He heard? Damn, I was trying to be quiet.
“Come here,” he murmured, settling down beside me, and pulled me alongside him. I fit up against him perfectly. He was so much bigger that he completely dwarfed me, and when I settled my head on his chest and he wound his arms around me, it was like I was completely surrounded by him. Like I was finally where I belonged. After all these years of searching, I finally found my place.
A few more tears leaked out and dripped on his shirt, but he didn’t complain. “It’s okay, Katie,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“My entire life…” I said, pausing to drag in some air, “is a complete disaster.”
“You have me.”
For some reason those three words made me cry harder. Like the kind of cry that shook your insides and made ugly sounds rip from your throat. So very unattractive.
He didn’t say anything. He held me, just like that night in the parking lot. He was a complete rock while chaos reigned around him.
When I was done with my ugly cry, I used his shirt to wipe my eyes. He chuckled. “Feel free to use my shirt as a tissue,” he said dryly.
“Oh,” I said, not even realizing what I’d done. “I—”
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you feel better?”
His tenderness was just more than I could bear. I started crying again. “I haven’t washed my hair in a week,” I sobbed, picking up his shirt and using it once again.
“You haven’t?” he said, trying to hide the amusement in his voice.
“No. It hurts my hands and wrists too much.” I dropped his shirt. “I smell!” I wailed.
That seemed to open the floodgates once again, and I swore if I didn’t stop crying soon I was going to drown us both.
I guess Holt finally had enough because he extracted himself from my snotty clutches and got off the bed. When I thought he would leave, he turned back and picked me up off the bed. He walked into the bathroom across the hall (I refused to use his master bathroom, saying it was for him) and reached around the curtain to turn on the shower.
“What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously.
“Washing your hair.”
“What? No, you can’t!”
Visions of me having to get naked before him swam through my head and created a flurry of panic within me. Before I could wiggle out of his embrace, he was stepping in the shower—both of us fully clothed—and pulling the curtain closed behind us.
I shrieked when the water soaked my legs and feet. “Holt!” I gasped.
“Hold your arms out of the way,” he instructed.
I did, pushing my arms up over my head so the fresh bandages wouldn’t get ruined.
Then he stepped beneath the spray, drenching us both. “We’re wearing clothes!”
“Do you want to get naked?” he drawled.
“I’m a virgin,” I blurted out, and immediately I wanted to die of embarrassment.
Every muscle in his body stilled. I wasn’t even sure he breathed.
Finally, after a few long, tense minutes, he looked at me. “Did I hear you right?”
I nodded miserably. What in the hell possessed me to say such a thing? It was the truth, but geez, talk about diarrhea of the mouth.
He stepped back out of the spray and set me down on my feet, my back facing the water.
I expected him to leave.
I didn’t expect him to stay.
I didn’t expect the words that came out of his mouth.
Carefully, he took my arms, looping them around his neck so my hands and wrists were behind his head, and then he took my face in his hands, lifting it up so he could stare down into my eyes.
“That makes me really happy, Freckles.”
I blinked. “It does?”
He nodded slowly.
“The thought of anyone else’s hands on you drives me insane. Now I get to be your first. And your last.”
Oh my.
He lowered his head, pressing a very brief kiss to my lips before pulling away and using his hands to tilt my head back. Warm water poured over my scalp, saturating my hair and making me moan.
“You’re really gonna wash my hair?” I asked.
“I don’t get into showers fully clothed for any other reason,” he drawled.
“We look ridiculous.”
“Who cares?”
I surrendered then. To his touch. To the feel of his hands in my hair. He used a lot of shampoo, so he spent an absurd amount of time massaging it in and running it through the thick mass of my water-logged strands. Then he rinsed it all out, the suds clinging to our clothes and bubbles floating around us in the tiny enclosed space.
He even conditioned it, taking care to work the stuff through the ends of the tangled mess.
“That feels so good,” I murmured. I don’t think I’d ever felt anything so pleasant in my entire life. It was as if the whole world fell away; all my responsibilities and all my stress just seemed to slip right down the drain with the suds he rinsed away.
As he worked, I was treated to the close-up view of his soaked shirt plastered to his chest. It molded perfectly against his ripped chest and abs. I could see every muscle, every plane of his body. I wondered how often he had to work out to look that way.
Suddenly I was self-conscious about what I looked like. I knew my shirt was see-through. I knew it was likely plastered to me the same way his was, except I didn’t look like that. I was thin, with not so many curves and small breasts. He was all tan, smooth, and tall with rippling muscles. I was small, freckled, and pale with no muscle definition at all.
