Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dawson woke with a splitting headache. The bright sunlight streaming in through a crack in the curtains didn’t help the throbbing pain.
Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he glanced around the room with confusion until his gaze landed on the pink painted birdhouse hanging in the very corner of the ceiling.
Charlotte was written in glitter paint above the tiny round door.
Then he knew exactly where he was.
Memories of the night before flashed through his head. Slamming shots of whiskey. Unclasping bras. Kissing hot, sweet lips. Confessing things he had no business confessing.
He sat up, then grabbed his head as it exploded in pain.
It took a few deep breaths before the pain subsided enough to open his eyes.
The room was small and decorated in dark wood and neutral beiges with touches of pink everywhere.
Pink athletic shoes, flip-flops, and high heels cluttered the floor.
A pink fuzzy robe draped over a chair. Pink suitcases sat in a corner.
Pink perfume bottles and jewelry spilled over the top of the dresser.
And then there was the pink house in the corner of the ceiling.
Did the spider actually live in the house?
“She hates it.”
He turned his head to see Magnolia standing in the doorway in a pair of shorty pajamas printed with pink pillows and dial telephones with long curly cords.
She moved into the room, her fluffy pink slippers slapping the floor, and handed him three aspirins and a cup that said, Read to Live, before making herself comfortable on the foot of the bed with her bare legs pretzeled in front of her.
“I think it’s the pink.” When he didn’t say anything, she glanced up at the house in the corner.
“Charlotte’s house. I should have painted it black since she’s a spider and all.
Then maybe she’d go in it.” She looked back at him.
“Does your head hurt? I tried to give you aspirin last night, but you were pretty out of it. I had a hard time getting you up the stairs.”
“Why did you go to the trouble? You could have just dropped me off at a hotel.”
“A wing-woman never leaves a drunk friend. It’s a rule.”
He squinted at her. “Wing-woman?”
“Well, I’m certainly not your wingman. Now take these.”
He tossed the aspirin into his mouth and took a sip of coffee. It was horrible, but he didn’t let on. At least, he thought he hadn’t let on.
“I know. It’s crap.” She scrunched her nose, making him notice that she wasn’t wearing makeup. Freckles peppered her nose like sprinkles on a birthday cupcake. Her lashes were a light brown that complemented her green eyes. And her cheeks held just a touch of pink . . . that deepened.
“I guess I look like hell warmed over.”
He tipped his head and studied her. “Actually, you look like the Maggie May I remember. The cute kid I caught writing cuss words in the playground slide tunnel.”
She blinked. “I wrote cuss words in the slide tunnel?”
He took another sip of coffee. It might be awful, but the caffeine was helping his headache. “Just one. F. U. K.” He thought she’d laugh. Instead, she stared at a spot over his shoulder as if trying to remember.
He often wished he didn’t remember his childhood, but he now realized how disconcerting it would be to remember nothing. Especially when your mama had been as loving as Magnolia’s.
“Have you been back to the school?” he asked. “Maybe that would jog your memory.”
“Yes, but it didn’t help.”
“What about your old house?”
She picked at the pink fuzz of her slippers. “No. I haven’t been there. I didn’t want to bug the people who are renting it. I’m not sure why my dad won’t sell it. Especially when he got rid of everything else of Mom’s.”
Since she had absolutely no trouble bugging people, he knew there was another reason she didn’t want to go back to her childhood home. Obviously, she didn’t want to remember as much as she let on. He understood. Even happy memories could be painful.
He figured that was the case when she changed the subject . . . to one he didn’t want to talk about.
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me about the night the gas station got robbed.”
He tensed and set his cup on the nightstand. “Look, I was drunk. I shouldn’t have told you about that night. I would appreciate if you’d just forget I said anything.”
“But that’s why it’s still eating you. You need to deal with it. And I decided I’m going to help you.”
“No.” He tossed back the blankets and got up, ignoring the pain in his head as he grabbed his jeans from the floor and slipped them on. “You’re not going to help me do anything.”
She jumped to her feet. “Now don’t get all closed up again. I thought last night proved that we can be friends and confide in each other.”
