Risk the Burn

by Marnee Blake

  When she surfaced after her shower, swallowed up by his clothes, her hair a mass of curls around her face, he had to stifle his groan. He’d always liked those clothes, but she made them look amazing.

  To distract himself, he pushed a mug toward her. “You drink whiskey?”

  “I have drunk whiskey in my past.” She eyed the cup skeptically. “Do I drink it regularly? No.”

  “Hot toddy.” He wiped the counter, disposing of the tea bag he’d used. “My mom’s recipe for all things that ail you.”

  She glanced in the mug. “What is it?”

  “Tea.” He lifted the box of herbal tea he’d used. “I only have decaf since I only drink tea at night.”

  “You drink tea?”

  “What’s that face?” He covered his heart, feigning offense. “Lots of people drink tea.”

  “I drink tea.” She lifted her shoulder. “I just didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

  “That’s super judgy. Just goes to show there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He pushed the mug closer to her. “So it’s tea and whiskey with a little lemon and honey. Mom puts a cinnamon stick in it, but I don’t have those. Try it. Or don’t. It’s up to you.” He hadn’t been able to sit still while she’d showered, torn between thinking about her naked in there and worrying about how she was doing. He lifted his own mug, taking a sip. “Made myself one, too.”

  She took a sip and grinned. “Hey, it’s good.”

  “Now I’m really offended. Of course it’s good.”

  She laughed, and the sound warmed him more than the drink. He had wanted to relax her, to make her smile. To make her forget what had happened tonight. Or if not forget, at least not focus on it. She could deal with reality and be strong in the morning. Right now, she was here, with him. And he planned to take care of her.

  “So what other hidden talents do you have?” she teased.

  “Nothing hidden, honestly.” He lifted his hands. “You hungry?”

  “Um, kind of?” She narrowed her eyes, having a seat on one of the barstools. “Is this where you tell me that you’re a four-star chef, too?”

  “That’s a question I will answer another time.” He pointed at her. “But, for you, at midnight, after a shocking experience, I have something better than fancy food.” He reached into the cabinet next to the stove and pulled out a paper bag covered in plastic wrap. “Microwave popcorn.”

  “You are a hero.”

  Less than five minutes later, they were munching. Hunter cast a surreptitious glance at Charlie’s mug. Empty.

  Good.

  As she reached into the popcorn bowl, her cheeks had more color to them. Her mouth wasn’t as tight.

  Still looked tired, though.

  He pushed the bowl toward her, watching her scoop the last handful out like a pro. There was, after all, only one right way to eat popcorn: by the overflowing handful, shoved directly in your mouth.

  As she picked around the last kernels, trying to nab the rest of the pieces, he washed his hands. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.” She grinned, reaching for a napkin. “Sleepy.”

  To prove her point, she yawned.

  Whisking the bowl into the sink, he came around the counter in his postage-stamp kitchen and helped her off the barstool. “Come on, lady. Off to bed.”

  As he guided her down the hall, she put on the brakes. “Wait. I’m not sleeping in your room.”

  He was sure his expression said she was losing it. Because that’s what he thought. “Where the hell else are you going to sleep?”

  “On the couch.” She backed away from his bedroom. “Like a normal guest.”

  “You are absolutely not sleeping on my couch.”

  “I can’t sleep in your bed.”

  He placed one hand at the small of her back and the other on her elbow, ushering her toward his room. “I don’t have my other sheets clean, because I just changed the sheets a couple days ago. So, sorry about that. But they should be fine.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She stopped, and short of picking her up, he wasn’t going to move her. He could only scowl down at her. “You’re being nice enough to let me stay. I can’t take your bed. You’re tired, too.”

  “I know we don’t know each other that well, but I swear to you that I wouldn’t be able to sleep here with you on the couch.” Yeah, because his mother would haunt his dreams, ragging on him about manners and chivalry.

  But more than that, she was the one who’d had the scare. She was the one who was shaken up, who needed the rest. And he was hell-bent on her getting it.

  “Besides,” he offered, “I fall asleep watching television on the couch all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

  Whatever he’d said, it must have gotten through to her. Or she was so tired that she didn’t want to fight with him anymore. Either way, she let him guide her into his room and turn down the sheets.

  Some people didn’t make their beds regularly, but he wasn’t those people. He preferred to climb into crisp, tidy sheets. It was a thing.

  She pointed to the bathroom, blushing, and as she hurried off, he glanced toward the ceiling, praying for deliverance. Because Charlie Jones, in his clothes, with a fresh face and wearing a blush, was pretty much the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

  When she returned, though, he’d organized his face in a respectable way. He gave her the remote to the TV. “Anything else you need to sleep?”

  “I’m good.”

  He nodded, retreating, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “Hey, Hunt?” she called.

  He pushed the door open again, peeking his head in and trying to ignore his body’s response to this woman, tucked in his bed. “Yeah?”

  “Could you, maybe, leave the door open?”

