Raine's Haven

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Raine's Haven Page 8

by Shari J. Ryan


  When I crunch the can within my fist, she reaches over and pinches the material of my shirt between her fingers. "You're still soaked?"

  "I'm fine," I assure her.

  "Give me your clothes," she demands.

  A short laugh growls from my throat. "Excuse me?"

  "Take off your clothes and hand them to me, please."

  I toss the can of soda into the trash beside me and slip my hands into my back pockets. "So, I told you it wasn't a good idea for me to come inside, and now you're telling me to take off my clothes. You wonder why I thought coming in here was a bad idea?"

  "I saw you in your boxers at the lake. Did you forget?" For a girl who doesn't get out often, she has an aggressive attitude like I've never seen in any other chick.

  "I'm really okay. I'd prefer to stay dressed," I tell Haven, lying through my teeth. I'd actually love to peel every layer of clothing off, toss them in her dryer, and show her I don't care about what her father would do to me if he found out I was in this house.

  "Are you suddenly a prude? Or like a reborn virgin?" Her words taunt me—piss me off.

  "You don't know what you're talking about," I hiss.

  "Prove me wrong?" she says with an arched brow.

  Without taking my eyes off her, I unclasp the button on my jeans and drop them to my ankles, stepping out of my boots and kicking everything to the side. Then, I peel my snug-fitting shirt over my head and drop that to the floor too. "Happy?"

  She doesn't respond. Instead, she leans down and scoops up the clothes, carrying them down the hall and into a room. With no desire to stand nearly naked in her kitchen, I follow her to the room I watched her walk into.

  "So, either you don't have a washer and dryer where you live, you really enjoy wearing wet clothes from the day before, or—"

  My lungs deflate as I chew on the inside of my cheek. "Or what?"

  "Where are you living, Raine?"

  As if the look on my face could speak louder and clearer than anything I might respond with, she cups her hand over her mouth, and her forehead crinkles with three deep lines. "Are you—?"

  "Depends on the day," I tell her.

  "That's why you were going home with random women, or trying to…from what I saw." That's all she cares about while finding this out? It's a bit disturbing that she has determined my current circumstances so quickly.

  "I'm seriously fine," I tell her.

  "I know," she agrees. "Doesn't mean your situation doesn't suck." That isn't what I expected to hear from her. "Would you think I was a complete jerk if I told you I’d trade places with you?"

  "Yeah, I would," I tell her honestly. She doesn't get it. She's living the life I want. Not knowing where I'll be sleeping each night is insanely distressing, and not something I'd wish on anyone.

  "I figured," she says. "Well, can I help in any way?"

  I shake my head, knowing very well how beyond help I am. "You already have, but thank you."

  "Money doesn't bring happiness," she says.

  "I agree."

  "You know what does bring happiness?" she says, biting down on her lip.

  I decide not to answer, needing to remain in a safe zone here because I know that look she’s giving me. The message she’s conveying is quite clear. Under normal circumstances, I go for that look, but right now, I know I can’t. Thinking if I don't react, she'll move on, I'm quick to see how wrong I am. Haven flings herself into my arms, jumping up as her legs loop around my waist. Her lips are on my neck, kissing, sucking, nipping. "Haven," I say weakly.

  "Tell me to stop," she says. I'm holding her up with one arm as my other hand holds us up against the rumbling washing machine. Her hands are pressed against my cheeks, and our lips are connected with intense pressure. I could fight it. I could easily remove her small body from mine. Instead, I pull us both up on the washer. Her fingertips are feathering up the center of my chest, and I'm scared there's no turning back now.

  "This isn't a good idea," I mutter into her mouth.

  "Which makes it the best idea," she replies softly.

  "Haven." I stop her, pulling back a bit.

  "Seriously? Am I that revolting?"

  I hop down from the washer with her still in my arms as I sweep a fallen strand of hair away from her eye and tuck it behind her ear. "Revolting isn't the word that comes to mind."

  "It feels that way," she says.

