Ten Tiny Breaths
Page 34
I fight to hide the disappointment from my face. Being near him feels so good, so right, so comforting. Adrenaline and attraction rush through my limbs. The last thing I am right now is tired. But I also don’t want to appear needy. I give him my best suspicious once-over. “And who’s going to watch over you to make sure you don’t steal anything?”
“Me? The guy who keeps buying strange girls front doors?”
“Strange girls!” I gasp, my hands flying to cross my chest in mock horror. “I take offense to that. Besides, how do I know you’re not some batshit crazy stiletto-wearing kleptomaniac who’ll steal Storm’s underwear and drink all the mustard?”
He rolls his eyes. “It was ketchup and that was only once. It did nothing for me, I swear it.” I giggle as Trent’s arms lift to settle on my shoulders. He looks down the length of my body before settling on my face. “I do have an appreciation for women’s underwear. Just, not on me.”
I struggle to swallow as my heart leaps into my throat, the blood pulsing against my ear drum as this electric pulse channels between us, rousing every nerve in my body. But then he breaks off, taking three large steps back and exhaling deeply. I smile to myself. At least I’ m not the only one who feels it.
“We should do something about this door. The police tape doesn’t exactly keep prying eyes out.”
Another wave of heat roils through me. What would prying eyes see? Trent rifles through the closets until he pulls out an old blanket. “I hope she doesn’t mind.”
I help Trent secure the blanket against the opening with an array of tape, tacks, and other adhesive things I find in the kitchen drawers. It’s after one o’clock in the morning when we finally finish and my adrenaline rush is crashing, leaving me exhausted. I flop down on the sectional. “I haven’t been off my feet for more than ten minutes tonight.” Trent takes a seat at the end of the couch. Gently lifting my feet, he slides first one heel off and then another.
“Oh.” I moan. “You can stay.” He grins, but says nothing as his skilled hands rub the bottom of my feet in smooth, circular motions. Around and around, slowly, deftly. I groan and lie my head back, enjoying his strength, his undivided attention. “Okay, you’ve earned at least one underwear strut. Go,” I fling my arm lazily toward Storm’s room. “Pick your weapon. Storm has quite the collection.”
Trent chuckles. “Depends on who’s strutting.”
I open one eye to find heat in his light blue eyes as they gaze at me. Again, I see this mercurial switch from the cautious, responsible Trent to the one who seems willing to have me on my back, and I don’t know what to think of it except that I know I want the latter version right now. His hand begins moving a little faster, a little more ardently, his breathing heavier. And then his hands are sliding to my calves and with a grip, pulling me toward him. As I slide, my dress slips higher up, revealing more leg. Luckily it stops at the height of my thighs, just as my butt reaches the side of his thigh. My bare legs are now stretched over his lap. One of his hands rests on the inside of my thigh, shooting lightning bolts through my entire body. The index finger on his other hand traces along my right outer thigh—up, up, further …
It stops on my tattoo, on the edge of my scar and strokes back and forth along the ridge. “Did you get the tat to cover this scar?”
“If I did that, my entire right side would be one big tattoo,” I lie.
“Why five ravens?” He asks as his fingers trail along the tails.
“Why not?” I pray he’ll leave it at that.
But he doesn’t. “What does it mean?”
When I don’t answer, he says, “Please talk to me, Kacey.”
“You said I didn’t have to.” My voice turns bitter. Trent has effectively tossed a bucket of ice water over my body, dousing the heat from a moment ago.
His hand leaves my leg to rub his forehead. “I know. I know I did say that. I’m sorry. I just want you to trust me, Kace.”
“It has nothing to do with trust.”
“What does it have to do with then?”
I stare up at the ceiling. “The past. Stuff I don’t want to talk about. Stuff you promised me we wouldn’t have to talk about.”
His hand finds its way back to my thigh, his eyes focused on it as he gently squeezes. “I know I said that, but I need to know you’re okay, Kacey.” There’s a twinge of something in his voice that I can’t quite identify. Worry? Fear? What is it?