He picked up his shirt. “And I think those kisses proved just the opposite.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going to use our sexual attraction as a distraction. So, we shared a few simple kisses. So what?”
He turned to her. “Simple?”
“Okay, so maybe they weren’t all that simple, but I thought I explained that we can be sexually attracted to each other and not do anything about it.”
He should have let it go. He should have grabbed his boots and walked right out the door and left her to her belief she could resist her sexual attraction to him. But he couldn’t do it. His damned ego refused to let her make a mini donut out of him.
He dropped his shirt. “Really?”
She jerked her gaze from his bare chest and lifted her chin. “Really.”
“So, say if I accidentally brushed against you like this . . .” He reached out and ran his fingers down her arm in a light caress.
“You wouldn’t feel a thing?” The line of goose bumps that rose on her soft skin in the wake of his fingertips answered his question. So did the swift intake of her breath.
Her voice was huskier when she spoke. “Well, obviously I’d feel something, but that doesn’t mean I’d have to act on it.”
“Ahh, so if you stumbled and, being a considerate friend, I reached out to catch you like this . . .” He slipped his hands under the hem of her pajama top and grasped her waist, pulling her into his chest. Her breath caught, but so did his at the feel of the warm, bare skin beneath his palms and the press of soft, braless tits against his ribcage.
Her eyes reflected the same lust that swept through him.
“You wouldn’t want to take things further, Maggie May?
” He leaned closer and pressed his cheek against hers, inhaling her pink happy scent before whispering in her ear.
“You wouldn’t want to know what it feels like to have me deep inside you?
To have me find that perfect spot that brings you to a moaning .
. . screaming . . . breathless orgasm?” He took a nibble of her earlobe before sucking it into his mouth.
“Because I can find it, baby.” His hands slid down and palmed her ass cheeks, pressing her against the erection riding his fly. “I can make you scream.”
As a tremble ran through her body, he wanted nothing more than to slip off the silky little pillow and telephone pajamas, push her back on the bed, and use his mouth, tongue, fingers, dick, and every other part of his body to make her scream his name over and over again.
Not to prove a point, but because he wanted this woman like he had never wanted another woman in his life.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t lied when she said she had good willpower.
Before he could do any of that, she pulled out of his arms. The flush on her cheeks and heat in her eyes said she felt as hot as he did, but she wasn’t giving into it.
Damn, if he didn’t admire her for that.
“I know exactly what you’re doing, Dawson Hennessy.
You’re deflecting again. Trying to do anything to keep from talking about your true feelings.
But I refuse to let our sexual attraction get in the way of giving you what you need.
And that’s not sex. It’s a friend you can talk to like you did last night.
A friend who will help you to stop putting yourself last and start putting yourself first. And the first thing you need to do to put yourself first is to talk with Jaxon and let him know exactly how you feel.
Tell him that you’ve been riddled with guilt over losing it that night and setting those tires on fire.
Tell him that you’re brokenhearted that a brother you’ve always looked up to doesn’t believe you. Because you did not rob Mickey’s.”
“Thanks for the therapy session, doc.” He pulled on his shirt. “But it wouldn’t do any good to talk to Jaxon. We Hennessys are experts at keeping our true feelings to ourselves. Jaxon would just tell me he believes me when he doesn’t.”
Her chin got that stubborn set to it that meant she was not giving up. “Then we’ll just have to figure out who really did rob the gas station that night and prove it to him.”
He stopped snapping his shirt and stared at her. “What?”
“If that’s the only way to prove your innocence, then we need to figure out who really did rob the gas station.
Did you see anyone when you were starting the fire?
Anything suspicious? Is there someone in town who had it out for Mickey?
A pissed off relative? An angry teenage son he wouldn’t give an allowance to?
Which would make sense given that the money was returned the following day. ”
He had never experienced a heart attack before, but the tightening in his chest and the way he couldn’t pull in a deep breath seemed like a good indication of one. His sudden need for air must have shown on his face because Magnolia’s eyes widened.
“Dawson? Are you okay? Do you feel like you need to throw up?” She grabbed a nearby trashcan and pushed him back toward the bed. Since he did feel like throwing up, he sat down and took the trashcan from her, bending over it as he tried to breathe.