  I kiss her gently, trying to prove how wrong she is, but her lips are loose, the connection feels fragile, and I can sense she doesn't believe me. "Haven, let's just take things slow. Let's be careful with this situation."

  "I didn't think you were like this," she tells me. "You carry yourself differently; you look like the type who doesn't take no for an answer, and yet, you've brought me to the point of nearly begging—bringing me to the point of embarrassment. Again.” She nods her head with anger as pain surges through her wide gaze. “So, fine, I won't push myself on you or make you uncomfortable to the point where you'll regret something." There is so much anger in every one of her words, but restraint is the only thing I have left. She knows so little about me, and I can't just shed my skin like I can my clothes, ultimately exposing the me who is hiding inside of my soul.

  9

  Haven

  Leaving a mostly naked man in my laundry room is a new one for me, but walking away is the only way to avoid spewing a bunch of words I might regret later. Is it me? I'm not the one who keeps going after him. Yesterday was a coincidence, running into him at the fair, but today wasn't a coincidence. Today, he came looking for me. And for what? I misread his confusing signals, and he backs away like I'm some kind of monster. I may have little experience when it comes to men, but he is more confusing than any person I've ever met.

  I splash a handful of cold water against my face, combating the humidity from outdoors and the heat from inside of me. Raine kissed me last night. This isn't in my head.

  I pull away from the running faucet and peer up at my reflection—the flushed look masking the natural pinkness of my cheeks. Maybe I'm the one who's out of line, but in the books I drown myself in, it is almost never the case when the woman is begging, chasing, or feeling defeated the way I do. Every one of the other girls in the neighborhood has been in steady relationships over the past two years. They have all lost their virginity to their boyfriends, and while our parents think we're chatting about different types of teas when we're together, that's far from the truth. Even Maryanne has had her fill of stories to share. She was the last of the girls I'd expect to give it up for some rich snotty guy, but I was wrong.

  What I said to Raine is true—it's like I'm off limits to every man in this town. Either they all think I'm crazy due to my lack of public appearances as the mayor's daughter, or they're as scared of Dad as I know most are. Even the men who work just below him glisten with sweat when Dad approaches. That's not how I see Dad, though. I know the real man hiding inside of the suit he wears like armor—the man who struggled with everything up until five years ago. If anyone in this town knew the truth, they wouldn't be as outwardly smitten and inwardly terrified as they are of him. Dad thinks everyone loves him, but I hear the whispers and rumors when no one knows I'm listening. Walking around with his nose in the air, never blinking or smiling, doesn't make him powerful. It makes him inhuman.

  A soft rap on the door startles me, and my wet hand slips off the side of the sink as I stumble backward. Shaking away my thoughts, I open the door, finding Raine with his hands pressed into the sides of the doorway, his naked chest positioned front and center to my eye-level. "Are you okay?" he asks.

  "I'm good," I say, quicker than anything I could plan to say. I'm mortified, again, but I'm fine.

  "Tell me your thoughts. Tell me what’s going through your head at this very moment," he says, narrowing his eyes at me, not out of anger, but with inquisitiveness.

  "That's private," I mutter, walking past him and across the hall into my bedroom. He follows me and sits on the edge
of my bed.

  "More private than giving up your virginity to a man you hardly know?" Okay, so feeling mortified a couple of minutes ago was a lie. This moment is the exact definition of humiliation. Is it written across my goddamn head? Is that what this is?

  "I should slap you." I clench my jaw and try to breathe through the pressure sitting on my chest.

  "For stating the truth?" he presses. "Or for calling you out on it?"

  "What kind of man—" I try to say.

  "Don't finish that question," he snaps. "And as for the answer…I'm the kind of man who lost his virginity at seventeen to some chick selling her body at the motel down the street." He laughs softly, but the look in his eyes contradicts the humor he's putting out. "And I did it because someone told me that sex fixes all problems in life. It's like a temporary band-aid, and it masks truths, lies, aches, and pains. It blinds and distorts. At the time, I thought that's what I needed. At twenty-one, I know it's what I need because the person who said that to me wasn't lying. Sex does hide all of life's flaws."