“Watch your wrists,” he said, stepping back.
I held them up and out, thinking he was going to go get us some towels.
He took off his shirt.
I must have gaped because he paused. “Is this okay?”
I could only stare at the way the droplets of water clung to his skin and slid down… down into the waistband of his low-slung jeans.
“I just wanted to use it,” he said softly, stepping toward me cautiously like I was a bird with a broken wing. “To do this.” He used the end of the shirt to wipe my face and eyes, cleaning away what was left of my tears and what happened earlier.
I started to close my eyes again, but I forced them to remain open. I wanted the satisfaction of seeing him, of getting an eyeful of all that skin.
My arms began to feel tired from holding them out for so long, but I ignored the burning and continued to look my fill. His chest was completely hairless and it glistened beneath the water.
I found myself reaching out toward him, just wanting to see what he would feel like.
He shook his head slowly. “You’ll get wet.”
“I don’t care.”
He smiled. “I do. Bryant did a good job on those bandages. You need to leave them on all night.”
I sighed, robbed of something I wanted so badly. He gave a deep chuckle and directed both my arms back around his neck to rest on his shoulders.
“Can I touch you, Katie?” he asked, his voice husky and low.
I nodded, wanting more of the way he made me feel before.
He started at my elbow, running his hand down toward my armpit where he skimmed lightly over the sensitive skin and continued down my side, leaving a trail of heat wherever he went. I was wearing a white top that buttoned up the front. It was an A-line style, so it was tighter up top and then sort of floated out around my waist. The skirt I wore was snug and black; it fell at a modest length (because it was for work) but still above the knee. I’d been careful about the choices I made when I picked up some new clothes. I needed pieces I could wear for work and more casually because I was only able to buy a few things.
It was a cute outfit, but right now I hated it. It felt like a block of concrete covering my skin. It was a too-thick barrier between him and me.
His hands went to the buttons, fingering them, playing with them. “We don’t have to do
anything you don’t want to do. I’m not trying to push you, or rush you.”
I swallowed thickly as he pulled at one of the buttons, gauging my reaction. I wanted to scream for him to rip it off already, but I didn’t.
When I didn’t say anything, he bent so he was looking directly into my eyes. “I just want to explore you. I want to really see you. We’ll leave our bottoms on, okay?”
“It’s no fair,” I said.
He looked at me with a quizzical look in his eyes and tilted his head to the side.
“You get to touch me, but I can’t touch you.”
His smile was slow and sly. “Good. I don’t want to share this moment. Not even with you. I’m going to be purely selfish right now, Katie. I’ve been longing to touch you like this since that first night you stayed here. This is my turn. Your turn can wait.”
He said nothing else as he slowly began to unbutton my top. Even after it was completely open, it didn’t fall away like it would have if I were dry. It clung to my body, still concealing most of my skin.
He used his index finger to slowly trace a line, starting at the waistband of my skirt and slipping upward, right in the center of my stomach and chest where my shirt was slightly parted.
I shivered at the way it felt.
When he got to the top, he used both his hands to slip beneath the edges and push it down, only it wouldn’t go very far because my arms were up. I gave a nervous giggle and lowered them, still keeping them out of the spray of the shower. He peeled off the shirt, taking extra care to watch my injuries. He moved so slow that I became impatient and made a sound in the back of my throat.
He tossed the shirt over the shower curtain as the warm spray slid over my shoulders.
Thank goodness I bought a pretty bra.
All my bras I had before were no-nonsense, plain things that served their purpose. But when I went shopping the other day, I gravitated toward the lacy, girly undergarments for reasons I didn’t understand.
But now I did.
My subconscious was secretly hoping that someone (Holt) would see them.
It was a peach tone, made almost completely of lace with a little tiny bow in the center. The straps were silky and smooth, and when I put it on, I instantly fell in love with it.
I glanced up at his face, wondering if he liked it too. I noticed his hands kind of floated over my body, not quite touching but too close to call it anything but. He was looking at me with a sort of awe in his eyes that made me feel silly for ever thinking I wouldn’t be anything but beautiful in his eyes.
A quick glance down told me what I already knew. Wet, the bra was practically see- through. He wouldn’t need to take it off because it left nothing to the imagination.
He fingered the straps, watching me, and when I made no sound of refusal, his touch became a little bit bolder. He cupped my breasts in his hands, gently massaging them, and edging his fingers just inside the top of the cups.
