by S. E. Hall
HANDLED 2
HANDLED 2
S.E. Hall and Angela Graham
Copyright © 2014 S.E. Hall & Angela Graham
All rights reserved
Cover: Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creations
Editor: Erin Roth, Wise Owl Editing
Formatter: Joni Wilson
This book may not be reproduced in any form,
in whole or in part,
without written permission from the author.
This book is intended for mature audiences only.
DEDICATION
To those who handle our "spontaneity" with love.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
In Case You Missed
Check Out Packaged
Connect with S.E. Hall
About Angela Graham
Chapter 1
"Thank you."
I hear his rushed exhale as my eyes blink open, heavy and sore, to find Vaughn's face tilted toward the sky. They try to close again, struggling against my confusion and the throb in my head, but I force them to stay open. Unsure what's happening, I lay somewhere, the frigid earth at my back, as his attention is cast down to me.
"There she is." He cradles my cheek in the warmth of his palm, the severity in his features melting when I clear my throat. "Brown has never looked more beautiful, Paige. Let me see those eyes again. Come on, Firecracker, show 'em to me."
I fight the weight of my lids, the ones begging to close. I want to see him, know he's here, and give him what he begs of me.
"Paige," he whispers, the lingering undertone of panic in his usually playful voice striking deep in my chest.
A smile tugs at my lips when my eyes finally cooperate and meet his, the most riveting blue they've ever been, brimming with an unrecognizable emotion I'm too groggy to decipher.
It's beyond clichéd, and if I had half my wits about me, I'd be laughing at us both…but in this moment, it's as though time stands still. Cold no longer nips at my bones, there's no fear, no worry—only us. Just two people that, no matter how much I deny it, have a connection. An instinctive, effortless bond that refuses to cede its power.
His hand slides down my cheek to my mouth, his thumb tracing the contours of my lower lip while the other strokes up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. It's a gentle act, tender and almost…romantic. And true to form—fucked-up freak—I cower from his touch, dying a little inside as his hand retreats and that affectionate expression I was just admiring fades.
I brace myself, unsure what to expect from this version of Vaughn…the whole "softer side of Sears" campaign threw me for a loop too. And good thing it did. There's no instant sarcasm or sexual innuendo; instead, he takes a minute, staring off into the distance before glancing back down at me.
"You still got a voice in there, Firecracker?" he finally asks.
"Always," I grate out, the sound heinous to my own ears, like that of someone who actually eats gravel. I think it's safe to say I could use a drink, and as though he read my mind, he's up digging through a bag and offering me a bottle of water before my thought's even finished.
I try to sit up—try being the very non-operative word there—and crumple back again in pain and frustration. "Thanks," I manage, carefully manipulating my disoriented, aching body onto my side and taking a sip.
"Might wanna nurse that one. We only have two left."
I tear my lips away from the bottle I'm anything but nursing and stare up at him in confusion. "What?"
His only reply's the shift his eyes make once around the area, mine following. Reality crashes over me in a crushing blow, one I refuse to break under, so I take in my new surroundings, squelching any drastic reaction.
Trees, trees, and more trees. But wait, that's not all folks, we can't leave out the merciless snow barreling down, piling on my eyelashes when I look up to cuss it and its mother. Nature. Know her? Yeah, she's a bitch.
"We wrecked, huh?"
He nods in slow motion, the tiniest hint of temptation curling the sides of his mouth and sparking a twitch in his brow. More than anything, he's itching to respond to my mindless question with something along the lines of "can't a guy take you out in the middle of the woods and throw you on the ground without automatically being accused of wrecking?" But he doesn't, probably thinking now is not the time for jokes.
Well, he better snap out of it! Swiss Family Fucking Snowdrift is more than enough change for one day. The only way we'll get through this is if normal Paige and recognizable Vaughn, the guy I know, the one that can make me laugh when it's the last thing I want to do, work together. I need him now more than ever.