  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he touched his eyebrow, saluting her. “Absolutely. Come and get me if you need anything.”

  She nodded, pulling his comforter up to her chin, her eyelids already droopy. Definitely exhausted. Trauma did that to a person.

  He forced himself to head to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and then return to the living room. As he stretched out on the couch, he took some deep breaths and attempted to think of his family, work, anything to get his mind off of her.

  But that only allowed the anger about her asshole former boss to run loose in his brain.

  His Charlie had changed her name to feel safe from that guy. She’d come here, switched her name, and tried to settle in.

  Now the bastard was free.

  Could what was happening with her tonight have to do with that dickhead? Was that guy stalking Charlie?

  If someone was searching for Charlie, then they’d need to go through him first. If she needed to stay here, at his place, he’d let her know she was welcome.

  Except she wouldn’t, would she? He’d only started to really get to know her over the past month or so, but she wasn’t going to lean on him, even if he asked. She was strong, would insist on doing things herself.

  He shifted on the couch, grabbing the throw blanket and tucking it around himself, and turned on his side. He punched his pillow before sliding his arm under his head. He couldn’t get comfortable, thinking of some guy threatening her.

  His heart rate picked up, and he recognized them: the beginning phases of a panic attack. He tried to regulate his breathing, slow his pulse.

  “Hunter?”

  He rolled to see her, standing in the hall in front of his room. She looked miniature in his clothes, and her eyes were wide as quarters. “Yeah?”

  “So, would it be okay if I just hang out here with you for a little while?” She stepped closer, motioned to the chair. “Maybe watch TV or something?”

  If it was anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But Charlie? She didn�
�t shift her weight like that. Her voice didn’t break the slightest bit, the way it had.

  She didn’t want to be alone.

  “Sure. No worries.” He sat up, throwing his blanket over the back of the couch, and got to his feet.

  She lifted her hands. “Wait, what are you doing? I’ll sit here, with you.”

  “Absolutely not.” He reached her in a few steps, taking her hand. “We’re going to hang out in my room, watch something there.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait. We are? In there?”

  “Fine,” he said, still pulling her by the hand. “Not ‘we.’ I’m going to watch TV with you while you fall asleep.”

  In his room, she paused, staring at the bed. Her disorientation squeezed him again. “I’m sorry. I just can’t, well, I don’t want...” She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Fine, I’m having a hard time being by myself.”

  “I know.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You know?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, crawling onto the bed and patting the right side. The one he didn’t sleep on. “If I’d gone through what you just went through, I wouldn’t want to be alone either. Totally normal.” He punched the pillow on that side, motioning her over. “Come on. This home network show is new, I think. Another program where they flip the houses. You watch this stuff?”

  He’d wanted to lighten things up. She was uncomfortable in his place, afraid, anxious. He got it. He’d been there. But when she caught her lip between her teeth and her brow wrinkled, his stomach sank. He had a sister. He was familiar with what a woman looked like close to tears. “Aww Char, come here…”

  She took two steps and jumped onto the bed next to him. Without making eye contact, she wiggled under the covers, pulling them over herself. Apparently she didn’t want to talk about how upset she was anymore.

  He stayed on top of the comforter, his ankles crossed, his arm tucked behind his head. The show he’d chosen was monotonous, like watching The Weather Channel or the jewelry network. He continued to cast glances at her, checking to see if she was drifting. Sure enough, her eyes were closed.

  He’d slept with women before, even had some brief relationships. But he didn’t think anything had ever been as intimate as lying next to Charlie, with all the covers between them, watching her fall asleep.

  Then, her hand found his, squeezing. He swallowed, tightening his own fingers.

  “Hunter?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered, barely recognizing his voice.

  “You’re planning to go back to the couch when I fall asleep, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” It would be for the best, to put a room of distance between them.

  “Don’t.” Her eyes opened, finding his. “Stay here, with me. Tonight.” Her gaze searched his, and he saw her begin to regret asking. “I mean, if you want—”

  “Stop. Of course I’ll stay if you want me to. But is it okay if I get under the covers?” When she didn’t immediately agree, he shook his head. “No biggie. I’m good here.” He leaned down to grab the blanket at the foot of the bed.

  “Yes.” She tugged the covers down. “Climb in.”

  He didn’t say much, only shifted between the sheets with her. But when she wiggled closer, pressing herself against him, he couldn’t stifle his groan. His eyes closed, and he desperately attempted to get ahold of the wash of lust slicing through him even as he pulled her closer against him.

  Except, as her curves settled against the planes of him, something different coursed through him. It was as if all the shapes and edges of him had been waiting to find the shapes and edges of her. He sighed, only to catch the scent of his shampoo in her hair.

  He flipped off the television, and the darkness closed in around them. Offhand, he realized that the beginnings of his panic attack in the living room had never become full-blown.

  In the quiet, with Charlie pressed against him, there was only peace.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Charlie opened her eyes the next morning, she was warm. Next to her, the curtains blocked most of the light, but around the borders, it streamed in.

