by Lexy Timms
Screw Sebastian. Theo is nothing like him. He’s a gentleman with a heart big enough for his body.
“Really?” His pinecone-colored eyes widen.
I nod. “You had me at ‘cozy.’ But it’s only temporary. Just until the people from the company come to get me. Or until the bank can release my funds. Whichever comes first.”
“Alright. Let me go tell the police you’re staying at my place and give them my number so they can contact you if anyone comes looking for you or anything comes up.”
“Good idea.”
He disappears back into the police station and I rub my gloved hands, blowing warm air on them as I watch a group of teenagers laughing and eating burgers in the McDonalds across the street.
I used to be annoyed by kids like them, noisy and boisterous, especially if I was eating alone near them, trying to read some papers from work or get something done on my laptop. But now, I’m engulfed with a sense of comfort. I’m back in civilization now. Back in the world.
I draw in a deep breath.
Everything is back to normal.
Normal? The word sits uneasily on the tip of my tongue.
So far, I haven’t been able to read anyone’s minds. But I’m still well aware that my wounds have healed, a fact that has surprised even the police officers I was just talking to. I’d had to lie a little, telling them I’d gotten lucky, that I’d only thought I’d been injured because there was no rational way to explain any of this. I can still clearly remember how I broke out of that cabin.
I gaze at my hands. Am I normal?
“Is everything okay?” Theo asks me the same question he asked earlier as he appears behind me.
“Yeah.” I slip my hands back inside my pockets. “What did the officers say?”
“All’s good.” He gives me a thumbs up. “Shall we go to my apartment?”
THEO’S APARTMENT IS everything he said it would be.
Or so I think as I take off my boots and hang my coat on one of the wooden pegs behind his door.
It’s small, for a man of his size, just like his boat, making me wonder if maybe he doesn’t really get how big he is. In fact, he has to bow his head a little so it doesn’t hit the ceiling or bore a hole through it. I spot a stove in the corner and a sink with a cupboard above it but there’s only a mini-fridge, and no counter, just a small, round table to prepare meals on. I also see only two doors.
It’s nothing fancy. Not much furniture, probably because it would just get in Theo’s way. No vases. No paintings on the walls. In fact, there’s nothing on the walls except for the lamps, not even a clock. The lone decorations in the room are wood-carved pieces – bookends holding a few books together on a shelf that holds nothing else between the two windows and what looks like a wooden totem on the window sill.
The place is cozy, too, though. There are two large armchairs in front of the electric fireplace, each occupied with a quilted pillow, a thick, black rug between them. Patched velvet curtains hang from the sides of the windows, kept in place by wide strips of yellowed lace.
I open one of the doors, which leads to a bathroom with a small shower, a sink and a toilet, a rug like the one in front of the fireplace but smaller on the tiled floor. There’s no mirror, no bathroom cabinet. Just a glass with a toothbrush on the sink. I can’t imagine how he bathes in there, which leads me to question how often he bothers.
I let out a sigh, eyes darting to the eggshell blue ceiling. Why do I end up in the company or in the homes of men who don’t take grooming seriously?
Well, come to think of it, it looks like Theo hasn’t shaved his face in a while. I suppose I should be glad his beard isn’t a foot long and that it seems clean. In fact, I remember being tempted to stroke it, just to see if the wiry strands would feel soft or prickly beneath my fingertips.
I remember him smelling good, too, as I snuggled against him, in spite of the fact that I can’t tell when was the last time he had a bath. Yes, I caught a whiff of something fishy, but I also smelled something sweet like honey and the warm aroma of fresh cedar.
I close my eyes, breathing in.
Ah. I can pick up the scent of him here, too.
I get out of the room, stepping into the other one, where the scent is fainter but still lingers in the air.
It’s a bedroom not a whole lot bigger than the bathroom. There isn’t even a bed, just a mattress covering nearly the entire floor with a quilt and plenty of small, round pillows on top of it. And there’s no window, just a woven tapestry on one wall. A closet stands against the opposite wall. There’s nothing else in sight.
Well, it is cozy.
But wait. If there’s only one bedroom and one bed, then...
“You can have the bedroom,” Theo says, almost making me wonder if he could read my mind, too. “I rarely use it anyway.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”
Well, that explains why his scent isn’t so strong as it was in the living room.
“Where do you sleep?”
“On the floor,” he says. “On the rug.” He shrugs when I stare at him. “I like being in front of the fire.”
I blink. Like a dog?
I turn around, studying the rug. It’s thick and clean but I doubt if it’s good enough to sleep on. Good sleep, that is.
“Are you sure?” I ask him, thinking he’s got to be making this stuff up so that I’d feel better about taking the bed.
“Yeah. Take the bedroom. I insist.”
I frown, feeling bad about letting Theo sleep on the rug despite whatever stories he’s telling. Then again, there’s a lot to be said for taking his word for it. I don’t think my back can take another night sleeping on something hard and cold. Besides, I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed. Well, it’s not a bed. Still, it is a very cozy looking mattress.
Finally, I just shrug it off. If that’s what he wants, who am I to argue? “Well, if you insist.”
