Hold Me Close

by Rosalind James

  She shook her head and tried to think. “Just . . . maybe just . . . too fast,” she said, staring somewhere to the right of him, unable to meet his eyes. “Too overwhelming. How I feel you feeling. I need some . . .”

  He sighed. “Some space. I can hear it. Some space.”

  “I’ll just . . . go get Eli.”

  “Right. I’ll let you do that.”

  She forced herself to look at him. “Thank you. And I’ll just . . . I’ll go.”

  ZERO TOLERANCE

  Luke ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Suspensions. He hated them. And “zero tolerance.” Whose idea had “zero tolerance” been? Sometimes a fight was just a fight. Sometimes it was even necessary.

  The truth was, of course, that he was upset that he’d screwed up with Kayla. It had killed him not to call her the night before, even while he’d known it was the last thing he should do.

  Holding her close wasn’t the problem. It was opening his arms and letting her know she was free to go. But that was what she needed, and he knew it, and he was going to do it.

  He put his hand on the phone when it rang and lifted it to his ear with guilty gratitude. At least this might be a different problem. “Luke Jackson.”

  Cindy’s voice on the other end. “I’ve got a Ms. Chambers out here. She doesn’t have an appointment. She says it’s personal. I told her you were busy, but—”

  Luke had already shot to his feet. He didn’t even finish the conversation, just smacked the receiver down and headed to the door. He swung it open and stepped outside, barely noticing the couple of kids sitting nervously in the waiting area. He just saw Kayla. Standing at the desk, changed out of her uniform and into her jeans. And Cindy saying, “Hello? Hello?” and banging down the receiver.

  “Hey,” Luke said, his smile starting, then fading, because he couldn’t tell. She looked nervous. Why?

  “Do you—” she asked. “Do you have time?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve got time.” He glanced at Cindy. “No calls. No nothing.” He saw the look on her face, and he didn’t care. He opened the door, held it for Kayla, and said, “Please.”

  She stepped inside, and he shut the door behind them. A hint of a smile, and she said, “I thought you had an open-door policy.”

  “Well, you know what they say about rules. They’re made to be broken.” He said it with half his attention, though.

  “Your secretary, though. She thought you were too busy. She said I should make an appointment.”

  “No. Definitely not. She just doesn’t like it when she doesn’t know everything. But I don’t want to talk about her. Oh. Sit.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk, then laughed a little and ran his hand through his hair again. “I mean, please. Sit down.”

  She dropped into the chair, and he perched on the edge of the desk, because there was no way he was sitting behind it again. “What’s going on?”

  She had her purse in her lap, was running the strap nervously through her fingers. “I came to say . . . I came . . .”

  “Whatever it is. Whatever. You can say it.”

  She looked up at him. “I came straight from work. Well—” She laughed, just a breath. “I guess that doesn’t matter. But—I was thinking about it all night. All day. It’s just—it’s just hard. It comes up like—it blows up like a . . . a dust storm. There’s nothing there; it’s fine; it’s good, and then—” She made a gesture, one hand flying up over her head. “Poof. It started feeling too fast, too much, and I know you’re not that. I know this isn’t the same. And all the same—”

  “It feels the same,” he finished for her. “Your body feels the same. Your body’s saying, danger. It’s called a trigger, Kayla. It happens. Like when I touched you, that first night here in the office. I touched you, and a man’s touch—what it meant to you, then, was that he was going to hit you. And what happened yesterday, I think, was that you felt something getting intense. And what your body told you was, when a man gets intense, you’re going to get beaten. Pain’s one hell of a conditioning device. And that’s what he did, I’ll bet. He conditioned you to appease him so you wouldn’t get the pain. And you still got the pain anyway, even if you did everything right. That’s the worst conditioning of all. The unpredictable kind. Makes you think you always have to be on your guard, because that punch can come out of nowhere.” It took everything he had to say it calmly, but he had to.

  “How do you . . . know?” It was barely a whisper.

  “You know how many kids I’ve seen who’ve been beaten? How many of their mothers? I know because I have to know. Because there are way too many assholes in this world who can’t feel strong unless they’re hurting somebody weaker, breaking them down. And I know how they do it. I know how those guys work.”

  “But I know that’s not you.” She was up, out of the chair, pacing, her arms wrapping around herself in the way he hated so much to see. “I know it. I can’t stand that I do that. It was so good! And then I messed it up.”

  “No.” He was standing now, too. “No, you didn’t. You got triggered, and you reacted. It’s going to happen. But what I want to know is . . .” He stopped, then went on. “Is that all you came to say? Because I get that. I already got it. But what now?”

  “I came . . . I came to say . . .” She turned to face him, lifted her chin. “That if you still want me to, I can get Marlene to come tomorrow night instead. I checked. I’m sure I shouldn’t have, and that I shouldn’t be telling the principal about it, but I texted her during school hours.”

  “You can tell the principal. You can tell him that any day of the week.” His heart was lifting. Soaring.

  “And another thing,” she went on. “I want to go get . . . those results tomorrow. I want what you want. If you still want it.”

  He had to hold her, so he did. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her into him, and her arms unwound and came around his back. She pressed her face against his shoulder, and they stood there like that, rocking a little, for a full minute.