  Except those weren’t her curtains.

  Scanning the sparse room, her gaze landed on the man sprawled next to her.

  Hunter.

  The events of last night replayed in her mind. Her apartment had been wrecked. She’d had to speak with the police—about Joshua and the restraining order, about hiding in Oregon and changing her name. Then Hunter had brought her here, let her crash for the night.

  She’d invited him to sleep in the bed with her. And it had been great.

  More than anything, he’d been great. She wasn’t sure if his experiences over the past few years had made him empathetic or if he was naturally understanding, but whatever it was, he got her.

  Now, though, in the light of day, she had a hard time pretending.

  They weren’t only friends. She’d been afraid she’d fall for him, but who did she think she was kidding? She’d fallen already.

  Hunter was an easy man to love.

  She closed her eyes. Looking back on the weeks she’d gotten to know him, she should have seen how useless it would be.

  She’d never been able to shield her heart. She’d been raised to live in the moment. Caution wasn’t who she was.

  Except after Joshua, she’d begun to second-guess herself. She’d doubted her heart, assumed that the problems she’d had with men were problems with her. She opened up too fast, gave too much of herself too quickly. Always had. After all, that’s what she knew. Her parents were this shining example of openness and selflessness in a relationship. They might have a weird, bohemian life, flitting all over the country, but they loved each other.

  She wanted that. She had been so eager to find it that she’d looked past flaws that she shouldn’t have.

  Was she doing that with Hunter? He was here for her in a time when she needed support. Last night, he’d stepped in as a knight in shining armor. Was he really that good, or was she not being careful enough?

  As she rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom, she grabbed the new, spare toothbrush he’d left for her last night. After she used the facilities and brushed her teeth, she stood in front of the mirror, staring herself down and letting everything swim in her head.

  What she was left with was the recognition that it didn’t matter if he was who he appeared to be or not. Because she was still the person that she was. And she had already fallen for him.

  If that was the case, then why was she holding herself back? She wasn’t ashamed of who she was. She was the kind of person who gave her all when she cared about someone. If things ended badly later, if her foolish heart had fallen wrong again, would she be any less hurt?

  No, but she’d always regret not taking a chance on him now.

  Nodding at the wild-haired, wild-eyed woman in front of her, she smiled, turned off the light, and returned to Hunter’s room. She must have woken him, though, because the room was empty. She straightened the covers and went in search of him.

  In the kitchen, he shut the lid on the coffeepot, turning to grin at her. “That’s not decaf. You’re welcome.”

  His sandy hair was disheveled, and whiskers had erupted on his jaw. In his T-shirt and pajama pants, he was so sexy he stole her breath.

  As she stood there, staring at him, his grin disappeared. “If you don’t want coffee here, though, no biggie. Just hang on, let me get dressed and I’ll drive you home.” He nodded and then headed for the bathroom. He’d closed the door before she could recover.

  What had happened?

  When he resurfaced a few minutes later, his hair was tamed. “Give me a second,” he said. “I’ll put on some pants.” He shuffled into the bedroom, reaching for a dresser drawer.

  “Hunter?” She stepped inside, her heart pounding in her ears. �
�Wait.”

  He straightened from where he’d begun riffling through the drawer, his brow creased. She stepped forward, gazing up at him. “Could I kiss you, please?”

  He stilled and then searched her face for a split second before he reached for her, his hands cupping her face and his mouth falling on hers.

  Her eyes widened and then closed as his lips consumed her. She sighed, shifting closer, her hands bunching into the fabric at his waist and pulling him into her. The hunger in him sang through her body, settling in her stomach. She shook with need—to taste him, to breathe him in, to get as close as she could.

  Last night, he’d grounded her. At first, she’d lain in his bed, with him in the living room, and she’d been unable to settle. She kept thinking about her apartment, about how torn up it was. But mostly, she’d been completely alone in that unfamiliar bed that smelled like him. All she could be sure of was that she wanted to be with him.

  When they’d curled up next to each other, she’d figured it out. Every time she’d fallen into his arms had felt like home.

  For a girl who hadn’t ever had a true home, that was saying something. She hadn’t recognized it for what it was during their first kiss, but she had the night before.

  Home.

  Now she got that same contentment, but it mixed with the pounding ache inside her. Their kisses became more desperate, and she pressed into him, coaxing him backward until he sat on the bed. She followed him down, straddling his lap. From this angle, she was higher, so she buried her hands in his soft hair and pulled him toward her. This way, she could control the kiss—and she did, angling her mouth over his again and again.

  He ran his hands up her back, settling them at her shoulder blades. He didn’t exert any pressure, but the way he held her was reverent.

  Soon, kisses weren’t enough. Dropping her hands from his hair, she pulled the soft T-shirt he’d given her to wear over her head. She hadn’t bothered to get back into her bra and underwear after her shower. All her clothes had felt dirty.

  She sat astride him in the morning light, topless.