  Despite the understanding of Raine losing his virginity to a prostitute, all he's done is confuse me more. He needs sex, but I'm not good enough evidently. "Fantastic, well, thanks for clarifying."

  He shakes his head, letting it fall into the palm of his hand. "You're not getting this."

  "Obviously not."

  "Temporary solutions cause deeper wounds," is all he says.

  "And why do you think I'm a virgin?" I ask, knowing the sputter of my words is more of a tell-all than he needs.

  Raine stands up, stepping in closer to me. He traces the rigid tip of his finger under my eye, sweeping it down the side of my face to the corner of my lips. "There is innocence in your eyes. It makes me envious."

  "That's a lie," I tell him. "You can't determine someone's sexual status by the look in their eyes." Would a virgin have undressed in front of an open window, knowing a man was watching?

  The corner of his mouth perks into a knowing smile, and he steps away from me. He moves across my room and over to my nightstand where he lifts the book I'm halfway through. He flips to the back cover and scans it from top to bottom, assumedly reading the synopsis. "You think men like this exist. You think romance is real. You think sex doesn't ruin a thing. And, you know why?” Anger feathers up my spine, offended by his accusation. "This is fiction."

  "So, there's no such thing as romance?"

  "Not with a man who's looking for a chick to screw so his wounds hurt a little less."

  I walk past him, taking his words, carrying them heavily on my shoulders as I make my way into the laundry room to throw his clothes into the dryer. As I set the dial and press start, the rumble of the machine quakes through me, bringing along a realization I hadn't considered until now. He doesn't want me to be his bandage.

  When I reenter my bedroom, I find him lying on my bed with his legs crossed and my book pressed open in his left hand. "I'm sorry," I offer.

  "For what?" he asks without moving his focus from the words in my book.

  "Whatever pain you’re scared of temporarily covering."

  "I appreciate that, but I'm not concerned about a temporary fix because I'm not looking for any more temporary fixes." He flips a page in the book. "Especially one from a virgin." His words fire through me, and by the smirk on his lips I know he's testing me, so I close my eyes briefly and pull in a slow and deep breath to calm myself. He's trying to get a reaction out of me.

  Reaching his hand out as he continues to read, he urges me over to him. With hesitance, I walk over and place my hand in his. "What are you doing?" I ask, honestly confused by the games he's playing with my head.

  "I'm not going to cover your pain either, and I'm sorry because I know that's what you were hoping for."

  Rather than spew the words that roll to the tip of my tongue, I digest his statement and the meaning of it. Raine pulls me onto the bed and positions within his arms as he continues to read. I rest my head on his bare chest, inhaling the fresh scent of soap while experiencing each of my senses come to life, one by one. I hear the fast beat of his heart as the heat of his chest burns through my cheek, and the comfort of being held like this immediately turns into my new favorite thing next to reading. "They kiss in the first chapter?" he asks.

  I peer up at the printed words on the page he's reading. "Not everyone can resist the urge," I tell him. My words cause my pulse to match the speed of his pounding heart. Seemingly taking notice, he places the book down on the other side of him before rolling onto his side, gazing into my eyes. With the light pouring in through the window behind him, I notice the specks of teal peppered through the mocha coloring of his eyes. His arm lifts and sweeps around me as his hand finds the exposed skin on the small of my back where my jeans and t-shirt separate.

  "I can understand that," he says, leaning down and touching his lips so lightly to mine, it almost tickles. "Your sweetness could heal me." Heal. He's homeless. I don't think I can fix that.

  "I doubt that," I whisper into his mouth.

  His lips press into my mine with more firmness as his nose glides against the side of mine. Our mouths move in small circles, fighting against one another's, battling, knowing there won't be a winner. My lips feel hot, and after a long minute of struggling for breaths, he gently pulls away. "You taste like orange juice," he mutters under his breath.

  Left without words, I smile and rest my face down on the side of his arm. As he places a kiss on the top of my head, we slouch further into the bed as the feeling of calmness envelops me.

