by Lexi Hart
Light is flickering down the hall, coming from the living room. The heavy scent of something meaty makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble even louder as I creep down the hall. Warmth smacks into me as I enter the room, eyes seeking the woman I need to stay away from.
The room is empty, but a glass of wine is on the coffee table, along with a bottle and an open book, spine down. I stand in front of the fire, hoping I can warm up and maybe grab something to eat before heading back to the bedroom. My mouth is parched so I grab her glass, hands shaking so much that some of the red liquid splashes down my shirt.
I nearly have the glass at my lips when I hear her over the rain. “No!”
She launches herself at me and swipes the glass from my hand, spilling more of the wine, mostly over the coffee table.
“W-w-haaat t-t-h-he fuuu-ck,” I stammer through my chatting teeth.
She frowns at me as I try to wrap my arms around myself and back away till I’m in front of the fire again. She plonks the glass on the table before her hands slide to her hips.
“I was reading about blood loss. You shouldn’t drink alcohol, and you shouldn’t be in the cold either.” I’m so frozen; I can only give her a jerky nod in reply. She’s probably right. I open my mouth to tell her so when she grabs a blanket and carefully drapes it around my shoulders. “I’ll bring you some food.”
She shoves me, and my knees buckle as I fall back onto the sofa. I wrap the blanket closer, teeth still smashing together as shivers wrack my body. Every shudder brings a fresh wave of pain screaming through my chest, making my breath hitch as I wait it out.
She strolls back in carrying a bowl of soup and a cup of what looks like tea. My stomach growls, but I’m shaking so hard, I doubt I can hold the bowl without risking third-degree burns, so I just smile as she frowns down at me, lip in her teeth like she’s worried about me. I try to think of something witty to say, but my brain doesn’t seem able to formulate the words, let alone get them out.
She shakes her head and blows out a sigh. “You better not be faking.”
I pull a face at her, wondering how I can possibly fake being a human version of a frozen dinner when she starts to take off her top. My jaw drops as I understand what she’s doing and what that means. What little brain function I had disappears as she slides the blanket off me and starts gently tugging my shirt off. I try to help, but my fingers aren’t working so I let her gently pull it up and off, even though it hurts like hell as my injury moves again.
She doesn’t take off anything else, just straddles me so her warm skin is against my icy chest. She manages to get the blanket around my shoulders again and slides her hands around my neck and pulls me closer; my head close to her tits.
“Put your arms around me. I need to warm you up slowly. This is the safest way.”
I do as she says, too cold to even think about the consequences. She sucks in a breath of air as my frigid hands brush against her back. I don’t know how long we stay locked together; I just know that when her arms relax, my teeth are no longer chattering and my brain is registering that a sexy blonde is sitting on me, incredibly close to my cock.
I shift my head back so I can look her in the eye to say thank you, and to tell her she can get off me, but nothing comes out. Her eyes are locked on mine. Her mouth is parted, breathing starting to increase.
I know I’m one second away from kissing her again, so I smile and gesture to the food that’s probably long cold. My body cooperates by grumbling noisily. “Since you went to the trouble.”
Her eyebrows lift, her chest still rising a little too quickly, which makes it even harder to keep my eyes off the way her tits are straining against the fabric of her bra. She shakes her head a little like she’s shaking off thoughts about what we’re doing before she climbs off hastily. I feel the loss of body heat instantly and grab the blanket so I can preserve some of the warmth she shared. She’s quick to pull her sweatshirt on again, but I have just enough time to notice her toned upper body and a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on her flat stomach.
She sniffs and hands me the soup, her hands trembling as I take the bowl. She waits until I have the bowl nestled in front me before clearing her throat and picking up her wine glass. She sounds almost angry when she glares at me.
“I’m not doing that again, so do me a favor and just stay out here, okay? And I found some pain meds. I think you should take them.”