  “I hope that answers your question,” he said when he’d felt her shoulders losing their tension.

  She pulled away with an unsteady laugh and swiped at her eyes. “Yeah. And I hope it means that you’ll still kiss me in the ladies’ room.”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll kiss you right here.” And he did. He put a hand under her chin, lifted her face to his, saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “Because in case I didn’t say this—I’m pretty damn crazy about you, Kayla Chambers. I’ll kiss you anywhere. Anytime.”

  “Well, that’s good.” She was smiling now. Not a big smile, but such a beautiful one. “Because I want to be kissed everywhere. And I’m hoping you’re going to do it tomorrow night. I’m going to get off work, and take a long bath, and . . .” She sighed. “I’m going to get so ready for you, Luke.”

  He dropped his forehead against hers and groaned. “You realize I’ve got to go back to work here, right? You trying to torture me?”

  “Mmm . . .” She considered. “Well—yeah. I am. It’s only fair. After the way you tortured me last time.”

  “Me? How did I torture you?”

  “When I was on your table? When you were . . . kissing me? You think that wasn’t torture? How would you feel if I did that to you? Wound you up, got you going that hard, got you that close, and then stopped? Over and over? You made me crazy. You made me scream.”

  “I did, didn’t I? But then, you’ve made me crazy since the first day I saw you. I’m just returning the favor. And I’m going to be returning it tomorrow night, too. Over . . .” He kissed her again. “And over,” he finished, kissing her again, his hand drifting down over a delicious, gentle curve, his fingers straying into the forbidden zone, feeling her shiver when he did it. “And so you know—I’m about ten seconds away from locking that door and returning it right now
. I get you screaming in here, and Cindy’s going to have so much to tell the Catholic Daughters. And it’s going to be absolutely, positively worth it.”

  BRING YOU HOME

  Kayla didn’t answer the door to him on Friday night. Eli did.

  “Hey, bud,” Luke said. He glanced past the boy to Marlene, who was setting out the Battleship game on the coffee table like the trooper she was. “Good to see you, Marlene.”

  “Mr. Jackson!” She set down the ship she was holding and jumped up, rubbing her hands over her pant legs. “I didn’t know you were—uh, the one . . .”

  “Yep. I’m Kayla’s date.” Might as well put it out there. “What, hadn’t you heard?” He sighed. “And here I thought I was big news and everything. Guess you all have better things to talk about.”

  She laughed a little breathlessly. “Well, I—uh, I heard that you were going out with somebody.”

  Her fiery-red blush was clashing with her auburn hair, so he took pity on her and held up the bag. “Taco Bell. Got some of everything for you guys, since I didn’t know what you liked.” He looked down at Eli. “All right?”

  “Awesome!” he said happily.

  “I know it isn’t hamburgers, but maybe you can stand it this time.”

  “That’s OK,” Eli said. “We did hamburgers last week.”

  Marlene looked interested in that, too, but Luke wasn’t paying much attention, because Kayla had come out of the bedroom. She was wearing the green dress, which was his favorite, her white sweater, and sandals, and carrying her jacket. Not dressed nearly warmly enough for a November night, but then, he wasn’t planning on taking her out in the cold.

  “Oh, good.” She sounded a little flustered herself. “You’re here. I’ll be home by midnight,” she told Marlene. “And you’ve got my cell number.” She bent to give Eli a kiss. “Have fun, sweetie.”

  “Bye,” Luke told them, and then he was holding the door for Kayla.

  “You bring your paperwork?” he asked her when he’d shut it behind them again.

  She held up her purse. “Yes, boss.”

  He laughed. “Got to have your permission slip to go on the field trip.”

  “Oh, is that what this is?”

  “Well—something like that.” He took her hand in his, saw her shiver in the cold, and hustled her over to his truck.

  “Are we going out to dinner?” she asked.

  “Uh—I wasn’t planning to.” He shut the door on her, headed over to his side, swung in, and started the truck up. “Unless you want to, of course. I thought we could—I mean—”

  “No,” she said. “I’m good with eating at your house. I just wondered why the truck. And why you came to get me at all. Why couldn’t I just have walked up the hill like normal?”

  “Because that’s not how I want to do it. Because that would make it a—” He stopped and shrugged, then took the first in the series of lefts that would take them up to D Street.

  “A what?” she asked with interest.

  “It would make it seem like a booty call,” he admitted reluctantly, pulling into his driveway. “Like I was calling you to come over and have sex. I mean it. You want dinner, dancing—we can do the works. You want me to take you out and show you a good time, you just say the word.”

  “Or,” she said, sliding across the bench seat before he had time to do more than unfasten his shoulder belt, wrapping an arm around his neck, and pulling his head down for a soft kiss, “you could show me a good time right here. We could cook dinner together, which I’m really hoping is something quick and easy. We could eat it, and I could pretend that I’m hungry, and that I care. You could make some intelligent conversation that I pretend to listen to, while I think about you kissing me and wish you’d hurry up and do it. And then you could take me to bed and make me feel like that bath I took was worth it. I got really, really clean for you,” she whispered in his ear, and if he’d needed to be heated up any more, she’d just done it. “And really, mmm, smooth, too. I look so pretty with my clothes off, Luke.”