  I close my eyes and inhale deeply as a vibrating sensation in his hand wrestles against my back, then moves around me through Raine's body like a zap of electricity. I snap out of my groggy state and sit up sharply to figure out what's happening. While I’m still confused, the vibration stops almost as quickly as it started. His hand and body still against my skin, and with worry, I look up into his eyes. "What—"

  "It's okay," he says.

  "But—"

  "I get twitches sometimes. It's no big deal."

  "That wasn't a twitch, Raine."

  "That's all it is, okay?" he assures me.

  I shouldn't be looking at him the way I am while trying to extract an answer I'm almost positive he won’t give me, but Raine is not telling me the truth. "Are you okay?" He just said he was okay.

  "Haven," he says, running his fingers through my hair while residual twitches move through his fingers like dying currents. "I'm okay. I promise." I don't believe him, but the buzz from the dryer tells me I should drop it and obsess over this later, so I climb out of bed and pad down the hall with the tip of my finger pinched between my teeth. That wasn't a twitch.

  My thoughts continue to spiral with erratic assumptions, concluding nothing that makes much sense. I pull Raine’s clothes from the dryer and carry them back down the hall, passing by the main foyer where I see Paula pulling into the driveway in her SUV. Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I run into my bedroom, finding Raine sitting up against my pillows, holding the book up again. "My housekeeper is here. I—I didn't think she'd be coming today with all the flooding. You have to leave." The urgency in my voice sparks his motivation to dress quicker than I've ever seen someone get dressed. It's less than ten seconds before he's running out of my room and in the opposite direction of the front door. He must know of the side door since that's the way I've come in and out each time I've seen him. My thoughts shouldn't be concerned with a missing goodbye as much as I should be concerned with—"

  "Haven," Paula calls. "Whose boots are these?"

  My heart stops beating. My throat swells, and I try my hardest to think of a good reason a man's boots are in the house—boots that most definitely do not belong to Dad.

  Think. Think. Think. "Uh—" I shout. "I found the boots outside this morning so I brought them in to dry. I figured someone must have lost them in the flood." Not a good lie. I'm better than that.

  Paula appears in my doorway, ho
lding them. "Both boots were together, and someone lost them in the flood?"

  "Weird, huh?" There is guilt in my voice and I can assume it’s written all over my face.

  Paula eyeballs me and tilts her head to the side. "Why is the gardener's truck out front?" I can't think of anything to say. Paula's eyebrow raises about a half an inch. "Your parents would kill you, Haven."

  "Yes, but…" I smile because Paula loves me. "It's not what you think—" Interrupting the snowballing lies, the doorbell rings.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Haven," she sings on her way to the front door. I follow silently behind her, worried for what's about to happen.

  "Can I help you, Mr. Carson?" Paula addresses Raine.

  "I just checked the back porch for any flooding damage. It looks like the Leighs have lucked out here. Is there anything I can be of assistance with? I'm checking with my customers to see if anyone needs help with damage control."

  "Mr. Carson," she says, pausing briefly. "Why aren't you wearing shoes?"

  Staying hidden behind the corner wall, I watch Raine swallow the invisible lump in his throat. "There's nothing worse than soaked boots, Ma'am."

  "Well, do these belong to you?" she asks, holding the large black boots up in the air.

  "They do. I left my boots on the front porch, hoping they might dry out a bit while I tended to the backyard." The lies are ridiculous, and she's not buying them. However, she hands Raine his boots with a small, knowing sigh.

  "Well, thank you for checking in here. Good luck with the rest of your customers today."

  The door closes after Paula's dismissive remarks, and my heart thumps in my chest as I race back to my bedroom. Expecting her to come question me some more about whatever she's assuming, I seem to get away without another word on the matter as she sets herself up in the kitchen. Thank you, Paula!

  Looking out my window, I see Raine settling himself into his truck. He's looking toward my window, and I don't know if he can see me, but I hold up my hand, motioning for him to wait. I should consider myself lucky after almost getting caught with him, but I did want to say goodbye. I grab my rain boots from my closet and tread quietly into the hall and out the side door.

 

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