Chapter 13 #3
Moonlight shining outside the big picture windows cast a soft glow over an enormous bed with a curved wood headboard, a big chest of drawers, a light colored rug and an armchair.
He walked right by the bed to a door set in the left hand wall. Dipping slightly with her in his arms, he opened the door and flipped the switch. Chloe narrowed her eyes at the flare of light.
“Wow.” He put her down carefully, not letting her go until he was sure she was steady on her feet.
He shook his arms as if he’d carried an almost unbearable weight and huffed dramatically.
A man who’d just finished a hard, daunting task.
He whooshed out a last breath, putting fervor and drama behind it.
“Man. You really packed on those pounds, Chloe. I barely made it here.”
She looked, startled, into his bright blue eyes, like looking into blue searchlights. His lips pursed, fighting a grin.
He was flirting with her!
She’d been underweight all her life. Once, when she was twelve, after three operations in four months, she’d lost so much weight her kidney had slipped.
Now she weighed something close to normal, and some of that weight was muscle. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Watch your step, Keillor. Or I’ll clean your clock.”
The grin broke loose. She smiled back, so glad of the light moment, switching off the darkness for a second. Then the darkness and the memories returned.
She shivered involuntarily and Mike stilled.
His eyes searched hers, face grim. “I can’t guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen to you again, honey.
I can’t. No one can. I can’t guarantee that a shingle won’t fall off a roof and bean you.
I can’t swear some asshole drunk won’t plow into your car.
But look at me, Chloe.” He took her chin in his strong hand.
“One thing I can guarantee? Those two will never touch you again, not while I live. I hope that makes you feel better.”
Mike’s face was set, slightly pale. Light years away from the good-time guy face he presented to the world. Good old Mike. Good for a beer and a laugh.
This wasn’t that Mike. He wasn’t even in the same universe as that Mike. This Mike was a force of nature, strength and will in every cell of his body.
She nodded as a heavy pall lifted. No, no one could guarantee that nothing bad would ever happen again.
That wasn’t possible for anyone. But she was absolutely certain that right now she was utterly safe and if the hot glow in Mike’s eyes was any indication, something very good might happen very soon.
The bathroom had a huge tub and a big glass-enclosed shower cabin.
“I imagine you want to clean up,” Mike said. “Or do you want something to eat first?” His arm was still around her. He was very close, so close she could see the line of demarcation between his heavy five o’clock shadow and clear, tanned skin. Blue eyes stared into hers.
“Clean! Oh yes, please!” The idea of washing off the horrible experience, of washing away the violence and horror, trumped food or sleep.
Mike smiled a little. “Thought so. Bath or shower?”
Normally, bath. Soaking in warm water was nature’s way of healing many things, including bruises. But she wanted water washing over her, washing away the violence, sluicing down her body and gurgling down the drain, together with the memory of the two men attacking her.
“Shower.”
He nodded, his blue eyes never leaving hers. He watched her carefully as he reached behind her, keeping his hand flat against the upper part of her back, his huge hand nearly covering it. The hand was warm and heavy and he kept it there, at the top of the zipper, awaiting permission.
She nodded jerkily.
He pulled at the tab, a slow long glide down her back, opening the two panels. Cooler air washed over her bare back. She was watching him carefully and noted the exact instant he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Her breasts weren’t large or heavy. She didn’t really need a bra. In the winter she wore silk camisoles and in the summer nothing, liking the feel of silk or cotton or linen against her bare skin.
His skin tightened over his high cheekbones as the back of his fingers ran down her without encountering anything but skin. His hand rested on the bare skin of the small of her back, a hot, exciting weight.
Head radiated from his hand throughout her body, banishing cold and even the thought of cold.
Chloe was essentially in his embrace. She stood quietly, relishing every single sensation, simply soaking it up.
The expectant hush, the soft sound of his breath, the heat of his hand, the aura of strength and sex that pulsed around his person.
Mike had studiously refrained from touching her these past six months, so this massive sense of power and heat was new. Welcome, disconcerting, exciting.
They were standing chest to chest, Mike’s hand on her lower back in the quiet bathroom, almost an embrace. He reached out without looking and turned a tap. The rush of steaming water broke the silence. He kept his hand under the stream, never breaking his gaze.
