She tugged everything back in place with a humiliated moan, and Miles slowly moved to the center of the king-sized bed, propping himself up against the headboard, and dragging a sheet over his nudity.
“You’re not what?” he asked. And she sobbed, folding her arms protectively over her chest to keep her ripped blouse in place.
“I’m not okay,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could bite them back. It was the first time she had acknowledged as much…even to herself, and she took a moment to mull over the confession in wonder.
Miles shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. “No. You’re not okay, Charity. And I probably shouldn’t have allowed what happened between us to go as far as it did.”
“I wanted it.”
He sighed, the soft sound was laden with resignation and despair.
“I did too but…”
“It’s complicated,” she finished for him, and he scrubbed his hands over his face and nodded.
“I know it’s not my place to say but sweetheart, I mean I don’t know you very well, but it seems that the fucker you were married to did a real number on you. I’m not sure exactly what went down but maybe you need…I don’t know? Help? Counseling?”
“I’m sorry…this was supposed to be fun. And I freaked out and ruined it.”
“This was always going to be messy and intense while we attempt to figure out what the fuck is going on between us.”
“It would probably be best if we forgot this happened and continued on as usual,” she suggested reluctantly.
“Undoubtedly.” His expression inscrutable, and she chewed on her lower lip while she tried to figure out what he was thinking.
For a long moment that veneer of implacability did not shift from his face, but then the corners of his lips lifted wryly. “But since it’s going to be difficult as hell to do that, I say we soldier on.”
“What precisely does that mean.”
“What would you like it to mean?”
She huffed irritably and fixed her best glower on him. “And you said I enjoy being an enigma?”
He full on grinned at her, and she shook her head, before sitting on the bed beside him.
“I’m probably going to resign,” she informed him, crossing her outstretched legs and enjoying the fact that they were almost as long as his.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I do. I’ve been hiding here. If nothing else this thing between us has shown me that I’m ready to join the world again. Meet people.”
“Meet men you mean?” he corrected her sourly, and she turned her head to stare at his implacable profile.
“Well, yes. I suppose I do. Eventually. After this…After us.”
He sighed again and reached out to tuck his palm around the nape of her neck. He tugged her toward him, and she made a soft, contented sound in the back of her throat. She dropped her head to his shoulder and snuggled close. This was exactly where she wanted to be right now.
He released her nape and curved his arm around her slender shoulders. His fingers toyed with a strand of her hair.
“Thank you for coming to me tonight.”
She smiled at the words. “Thank you for helping me come tonight.”
He snort-laughed at that.
“Want to fool around some more?” He dropped the question into her ear. His voice wicked and dark.
She giggled and was amazed that the carefree sound had come from her. “How about I give you an orgasm this time?”
“How about we make it one each?”
“You’re so competitive,” she complained and hiked her skirt to straddle his lap.
“Only way I know how to be,” he retorted, framing her face with his palms to give her a long, drugging kiss.
By the time he relinquished her lips, Charity had lost all semblance of time and place. And when he removed her ruined blouse, she unthinkingly allowed him to manipulate her arms through the sleeves.
It was only when he was smoothing his hands up her arms that she started thinking clearly again, and by then it was too late, his left hand had frozen halfway up her right forearm. His brow lowered as his fingers traced the scars he found there, trying to make sense of them.
“What—?”
She didn’t allow him to complete the question. Instead, she tore her arm from his grasp and leaped from the bed in a panic. She was so stupid. Why did she think she could do this? There were too many secrets that she had kept for too long. Secrets trapped in her heart and memory and scattered all over her body. Getting intimate with any man required revealing some of those secrets. The physical ones if not the psychological and emotional ones.
And she now knew that she wasn’t ready for that.
She had her hand secured over the spot he had unwittingly stumbled upon, while she stared at him in panic and she tried to figure out how to get away from him without exposing even more of her broken self.
He had followed her off the bed and now stood in front of her, unashamedly naked. His body so flawless he didn’t have to hide a single part of himself.
“I changed my mind.” The words tumbled over each other in her haste to get them out. She wanted them to disgust him enough to give up on her and on this madness between them.
“Oh?” His tone of voice was menacing and nothing like she’d ever heard him use before. It scared her, and she hated that anything about him could frighten her. “Why? Because I found the cigarette burns on your arm?”
“They’re…they’re not…”
“Charity, I know what they are.”
“H-how?”
“A girl I went to university with used to self-harm…the scars are very distinctive. How did you get those? Did you do that to yourself?”
He reached for her arm, and she flinched violently, jumping away from him like a terrified rabbit.
His jaw clenched, and his face whitened. He lowered his arm. The movement was slow and deliberate.
He knew. How could he not know? When she had cowered from his touch like a whipped dog?
Miles wanted to hurt someone. Preferably the fucker who had marked Charity. He wanted to tear that bastard limb from limb. But he couldn’t, because the monster who had taken a lit cigarette to her soft skin and burned her was far beyond his reach.