  Damn. She was kissing his neck. One hand was on his chest, the other was playing in his hair, and he was halfway to gone.

  “Well—” It came out strangled, and he cleared his throat. “Well, damn, girl. Let’s get you inside and take a look at you, then.”

  “Oh? Don’t want to do it in a truck? I’m small. I’d fit on your seat. Want me to show you?”

  He sat back against the door and stared at her. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Kayla?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know. I just . . . I went and picked up this paper today, and I thought about what you said, and it made me . . . happy. And then I went home and took a bubble bath, and I, um . . . ”

  “Oh, yeah?” He had an arm around her, was nuzzling her neck now, and the other hand had drifted under the hem of that dress, which had slid up her legs when she’d moved across the seat. His thumb was stroking up the velvet skin of her inner thigh, and she was shifting a little under him, just like that. “What exactly did you do?”

  “Well, I, um . . .”

  “Kayla.” He sighed. “Are you telling me that you texted one of my students during school, and you touched yourself in the bathtub, too?”

  She didn’t answer, just wriggled closer, and her mouth opened in a sigh as his hand stroked up, and up further. And when his thumb slid over damp cotton, she gasped.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “You did do that, didn’t you? You’ve spent all afternoon getting warmed up for me. No fair getting a head start.”

  “I think . . .” she managed to say, “you’re going to be able to catch up. Something tells me you . . .” He stroked again, slipped his hand under a leg band, ran a thumb over silky smoothness and explored a little, and she caught her breath. “Uh . . . you . . .”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. You know what? Dinner’s overrated.”

  He didn’t take her to bed, though. He took her straight into the bathroom and turned on the heater.

  “Um . . .” she began to say.

  “Shh.” He reached down and pulled that little green dress right over her head. “That bath thing you did . . . you can’t give me that visual and not let me do something about that.”

  She was standing there in her pink bra and matching bikini underwear, and he had to step back a moment and look at her. “You’re so damn pretty,” he said. “All those sweet little curves. So pretty, and when I see you like this, I want to touch you everywhere. So we’re going to take a bath, and I’m going to get you warm and soft and sleepy, and we’re going to do just that. How’s that for a plan?”

  “Don’t you want to see my permission slip first?” She had her hands on the front of his white dress shirt, was popping one button at a time, kissing as she went, pressing her face into his chest and inhaling him, and he was already burning up.

  He reached down and pulled off his boots, then his socks. “You know what? This is the honor system we’ve got going here. Get your sandals off.”

  “Mm.” A smile curved that irresistible mouth, and she bent down in her underwear and did it. And then she bent down some more, until she was on her knees on his bathroom rug, her hands on his belt buckle, looking up at him. “Do you want this?” she asked him softly.

  “Is this a . . . trick question?” he managed to ask over the roaring in his head.

  Another sweet, soft smile, and she was unbuckling his belt and lowering the zipper on his Levi’s. “Then take off your shirt for me.”

  He felt both sleeve buttons pop as he yanked them over his hands and tossed the shirt to the floor, but who cared? Because she was smiling again, stroking her hands under the waistband of his boxer briefs, then sliding her palms down, around, all over him.

  “I’m going to take these off, too,” she said.

  That sounded like one hell of a good idea. And when s
he did it, he stepped out of them and kicked them aside as well.

  “You going to give me something good tonight?” she asked him, stroking a hand down the length of him and making his toes curl. She scooted a little closer on her knees, and her mouth was almost there. Almost, but not quite.

  “Everything I’ve got,” he managed to say. “Kayla. Please.”

  “Please?” she asked, and then she held him, kissed him, and he jumped a little and groaned.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Please. Please.” His hands were in her hair, and he was trying so hard not to grab, not to shove her, but oh, man. How was he supposed to keep from doing it?

  “Then I’m going to take everything you’ve got,” she said. “Starting right now.”

  She didn’t do any talking after that, because she was busy. Eventually, his legs weren’t supporting him anymore, and he was leaning against the wall, his back against the towel rack, his hands around her head, his fingers twining through her curls while she worked on him with that sinner’s mouth. Worked him over so good, until his head was pressed against the wall, and he was groaning.

  Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled her head gently away from him. “Stop. I can’t . . . I can’t hold out any longer.”

  She sat back on her heels and looked up at him, reached a hand up to wipe her chin, and smiled. Slow and wicked, not Kayla at all. “Did I ask you to hold out?”

  “Kayla. No. I can’t—I won’t be able to stop.”

  “And, see,” she said, her hand stroking him, driving him up a few more degrees, “I didn’t ask you to. I asked you to give it to me. Because I want it.”

  Then she had her mouth around him again. His hands were grabbing for the towel rack, he was rising onto his toes, and his head was banging against the wall. Over and over and over.

  There was no choice, in the end, but to get her naked and run the water deep in his claw-foot tub. He’d been planning for it to be good. But after all that—it was going to have to be even better. And when he climbed in and pulled her in to sit on top of him, her back against his front, it started getting that way fast.