Torch (Take It Off) (13 page)

“As soon as you’re done, we’re going home.”

“But the police will want to talk to me,” I protested.

“Not tonight. You’ve been through enough. They’re going to come by the house tomorrow morning.”

“You’re acting very bossy right now,” I warned, not really caring to be bossed.

“So are you saying you want to stay here and answer questions?”

“No.”

He looked smug.

“I need to call the library director,” I said, ignoring it.

He handed over his cell phone and watched as I dialed the number.

“So,” Bryant said carefully, “you two live together?”

“No,” I said at the exact same time Holt said, “Yes.”

Well, this was awkward.

12

I still had a job. However, I was put on a leave of absence so the library and its patrons would not be “subjected” to my stalker’s murderous tendencies any longer. It was a paid leave of absence, thank goodness, because I truly needed the money and didn’t relish trying to find another job and telling any potential employers that I may or may not be bait for trouble.

Most people might be happy about a forced paid vacation.

I wasn’t one of them.

It left me feeling more like a kite merely drifting wherever the wind blew. Right now, in my eyes, I not only lost my home, all my material possessions, but my job as well. My entire life had blown up in my face. There was barely anything I recognized about myself anymore.

Here I was, living with a man I barely knew and wracked with all these feelings I didn’t really understand. Everything I seemed to work toward for so long was snatched away and there was no safety net beneath me. I was freefalling through life, and it scared the living crap out of me.

What was I going to do all day now that I didn’t have work to fill my time?

It was times like this a girl like me could use her mother. Someone to talk to who loved me unconditionally, someone who never judged me, someone who was merely there all the time—a never-ending constant.

But my mother wasn’t here.

She never would be again.

I would have to get through this on my own.

And I would. Because I was tough.

By the time Holt pulled his truck into the driveway, the sun had set. We were at the library a lot longer than he wanted to be, but we ended up having to wait for my manager to get there so I could explain to her exactly what was going on. And after that, we stayed to reshelf the books and help clean up some of the mess.

Not that I was very helpful. I was literally exhausted and the pain in my wrists was terrible. I wanted nothing more than a shower and a bed. Holt finally dragged me out of there, ignoring my protests and stuffing me in the truck. Silently, I was glad he did.

When he turned off the engine, he didn’t climb out. He leaned forward, using the steering wheel as a prop, and looked at me through the shadows inside the cab. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”

I felt my lips curve. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“You know it is. You’ve been handling everything better than most of the men I know would.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the fire chief?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” And it truly didn’t. His job didn’t make him who he was. I had no doubt the reason Holt had that job was
because
of who he was.

He climbed out of the truck then, coming around to my side and yanking open the door. I moved to get out, but he reached in and lifted me down, his touch once more so achingly gentle.

“All I’m saying,” he said softly, “is if you need to cry, I have shoulder.”

His words were exactly what I needed to hear. It made me feel like I wasn’t as alone as I thought. “You’re a good man, Holt Arkain.” I reached up and touched his cheek. He grasped my hand and pulled it down to his mouth, pressing a few feather-light kisses to the inside of my palm.

It made me feel like all the strings that held me together inside had been untied and now everything was languid and free flowing.

“Come on,” he whispered, keeping hold of my hand and leading me to the front door.

Once inside, I slipped off my flip-flops and just stared off into space. I was so tired and emotional. I just wanted to be alone. I heard the door lock behind us and it seemed to be the sign my body was waiting for—the sign that told my brain it was okay to fall apart.

“I’m really tired. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

I didn’t wait for him to protest, which I knew he probably would. Instead, I just went quietly back to his room and closed the door. I didn’t bother with the light. I liked the dark just fine. I didn’t even bother taking off my top and skirt. I just climbed up into the bed and sank down in the center, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tight.

Then I buried my face in another pillow and began to cry.

I hated to cry. But in that moment, it seemed if I didn’t release some of the things going on inside me, I might stop functioning.

I cried harder than I had in a very long time—only stopping when I had to let my face out of the pillow to suck in some much-needed air. Only the tears wouldn’t stop, so I would end up burying my face all over again and repeating the process.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually I heard the door open. My entire body stiffened and my grip on the pillow increased to the point I thought the feathers filling it might come out the seam.

He didn’t say anything as he crawled onto the bed behind me. His hand slid over my hip and he gently pulled me around so I was lying on my back and he was staring down at me through the darkness. “I can’t stand to hear you cry anymore.”