“What, are you afraid you’ll wake up duct taped to your mattress?”
“No.” I catch a hint of anger in Trent’s voice. The first, ever. It vanishes with the softness in his next words. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” The air in the room grows somber as Trent lifts his eyes to my face and I see they’re full of grief. He leans over enough that he can reach my cheek, brushing a thumb against it.
His words—or more his tone and the pain in his eyes—stirs a need to ease whatever is upsetting him.
I want to make Trent happy.
And I realize that I want him to know me. All of me.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly going bone dry. “I was in a bad car accident a few years ago. A drunk driver hit my dad’s car. The right side of my body was crushed. I have dozens of steal pins and rods through my body, holding me together.” Physically. Nothing but ten tiny breaths holds the rest of me together.
Trent exhales loudly, falling back into the couch. “Did anyone die?”
“Yeah,” I manage to say. A sudden explosion of panic inside curls my tongue, preventing me from saying more. My hands start trembling uncontrollably. Too much, too soon, my psyche is saying.
“Wow, Kacey. That’s … that’s …” His hand smooths over the length of my leg again however it’s lost that intimate feel. Now, it’s comforting. I don’t want comforting. Nothing he can do will comfort me.
“Kiss me,” I demand, glaring at him.
Disbelief widens his eyes. “What?”
“I gave you what you wanted. Now give me what I want.” He doesn’t move. He just stares at me like I’ve set myself on fire. I seize his bicep and squeeze tightly, using it as leverage to pull my body up and onto his, shifting one leg over a stunned Trent’s lap to straddle him. “Kiss me. Now,” I growl. His jaw clenches and I know my persistence is wearing on him. It’s only more obvious a second later when he squeezes his lids shut. “Trent—”
He hunches forward, his head slumping into my shoulder. “You know it’s taking every ounce of me to keep in control, right?”
“Don’t. Forget control. You don’t need it,” I whisper into his ear.
He groans, flopping back. “You’re making this so hard, Kacey,” he murmurs, a pained look on his face.
With my hands on the back of Trent’s broad shoulders, I shimmy forward until I’m right on him, feeling his need for me so acutely. I lean in and let my lips brush over Trent’s neck. “What exactly am I making hard, Trent?” My voice is breathless, an intentional move to entice him.
It works.
Trent’s hands grab me from behind as he pulls my body flush against his, his mouth devouring mine with a new level of hunger. He forces my mouth open and his tongue slides in, entwining with mine. Gripping the back of my head with one hand, he pushes my mouth closer against his.
“Me? The guy who keeps buying strange girls front doors?”
“Strange girls!” I gasp, my hands flying to cross my chest in mock horror. “I take offense to that. Besides, how do I know you’re not some batshit crazy stiletto-wearing kleptomaniac who’ll steal Storm’s underwear and drink all the mustard?”
He rolls his eyes. “It was ketchup and that was only once. It did nothing for me, I swear it.” I giggle as Trent’s arms lift to settle on my shoulders. He looks down the length of my body before settling on my face. “I do have an appreciation for women’s underwear. Just, not on me.”
I struggle to swallow as my heart leaps into my throat, the blood pulsing against my ear drum as this electric pulse channels between us, rousing every nerve in my body. But then he breaks off, taking three large steps back and exhaling deeply. I smile to myself. At least I’ m not the only one who feels it.
“We should do something about this door. The police tape doesn’t exactly keep prying eyes out.”
Another wave of heat roils through me. What would prying eyes see? Trent rifles through the closets until he pulls out an old blanket. “I hope she doesn’t mind.”
I help Trent secure the blanket against the opening with an array of tape, tacks, and other adhesive things I find in the kitchen drawers. It’s after one o’clock in the morning when we finally finish and my adrenaline rush is crashing, leaving me exhausted. I flop down on the sectional. “I haven’t been off my feet for more than ten minutes tonight.” Trent takes a seat at the end of the couch. Gently lifting my feet, he slides first one heel off and then another.
