top of the bureau. He took another deep breath before moving back to where he had left her. He studied the safest six inches of her body. She was more shapely than he had imagined, for all her angles and loose fitting clothes she had a tapered waist that flared out nicely at the hips, the shadow of her bellybutton suddenly more erotic than it should have been.
Her eyes were closed again. A petulant whine came from outside the closed bedroom door. Scruffy, the ever-devoted pet, was waiting less than patiently outside the room. Over the beating sound of his heart, Jared could hear the tapping of her toenails on the hardwood floors. He took one more, quick look at Charisma. She was breathing deeply, her lips parted, her hands at her sides. If there were ever a time to sneak out of the room, now would be it.
He was almost in the safety zone when the hinges on the door let out a deafening squeak. Scruffy bullied her way into the room, leapt onto the bed and began to exuberantly lick Charisma’s face. Her eyes shot open, and caught Jared stepping out the door as she raised one hand to push the dog away from her face.
“Don’t leave me here alone.” Her voice was quiet, dimmed somehow, and it made him stop in his tracks. It was a voice he didn’t know how to refuse.
“Just locking up,” he murmured. He made his way back to the kitchen. The front door was locked and one by one each light he had turned on during his fevered search for Charisma was turned back off. The old dark house held a comfort Jared had found nowhere else. The wooden floors beneath his bare feet were smooth and familiar and he slipped back in the room, as carefully as he could. She was right where he had left her, uncovered and hogging more than her fair share of the bed.
He flipped that light off too, enjoying the darkness that brought with it the peace of not seeing her naked body, changed out of his blue jeans and t-shirt and slipped into his favorite, thread-bare flannel pants, snatched from his bedroom as he killed the lights. He crawled into the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping Scruffy, and tried to make himself comfortable.
He thought she was asleep already. Her breathing was deep, even, comforting to listen to. “Your bed is wet, anyway,” she murmured, her hand creeping out to graze his body.
“It will dry.” He smiled, his tone was light and charming, did not belie his anxiety. He hoped he was a big enough man to resist the temptation of her, her sweet body and smile, the whisper of her voice. She was definitely going to test his limits, though. He promised himself he would behave, despite the pleasant images the flitted through his mind. After all, how could she invite him into her bed and not expect him to want her?
He was still thinking about it when her hand reached out to clasp his wrist. “I’m sorry,” she said, and there was an achingly sad quality to her voice.
“Don’t be,” he reached out to draw his hand gently down her cheek before tangling his fingers in her hair. She keened into the darkness, settling her body close to his and he closed his eyes to wait for sleep. Sleep was a long time coming; she was so sweet and close, so dangerous and tempting.
CHAPTER TEN
Jared lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and trying not to notice the lithe shape of her beneath the thin cotton sheet. He tried his hardest to occupy the least amount of space he possibly could. If he could fit even one more inch between his body and hers, he would take it. Every little bit mattered.
Even when sleep came, it wasn’t restful. He would toss and turn, jar awake to find he was close enough to feel her breath on his skin and revel in the faint floral scent of her hair. Then it would start all over again, and he’d be wishing he could think of anything else but her.
So when he woke up and found her body pressed into his it wasn’t altogether surprising. However, when the fog of sleep started to dissipate and he went to move away from her, he found her arms were firmly twined around his neck, her fingers gently lacing through his hair. One long leg had slipped in between his and he realized belatedly that he had moved onto his side. The palm of his hand rested on the gentle swell of her chest. He wanted to trace the arch of it, enjoy the shape of her body, but instead he yanked his hand away as though her soft skin were burning his calloused fingers.
He reached up to cup Charisma’s hand in his and began to loosen her grip. He was almost free of her when she retracted her arms on her own and pressed her body tightly to his, the smallest sigh slipping from her mouth and getting lost in the breadth of his shoulder.
Jared paused, suddenly unsure of how he was going to escape from Charisma’s limbs and the pressure of her body against his. He could already feel the pressure of anticipation rising within himself and he did his best to will it away.
“Hmm,” she moaned again and nuzzled his chest, her hands escaping from his to wrap in the soft fabric of his shirt. Even through the shirt he could feel the gentle pressure of her fingers on his skin.
Jared stopped moving. He was as still as he could be, commanding his heart to quit beating so fast and his skin to stop being so warm. But Charisma was immune to his playing dead, and had begun to languidly run her fingers over his chest. In the dark he could make out the vague shape of her face, but no gleam of open eyes. She was half asleep and, he was quite certain, punishing him for existing.
He hoped her ministrations would stop if he was still long enough, but he had no such luck. Instead, she pressed even closer to him, allowing her hands to slip beneath the thin t-shirt and graze his skin.
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br /> He swallowed hard. If he had just left the room after she had fallen asleep the first time. If he had slid out of bed before she had tucked her leg neatly between his and wrapped her arms around him. But he hadn’t. And now here he was, rapidly losing control over a situation he had just barely had a grip on in the first place.
His first plan had failed. Miserably, if he were into telling the truth. And neither silence nor melting into his comfortable mattress was going to get him out of this.
“Charisma,” he graveled in her ear, and he hated the way the sound of his unused voice evoked memories of late night bedroom sessions and early morning company.
“Hmm?” The sound escaped her lips as she pressed them to his newly exposed collar bone, one hand clasping the neck of his shirt. He could feel the softness of her lips, the sudden moistness of her tongue on his skin.
Misplaced Innocence Page 12