My breath caught at the unexpected sensations that fired through me. Without thought, my back arched, pushing myself farther into his palms. His thumbs traced a circle around my nipples, then flicked over the hardness, causing my thighs to squeeze together. His playing with my chest was causing an ache in my panties.
Next, his hands splayed my waist, holding me firmly as he dipped his head and began to kiss my chest. His mouth was hot and the water was beginning to turn cool. But I didn’t care. I would stand there under the iciest of water as long as he didn’t stop.
He suckled on my skin, something I didn’t know anyone would want to do, as he slowly made his way lower until he sucked my breast right into his hot mouth.
He used his tongue to massage the nipple, and a groan ripped from my throat.
My hands moved to his head, wanting to hold him there, but he made a sound in his throat reminding me I wasn’t supposed to touch him.
How was I expected to follow those rules when the things he was doing to me were driving me mad?
After he fully endowed attention on one breast, he moved over, bestowing the same exact treatment on the other. By this time, my legs were shaking, my skin was rippled with gooseflesh, and my panties were wet—and not from the water.
The sensations overcoming me were so powerful that I was a little embarrassed.
He lifted his head. “The water’s cold.”
I just nodded, my lips not able to form a response.
He reached around me and shut off the spray. Before pulling away, he dipped his head and kissed me. It was slow and gentle; he coaxed my tongue right out of my mouth and into his.
Then he was wrapping me in a towel and drying off my skin. He paid more attention to some parts than others, but I really didn’t care.
“I’ll be right back. I’ll get us some dry clothes.”
When he was gone, I sank down on the toilet, pressing a hand to my lips. I was falling for him. I was falling so hard and so fast that I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t think I could.
Was I ready for this? Would I be able to handle this along with everything else I was dealing with right now?
My head said no.
My heart whispered yes.
The bathroom door opened and he handed me in some clothes and then shut the door behind him. I hurried to strip away what was left on my body, taking a minute to drape the wet items over the curtain rod. Then I hurried to comb out my hair and grabbed up the clothes.
A pair of panties and one of his T-shirts. That’s what he brought me.
I smiled the entire time I dressed.
Thankfully, the bandages around my wrists appeared to be in good shape, barely wet, and I was glad I wasn’t going to have to bother with them tonight. I was feeling too blissful to deal with the pain.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, he was there leaning against the wall, waiting. He was dry and dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and no shirt.
I would never get tired of seeing him without a shirt.
He pushed away from the wall, his eyes sweeping over me in his shirt, and I knew by the look in his eyes he liked what he saw.
My entire life I’ve never been concerned with pleasing others, but I desperately wanted to please him.
“You’re beautiful,” he told me.
“I think you are, too.”
“Goodnight, Freckles.” He kissed me on the forehead, his lips lingering, and then he pulled away.
I caught his arm as he turned. “Holt?”
“Anything,” was his reply.
Butterflies erupted in my belly. “Will you sleep with me?”
He glanced inside his room at the bed, then back at me. “Only if you promise not to try to take advantage of me.” He widened his eyes like he was somehow scandalized.
I laughed. “Please. You’d like it.”
“You’re damn right.”
I followed him into the bedroom. He pulled back the blankets and then gestured for me to get in. Once I was settled, he climbed in behind me, pulling the sheets up around us both.
My body still tingled from the shower, and I rolled to face him, leaning over to kiss him. Finally, my hand was free from the fear of water, and I was able to run it over his bicep and slip across his chest.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he murmured against my lips, placing a hand over mine to stop it in its tracks.
“You don’t want me to touch you?”
“Oh, honey, do I ever. But not tonight. I’m a patient man, but I’m no saint. Your hot little body has already pushed me to my limit.”
I frowned, thinking that might not be a good thing.
He must have read my silence because he laughed. I saw his teeth flash in the dark. “Tomorrow. You can have your turn tomorrow.”
He pulled me down against his chest and sighed. I snuggled just a little bit closer.
Suddenly it felt like Christmas. I knew the sooner I went to sleep, the sooner tomorrow would be here.
The sooner I would be able to unwrap my present… or in this case
, the sooner I’d be able to unwrap Holt Arkain.
13
The police came knocking at the crack of dawn the next day. Okay, it was after nine, but we were still in bed. Turns out he is really warm and really comfortable and it makes waking up impossible.
But when the cops knock, you answer.
Torch (Take It Off) Page 11