K-I-S-S-I-N-G

by Dana Pratola

  “Come in.”

  He did, turning on the light and looking around the room. “Did I hear a bang or something in here?”

  “You did. I threw a book,” she said, casting her gaze to the floor.

  “Oh? What’s up?” he asked, concerned.

  Winsome shrugged. She got out of bed and crossed the room to retrieve the projectile. Thankfully, it was a new paperback, not one of Ruth’s collection. It, and the wall, were both unmarred.

  “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” she said, tapping the book on the heel of her hand.

  When she thought he would gladly retreat, he surprised her by sitting on her bed.

  “Book that bad?” he asked.

  “No. I’m a little antsy I guess. Overtired, like you said.”

  His slightly narrowed eyes said he didn’t believe her. His words confirmed it.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Winsome took in a breath and let out a long sigh. “It’s hard to turn my brain off sometimes, you know?”

  “You’re not worried, are you?”

  “No,” she answered, truthfully. “What do I have to worry about? I’m just…never mind.”

  She waved a hand at him thinking he’d be satisfied with her non-answer and leave. He didn’t budge.

  “I think I’m tired enough to sleep now,” she told him.

  He stayed put.

  “I’m just overthinking stuff. I’ve had a…rough couple weeks,” she said, flipping the book in the air and catching it with her free hand.

  Caleb stared at her, in no hurry to exit. Why wouldn’t he go?

  Winsome flipped the book again, but Caleb reached out and nipped it from the air. She resorted to picking at her fingernails.

  “I’m okay, really,” she said. “I just want to get in bed and start fresh tomorrow. Busy day. I have to look up melters, and wax suppliers…you know.”

  Caleb tilted his head, watching her steadily, until finally, she cracked.

  “I’m not needy!” she blurted. “I don’t know who this person is,” she said, plucking angrily her pajama top. “But it’s not me. I’m smart and self-reliant and nothing like this person you’ve been tolerating.”

  Caleb tossed the book over his shoulder, reached for her hand and pulled her down to sit on the bed beside him.

  “I hope that’s not true,” he said.

  “Which part?”

  “That you’re nothing like this fascinating, sweet person I’ve been lucky enough to spend time with.” He covered their joined hands with his other one.

  She couldn’t say a word. Not with her saliva dried up and her heart squeezing its way into her throat. He found her fascinating? Sweet? His fingers around hers were hot, but not threatening. Sensual, not repulsive.

  “I like this person,” he said.

  She shook her head. “This is not me.”

  “It’s all you, Winsome. You’re used to being a certain way, and then something happened that made you vulnerable, reliant, and maybe not at your best. Unsteady. But this is you, too. For now.”

  She shook her head again, but this time to strengthen her resolve not to cry. She would not cry. There’d been enough tears shed to last a lifetime and they were useless, after all.

  “You’re a beautiful person inside and out, and while I like being around you, it’s not fun watching you wander around like a hollow shell when you have so much to offer. You have to get your shit together.”

  Her mouth fell open and she stared at him.

  “All right, hollow shell wasn’t the right way to say it,” Caleb corrected. “You’re not empty, no. More like…on autopilot.”

  “Hmm.”

  He shook his head. “Not even that, really. It’s not that you don’t put effort into what you’re doing. More like you’re not doing anything that requires much effort. And that’s not your fault,” he rushed to say. “I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be upset and cry, and throw things. Hell, throw everything in the house if it’ll make you feel better.” He released her hands, put his arm around her and leaned her into him. “You had some bad crap happen to you, I get that. But now maybe it’s time to take control again. I think getting your business up and running is going to help a lot.”

  She nodded. “I need to feel useful, like I’m contributing in some way, or at least not hanging around being a burden.”

  “You are not a burden.”

  “I have to be doing something,” she said, nestling into his chest, ignoring his comment. She felt how she felt, and didn’t want to argue about it.

  “Then let’s get your treehouse underway so you can be a productive member of society,” he said.