“How hot do you want it?”
“Hot, but not boiling.”
He turned the tap, then swiveled a lever that sent the water through the showerhead.
Both his hands were on her now. He gently brought the panels forward, sliding them off her arms, being particularly careful with her bandaged arm. Holding her gaze, he swiped at the dress and it fell to her feet.
She was dressed in panties and sandals.
Face tight, Mike stepped back a little and looked her over. Everywhere he looked her skin heated, as if he’d touched her with his hands.
Bringing his gaze back up, he whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Chloe.”
The way he was looking at her, she could have been Nicole Kidman and Angelina Jolie and even Nicole all rolled into one, only shorter.
“Thank you.” She lowered her voice as he did, as if they were exchanging confidences.
He stepped even closer. Then, without warning, dropped to one knee, as a knight would to his queen.
Startled, Chloe looked down at the top of his head. He had beautiful, glossy, thick chestnut hair that he kept fairly short. But from here she could see that it would be unruly if it weren’t cropped.
The bathroom light picked up a few blond highlights and some white hairs along the temple.
Her hand lifted, hovered over his head, unsure. Then—to hell with it—she placed the palm of her hand on his hair, ran her fingers through his scalp. The hair was warm and soft. A minty shampoo smell wafted up.
Something came out of Mike’s throat, a sound like a big cat purring and he moved his head under her hand, the invitation clear. He liked it when she touched his hair. She spread her fingers, curled them, letting the short strands tickle them.
Mike let out a whoosh of air. “I like that.” His voice was deep, almost guttural.
“I’m glad,” Chloe said simply.
He stayed kneeling before her another minute while she ran her hand through his hair then reached up and slid her panties down her legs, lifting first one foot, then the other.
Chloe moved her hand from his head to his shoulder, for balance. His hair had felt pleasant under her fingers, but his shoulder…well pleasant wasn’t the word for it.
She’d held him in her arms six long months ago, and it had been wonderful. But it had been so fleeting, so brief. She barely remembered kissing him, except in her dreams.
But now—ah, bliss. Steely muscle, pure male power flowed up through her fingertips, almost like a transferal of force.
Mike slipped her sandals off, but didn’t rise. Instead, he brought his head forward and nuzzled her belly. His face was warm against her belly. He had just a little beard stubble and it tickled against her skin.
He licked her, right next to her belly button and the tickling sensation morphed into a rush of heat so intense it was like a door opening onto a bonfire. He licked again, opened his mouth against her skin and bit, just a little.
Chloe shuddered. Heat was blazing inside her. He nipped again, just a little bite that sent electric sparks through her. When he licked the tiny bite mark, her vagina pulled, muscles clenching around an invisible penis. The pull was so strong her stomach muscles moved.
Mike blew out a breath against her belly and leaned his head back to look at her face. He’d seen—he’d probably felt—what he did to her. But he didn’t have that smug male look of a man who’d turned a woman on. His face was pulled down in lines that looked almost like pain.
He blew out another breath and rose stiffly, as if his muscles ached. A glance down and Chloe could see why. Mike didn’t have his usual jeans on. He had on tan chinos and she could see him outlined against the light-weight material.
Wow.
“I turn you on.” She couldn’t believe she’d said those words. She almost looked around the bathroom to see if anyone else was there. But there was only Mike—and her.
He winced. “You have no idea, Chloe.”
“Then why—" This was so hard. She wasn’t used to expressing her desires. This would be embarrassing if she didn’t need to know like she needed to breathe.
It hadn’t made any sense to her and it still didn’t.
All she knew was that his distance these past six months had been so painful, like a sharp barb stuck in her heart.
“Why did you stay away? I mean, you didn’t stay away, you were around, but—” The words stuck in her throat but she had to get them out. No more swallowing what needed to be said. So she looked him straight in the eyes and opened herself up.
What could be the worst thing that could happen? Well, he could rip her to shreds…never mind. Even if he ripped her to shreds, she’d survived worse.
“You kissed me that day, at the Del Coronado. You remember, don’t you?”
Silence. Only the sound of the water hissing as came out of the showerhead, splashing into the bathtub. Mike’s jaw muscles jumped. “Oh yeah, I remember. Until the day I die, Chloe, I’ll remember.”