“I do.”
I nod, heading back into the bedroom. Behind the closed door I take off my other layers of clothing, Sebastian’s clothing mostly, hanging them on the pegs behind the door.
Suddenly, I hear a knock. “Are you alright, Clarissa?”
“Yes,” I answer without opening the door, glad that it locks.
“Can I get you anything? Something to eat?”
“No, thank you, I’m just going to sleep.”
I know it’s not yet evening but I haven’t caught up to my sleep yet, nor do I feel like I’ve recovered all my strength. Besides, the mattress is very tempting.
Oh, why am I making excuses? Who cares? No one needs a reason to sleep.
“If you feel cold, you can borrow some of my clothes,” Theo’s voice pierces the wood. “They’re big but they should keep you warm.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I consider the offer after I’ve hear him leave, glancing at the mattress. The quilt looks warm enough. Then again, I barely have anything on and I don’t want to lie down and then have to get up again just to put on more clothes.
I open the closet, taking a knitted orange sweater off its hanger, one with kangaroo pockets for my hands.
I put it on, delighting in Theo’s smell that I get from it and in its warmth. As I put my hands into the pockets, though, I pause, realizing they’re not empty.
I pull out the folded piece of thin cardboard.
No, not cardboard. A photo.
That of a woman in her late twenties with the same black hair, brown eyes and dark skin as Theo, a red and black striped poncho wrapped around her shoulders. Not just that. In the photo, she’s wearing the same necklace with the leather cord and the wooden bear pendant as Theo. And she is smiling, a sunflower tucked behind one of her ears.
My eyes widen.
I thought Theo doesn’t have a girlfriend. Or maybe he doesn’t have one now? Maybe he hasn’t worn this sweater in years and the last time he did, he was still seeing someone. No...that’s silly. She looks too much like him to be
mistaken for anything else. Family then.
I run my fingers over the photo.
Who can she be?
I shake my head, putting the photo back in the pocket of another sweater before closing the closet.
At any rate, it’s none of my business. Theo may have saved me from a bunch of assholes, brought me to Anchorage and welcomed me into his home but we’re not friends.
Are we?
Even if we are, I mustn’t pry. It’s not like I’ve told him any of my secrets. He has no obligation to tell me his.
Still, I can’t help but wonder what kind of person I’m staying with. I mean, what do I know really about Theo? We’ve been together not even 24 hours and the most I can say about him in his defense is he let me sleep last night in his arms for a while without getting pervy. It’s kind of a flimsy basis to go home with a guy.
Somewhat uneasy I pull the quilt over my head.
SOME TIME LATER, I toss the quilt, getting up from the mattress as my throat burns with thirst.
I stumble out of the room, going straight to the sink near the stove. Thankfully there are glasses in the tiny cupboard and enough light to see by from the dim bulb over table. I pour myself a drink, swallowing the water in several gulps. Then I set the empty glass down and walk to the window, peeking through the curtain.
Nighttime.
I wonder how late it is.
I let the curtains slip from my fingers as I turn around, my gaze falling on Theo lying on his stomach on the rug, snoring softly.
And with just his boxers on.
I roll my eyes. What is it with Alaskan men and shirts? Are they immune to the cold?
Well, Theo definitely didn’t seem cold. In fact, he felt nice and warm when he was lying next to me in the boat, which was why I had slept so deeply.
Remembering his body next to mine, I blush, the flames in my cheeks spreading as I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from it, from the ripped muscles of his broad back.
Unable to resist, I kneel down, my fingers exploring his shoulder. I fall backwards as he grunts and stirs, turning on his side.
Thankfully, though, his eyes stay closed.
A sound sleeper.
I’m an idiot. I should go back to bed.
But I don’t.
This time, my eyes are drawn to his rugged features, to his broad nose with its sloping tip, to his thick lips, his rounded chin and that massive chest with its hills and valleys, the perfection of what would be called ‘washboard abs’ by romance novelists. That irresistible plane of his lower abdomen, with the trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his shorts.
How I managed to resist touching him again, I don’t know, but I get on my feet and walk away, heading back into the bedroom. I’m not safe until I’m back under the quilt, where I wait for my heart to stop skipping beats. Until reason returns and I can quit acting like oversexed nympho.
What is it with me and hot Alaskan men?
Chapter Six
~ Theo
“TOO HOT?” I ASK AS I watch Clarissa bring her cup of coffee to her lips, the steam rising to form a curtain over her face.
“Perfect,” she answers, licking her lips. “First, a good sleep. Now, a cup of hot coffee. If those don’t make me feel brand new, I don’t know what will.”
“I’m glad you slept well.”
I take a sip of my own drink – slightly bitter tea with a squeeze of lemon, which I prefer over coffee. I don’t tell her that I’d snuck out while she slept to bring back coffee, sure she would prefer it, but not having had any on hand. I let her think I’m a god, which she will so long as she doesn’t spot the empty Starbucks cup in the trash.
“How about you? Did you get enough winks on that rug?” she asks, eyes gazing at me from above the rim of her cup.
I glance at the rug between us. “Yeah. I slept well, too, actually.”
