At Arm's Length

by Amber Nation

  “Your name is beautiful, Marlee.” He blindsided me by saying in a low, breathy tone that had my heart threatening to skip a beat. This animalistic man complimenting me made the sleeping butterflies in my stomach rouse from their slumber, not to mention just hearing my name spoken from his lips. My brows instantly raised, almost disappearing into my hairline at his admission.

  He ran so hot and cold it was a wonder a person didn’t get whiplash from his taciturn ways.

  It didn’t escape me that Holden could be trying to butter me up, but I didn’t care. I would’ve gone right ahead, falling into his trap, and at full speed ahead.

  Oh, he was good.

  But my thundering heart immediately came to a screeching halt. It didn’t matter how he made me feel, making my stomach flip or my heart patter. The idea of him may be enticing, as in extremely so, but he was strictly hands off. No go territory, and didn’t that just suck?

  I looked back at the plate in my hands, “Thank you,” I muttered. I was stupefied and had no idea how to move on from here. My body wanted me to fling myself in his direction after the first humane thing he said to me and my brain was stonewalled on how to recover.

  From this point forward I had to keep things strictly on a professional level. That meant curt but polite responses and absolutely no rude banter…

  I would be the very definition of professionalism.

  Glancing back to him over my shoulder once again, I saw the weariness in his eyes as he pulled his lip in between his teeth and stared at everything and nothing all at once. The continued uncertainty undoubtedly did me in, and I caved, my walls beginning to crumble down around me.

  Oh, who the hell was I kidding? Even being virtual strangers, there was no way I could stop from being around him now. I just needed to try and ignore the increasing need between my legs before I freaked the shit out of both of us and pounced on him like some deranged nympho.

  But there was no denying he was like a tall drink of water on a hot summer’s day, and I was passed the point of thirst. Way beyond being parched. I was edging on the cusp of dehydration and dangling in front of my face was the only antidote in sight. And the only thing I could do was sit and look at it because it was off limits.

  Strictly off limits. Right?

  When I walked in on Marlee in the kitchen I had to tamp down the growl that threatened to erupt from my throat. This delicate, scrap of a woman devoid of any makeup, tattered hair, and fleece pajama pants, was more beautiful than any other woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  I wanted to apologize for sneaking up on her, among other things. But the statement that came bursting from my mouth was the very thing that I wanted to hold sacred, keeping it discreetly under wraps. At least I only professed my liking her name. Anything more would’ve had me sounding like a complete and utter pussy, not to mention like a complete psychopath.

  Most women expected compliments and then increased their expectations more and more until you were suffocating and unable to breathe.

  But Marlee’s expression toward my admiration led me to believe that she not only didn’t expect it but she wasn’t often a recipient of the act.

  That couldn’t be true, though. A woman like her must be paid compliments in abundance. So it was me that she wasn’t expecting it from. I felt an unfamiliar pang in my gut, which made absolutely no sense at all.

  A plate appeared in front of me instantly snapping me out of my melodramatic stupor. Any more thoughts on the downward spiral path they were headed, and I would be forced to check my manhood for fear of losing my balls. I didn’t know when I began thinking about other people and their feelings. Actually giving a shit didn’t normally appear on my radar, let alone appearing in the same stratosphere.

  Always looking out for my number one, that being myself, was the name of the game. Always. No matter what.

  I would often turn a blind eye to the women I banged and then let them go without a second thought.

  But with Marlee, I felt that things would be different. Because she was different. She was sweet and thoughtful, the two visits to my room from her told me that. And being that she was a mix of the two apparently made a dangerous combination, lethal even.

  That didn’t mean that I was lowering my guard, though. If that occurred you got sloppy and paid the ultimate price by being played. My heart told me that she was a genuine person, one of the few rare ones out there. I had to be completely sure without a shadow of a doubt. And maybe, I should make sure my guard was locked up nice and tight around her because then I wouldn’t be in danger of losing not only my mind but worse, my heart.

  I glanced down at the plate for the first time since she placed it in front of me and the sight was enough to make my mouth water. Just the dusting of powdered sugar alone did me in. If it tasted half as good as the reheated beef stew she had brought me the night before, I would be close to losing my mind to food.

  Being that football was my entire life, I had a strict diet and food plan that I had to constantly adhere to. My lifestyle took discipline, and it could be obliterated being around Marlee. Of course, I meant more than just my eating restrictions.

  “It’s glazed apple French toast,” she said sheepishly. No one but my mother had ever made me breakfast, much less fucking glazed apple French toast.

  “I constantly have to be mindful of what I put in my mouth,” I blurted out and immediately wanted to retract once I saw her wince. I didn't even mean to sound like a bastard, and low and behold my mouth fires off before my mind can even react.

  Then her blatant unease turned into obvious panic. “Oh my gosh,” she yelled. “Shit. Are you allergic to gluten?” She started to get up from her own plate and the table, and I wanted nothing more than for someone to put me out of my misery.

  “Marlee, sit down.” My voice once again betrayed me and came out clipped, sounding borderline harsh. She instantly obeyed and slinked back down into her chair, her shoulders slumped over.