Miles’s stomach twisted with revulsion at the thought of the pain she must have endured. But he swallowed back the nausea churning in his gut and focused on the wounded, vulnerable woman in front of him.
He hated that she appeared afraid of him. The expression of absolute terror on that lovely face made him want to do violence, but he knew that he couldn’t allow her to see that. Not in in her current fragile state.
She had fucking flinched from his touch. As if he would hurt her. As if he would physically hurt any woman. But he couldn’t be offended or wounded by that. She needed patience. Understanding.
Everything Miles was not.
“May I…” his voice was thick, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “May I see?”
She didn’t respond, keeping her hand clamped protectively over her arm while she watched him through her long fall of hair. She looked feral, half crouched in a defensive stance while she eyed his every move warily.
“Why?” The word floated between them, soft and light as butterfly wings.
“It’s patterned, isn’t it?”
“It’s ugly.”
“Nothing about you is ugly.” The hoarse vehemence in his voice startled him, and he took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “Absolutely nothing.”
She never took her eyes from his face but she did stand up straighter; some of that familiar pride returning to her posture. She hesitated for a moment longer before lifting her chin and defiantly thrusting her arm out for him to see.
This time he was the one who wavered, before ever so slowly reaching out to tenderly grasp her slender wrist. He turned her arm until the delicate underside was exposed to him and then valian
tly fought back a surge of fury so fucking hot it actually blinded him for a second.
The small round burns were pink and shiny—obviously quite old by now—and neatly arranged in a circle.
Inside the circle—
Miles blinked back the scalding moisture that pooled in his eyes and gritted his teeth against the snarl he could feel forming in his throat. Monster was too kind a word for the thing who had done this to her. There were no adjectives to describe anyone who could mark, demean and hurt another human being in this way.
He traced the obscene pattern with his trembling forefinger.
He hated knowing how much she must have cried and writhed and pleaded, while this less than human cocksucker had burned a crude smiley face into her skin.
He lifted her arm and unthinkingly kissed the scars there. He didn’t know how to deal with this, and he was absolutely certain that a man like him…irascible, blunt, and lacking in finesse would do more harm than good in a situation like this.
“I’m glad he’s dead.” His voice trembled with suppressed violence. “But part of me wishes he were still alive so that I could hunt him down and end him for doing this to you. For hurting you.”
He kept his gaze diverted, even though he could feel her keen stare on his profile.
“Don’t you want to know why he did it?” she asked in the smallest of voices, and the question succeeded in whipping his head around so that he could meet her eyes incredulously.
“Why? It doesn’t matter why he did it. Nothing you said or did could in any way justify this-this…atrocity.”
“H-he said I didn’t smile enough, that his parishioners would start to wonder why he had taken such a miserable bitch as a wife. So, he gave me a little reminder to k-keep smiling.”
Now you’ll always remember to smile, won’t you, Cherry?
Charity gritted her teeth against the memory of Blaine’s refined voice. How he had enjoyed hurting her like that. He had straddled her chest and pinned her arm down, using his superior strength to keep her helpless and subdued. She had barely registered the agonizing pain, shock and adrenaline shielding her from the worst of it. But seeing it afterward; she shuddered at the recollection. In a marriage filled with degradation after degradation, somehow, this had felt like the worst of it. This brand had been exactly what he had wanted it to be. A mark of complete and utter ownership.
It had obliterated the last remnants of the old, carefree Charity. After that she had been Blaine’s creature. Humiliated and terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing. Of setting him off. Because his loss of temper and control had always been her fault. For so long, she had truly believed that. And his parents—his mother—had perpetuated that lie.
Blaine’s a good, kind man. You bring out the worst in him. Maybe if you’d stop making him so angry, Charity. If you were more aware of his needs.
“Hey,” Miles’s assertive voice forced its way into the unwelcome recollections, drowning out her former mother-in-law’s pseudo-sympathetic advice. His touch was gentle as he cupped her jaw and lifted her face until she met his eyes. “There you are. Don’t go back to that dark place, Charity. Okay?”
“You’re still naked.” It was the first thing she could think of to say, and he smiled. Not one of the warm, generous smiles she was borderline addicted to, but a polite parting of his lips.
She didn’t like it, but she appreciated the effort.
“And you’re still topless,” he pointed out.
She gasped and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Why don’t you grab a shower?” he suggested. “I’ll fix dinner tonight.”
“You will?” She couldn’t quite contain her skepticism and he smiled again. This time it was a warmer and more like the ones she was growing so dangerously dependent on.
“This I have to see.” It was a weak attempt at levity after the intensity of the last half hour, but his smile deepened.
“Wiseass. Prepare to be awed by my culinary prowess. And—” he stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened as he seemed to realize something. “Fuck, Stormy must be starving.”
