Chapter 32
32
C arlisle leaned into Simon's back door, awkwardly balancing her baking dish in one hand. She worked the key with the other and practically rolled into his kitchen when it finally opened.
He'd gone into the office again today. While technically she was supposed to be here to pay some attention to Kitten, she'd also decided to bring dinner. After assembling it at home, she carried it over in the one dish. Her mama had been right when she’d bought the lovely china service, saying Carlisle would need it.
Now, she set it on the counter and headed into the living room, hoping to find the baby cat, only to stumble over her in the doorway.
“Mew,” Kitten offered and rubbed up against Carlisle's leg.
She’d been planning to start the oven and get dinner baking, but no. Picking up the tiny kitten, she rubbed her head and felt her own heart melt as Kitten burrowed into her chest. “Come on, baby girl. Let's make dinner.”
Carlisle did everything one-handed. She'd seen Jane do it when Claire was little. It seemed the way of mothers to simply hold the baby in one arm and still manage to get everything else done. Now she was doing it with her own baby.
Even though the baby wasn’t hers and wasn’t human. This baby was barely a couple pounds. As tiny as she still was, Kitten was growing like a weed. Already, she bounded up the little steps into the litter box as though they were nothing, when originally it had been a struggle. She’d learned to dig in her claws and climb onto the couch or the bed.
Carlisle turned the knob on the ancient oven. She was grateful hers had been replaced before she moved in. After setting the temperature, she moved aside, waiting for it to ding when it was ready. She hadn't even taken her bag from over her shoulder, yet. Also a mother thing she’d seen Jane do: everything else first.
Heading into the living room, she settled Kitten on the floor and laid her things out on the table, hoping to get some work done. There were more orders on the website. She handled getting the packing labels ready so that once the kits arrived, they could at least move quickly on the first ones.
Eventually, there wouldn't be a way to get ahead. That would be a welcome problem she told herself.
After a little while working, the oven dinged. Putting dinner into the oven first, she then turned her attention back to Kitten, checking the baby over and applying the medication for ear mites. She'd been the one to take Kitten to the vet.
When he’d made the appointment, Simon had asked her if she could do it. She'd made an offhand comment about him taking half of a sick day to take his child to the doctor. He said he couldn't, and something in his tone had struck her as odd. He worked from home part-time, so couldn’t he go to the vet? Surely other people at his job had pets or even kids.
But Kitten needed to go to the vet sooner rather than later. And the first available appointment was one that Carlisle could make. So she knew about the ear mites, and the medicine. Though Kitten squirmed and had to be wrapped in order for it to be applied, Carlisle only missed one drop. Then she kissed the tiny head and promised, “Only two more days.”
Kitten shook her head and tromped off, so Carlisle sat back down and found another name and email that she recognized in the list of orders. Without making a label, she quickly shot off a note to her father's sister, letting her know that she would be sending a kit, and she didn't need to order one.
She checked her phone almost nervously, but after lunch the other day she hadn't heard anything from Charlie. It was difficult to tell what was going on with him, but she didn’t want to push. He probably had enough of that.
She was beginning to smell the food. Her mouth watered and she wondered if Simon would be home soon. She also wondered what she was doing sitting here, making dinner and waiting for her man to show up. When had they become like this?
She didn’t dislike it. In fact, he showed up not long after that, a sappy grin on his face at seeing her there. He thanked her for taking care of Kitten and asked if she’d handled the ear medication.
It was disturbingly domestic. Though he’d put her off when she asked about the scars on his back the other day, he talked about everything else freely—as if she’d never mentioned it.
They talked easily about his day and hers. About how Kitten would probably weigh two pounds by tomorrow. Then, after dinner when they were putting the dishes away, when she had scrubbed out the casserole dish from the herbed chicken and roasted brussel sprouts with potatoes, he made his move.
Turning her around, Simon kissed her thoroughly. He worked his magic, tongue searching, body pressed against hers, until her knees melted and her shoulders finally gave up their tension. He leaned her against the counter, pinning her until her cells caught on fire and she couldn't breathe .
He kissed her until she wanted more. Until she reached for him and found that he’d already lifted the hem of the t shirt she wore that day. He was unhooking her bra there at the kitchen sink. She only briefly managed to glance to the side to see if the doors and windows were closed enough to do this.
They could do this.
With a growl, he reached around behind her and lifted her onto the counter before she even realized it was happening. Then she had her fingers on the front of his button-down work shirt. She peeled it away, dropping it onto the floor and reaching for the undershirt.
Maybe out of habit, his hand came up, covering hers and stopping the movement.
Carlisle kissed him anyway and tugged it a little higher, disturbed when the force of pressure against her hand increased. He was still stopping her.
“Simon,” she whispered, leaning forward, pressing her bare breasts against his chest where it was exposed beneath the hem she’d pulled as high as he would allow. She kept her voice low, not wanting to break the mood, but needing to break this barrier. “I've seen the scars. It's okay.”
He shook his head a little bit, not even really acknowledging what she said. When she kissed him again, he reached for the snap at the front of her jeans. She reached for his dress pants, her breath coming in shallow, needy gasps.
When she tried again to get him completely naked, he arched his shoulders, stopping her.
Carlisle stopped.
She'd been hot and heavy, needy and wanting, but his refusal was a wall coming up between them. Her mouth turned down, this no feeling personal.
“Are you never going to take your shirt off in the light?”
“I don't know.” He stepped back, the moment completely broken .
She wanted to cry. Not just because she’d been ready to fall apart in his arms, to scream his name here on the kitchen counter, but because he didn’t want her to know him. Not really. She swallowed, then repeated, “I've seen the scars.”
He looked at her as if he didn't know what she meant. Though she’d said it before, he still seemed confused that he hadn’t fully managed to keep them hidden.
She whispered, “In the bathroom, when you turned around. I saw them in the mirror.”
His eyes flared wide for just a moment. The heat of their passion gone, lost to an explanation he wouldn’t give. Her heart breaking as she wondered if she could ever get that feeling back.
He stepped forward, as if he wanted to kiss her again. But the wall between them wasn’t gone. She held her hand out, stopping him. Realizing then that saying she had seen the scars might not be enough. So she spoke the words that had made her heart clench every time she thought about it. “They're cigarette burns, aren't they?”