  She looked up at Caleb, taking note of the day’s growth of stubble cleverly masking an inch-long scar under his chin. She wanted to reach up and trace it with her finger, but he’d think her more far gone than he must already. He’d think her insane if she followed through with her next thought—pressing her lips to the side of his neck.

  “Okay,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “Okay,” he repeated, but didn’t move.

  It was fine by her. She could stay like this all night.

  ****

  Cal switched off the light and closed Winsome’s door behind him. When she’d fallen asleep against him, exhausted, he had lain her down, tucked her in, and watched her snuggle into her pillow. In truth, he’d stayed longer than necessary, observing the gentle rise and fall of the blanket, and her slightly parted lips as she snored softly.

  He went down the hall to his room and fell back on the bed, fully clothed, one foot on the floor, one arm bent over his face. What was he doing? This girl wasn’t for him. She was just coming out of an abusive relationship and had emotional wounds more serious than those seen physically. He had just broken up with Dee and, while he wasn’t hurting over it, he deserved some time to himself to objectively review the relationship and see what went wrong, and what he wanted to do next with his life. Starting something with Winsome right now had disaster potential.

  All the more reason to get on this treehouse as soon as possible. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d be done and the sooner she could move out from under the same roof. He got up and added a few notes to tomorrow’s to-do list, then stripped and got in bed.

  As tired as he was, sleep wouldn’t come, not with a mental slideshow of violence washing through his brain, like chunks of debris caught in a flash flood. Of Winsome as she had been when he’d first seen her, mangled, damaged. She looked good now, but it would be a very long time before he forgot the bruising and the swelling, the wincing if she moved the wrong way, or too quickly. The haunted look she sometimes took on when she didn’t know he was watching.

  Cal gritted his teeth and forced the unbidden images away. Dante had no idea how lucky he was to be behind bars.

  CHAPTER 11

  Cal was thankful his boss, Josh, let him have the afternoon off. He’d told him about Winsome’s situation, as well as his split from Dee, and in the “anything for a Marine brother” spirit, Josh hadn’t quibbled about loaning out some of his men to help with the treehouse project. Cal had had enough foremen to know they could be quite possessive of their crew, some who weren’t always loyal and would bounce around to whatever job would get them the most beer or drug money. But Cal wasn’t looking to hire—in fact, he was paying them in beer—and only needed them for certain tasks. He even hoped to enlist Josh when working on the bathroom. There wasn’t a better tile guy in this county.

  Fortunately, Josh recognized the gifts in Cal, and wasn’t threatened by him wanting to start his own business. Treehouse construction wasn’t likely to sway his workers away, and Cal wanted to build treehouses exclusively, when the time came. Having to keep the house at least a year from the day Winsome took possession of the treehouse, that time loomed even further in the distance. Well, at least he could use the time to save more money.

  In that same spirit of camaraderie, Josh had also give
n Cal a wink and advised him his off-the-clock treehouse activities would go a long way toward winning Winsome’s heart, and it was his duty to help him out. Of course, Josh had meant it might get Cal into her bed, but he was too nice a guy to be crude about it.

  Cal’s chest felt tight. That kind of thinking was exactly what he was trying to circumvent. It was why lately, he left for work most mornings before she woke, and why, when he came home, he showered and went to his room with few exchanged words. It was becoming increasingly difficult to be around her without having his fantasies engage and take him someplace he didn’t want to go.

  Well, more accurately, where he did want to go, but knew he couldn’t. They both had too much going on in their lives to get involved in what his aunt might have termed, foolhardy endeavors. At least she might have said that where other people were concerned. She certainly wouldn’t say that of him and Winsome. No, she would be happy as could be, just thinking her match-making plot was progressing nicely.