He strode to the door and jerked it open to find Stormy sitting in the hallway. The dog got up, shook herself, and wagged her tail before trotting into the room and climbing into her basket. She turned a few times before snuggling down with a contented sigh. Miles watched her with some consternation on his face, apparently having expected more fanfare or fuss from the pup.
Charity smiled, the sight of the dog alleviating some of her anxiety and tension.
“I’ll grab that shower,” she mumbled, and left the room. She was already out in the hallway when his voice stopped her.
“Charity?” She still loved the sound of her name on his lips. She smiled quizzically, wondering why he had halted her progress. But he didn’t return the smile. Instead, he stared at her with an intensity that should have unsettled her.
But didn’t.
“Yes?”
“You’re a strong and capable woman and more than able to physically kick my arse any fucking time you damned well please,” he said, his words concise, and his voice no-nonsense. “But I will never, ever, give you any cause to defend yourself against me.”
She gulped, and her eyes flooded at the unexpectedness of the vow.
“I know that, Miles,” she whispered, unable to control the wobble in her voice. “I know that. But…it’s still good to hear it.”
Charity was busy repinning her hair when her phone buzzed. She dropped her arms in frustration, allowing the mass of hair to tumble down again and reached for the phone, expecting to find a message from Faith.
Meet me in the den. Dress comfortably. Mrs. Cole’s services not required. Leave her behind.
She grinned, feeling like a teenager preparing for her first date. It was unbelievable how much their relationship had altered in the last twenty-four hours.
The last text exchange between them just above this newest message, dated a year and a half ago, was ample testament to that change:
Dinner for eight tonight. Formal. 6 pm.
Very well, sir. Any special dietary requirements?
None.
Dull, curt, and stiff. Those three words pretty much described their relationship before now. They had spoken only when absolutely necessary.
The smile fell from her lips as she continued to stare at the screen. This was so confusing. She wasn’t sure how she felt about anything right now.
All she knew was that she wanted to spend time with him. Wanted to talk with him, laugh with him, play with him…love with him. If she could even remember how to do any of those things. It had been so long since she’d been just normal.
Well, like the saying went: Every journey begins with a single step…
She inhaled deeply, held the breath for a beat and then released it on a slow controlled sigh. And took that step.
Dress “comfortably”? Define “comfortably”.
Charity stared at the words she couldn’t quite believe she had typed.
And chuckled when the response drifted onto her screen a second later:
Adverb: comfortably - in a physically relaxed way that is free from constraint.
Wiseass. She laughed again and shook her head.
Fine. No bra then.
She sent the response before she could overthink it and regretted it an instant later. Especially when he took absolute ages to reply. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and watched the three dots appear and reappear endlessly as he formulated his response.
You’re driving me a little crazy, Mrs. Cole.
She grinned at that and instantly replied: As per your request, Mrs. Cole has taken the evening off, you’re stuck with Charity tonight.
Thank fuck for that. Get over here ASAP! The dinner I slaved over is getting cold.
Despite the playful tone of their text messages, or maybe because of it, Charity still hesitated outside the den ten minutes later. The door to the cozy room was shut, and she wip
ed her sweaty palms on the seat of her slouchy sweatpants before curling one of them into a fist and tentatively knocking on the door.
“Why are you knocking?” The impatience in that masculine voice was evident even through the thick wood. Charity rolled her head and shook her arms like a boxer before entering the ring, attempting to alleviate some of her nervousness.
She curled her hand around the doorknob only to have it unceremoniously yanked from her hand as the door swung inward.
“There’s no need for you to knock, Charity. This is more your home than mine.”
A polite fiction that she accepted with nothing but a tight smile. After the flirty texts, she was disappointed with the way this was starting. Disappointed in herself for not being more confident.
But then he smiled and all of her disappointment went flying out the window. He just looked so happy to see her.
He stepped aside and ushered her into the den with a bow, and she gasped when she saw what he had done. The entire room was glowing with soft candlelight. Lit candles of all shapes and sizes adorned just about every flat surface. He had scattered fat, fluffy pillows on the carpeted floor around the coffee table. A large silver cloche sat atop the table, accompanied by two empty, long-stemmed wineglasses, and a couple of delicate porcelain plates. A single protea, likely from the garden, shoved into a plastic water bottle took pride of place in the center of the table.
He even had a fire merrily crackling away in the massive hearth and some light jazz playing in the background
“Miles, this is…” She shook her head as words escaped her.
“You look gorgeous,” he said, and she laughed at the extravagant lie. She was wearing pink sweatpants, a hoodie, thick socks, and no shoes. She didn’t have on a lick of makeup, and her hair was tied back in a loose French braid. But her laughter died when his lingering gaze told her that the compliment was sincere.
She cleared her throat and smiled when she took in the way he was attired. They were practically matching, he was in gray sweatpants, a form fitting white T-shirt that emphasized his chest and biceps impressively and no shoes or socks. She loved the sight of his sexy bare feet.
The Best Next Thing Page 17