I nod slowly and infuse lightness I don’t feel into my words. “I’m kind of putting a damper on your weekend aren’t I, Evelyn? Don’t worry; I’ll be gone as soon as the weather clears.”
Her eyes widen, and she grips the stem of the glass so tight her fingertips blanch. “Let’s just agree to stay out of each other’s way. We’ll get some heat on in the—” She swallows thickly, moisture swimming in her eyes as she downs the last of her drink. “You can stay in the master bedroom; I’ll find a way to heat it. I’ll just bring you food and leave it outside the door.”
I start to protest that I can at least help her out, but she raises a hand and shakes her head. “I’m obviously not myself right now... I’m not used to having...”
Whatever she’s about to say is cut short when she looks down at the phone, and a new emotion flickers over her face. “Your text bounced back. Maybe you should be more careful who you contact next time.”
She hands me the phone as my pulse speeds. She must know what I wrote, and I can only guess whoever received it asked who I was, but if she’s thinking about that, or anything else, she’s not asking me directly, which makes me even more concerned.
I take the phone and give her a half-assed smile, but she’s pulling out a strip of meds from her pocket. She hands me the pills without looking at me and stalks away. I down a couple pills with the tea she made, then lean my head back and try to think of what and who I should text so she doesn’t ask any more questions.
I should be happy she’s putting some space between us, but the frostiness isn’t doing anything to stop me thinking about her or the way she feels in my arms. Being locked up here with her is the most pleasant kind of torture I think I’ve ever felt. I shouldn’t be picturing anything other than getting across the river so I can find a highway and get back to the city.
I tilt my head so I can see the entrance to the hallway. I can’t hear anything but the wind and rain outside. It’s getting darker again, signaling it's later than I realized. I pull myself off the sofa and reach down to pull my shirt back on again, leaving the cell on the sofa.
She’s still not back when I think to put another couple logs on the fire. The seconds tick by into minutes and my nervousness grows as I wait. I start to pace back and forth in front of the fire. What the hell is she doing that takes so long? I glance at the cell, checking on the phone even though I’m supposed to be conserving the battery.
I throw it back on the sofa and find myself stalking across the room to find her. Maybe she has another phone? Maybe she’s listening to a radio right now? Sitting in her car with the heat cranked up, listening to...
My heart crashes around in my chest, not because she’s doing anything bad, but because she’s standing in the hallway, staring at the master bedroom door, back against the wall, hands wrapped around her, mouth open like she’s staring at a monster about to consume her.
I step closer, not sure if I should be invading her space again after she made it so clear I needed to keep my distance. But something inside me is tugging me towards her like I want to take away the pain she’s so obviously feeling.
It’s my fault she’s looking like that. My fault for crashing into her beach house. I owe her for saving my life. I freeze in the hallway, just out of reach of her. My heart is pounding so hard; if it weren’t for the driving rain outside, I’m pretty sure she’d hear it. I start to leave, but she slowly turns until she’s looking at me. Her shoulders are shaking as she buries her face in her hands.
I can’t understand what she’s muttering into her hands, and I have no id
ea of whether she’s bat shit crazy or my presence is causing her to act this way, so I just stand like a moron, gawking at her. I don’t know if it’s the way she starts to sag like she’s about to collapse, or that knowing that her behavior is most likely a direct result of me asking her to help, but I start to inch towards her.
I’m about to wrap my arm around her shoulders when she jerks her head up and holds up her trembling hand. “Please don’t touch me.” A stabbing sensation starts to grow in my chest as she pushes off the wall and skirts around me so she’s facing the guest bedroom she sleeps in. “I need to be alone for a while.”
She closes the door with such finality that I flinch. I run a hand over my face and back away, totally confused and not just by how going into the master bedroom was such a big deal for her.
Evelyn is driving me insane. She’s incredibly sexy, sweet and kind, basically a wet dream waiting to happen, but how can a woman who’s the closest thing to an angel one minute be a basket case the next?
