Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
R ayna’s hope that maybe Stark wouldn’t notice her dangling from his tree like the world’s worst Christmas ornament died a quick death when his gaze zeroed in on her immediately. It was too dark to tell, but she had no doubt his much too pretty blue eyes were full of annoyance.
She half expected him to turn around and go back into the house. Call the police on her for trespassing and leave her to dangle while he waited for Sheriff Walker to show up. Christ, she hoped it wasn’t the sheriff. She’d recently become friends with his fiancée, Grace, and she really didn’t want Grace to know about this.
To her surprise, Stark walked toward her, wading through the thick, untouched snow of his backyard until he stood wordlessly beneath her dangling body.
The moonlight highlighted his narrow nose and high cheekbones and illuminated the short beard that covered his jaw. Huh, that was new. The last time she’d seen him, he’d only had stubble.
Oh, Jesus, she was not suddenly picturing what that beard might feel like against her inner thigh. Nope, she was not because, one, Stark was her mortal enemy, and two, she was dangling from a goddamn tree.
He studied her, the seconds quietly ticking away before he said. “Ms. Abrams.”
“Stark,” she said.
“Is there a reason you’re trespassing on my property at ten fifty-seven at night?” He checked the watch adorning his wrist, which definitely cost more than Rayna’s car.
“There’s a cat in the tree,” she said.
He bent and picked up the flashlight she left at the bottom of the tree, flicking it on before shining it up into the tree.
“Is it your cat?” he asked as Molly made her ‘Hello, new friend’ meow.
“No, it’s the Pope’s,” she said.
His jaw tightened, a muscle tick tick ticking before he shined the flashlight on her, examining how she’d been snagged so thoroughly by the branch before sighing loudly. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”
“Do you think you could just call the sheriff to report me for trespassing rather than lecturing me? I’d like to get the fuck out of this tree sometime in the next century,” she said.
With another harsh sigh, he shut off the flashlight and left it beside the cat treat container before trudging back toward the house. Rayna could no longer feel her feet, and fuck, did her back hurt, but she would rather freeze to death or bleed out before pleading with that asshole Stark to help her. Nope, she would dangle like a fly in a spider’s web with patience and dignity while she waited for the police to arrive and get her ass out of this fucking tree.
Her entire body was trembling from the cold, and her exposed stomach was covered with goosebumps. She stared up into the tree, squinting to see Molly, who looked like she might have moved down a few branches.
“You little jerk,” Rayna said. “You better come down from there yourself. Otherwise, you’ll be living in that tree permanently. Do you hear me? I am never climbing this tree again, so -”
The squeak of the back door had her whipping her head back toward the house, groaning at the bright shard of pain it sent through her back. To her utter shock, Stark, carrying a kitchen chair, was headed back toward her.
She watched silently as he set the chair on the ground below her and hopped up on it. His face was about waist level with her, and her stomach erupted with even more goosebumps when she felt his breath on her skin.
If her nipples weren’t already hard as glass from the frigid temperatures, they sure as shit would be diamonds right now. All because of a man’s breath on her stomach. Even worse, the breath of a guy she hated even more than her childhood bully, Phoebe, and she loathed that stuck-up snot of a witch.
“What are you doing?” she snapped when he put his hands on her hips.
“Helping you out of the tree?” He raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow at her. “Please tell me you’re not so stubborn that you’ll insist you don’t need my help.”
“You can’t lift me off the branch,” she said. “I don’t care how strong you think you are.”
“I’m not lifting you,” he said, his tone suggesting she was as dumb as a piece of toast. “Wrap your legs around my body and raise your arms. With a bit of luck and some pulling on my part, we should be able to slide you out of your sweatshirt.”
“No,” she said immediately. “We’re not doing that.”
“Do you have a better idea?” he asked.
God, she wished he’d let go of her hips. His touch, combined with how fucking cold she was and the pain in her back, made it nearly impossible to think clearly.
He gave her an impatient shake that sent agony racing up her back. “Ms. Abrams? Give me another suggestion then.”
The whimper of pain escaped her lips before she could stop it, and his hands tightened on her hips. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Look, I’m not wearing anything under the sweatshirt, okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
“I’m not wearing a bra,” she clarified. “The ladies are swinging wild and free tonight.”
“How delightful for you,” he said dryly. “I’ve seen breasts before, Ms. Abrams.”
“I don’t want you seeing my breasts,” she said.
“That makes two of us,” Stark said, “but if you want out of this tree, neither of us are getting what we want.”
Okay, so she was not hurt by Stark’s disinterest in her tits. Not one tiny bit.
His hands still on her hips, he said, “Do you want my help or not, Ms. Abrams?”
“Yes,” she said, trying hard to remember that despite their mutual hatred, Stark was trying to help her instead of leaving her to freeze to death in his tree.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he said.