Gazing into the fire, I remember hearing the whispers again after I closed my eyes, whispers that turned into a song that lulled me into dreams. In my dreams, she had been there again, her black hair and her favorite red poncho drifting in the breeze, smiling at me, laughing with me, running alongside me. Only last night had been different from before. I’d felt her touch me for the first time. Right there.
I lean forward, reaching for that spot on my back where her fingers had brushed against my flesh in my dreams. It was a dream, I know this. Still, it had felt all too real.
“Sure your back doesn’t hurt?” Clarissa asks.
I shake my head, wrapping my hand around my cup again, feeling foolish for having been caught trying to grab at my own shoulder. What am I thinking?
“Well, I’m impressed.” She takes another sip. “You’re probably one of the soundest sleepers I know.”
“Yeah. Sometimes, it feels like I can sleep for months.”
“Sometimes, I wish I could sleep for months,” she says with a smile. “Especially back at the Lab, after finishing a ton of work.”
“You sound like a hard worker.”
“Too hard.” She sets her cup down on her lap, running her thumb over the rim. “Speaking of work, any news? Has anyone called?”
I point to the phone. “It didn’t ring.”
She sighs.
“It seems like you’re stuck with me for a bit longer. Sorry.”
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. I’m sure they’re on their way. And you’re not the worst person to get stuck with. Anyway, I’ll check with the bank later this morning. Maybe they’ve worked out something with my ID.”
I blink. Is that a compliment in there somewhere? If so, it’s the first I’ve ever heard from a human female. And it feels...wonderful.
“What matters is that my parents already know I’m safe, so they’re not worried. And that Teresa’s...”
She pauses, gripping her cup.
“What’s wrong?”
“Teresa was the other person on that plane,” Clarissa murmurs, her voice distressed. Her fingers stroking her cup, restless. Anxious. “She didn’t make it.”
I frown. “I’m sorry.”
She says nothing, lifting her cup and taking another sip, but her hands are shaking. The coffee spills down the front of her sweater, my sweater.
“Shit,” she curses, looking at the fresh stain.
Getting up, she sets her cup down near the sink and frantically tries to get the stain out with a wet piece of tissue, swearing softly under her breath.
I pretend not to hear.
But her distress only increases as the stain stubbornly spreads the more she worries at it. She’s frantic, taking out the tension and frustration of the past few days on the only physical thing she has to take it out on. I hate seeing her distress.
“Please don’t worry about it.” I walk over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s an old sweater.”
She continues rubbing at the stain. “But it must mean a lot to you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “It does?”
She looks at me. “Isn’t it one of your favorite sweaters?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t have one.”
“I guess. You don’t even like sweaters, after all, do you? Or shirts for that matter.”
I glance at the shirt I have on, puzzled by what she means.
Unless she’d seen me without my shirt.
I almost laugh. Well, I do sleep without a shirt. The room is warm, there’s no need for more. It was only out of courtesy that I’d kept my boxers on. Only that of course means she’d been watching me sleep, which is much more interesting.
I quickly gulp down the rest of my tea before I say something stupid. I sense now is really not the time for at least half the possible remarks I have floating through my head.
“I’m sorry.” She finally stops working on the stain, her hands falling limp, the sweater a sodden mess in the kitchen sink. “It won’t come off.”
“Like I said, it’s fine.”
Clarissa returns to her chair and picks
up her cup of coffee, cradling it as she takes another sip, her silence letting me know she’s still upset.
And I hate seeing her upset.
I stare at the stain on the sweater, clearly visible even from here. Even when she’d been wearing the thing, the sweater had looked like a tent on her. Now she just looked small and cold in the t-shirt she’d been wearing under it.
“You know, why don’t we go and buy you some clothes?”
Her eyebrows go up. “Buy me clothes?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Clothes that will fit you, suit you. You need them, don’t you? I mean, you can’t go back home in my clothes.”
She puts her empty cup on the sink. “You’re right. I can’t. But I...”
“I can lend you some money and you can pay me back when you can,” I tell her. “Not that you have to.”
She taps her fingers on the sink then turns around to face me. “Alright. But I will pay you back. I promise.”
“Okay.” I rub my hands together. “Where shall we go first?”
I’VE NEVER GONE SHOPPING before, except for food and the barest of necessities, and I certainly have never taken delight in it.
With Clarissa, it’s different. I watch her go through every piece of clothing on the racks with immense concentration, running her fingers carefully through the fabrics and then checking the price tags. Afterwards, she either sticks her lower lip out or smiles, face all lit up. If it’s the latter, she pulls out the item and continues, ending up with quite a pile in her arms before heading to the dressing room.
I hear her humming in there. I hear the scuffle of fabrics as they rub against each other, of clothing gliding across skin, buttons popping and zippers zipping.
I shake my head, trying to shake the image the sounds conjure out of my mind.
After a few minutes, she emerges in a pair of jeans and a cobalt blue turtleneck under a white coat tied around her waist, a pale blue hat tilted jauntily on her head.
I blink, almost thinking that a different woman has appeared in front of me. But there’s no mistaking the tawny hair or those smoky eyes.