24. Libby
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
libby
I can’t believe this happened again. I can’t believe I’m waking up in Fisher’s bed again, inhaling this intoxicating aroma, reaching out for him, only to realize that he’s not here.
Of course he’s not here. Why would he stay in bed with me? After I made a fool of myself by asking him to stay, he probably waited around long enough for me to fall asleep before he snuck out. Hopefully he crashed in Sutton’s empty room rather than on the couch this time.
It should be a relief. How awkward would it have been to wake up side by side? With my luck, I probably would have been sprawled over him. I never sleep on one side. I also never share a bed, so I have no reason to stay still.
Or could I have subconsciously known to keep to my space? That’s probably something I should find out before I start dating.
My stomach sinks. Before I start dating? God, Libby. A man is nice to you for one night, and you’re already fantasizing about the future?
Before my mind can conjure any more delusions, I fling myself out of bed. It’s the comfort of his sheets that’s throwing me. That’s what I tell myself to avoid the disappointment threatening to crush me after waking up alone.
It’s nearly eight a.m. and my headache is gone. I’ll just head home, have a nice warm bath—assuming the pilot is lit—and come up with ways to avoid Fisher until these feelings subside.
It won’t take long. He’ll growl at me soon enough, and that’ll be all I need to forget how kind he was as he held me on the couch last night.
Or how good it felt when his thumb brushed the side of my arm, back and forth, back and forth, so gently it lulled me to sleep despite how I tried to fight it.
Secretly, I wanted that moment to last for eternity.
I’m not sure I’ve felt that comfortable, that at ease, in someone’s arms since my mother.
I drop my head into my hands, a rush of heat spreading through my body.
Go, Libby. Get out of here before you search the man out and demand he touch you again.
I tiptoe to the door and slowly slip my hand over the knob like I’m worried it’ll be hot to the touch.
Nerves skittering through me, I twist it just so, then press my ear to the door and listen for footsteps.
When I’m sure the hallway is empty—hopefully of humans as well as those pesky eight-legged creatures that won’t leave me alone—I pull the door open slowly.
Head stuck out, I scan the hall and the stairs.
Then I widen the opening until I can see Sutton’s door.
It’s closed. Suspicions seemingly confirmed, I tiptoe down the steps.
When I hit a creaky board, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Frozen mid-step, heart pounding, I listen for noises that signal I’m not alone.
I only lower my foot to the next step when I’m sure that no one is coming.
Unwilling to risk being caught, I rush the last few steps and bound onto the porch.
I don’t even slow when the door slams behind me. I’m free.
Ten minutes later, the teapot whistles. It’s followed quickly by loud knocking. The pounding sounds angrier than the steaming pot, so I holler that it’s open and head for the door. Maybe the screeching coming from the kitchen will annoy him enough to send him running.
Fisher stomps toward me, his every step shaking the house. “Why’d you leave?” He doesn’t stop until he’s right up in my face, hands pressed to my cheeks like he’s inspecting my every expression, trying to pluck the truth from my brain.
He’s fully dressed, a pair of jeans highlighting those thick thighs of his, a slightly wrinkled Boston Revs T-shirt covering his chest. The sight of him ready for the day angers me more.
So does how much his touch soothes me. Is it possible to be angered and soothed all at the same time?
If so, that is precisely what’s going on.
Clearly, all the belly-flopping confusion I put myself through ten minutes ago was for nothing.
The way those brown eyes of his soften as he inspects me drags me right back into that warm bed of his.
There can’t be more than a couple of inches between his lips and mine, and yet it might as well be a mile with how my mind questions his every move.
The tea kettle continues to scream in anger, the sound giving me the wherewithal to pull back. I need air that isn’t his. “I’m fine. No headache. You’re off the hook, Sheriff.”
I stalk back to the kitchen, filled with as much pressure as the kettle is. I’m on the precipice of bursting as I turn off the stove.
Before I can remove the kettle from the burner, Fisher’s chest is pressed to my back. He puts pressure on my arm until I lower it, then he moves it for me, his warm breath ruffling my hair. “You can’t keep running, Princess. It’s not safe.” He lowers his forehead to my crown and inhales deeply.
It’s like being tossed beneath the rough waves off the town dock. His actions lull me into believing I’m safe with him, but his words are the jolt to my system that comes with the icy cold waters.