  It was one thing to watch Winsome’s natural beauty emerge day by day as she healed, but it was quite another to see her inner beauty blossom. She was genuinely sweet and kind, and that sweetness was having an effect on him. One day, he’d witnessed her talking to a bird on the porch banister, and hadn’t been able to wipe the stupid smile from his mouth for an hour. What was wrong with him? And her? He liked birds, but wouldn’t think to ask one how it’s day was going or if it had found any juicy worms that morning. Even thinking about it, he felt his lips stretch back over his teeth.

  He swiped the grin from his mouth with a contrived cough and resumed his hunt for a temporary replacement for his pneumatic nail gun while it was being repaired following a fall from a third-floor deck. The rentals were all out, and his scan of the shelves yielded only battery operated, gas cartridge guns. Well, it would get the job done as long as the battery held, and it was better than driving a half hour to the next supply store. He just wanted to get home.

  To Winsome, a tiny voice reminded him. Winsome is there. At home.

  ****

  When Cal’s truck finally crowned the hill overlooking the house, his heart slammed like a trip hammer. There was a truck parked near the back porch, but his frantic thoughts of Winsome, vulnerable and alone in the house, prevented him from recognizing it as his co-worker, Darryl’s, until he barreled up next to it and saw the Donner Construction emblem on the door.

  He took a moment to regain his composure, before getting out of his truck and walking to the stairs. Winsome’s lilting, humor-infused voice drifted out from the parlor, and he felt a little jab in his gut. Relief mixed with something he couldn’t pinpoint. But when Darryl’s voice reached him, followed by her musical laughter, and again there came that jab, it was easier to recognize. Jealousy. He wanted to be the only man to make her laugh like that.

  Cal slowed his suddenly heavy footsteps and walked inside. Darryl sat on the couch with a glass of iced tea in his hand, across from Winsome, seated on the chair with her feet beneath her. It felt natural to Cal to want to walk to her and kiss her hello, or wish that she would run to him and do the same. Natural in fantasy maybe, but not for him in real life.

  “Welcome home, Caleb,” she greeted merrily.

  Her eyes sparked with that vibrant light he saw so often now, and he wondered if she’d read his mind. He gave her a quick acknowledging lift of his chin.

  “Hey, man. You said, two, right?” Darryl asked him.

  “Yeah, you’re right on time. I had to make a stop. Gun’s still in the shop.”

  “Gun?” Winsome asked, brows drawing together.

  “Nail gun,” Cal answered, amused.

  Darryl drained the rest of his drink and got to his feet. “Thanks,” he said, handing Winsome the glass.

  Cal led Darryl outside to the garage where he had stored some of the lumber and tools. The chunk of change Aunt Ruth had set aside for the treehouse was pretty sizeable, and Cal had been able to get almost all that he needed so far. Clever old bat that she was, before her death she’d seen to it that Finn secured the necessary permits and had called in some favors to cover the installation of plumbing and electric ground lines. He had to admire her attention to detail and her get-it-done spirit. If all went well, and he could count on volunteers, Winsome would have a suitable space in about two weeks. Maybe less.

  He glanced over at his aunt’s compact hybrid car. It was his now but he had no use for it. It wouldn’t bring much if he tried to sell it. Maybe he would just give it to Winsome. She’d need transportation, right?

  “That’s a nice kid,” Darryl said, from beside him. “Unusual name.”

  “Yes,” Cal replied, to both, but he didn’t want to talk about her. Talking about her made him uncomfortable. “Grab a couple of these tabs, would you?” he asked, squatting to lift two eighteen-pound steel connecting supports that would bear the weight of the treehouse.

  Darryl helped him load the needed items into a battered blue wheelbarrow to be transported to the trees. “Sorry to hear about you and Dee,” he said, watching Cal’s face carefully. “I don’t know if I was supposed to know, but Josh mentioned it.”

  “No, that’s okay. Thanks, man,” Cal said. Josh had a big mouth.

  Darryl tilted his head to the right. “You’ll be staying here then?”

  “Yeah, it’s mine, so why not?” His voice sounded a little defensive and he tried for a lighter tone. “No sense spending money on a hotel when I have a perfectly sound house.”