  I, truly, was an asshole. Here this woman took the time to prepare me breakfast, and I was acting like a stuck-up piece of shit. I took a deep, fortifying breath, trying to calm my nerves. “I’m not allergic to gluten. I just have strict guidelines that I have to follow regarding what I eat. I have to maintain a certain body image for my job.”

  “Are you like a personal trainer or something?”

  “Or something,” I grumbled. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I played football. She seemed like the down-to-earth type who preferred to keep herself out of the limelight and the attention taken away from her. My life was anything but that.

  “Well, the apples are organic and everything was made from scratch, so you can be certain that there isn’t anything processed about your meal,” she said with just enough snark in her tone to make me want to grin. “Consider yourself lucky that you have me here instead of my dad. He would serve you over processed biscuits and gravy, with the gravy slopped out of a can,” she added, and that did me in. A full-fledged grin appeared on my face, and I heard her suck in her breath.

  Oh, I considered myself lucky all right.

  Since I apparently couldn’t find the right words to express my gratitude for her trouble of preparing breakfast, I did the next best thing possible by picking up my fork and knife and digging into the dish. Steam rippled up from the center once the first initial cut was made, and the delicious aroma wafted toward my nose immediately. My eyes threatened to roll into the back of my head before the first morsel even touched my tongue.

  A glance out of my peripheral showed Marlee practically on the edge of her seat in anticipation of my first bite. But it was the wariness of her features and her furrowed brow that made me want to kick myself for being a downright jerk toward her. I bet she was wondering what smart ass remark would come flying out of my mouth once I tasted her food.

  I wasn’t used to extending niceties or actually having the dire need to do so. But with my gruff attitude and constant ability to be a dick, I figured I’d a
lready missed any possible chance I ever may have had with her. And I had no one to blame but myself. What was worse, no one to use as an outlet for my anger due to my idiotic behavior. So by default, Marlee got the brunt of my hostility, even if I didn’t intend on it happening. Call it a knee-jerk reaction if you will. Something that has been ingrained in my mind for so long, like a bad habit that you just couldn’t break.

  Clearing away the catch in my throat, I constructed the perfect bite and launched it in between my parted lips.

  Pure fucking bliss.

  Sublime even.

  Once the flavor exploded in my mouth, I knew that I had never tasted anything so amazing in my life and one look at Marlee told me this was the best I was going to get. Having the privilege of tasting her essence on my tongue wasn’t in the cards, which, undoubtedly, would be the finest thing I’ve ever eaten. This French toast would pale in comparison, but ultimately, be the next best thing.

  Within a few bites, I had cleared my plate, devouring every last crumb. One look at Marlee’s plate and I could tell she hadn’t touched hers at all. My brow arched as I looked in her direction as she shrugged a shoulder. “I’m suddenly not so hungry for this anymore.” The words were barely out of her mouth before my mind wandered to what she must be hungry for then, and I knew it couldn’t be true. She wasn’t hungry for me, my lack of manners at the table must’ve turned off her appetite. And if that just didn’t dig away a little more at the hole in the pit of my stomach.

  She looked like she was ready to bolt, my suspicions confirmed when her chair raked across the floor, and she announced, “I need to do the dishes.”

  Immediately I tried coming up with something, anything to thwart her actions and of all things, I heard myself saying, “Marlee, you cooked, let me clean up the kitchen.” With the look in her eye, let alone actually hearing those words coming from my mouth, I knew she didn’t believe that I was capable of doing housework. I couldn’t honestly say with 100 percent certainty that I actually was capable, but I very well couldn’t take it back now, so I had no other choice but to go with it. Besides, proving her wrong would be a thrill, even if it was a task that I didn’t regularly complete and was normally thoroughly repulsed by. But I think it’s already been proven that every single aspect of this trip has been anything other than normal.

  “No, you’re a guest,” she stated, trying to urge the finality, but it seemed as if she was trying to tell herself more than anything. “I made the mess, I can clean it up.” She turned toward the sink, lifting up on the chrome handle until a steady stream of water ran out. She reached for a sponge and glanced back at me for the briefest of moments. “Now, if it were my dad here he wouldn’t hesitate to let you wash, he’d practically be jumping with glee. That is if he was well enough.” The last part was said in almost a whisper, but while she was talking my feet involuntarily shifted me forward until I was almost to her back. “But, then again, you would’ve had canned gravy for breakfast if he was here, so there’s that.”

  “Yeah, there’s definitely that,” I said, my lips closing in on the shell of her ear. My close proximity or the fact that I snuck up on her startled her, making her jump before quickly regaining her composure. Her cheeks tinged the faintest pink, and she dared to look bashful.

  That look, mixed with the fact that she made me the single best breakfast I’ve ever had, I was done for. Just a taste was all I needed, at least that’s what I kept telling myself. I slowly began lowering my head so I could press my lips to her neck, but at the last possible second my action thwarted by her tensing her body. So I quickly retreated, and tried taking a deep breath to lower my annoyance.

  I got it, I really did, but it didn’t make things easier.

  Think about baseball.

  That’s the tactic they say to use, right?