"We hit a patch of black ice," he begins. "The trailer fishtailed, I couldn't recover control, and the truck flipped. I know it's freezing, but I had to get you out. The, uh—"
Truck flipped? Not just a wreck. We could've been killed! His gloom and doom suddenly makes a whole lot more sense now as an icy dose of my own earnest sets in.
"Help me up?" I want to see what we survived, what he saved me from.
"Are you sure?" His teeth worry his bottom lip, eyes shrouded with concern. "I don't want to move you if it hurts. I know the ground's cold, but…" He runs his hands through his hair then down his grave face. "Fuck! I'm so sorry, Paige." He dips his head, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "I never shoulda brought you with me. I knew the weather was gonna get bad, but I figured worst case scenario…" His eyes peer up, a sad smile of regret, guilt, and apology on his lips. "I figured maybe we'd get snowed in together somewhere—not this. Not…" He drops to his knees beside me and holds my hands.
"Hey, Vaughn, look at me." I manage to sit up on my own this time, forcing his face to mine with a hand to his cheek. "It's not your fault. I may not be as brilliant as the Channel 5 weathergirl, but I know what snow looks like and saw it falling when I willingly climbed in the truck with you. So quit taking all the credit, Showboat. And help me off the ground, my ass is numb."
He's on his feet immediately, grasping my hands, a genuine smile showing itself…for all of five seconds. With every groan or hiss I make, though I'm wincing as little as possible, his whole body tenses until he's finally had enough. With a barbaric growl, he sweeps me up into his arms. "Talk to me. Where you hurting? Your head?"
"I think I just twisted my ankle. No big deal. Lucky as hell, considering." I don't have the energy to pinpoint every ache and I don't want him beating himself up over an accident, so I wrap my arms tight around his neck and bury my face in his chest, leaving out the part about my pounding temples and ringing in my ears. "Did you call someone? We should stay in the truck to keep warm. Our jackets aren't thick and you had gloves in your—"
"Paige," he kisses my cheek, "the cab, final resting spot of our phones and the CB, is smashed under a tree branch. We'll just have to wait 'til they figure out I didn't make it with my load and come looking for us. I'd gone off route so it could be a while." He bends, no falter in his hold on me as he grabs his pack off the ground. "Can you hold this in your lap? I always keep some water in it in case I break down. There are probably some snacks and other shit in there too."
"Great." I roll my eyes. "So a couple bottles of water and some jawbreakers are gonna keep us alive for God knows how long?"
"I said other shit too. I'm pretty sure there's beef jerky."
"Jackpot!" I bellow, gnawing on the inside of my lip to contain what else I really want to say...which doesn't work. "Is that all men ever pack? What about granola bars o
r, I don't know, maybe a first aid kit?"
"First aid kit was crushed under my seat, and my seat was crushed under the tree branch," he explains easily. "But wait 'til you're hungry. Jerky will sound a whole lot better then. And there may be a damn granola bar—or five! Didn't search it, Paige, snagged it and got the hell outta Dodge. Now hold on, I'm pretty sure I saw a driveway a few miles back. Might be a house at the end of it."
My head flies up from the warmth of his chest and meets his tortured gaze. "You can't carry me for miles! Aren't you hurt anywhere?" I give him a quick once over while he keeps walking, not a bit out of breath.
Kinda hot.
Not what I should be thinking right now.
"Think it, babe." He winks down at me. "Glad your concussion didn't mess up your vision."
"I didn't mean to say that out loud," I mutter.
"I know." He laughs for the first time since I came to. At least my bi-polar bouts have a wide range—from flashes of humor to alleviate realism to grumpy to appreciative and slightly turned on—and are keeping him entertained and level-headed.
Hoisting me up gently to reaffirm his grip, he makes a joke, finally. "I may just start randomly hitting you over the head with shit. I'm liking concussed Paige."
Although I'm relieved to see signs of the Vaughn I know returning, I ignore that last comment, lost in possible scenarios of Plan B and C if there's no house at the end of this driveway he thinks he may have seen.