More importantly, why do I even care?
Chapter 5.
Saturday 7.25pm
Evelyn
The second I close the door on Connor’s startled face, I start to sob again. I slide down the door and land on my rump as my body convulses as I try to smother more tears. I wrap my arms around my shins and hug myself as the rain only pours down harder, making me feel even worse.
The bridge must be washed out by now. Even if the weather calms down, it could take another week for the water to subside enough for me to cross it. To hell with getting into work come Monday, how am I supposed to get him out of my house?
I sniff and lean my head back on the door and swipe away the hot tears that don’t seem able to stop falling. I never let anyone see me cry. It’s always been a point of pride that I never cracked, even when the police knocked on my door, even when I had to call Scott’s mom and tell her, I held in my emotions, locking them inside until I was sure no one could see the depth of my pain.
Why is Connor’s presence bringing out my emotions? Maybe it was seeing a man so close to death that’s causing this abundance of feelings. Whatever the cause, I just want them to stop. I want to stop wanting him.
I scoff aloud at myself. I’m a walking disaster. A complete and utter desperate nightmare. Even if he didn’t need to leave, and even if he wasn’t the reason I’m feeling so conflicted, he’s not the kind of guy who sticks around. Even if I could sort through the muddle I’m in and act on my attraction to him, throw caution to the wind and sleep with him; I’d only end up in worse shape than I already am.
I can’t be that girl. I can’t be a one-night stand. I need something more than what his teasing offers. I choke on a sob as I admit that I want him longer than the weekend. I don’t want a tussle in the dark; I want more. After all I’ve been through, I deserve more than a flirtatious rogue like Connor can offer.
I exhale slowly, surer of myself now I’ve talked myself down from the proverbial cliff. I stand on shaky legs and cross my untidy bedroom floor so I can climb into my unmade bed. At least if I stay in here, I don’t have to face him for a while. He’s not going anywhere, and unfortunately, neither am I.
The best thing I can do is try to distract myself for a few hours, then get a message out to Rosie so she stops worrying and to my boss and give him a heads up I may have trouble getting into work on Monday.
I pull the covers up to my chin and concentrate on breathing in and out thinking of all the sensible reasons to stop me from leaving the room. Somewhere between me thinking of what my mom would say if she knew I was shacked up with a gorgeous man and how Rosie is going to flip out, a tiny thought starts to circle.
Why was Connor fishing when a storm was forecast? Wouldn’t any reasonable fisherman know not to take a boat out when the weather was going to turn?
When the thought doesn’t go away, and the light beside my bed flickers to life, letting me know the electric is back on, for now at least, I know what the thought means.
He lied to me to get my help.
I’m torn between anger and fear I’ve made a horrible mistake allowing him in my house. I settle on anger and check my reflection, grimacing at the puffy face and red-rimmed eyes staring back, judging me for my changeability. I’ve never been this conflicted over a man. Not even Scott caused this much irritation and confusion. What does that even mean?
When I walk out into the hallway, still sniffing, I’m still not sure how I feel about Connor, but I am sure I’m ready to confront him.
I pause when I hear a male voice over the rain and wind outside. At first, I think he’s talking to himself, but when I peer around the corner, I see he’s listening to the radio on my phone again. I ready a reprimand when he spits a curse, and I stay perfectly still as I listen to what the announcer is broadcasting.
—should not be approached under any conditions. Slade has known gang affiliations, ties to the criminal underworld, and has several arrests going back to 2008. This incident is his latest in a series of—
I duck back into the hallway as he looks up. My heart is in my throat when I finally make the connection I was too dumb to make earlier. The boots, the injury, the lack of concern about being locked up here with me.
I open my mouth in a silent scream, but what is the point of screaming when he’s the only one who can hear me? I edge back to my room, hand over my mouth as I try to think. My stomach is roiling as I consider my actions. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not realized? Nausea swells in my stomach. He used me. I saved his life. And he used me. Slept on my sofa, ate my food, and he was so convincing I nearly made an unthinkable mistake with him.