He heard? Damn, I was trying to be quiet.

“Come here,” he murmured, settling down beside me, and pulled me alongside him. I fit up against him perfectly. He was so much bigger that he completely dwarfed me, and when I settled my head on his chest and he wound his arms around me, it was like I was completely surrounded by him. Like I was finally where I belonged. After all these years of searching, I finally found my place.

A few more tears leaked out and dripped on his shirt, but he didn’t complain. “It’s okay, Katie,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“My entire life…” I said, pausing to drag in some air, “is a complete disaster.”

“You have me.”

For some reason those three words made me cry harder. Like the kind of cry that shook your insides and made ugly sounds rip from your throat. So very unattractive.

He didn’t say anything. He held me, just like that night in the parking lot. He was a complete rock while chaos reigned around him.

When I was done with my ugly cry, I used his shirt to wipe my eyes. He chuckled. “Feel free to use my shirt as a tissue,” he said dryly.

“Oh,” I said, not even realizing what I’d done. “I—”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you feel better?”

His tenderness was just more than I could bear. I started crying again. “I haven’t washed my hair in a week,” I sobbed, picking up his shirt and using it once again.

“You haven’t?” he said, trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

“No. It hurts my hands and wrists too much.” I dropped his shirt. “I smell!” I wailed.

That seemed to open the floodgates once again, and I swore if I didn’t stop crying soon I was going to drown us both.

I guess Holt finally had enough because he extracted himself from my snotty clutches and got off the bed. When I thought he would leave, he turned back and picked me up off the bed. He walked into the bathroom across the hall (I refused to use his master bathroom, saying it was for him) and reached around the curtain to turn on the shower.

“What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously.

“Washing your hair.”

“What? No, you can’t!”

Visions of me having to get naked before him swam through my head and created a flurry of panic within me. Before I could wiggle out of his embrace, he was stepping in the shower—both of us fully clothed—and pulling the curtain closed behind us.

I shrieked when the water soaked my legs and feet. “Holt!” I gasped.

“Hold your arms out of the way,” he instructed.

I did, pushing my arms up over my head so the fresh bandages wouldn’t get ruined.

Then he stepped beneath the spray, drenching us both. “We’re wearing clothes!”

“Do you want to get naked?” he drawled.

“I’m a virgin,” I blurted out, and immediately I wanted to die of embarrassment.

Every muscle in his body stilled. I wasn’t even sure he breathed.

Finally, after a few long, tense minutes, he looked at me. “Did I hear you right?”

I nodded miserably. What in the hell possessed me to say such a thing? It was the truth, but geez, talk about diarrhea of the mouth.

He stepped back out of the spray and set me down on my feet, my back facing the water.

I expected him to leave.

I didn’t expect him to stay.

I didn’t expect the words that came out of his mouth.

Carefully, he took my arms, looping them around his neck so my hands and wrists were behind his head, and then he took my face in his hands, lifting it up so he could stare down into my eyes.

“That makes me really happy, Freckles.”

I blinked. “It does?”

He nodded slowly.

“The thought of anyone else’s hands on you drives me insane. Now I get to be your first. And your last.”

Oh my.

He lowered his head, pressing a very brief kiss to my lips before pulling away and using his hands to tilt my head back. Warm water poured over my scalp, saturating my hair and making me moan.

“You’re really gonna wash my hair?” I asked.

“I don’t get into showers fully clothed for any other reason,” he drawled.

“We look ridiculous.”

“Who cares?”

I surrendered then. To his touch. To the feel of his hands in my hair. He used a lot of shampoo, so he spent an absurd amount of time massaging it in and running it through the thick mass of my water-logged strands. Then he rinsed it all out, the suds clinging to our clothes and bubbles floating around us in the tiny enclosed space.

He even conditioned it, taking care to work the stuff through the ends of the tangled mess.

“That feels so good,” I murmured. I don’t think I’d ever felt anything so pleasant in my entire life. It was as if the whole world fell away; all my responsibilities and all my stress just seemed to slip right down the drain with the suds he rinsed away.

As he worked, I was treated to the close-up view of his soaked shirt plastered to his chest. It molded perfectly against his ripped chest and abs. I could see every muscle, every plane of his body. I wondered how often he had to work out to look that way.