  “I hear that,” Darryl agreed. “And you have a much nicer roommate now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Cal asked, wondering if he imagined the insinuation in Darryl’s remark.

  Darryl tipped his head to the left. “Don’t get me wrong, Dee is hot and all, but not very pleasant. At least to me and some of the guys.”

  True. Cal guessed she had been saving her “pleasantries” for Mike.

  “But Winsome is really nice,” Darryl continued. “Friendly. Genuine.”

  There was that jab again. Not that Darryl had meant more than he’d said, but if he was becoming interested in Winsome, could Cal blame him? No.

  And right then, right there, something inside decided for him that he would just have to make sure Winsome didn’t return Darryl’s interest.

  “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

  Cal walked into the house and found Winsome at the doorway to the basement, cradling a basket of laundry against her hip.

  “Hi. Do you need something?” she asked, smiling.

  In reply, he strode to her, took the basket from her hands and let it drop to the floor before gently cupping her face and lowering his head.

  Winsome’s breath caught in a tiny gasp as he sealed her lips with his. With nowhere for his breath to go, it formed a low growl deep in his throat. He hoped it didn’t scare her away, but in this moment, this contact felt like the most natural thing in the world, an infusion of warmth and peace and sweetness, and he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d wanted to.

  Her fingers tugged briefly on the bottom of his shirt, but not in distress or argument. They crept slowly to the sides of his waist, flexing and releasing, as her lips moved cautiously beneath his. Her head tilted willingly, following his lead, each sinking further into the honeyed bliss of an anticipated first kiss finally being realized.

  Random thoughts swirled through Cal’s mind, each one provoking him to take the kiss deeper, hold on tighter, memorize each detail.

  Ahhh. She’s a great kisser.

  She smells clean, tastes that way, too.

  Delicious.

  Dark and sweet and somehow bright. I don’t even know what that means, but I want more—so much more of this.

  I’d love to touch her, but will she freak if I move my hands lower?

  That last pulled him up short. What if she was complying because she was used to complying? She knew him well enough to be confident he wouldn’t expect her to satisfy his desires, that he wouldn’t forc
e her, but what if she felt she should? Like she owed him? Suddenly, the mist of desire cleared, and he parted from her with a hasty step back.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Winsome didn’t speak or back away, but stared up at him with wide, ingenuous eyes. He was almost positive what he saw in their depths was hunger, but what if it was confusion, or intimidation? What if he was misreading her?

  “I…” he began, but had nowhere to go after that. What could he say? That he’d had a momentary lapse of judgment and needed to kiss her? “I don’t know what you must think of me right now, but—”

  Any words he might have fumbled with were swept away like a flood when she grabbed him by his neck and pulled him back to her urgent lips.

  If he had any thoughts after that, he wouldn’t remember them, only drowning in sensation: the battle of warm, searching tongues and the occasional clash of teeth. The glide of fingers over fabric and skin, first tentative, then desperate. The scent of the outdoors and shampoo, and the taste of heat and toothpaste.

  He heard the sound of his heartbeat crashing in his ears, overriding the low hum of the refrigerator and precise ticking of the grandfather clock behind him. He also heard Winsome’s tiny, intermittent moans, which did more to incite his lust than anything. He peeked, to find her looking back at him and they both froze. For just an instant. And then she was kissing him again.

  He couldn’t account for her part in this any more than he could his own. He’d sensed her growing attraction, but had brushed it off, attributing it to her gratefulness under the circumstances in which she’d found herself. This didn’t feel like gratitude, it felt like craving.

  His own feelings were harder to dismiss, also harder to substantiate. It occurred to him that maybe he felt sorry for her and wanted to show her some kindness, that not all men were cruel.

  He threw that notion out as quickly as it formed. This wasn’t a selfless act, he wanted her. He hadn’t meant for it to go this far and didn’t want her to believe that seduction had been his intention, but even knowing he had to stop, he didn’t want to. He gave her one last searing kiss and pulled away.