If I weren’t so utterly terrified of the man waiting in my living room, I’d tell him exactly what kind of asshole I think he is for taking advantage of me. I need to get out of here. I need to just get in my car and go. Risk the drive. Find the Sheriff or try to get some cell reception so I can call the police. I just need my keys.
“Damn it,” I say too loud.
Of course, they’re in the living room. They’re on the table by the sofa. Right beside the first aid kit. Right where he is.
A gust of wind shakes the cottage so violently; I stop breathing. If the roof flies off, Connor will be the least of my worries. I swallow back the last part of my fear and take cautious steps towards the living room. Another gust of wind makes the windowpanes rattle, making me rethink my crazy idea of leaving in the middle of a storm, but I’m not going back to my room to sit on my hands. Not when I have a chance to at least alert the police.
I pull my shoulders back and try to look casual as I enter the living room. Connor’s eyes are on me instantly, then he reaches for the cell and turns the volume lower. I narrow my eyes, thinking of the way he was quick to turn the news off this morning. I can feel his eyes burning into me, and for a horrible moment, I’m certain he knows I overheard the radio. My heart jumps about as I reach for the wine glass to steady my nerves. I risk a look at him and find him eyeing me cautiously like I’m a mad woman about to attack him.
“You drink a lot, huh?”
I nearly spit out my wine. He’s judging me? Me? I glare at him and purposely take another swallow of my wine. “How much I drink is none of your business.”
He angles his head and looks me over, his voice surprisingly tender. “Are you okay?”
I’m so surprised by the genuine concern on his face that I splutter a response. “Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Riiight, so this is normal for you then?”
I huff out a breath, wondering how he’s managing to turn this around to me when he’s the liar and criminal. “There is nothing about you being here that is normal,” I spit at him.
He seems genuinely bewildered, then he rises from the sofa and looks almost worried. “Look. We don’t know each other. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I was just asking if you were okay. You know. Trying to be a good guy.”
&nb
sp; I chug back the rest of my wine and swipe at my mouth, sounding more and more like I’m unbalanced. “You are not a good guy. A good guy would have told me the truth.”
His eyes widen, and he staggers back as though I punched him. “What do you mean?” I slap a hand to my mouth, disgusted at myself for losing my composure so easily. His posture shifts, fists curling at his sides, and for the first time, I can see how dangerous he is under the charm. I swallow, numbness crawling over me as he takes a step closer. “What do you mean by the truth?”
I try for a smile, but my lips aren’t cooperating. “Um,” is all that comes out.
He takes a step closer, and I knock into the table hard enough to make the wine bottle rock. My hands start to shake as I see every possible scenario running through my mind. What was I thinking? I should have left him on my porch. Gone straight to Sheriff’s office in town. I could have made it. Could have made it over the bridge before the rain washed it out.
He’s staring at me, his chest rising and falling quickly, like he’s controlling his anger. “Evelyn. What are you talking about?” When I don’t answer, his eyes shift so he’s looking over my shoulder. “Is all this drama because of him?”
I’m so taken back by the odd question that I follow his gaze to the photo of Scott. I snap my head back in his direction. “This has nothing to do with Scott.”
His eyes roll. “Ah. Mr. Perfect has a name. Must have been some guy for you to make a shrine to him.”
All the breath leaves my body. I slam my wine glass on the table and barely notice it cracks under the pressure. “How dare you! You have no right to say anything about Scott.”
He shakes his head, but for the strangest reason, he seems angry with me. “How long has he been gone? The dust is an inch thick in there so I’m guessing it’s been a while.” I move to slap him, but he grabs my hand and wrenches me closer to him. “He’s gone, so you what? Sit around thinking about how great it was, while you’re locked up here with nothing but his ghost?”