"Wait!"
He stops short, eyes wide. "What? You okay?"
"Oh, yeah." I swat away his hypochondria with a lazy flick of my hand, his response an annoyed frown. "What were you hauling?"
"Huh?"
"The load you were hauling, what was in it?" I ask again, begging the universe for a trailer packed with aisles 1-20 of a superstore…in the groceries section.
"Hate to piss on the parade in that gorgeous smile, but it was nothing more than auto parts."
"Car parts!" I groan, hanging my head. "Seriously?"
"Yup." He starts walking again, ignoring my grumbling. "Don't worry, babe, there's one thing we still have, wreck be damned. You get my motor revving." He laughs.
"Oh, for God's sake, Cheesedick, at least try," I shoot and score.
We continue our trek over fallen trees, down hills, and up steep climbs, switching from swapping jibes to playing a game of I Spy to entertain ourselves.
"Brown and fast?" I question his latest clue.
"Mmm hmm."
My eyes roam the endless blanket of white surrounding us—you'd think something brown would stick out—but I come up blank. Thank God bears, often brown, hibernate during the winter or my ass would be outta his arms and running in the opposite direction of the woods, not trekking deeper into them, no matter how my ankle feels about it.
From the corner of my eye, I catch something move behind a patch of white bumps, which I assume are bushes in the spring.
"Damn, what I'd give for your .22 right now," Vaughn says, looking off in the same direction.
Completely still now, we both wait and a moment later a large deer emerges. I think I hear myself gasp, and Vaughn stiffens. The creature is magnificent and calm until he realizes we're actually there, and then, like a gust of wind…he's off.
"Would have made a damn fine dinner."
I roll my eyes, yet don't bother to hide my smile. "And you'd clean and cook him where?"
"Hey, I hunt, you do the cookin'. And if you do it well, I'll provide the dessert." His suggestive tone, teamed with dancing eyebrows, draws out my laughter.
"First, we don't have shelter, let alone fire or an oven. And there will be no dessert on this little adventure."
"Head injury. You're not yourself yet, I get it." His hand glides down my back and grips my ass. "But don't try and lie to us both."
His fingers caress the skin at the waist of my jeans in subtle brushes before slipping inside and sizzling over my flesh. My arousal soars to life, warming me in depths that want to beg for more.
"Seriously, I can try to walk, Vaughn." I squirm, needing space between his fondling and its effect on me, but he squashes my efforts, a constrictive hold crushing me against his body.
"Stop moving and bitching," he warns, tightening his grip. "Tell me more about how hot I am and how badly you want us to make a pit stop right over there at that log so I can—"
"Tell me what this fast brown thing I can't spy is?" I ask in my perkiest taunt. "Was it the deer?"
"Considering he came out after the clue…" He smirks. "Uh, no. It was your eyes. Brown and always rolling so fast sometimes I miss it."
"Good one." My body slackens against him, relieved when his hand works its way back out of my pants. "Vaughn, what if there isn't a house?" I ask softly. "I know we can't get in it, but maybe we should've stayed by the truck anyway? That's where they'll look. Or what if there is a house and Deliverance people live in it? Did you see that movie? Because—"
Never mind. Every idea dies on my lips when he stops abruptly, lifting me higher, and shuts me up with a frenzied kiss. His lips first take languid, whispered swipes at mine, but then his tongue snakes inside to erase all thoughts but of his taste, both of us stealing breath from the other—half released panic, half need—happy to share it with someone else.
I rearrange my upper body, digging my hands in his hair, tugging him closer. He groans in my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip harder. I whimper, unable to stifle it, when he pulls back to replenish his air supply, chest thumping in time with my own.
"As long as there's breath in my body, no one will hurt you. We need shelter. That's the plan. Argue with me again and I'll fuck you into seeing things my way." He leaves no room for argument, his tone so adamant and carnal I'm actually considering listening, his eyes fierce both from our kiss and my rattling stubbornness.