She wrapped her legs just under his arms, hooking her feet together against his back as he slid his arms around her waist. His face rested against her bare stomach for a second or two, and that unexpected beard made her thoughts go somewhere that was incredibly poorly timed and inappropriate.
“Ready?” He tipped his head back to stare up at her.
She nodded, and he said, “On three, lift your arms straight up in the air, and I’ll pull, all right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“One, two, three.”
She lifted her arms as Stark pulled hard on her waist. She gritted her teeth against the pain as the branch slid across her scraped and bleeding back and twisted her head to the right when her sweatshirt got caught on her chin. It slid neatly past her face, and her free-wheelin’ breasts popped out into the cold night air as the inside of her sweatshirt suddenly covered her face. Stark gave her another big yank, and she let her legs slide down a bit to hook around his ribcage. Holy fuck, this was working. This was actually working. She would slide right out of this damn shirt and -
She squealed in pain when she was pulled to an abrupt stop by her hair. Her messy bun had tangled on the end of the branch, and pain danced across her scalp when Stark gave her another hard tug.
“Stop!” she shouted, her thick sweatshirt muffling her voice. “Wait, just…”
Oh, fuck her sideways, Stark gave her another brisk pull, and she dropped a few inches before pulling up tight again. Christ, her scalp was on fucking fire.
“What the hell?” Stark grunted, his hands sliding up her back as she dropped, and oh Jesus Christ and a baby lamb, she could feel his warm breath directly between her breasts which meant he was face first in her tits, and was it possible for someone to die of humiliation?
“My hair!” she hollered. “My hair is caught!”
She twisted her head and body wildly, ignoring the pain in her scalp and her fear that she was about to give herself a giant bald spot. She’d rather have a bald spot than have Stark’s face in her tits for one moment longer.
“Whoa,” he shouted like she was a scared horse. “Stop twisting!”
“Ignoring him, she twisted even more violently, and oh fucking hell, did Stark’s mouth just graze her nipple?
“Stop!” Now Stark’s voice was muffled, and yup, that was definitely his goddamn tongue she felt on her nipple.
Panic and, God fucking help her, just a touch of horniness infusing her body, she made one final twist of her head. She was abruptly and gloriously free, her upper body sliding the rest of the way out of the sweatshirt and leaving behind what she was sure would be a significant chunk of hair, bloody skin, and possibly spinal fluid on the branch.
Stark made a muffled yell as she dropped like a stone out of the sweatshirt. Her momentum knocked him off balance, and his face still pressed up against her left breast, they fell off the chair and into the snow.
She landed on top of him with a hard ‘oof’ and pancakes on a hot fucking griddle, now her nipple was entirely inside of his mouth, and she scrambled off him, ignoring his grunt of pain when one flailing knee slammed into his ribs.
She slapped her arms over her naked breasts, her chest heaving, her breath steaming out in the cold air as Stark climbed nimbly to his feet, and they stared silently at each other.
Rayna didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when Molly landed with a soft thud on the chair between them, making an inquisitive meow as she rubbed up against the back of the chair. Rayna snatched up the pregnant cat, pressing her against her boobs like a living, breathing fur-covered bikini. Molly purred loudly, lounging contently against Rayna’s naked chest.
Rayna glanced at her sweatshirt, still hanging from the tree, but decided she’d never liked that particular shirt anyway. She straightened her back, hissing air between her teeth at how that little movement made it sting and burn and gave Stark a painfully formal nod.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He glanced at his hands, a scowl marring his perfect face. “Is this blood?”
She stared at the smears of her blood on his hands, but before she could say anything, he had pushed past the chair between them and turned her around roughly.
“Fuck,” he said. “Your back is scraped to shit.”
“It’s fine,” Rayna said.
“It isn’t.”
She shivered when he traced one finger down her back. She pulled away and turned to face him. “Stop that.”
He scowled at her. “You need medical attention.”
“The last I heard, you’re not a doctor,” she said. “It’s not that bad. Look, I need to go. I’m freezing, and Molly is pregnant and shouldn’t be out in the cold like this. Thank you for your help.”
She turned and marched toward the gate, hoping like hell Stark hadn’t added a lock to it. She half expected Stark to follow her, maybe even offer to help clean her back, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. But when she reached the gate and unlatched it, she glanced back to discover nothing but an empty yard and bright moonlight.
She closed the gate behind her and jogged to her yard, letting herself into the backyard and then into the house. She made sure the basement door was closed before she set Molly on the floor.
The cat stretched and purred, following Rayna and rubbing against her legs as she trudged upstairs to her bedroom to inspect the damage to her back. She stood with her back to the full-length mirror and twisted her head to stare at her reflection.
“Ugh,” she muttered, staring at the enormous scrape down the center of her back. Already, her skin was beginning to swell and bruise, and with another muttered curse, she grabbed her phone and called Emma.
“Hey, Rayna, what’s up?” Emma answered on the second ring.
“Are you busy? I need your help.”