With a hum of annoyance, I push him back. “You can’t keep using scare tactics to force me to listen to you. Spiders, broken windows, potential concussions. Give me a break, Fisher. I’m not Sutton. You aren’t obligated to me.”
Scowl deepening the grooves on his forehead, he scoffs. “Someone cut your fucking brake line. You aren’t safe. Someone is trying to hurt you.”
He takes a step closer, but I sidestep him and wrap my arms around myself. My body is screaming that this can’t be happening again. I shake my head. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Fisher grips his hair with both hands and tugs. “Wilder called while you were sleeping this morning. The mechanic came out to pick up the golf cart. Right away, he discovered that the lines had been cut.”
Dread washes over me. I swallow it down and lift my chin. “Maybe it was the squirrels,” I whisper.
Fisher shakes his head. “I saw it with my own eyes. That’s why I wasn’t in bed when you woke up. I—” He shakes his head.
My heart trips over itself. That means he was in bed before that. He stayed. “Someone is trying to hurt you, Libby. It’s not safe.” He drops his hands to his sides, his fists pulsing. His chest shudders as he takes a single step closer and says, almost desperately, “I can’t lose someone else.”
Speechless and paralyzed by the way his entire being vibrates with worry, all I can do is gape at him. This hard man is trying so earnestly to be soft. For me.
He takes another step forward, the movement jerky and his expression hardening again. “I’m serious. Move, or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and drag you back home.”
My lips twitch. “Well, I know that’s a serious threat, since you keep carrying me around.”
As if his patience is a tattered thread, he growls. “Princess, don’t test me.”
Now that I’ve seen beneath the rough exterior, I can’t get enough of it.
I want to worm my way beneath his ribcage and live there.
There’s a peace within him that I can’t help but tug at.
“Only if you admit why you want me to stay there. And don’t sugarcoat it, Sheriff, we both know you don’t do crushes. ”
“Crushes? You think I have a crush on you?” He licks his lips and his jaw ticks.
“Twelve year olds have crushes, they want to hold hands and go to the movies. I don’t want to just hold your hand.
I want my hand wrapped around your throat while I devour you.
The thought of anything happening to you makes me physically ill and the need to touch you whenever you’re in the vicinity has my knuckles white from fisting them at my sides. So no, this isn’t a fucking crush.”
My heart races in my chest and I just blink.
Nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, he takes the final step toward me. “Fucking hell, woman. Come here.” He cuffs my neck and pulls me all the way to his mouth. And finally, freaking finally, Fisher kisses me.
I’ve been kissed before. Obviously I’ve been kissed before. But being kissed by Fisher is like a baptism. I’m renewed. Free. My mind will never again conjure the sensation of another person’s lips against mine.
This isn’t just a kiss. It’s a reckoning.
First he’s gruff, channeling all his anger and concern into the way he holds me, plundering until I’m nothing but a puddle left for him to drink up.
Our tongues tangle, our moans mingle, and there’s a chance the slight pressure he’s exerting on my neck may make me pass out.
But like he knows just how much to give me, just how much I can truly take, he eases his hold and pulls back, offering me the tiniest reprieve from the onslaught.
Those kind brown eyes of his bounce like he’s once again determining whether I’m with him, and when I whimper and tilt my head up like an offering, he dives back in. This time he’s softer, and that hand on my neck drops to my pounding heart.
I clutch the front of his shirt, needing to keep him close. And when he tries to pull back again, I bite down on his lip.
“Please,” I beg, the word a shattered piece of me.
He cups my cheek, and I turn my head into his hand, kissing his palm. “Please, Fisher.”
“For you, the answer is always yes.”
Chin lifted, I drink him in, getting lost in the dark pools he’s got fixed on me. “You don’t even know what I want.”
His lips twitch, and then his smile unfurls. “Doesn’t matter. The answer is always going to be yes.”
An easiness rolls through me, allowing me to relax against him, tempering every worry I’ve had for the last year.
Letting go of all my reservations, I choose to trust in this moment.
In this man I’m beginning to think might understand me better than I understand myself.
The man who knows what I need before I need it.
I’ve been running for so long, holding everything in, hiding behind the walls I’ve erected to protect myself.
And here Fisher is, showing up, day after day, tearing them down.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Fisher arches a questioning brow. “Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll come home with you.”