"Was that last part in the Boy Scout handbook?" I lick my lips, reveling in his lingering flavor.
He laughs with his entire body, my own shaking along, then he kisses the end of my nose. "Nothing Scout about me, babe. If there was, I wouldn't be hard as hell right now, looking for places to bend you over and fuck ya in ways that'd scare away the wildlife for miles." He shakes his head, chuckling softly to himself. "I'm positive that's not in the motto."
"Better you than the Deliverance gang," I grump, conceding defeat and letting my head fall back onto his chest, closing my eyes for the rest of the trek.
Chapter 2
"Is—was that a rat?" I know I sound like every girl I hate, but rats? I'd rather freeze to death. Glass half full, though? The cabin—that's what Vaughn's calling it, so I guess I will too, even though "Little Mortuary on the Prairie" seems more fitting—is shy any inbred, horny hill people.
I'm guessing the rats ate them.
"Nah, you're seeing things. Stay here, I'm gonna look around for something to clean your cuts with." He sets me down on a wooden table and starts flinging open cupboards and pulling out drawers. My body grows painfully rigid with each new, possible passageway for critters unknown to announce themselves.
Soon it'll be dark and we'll lose the dim light we have now…camouflaging the night ambush. I think I'd prefer it that way—or would I? They can smell blood, I know that. I watched The Bone Collector, dammit, and I have open wounds.
"Vaughn," my voice wobbles, "rats…they like blood, and their beady little eyes work better in the dark and…oh, God." My vision gets splotchy as I start to hyperventilate. Bugs, stomp or swat 'em. Spiders, same plan. But disease-infested vermin with teeth? I'm tapping out!
"Hey." He rushes to me, pushing my head down between my knees. "Breathe, Paige. Where's the badass I know? We're gonna be fine, all right?"
I nod, sucking in one huge lungful of not so fresh air after another, ashamed that I'm wigging out so badly. But seriously, is this really happening right now? Trapped in this place with a twisted ankle and a blizzard blowing down around us and maybe some beef fucking jer
ky?
"Paige, I'll take care of you." He lifts my head, smoothing his cheek against mine and stroking my hair. "I need you to believe in that."
"I want to," I murmur on instinct.
"Yeah?" He crouches at my eye level now, wearing a hopeful, sincere smile. "You do?"
"Yes." My shoulders drop with my sigh. "I want to believe in you. And that's a lot more—"
"I know. I'll take it," he interrupts and covers my mouth with a chaste kiss then pulls off his jacket, hoodie, and even shirt—in the extreme cold—and holds up a finger. "One sec, don't move."
Again with the moving. Where is he so afraid I'm gonna scurry off to?
He opens the door, scoops something up, and hurries back in, squeezing the shirt he should be wearing around a clump of snow, melting it in his hands. Wiping off the excess ice, he gently begins to clean the blood from my head. "There," he kisses the spot, "anywhere else?"
"Just sore everywhere. What about—Vaughn!" I scowl, placing a hand gently on his shoulder, which is clearly out of sorts…or socket. "You are hurt, dammit! Look at your shoulder—Jesus, Vaughn!"
It's cut, already darkening into one huge bruise, and contorted, his arm distending at a very weird, obviously abnormal and painful angle, a swollen purple lump where his broad, etched shoulder should be.
"You carried me, in your arms, for miles with an injury like that?"
"It's nothing, I barely noticed. But," he gives me the pleading blue gaze of a puppy who wants to sleep on the bed, "you think you can reset it?"
Reset it? What had to be at least two miles of journey here was spent with him toting my ass, further hurting himself, all so I wouldn't have to walk on a simple twisted ankle? I should continue my ranting, but instead I'm staring at him, eyes tearing up from the spread of warmth over my swelling heart.
"Shh. Don't cry, Paige." He swipes a fallen tear from my cheek with his thumb, concern tugging down on the corners of his mouth. "I'll be fine, I promise."