He found her in the dark with a
bottle resting beside her. She knew it was him—no normal human being was that
tall, that muscled, and that graceful. She turned her eyes to the window and
raised the vodka to her lips, letting it burn her throat and chest, warming
her.
"Go away."
"Didn't come to work
today."
"Fuck work."
"Don't come to work, don't
get paid."
"Don't care."
She felt him kneel beside her,
his body heat scorching her, the scent of sandalwood surrounding her as a band
of muscle shot out in front of her and he yanked the bottle from her. She
grabbed for it and he moved his hand away, Reese pitching forward as he did so.
She landed half on him and shoved him the rest of the way down, satisfaction
swimming through her inebriated brain as his head thunked against the floor.
"You reek," he told
her, effectively maneuvering them both to sitting positions so that they were
no longer touching.
"Fuck you."
"Drunk too."
"What is it with you and
saying the most obvious things? I also smoke, fuck a lot of men, and enjoy
saying fuck just as much."
His jaw tightened and he
wordlessly got to his feet, walking out of the living room and into the
kitchen. When she heard the sound of liquid meeting sink, Reese scrambled to
her feet and tried to run for the booze, but she ended up stumbling instead and
banging her knee against a corner of the wall. Cursing, she hobbled into the
small kitchen.
"You're wasting it!"
She reached around him, but he just moved to the side, only righting the bottle
once it was empty. "You're an asshole," she told him.
He shrugged. "Take a shower
and get to the shop. Got an appointment in forty minutes and can't be
babysitting you all day."
Crossing her arms, she said,
"No."
Two pale brown eyebrows lifted as
he studied her. Shrugging again, he moved for her, grabbing her around the
waist and tossing her over his broad shoulder before she could assemble a
protestation. Amid screeching and pounding on his back, Leo took her to the
shower, dropped her into the tub, and turned cold water on her. She inhaled
sharply at the shocking sting of it, instantly shivering. The curses became
louder and more vulgar as she sat under the spray of water.
“Ready to work now?”
“Fuck you!” He aimed the spout
directly at her face and she sputtered as water tried to drown her, moving to
her knees and crawling to the other end of the tub, though that didn't help
much. “Turn it off!”
“Coming to work?”
“Yes, damn it! Yes.” The
absence of water was immediate, the trembling of her limbs turning uncontrollable. She looked up at him, feeling beat down in a way she never had
before, and she hated him for it, for him to be the one to take her bravado
away, for him seeing her so vulnerable. That blank expression customary to his
features lifted minutely, a softening of his eyes the only indication he had a
heart.
Without speaking, he left, and
she blinked at the heat of the tears mingling with the water dripping down her
face. Crouching on her knees, she hung her head, shudders sweeping through her,
pain tightening her throat. She couldn't do this anymore. Why did she even
bother? She held her face, closing her eyes, and tried to breathe. When she
heard the return of his heavy footsteps, her pulse picked up in part
trepidation and part gratefulness. She’d thought he’d left, expected it.
She looked up to see a towel near
her face, and beyond it, he stood stoic and silent, watching her with his
secretive eyes. Averting her face to wipe the tears away, she stood on weak
legs and grabbed the towel from him, covering her face with it.
“Go away,” she whispered.
He did, and again an ache went
through her heart at the thought of him leaving, but all he did was go into her
bedroom. When she realized that’s where he’d gone, she dropped the towel with a
frown and sprinted after him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
she demanded when she found him rifling through her underwear drawer.
“Need dry clothes.”
She snatched a sock from his hand
and shoved him away from the dresser. “I can find my own clothes, thanks.”
He stayed near the bed, just
standing there. His dark eyes were burning her up, never once shying from her.
She could feel them on her like the imprint of redemption never to be hers,
merely close enough to endlessly tease her.
“You can leave now,” she told him
when the tension became too thick. His nearness was weirding her out, making
her nervous. She didn’t like him so close, and especially in her bedroom. She
felt exposed—her soul was bared for him to analyze. She wanted him to go.
He didn’t go.
Through the mirror above the
dresser, their eyes met. Damn if her body didn’t react to the shared look
through the reflective glass—the darkness of his stare, the mere fact that he
stood behind her, even if he was a couple feet away and out of touching
distance. The attraction couldn’t just be on her side. How could he not feel it
too? She knew men. She knew when one wanted her. He had to want her, even if in
some small, hated way.
She slowly turned, aware that her
thin shirt didn’t leave much for him to wonder about.
His lips pressed together as she
moved toward him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” She paused,
searching for a clue, something to let her know he wanted her as much as she
wanted him.
When he didn’t say anymore, Reese
raised a hand and he immediately caught it within his, halting its progress. He
gently squeezed, a warning in his eyes. Just that simple touch made her
tremble. Her pulse picked up. He was strong, warm. Leo was good, better than
she would ever be. He symbolized everything she was not, and she wanted to
pretend she was good, just for a moment. Her eyes stung, and the longer he
continued to hold her wrist, the more she needed him.
Reese stared into chips of flint
as she pushed forward, feeling him tense as her breasts brushed against his
arm. She pressed closer, every part of her front touching his in some way. She
could feel him, feel the hardness of his muscles and everything else, through
his clothing. His body responded even as he was moving back. Sex was something
she did to feel good. She knew it was wrong, knew using her body and letting
others use it as well only damaged her more, but it was the only power of any
kind she had.
But that was different. What she
wanted from Leo was unknown to her, just beyond reach, but close enough to
realize if she let herself.
“Please, Leo,” she whispered, her
eyes begging for something she didn’t understand.
He looked down at her, even his
height and width, constructed to intimidate, instead creating a safe haven for
her. The man with little words still said so much with his body language, most of
it conflicting. His eyes told her no, his body told her yes. His hard mouth
wanted to kiss her, his elegant fingers wanted to mold her into some form of
art, his body wanted to claim her. At the same time, he was repelled by her. That,
she at least, understood.
She wanted him to fix her, to
heal her. She wanted him to take the pain away, even if all that did was produce
more pain. When he moved for her, she tensed, her breaths quickening. His
calloused hand reached up, fingered a strand of short blond hair, and caressed the
side of her face. The simple tenderness of it made her eyes tear up again. Her
mouth quivered and she looked down. That wasn’t what she’d expected, not from
him. Not from anyone, but least of all, from him.
He wrapped his arms around her,
careful to keep their lower halves from touching, and he hugged her tightly. At first,
she remained stiff, shocked, unsure whether she should push him away or not. Her
sister, so many years ago, was the last person she’d allowed to hug her or that
she’d initiated hugging. This was foreign and awkward.
His heart beat close to her ear
and she pressed the side of her face to his chest, listening. She focused on
how his chest rose and lowered with each breath he took, how his warmth
surrounded her like a blanket, his scent filtering through her senses, bringing
peace with it. It was just a hug—a lame, insignificant hug. Why did she feel so
safe inside this man’s arms?
As soon as she realized her
thoughts and the repercussions of this moment and what it made her feel, she
shoved him back. He staggered a few steps, the footboard of the bed halting
him. There was nothing in his face, no hint of his thoughts or emotions as he
looked at her.