  When your mind was running rampant with devious sexual thoughts that would make your grandmother blush, and your heart was beating itself into some sort of intense frenzy, you’re supposed to think about baseball.

  Baseball. I kept chanting in my head, thinking it’ll automatically turn off the loop of images. I never thought my sexual prowess was this demanding before.

  It was the bottom of the ninth inning, you are up at bat. Your fingers squeezing on the rubber grip of the bat as you get into position. The sun is sweltering on your skin, and the helmet doesn’t allow for much air flow especially with your thick locks shoved underneath. Even with the sweat building up inside your batting gloves making your hands slip, you try to grip onto the bat even tighter. You think of your teammates and how disappointed they’ll be if you don’t get this hit, not to mention how disappointed you’d be in yourself.

  But like always you tend to overthink things especially the outcome of the situation, and instead of keeping your eye on the ball and your head in the game you freeze. Your muscles lock up tight as your entire body tenses up.

  I can’t believe I tensed up.

  Nothing but Holden’s lips have been on my mind since last night and thinking about what exactly the extent of what his abilities with said lips would be.

  I was a disgrace to the entire female race.

  I was certainly a failure to myself.

  And if the deep audible breath Holden took before retreating was anything to go by, a disappointment to him as well.

  I hated being a disappointment and even more being humiliated which I wouldn’t doubt was the exact emotion Holden was going through at this very moment. I always did what was asked of me without any voiced objections. It made for a rather tame and uneventful life on my part, but it was safe.

  So why did I keep going against everything I’ve ever done when I’m with Holden?

  And why wasn’t I regretting this entire interaction?

  I bent down to retrieve the dish soap from underneath the counter, hyper aware of where Holden was standing with each and every movement.

  Thinking of baseball backfired in my face. I didn’t think anything would help calm my nerves and my racing heart.

  Why did I have to be so abnormal and freak out with the very thought of a guy’s lips on my skin? I wanted them there, damn it. I wanted his lips on me more than I wanted my next breath, and breathing was very crucial to living.

  Could I dare ask him to try it again? Would he find me morally repulsive after my first brush off?

  Using my thumb, I opened the lid on the dish soap and concentrated on the dollop of the blue liquid I placed in the rising dish water. I grabbed a sponge and busied myself with washing our breakfast plates and then rinsing them free of suds before settling each item in the drain to dry. Keeping my mind focused on the task at hand seemed to keep it from pilfering elsewhere. I needed to stay in neutral territory rather than the dangerous direction it was headed before.

  It was when Holden retrieved the towel from the counter and the most recent rinsed plate from the drain did I pause what I was doing and turn to look at him.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? You won’t let me wash the dishes, so I’m at least going to help.”

  I didn’t know what to say, and I very well couldn’t argue the fact that he was so adamant in helping. Even though his expression was one that stated that he really wanted me to argue with him, I wasn’t about to poke that bear again. So, I surprised us both by uttering, “Uh, thank you.”

  He took a moment before his expression softened. “Would you relax? I offered to help clean the dishes, it’s not a big deal.”

  “It is to me…” I found myself replying.

  “Why, because I’m a guest?” I couldn’t quite tell if he was getting annoyed, but I also knew that I would take my chances because I sure as hell was getting annoyed.

  I placed a soapy hand on my waist. “And what if I said yes? This is my responsibility, my job, my life. You are a paying customer.”

  He obviously couldn’t contain his eye roll, and I found myself wanting to scold him like an errant child. “I
f it’ll make you feel any better you can offer me a discount on my next visit for my services.”

  His next visit? As if he didn’t make me nervous enough being here now, I’d have to constantly be on alert if or when he would come again? Not to mention whatever services he would insist on doling out. That last part had my stomach flipping as well as my nether region really wanting to find out if his services included spending time with her.

  It was official, I had jumped off the deep end.

  I decided that silence was the best answer, that way I couldn’t keep digging my hole even deeper. We continued on in a settled routine, me washing and rinsing the dishes, then passing them off to Holden so he could dry them before pointing him in the direction of where everything went.

  All of this occurred in my newfound silence. I wouldn’t exactly call it comfortable silence, but it was better than me flubbing up my vocabulary and my mouth not being able to form words coherently.

  “So what’s wrong with your dad?”

  The fork I was holding slipped through my fingers. “What makes you think something is wrong with him?”

  “You said that he was unwell, and I know that I don’t know you, but you seem…distracted like you’re worried about him.”

  Well, for not knowing me, he figured me out pretty quickly. But he wasn’t entirely one hundred percent accurate in his assumption either. He had me pretty distracted. But there was no way in Hades that I was going to tell him that.

  So I decided to go with his version of honesty.

  “He has pneumonia. And while he should be resting, I know he is doing anything but. He’s probably jumping out of his skin trying to find a way to get here to make sure everything is all right with the Manor.”

  “I’m sure he’s only trying to get here to make sure you’re okay.”

  I finished rinsing the last of the dishes and passed them along to Holden. His finger brushed mine causing me to stare at his hand as it lingered on mine.

  “That’s probably true,” I swallowed past the lump in my throat, “at least to some degree, but more like he wanted to make sure that the place is still standing.”