“Oh.” I moan. “You can stay.” He grins, but says nothing as his skilled hands rub the bottom of my feet in smooth, circular motions. Around and around, slowly, deftly. I groan and lie my head back, enjoying his strength, his undivided attention. “Okay, you’ve earned at least one underwear strut. Go,” I fling my arm lazily toward Storm’s room. “Pick your weapon. Storm has quite the collection.”
Trent chuckles. “Depends on who’s strutting.”
I open one eye to find heat in his light blue eyes as they gaze at me. Again, I see this mercurial switch from the cautious, responsible Trent to the one who seems willing to have me on my back, and I don’t know what to think of it except that I know I want the latter version right now. His hand begins moving a little faster, a little more ardently, his breathing heavier. And then his hands are sliding to my calves and with a grip, pulling me toward him. As I slide, my dress slips higher up, revealing more leg. Luckily it stops at the height of my thighs, just as my butt reaches the side of his thigh. My bare legs are now stretched over his lap. One of his hands rests on the inside of my thigh, shooting lightning bolts through my entire body. The index finger on his other hand traces along my right outer thigh—up, up, further …
It stops on my tattoo, on the edge of my scar and strokes back and forth along the ridge. “Did you get the tat to cover this scar?”
“If I did that, my entire right side would be one big tattoo,” I lie.
“Why five ravens?” He asks as his fingers trail along the tails.
“Why not?” I pray he’ll leave it at that.
But he doesn’t. “What does it mean?”
When I don’t answer, he says, “Please talk to me, Kacey.”
“You said I didn’t have to.” My voice turns bitter. Trent has effectively tossed a bucket of ice water over my body, dousing the heat from a moment ago.
His hand leaves my leg to rub his forehead. “I know. I know I did say that. I’m sorry. I just want you to trust me, Kace.”
“It has nothing to do with trust.”
“What does it have to do with then?”
I stare up at the ceiling. “The past. Stuff I don’t want to talk about. Stuff you promised me we wouldn’t have to talk about.”
His hand finds its way back to my thigh, his eyes focused on it as he gently squeezes. “I know I said that, but I need to know you’re okay, Kacey.” There’s a twinge of something in his voice that I can’t quite identify. Worry? Fear? What is it?
“What, are you afraid you’ll wake up duct taped to your mattress?”
“No.” I catch a hint of anger in Trent’s voice. The first, ever. It vanishes with the softness in his next words. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” The air in the room grows somber as Trent lifts his eyes to my face and I see they’re full of grief. He leans over enough that he can reach my cheek, brushing a thumb against it.
His words—or more his tone and the pain in his eyes—stirs a need to ease whatever is upsetting him.
I want to make Trent happy.
And I realize that I want him to know me. All of me.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly going bone dry. “I was in a bad car accident a few years ago. A drunk driver hit my dad’s car. The right side of my body was crushed. I have dozens of steal pins and rods through my body, holding me together.” Physically. Nothing but ten tiny breaths holds the rest of me together.
Trent exhales loudly, falling back into the couch. “Did anyone die?”
“Yeah,” I manage to say. A sudden explosion of panic inside curls my tongue, preventing me from saying more. My hands start trembling uncontrollably. Too much, too soon, my psyche is saying.
“Wow, Kacey. That’s … that’s …” His hand smooths over the length of my leg again however it’s lost that intimate feel. Now, it’s comforting. I don’t want comforting. Nothing he can do will comfort me.
“Kiss me,” I demand, glaring at him.
Disbelief widens his eyes. “What?”
“I gave you what you wanted. Now give me what I want.” He doesn’t move. He just stares at me like I’ve set myself on fire. I seize his bicep and squeeze tightly, using it as leverage to pull my body up and onto his, shifting one leg over a stunned Trent’s lap to straddle him. “Kiss me. Now,” I growl. His jaw clenches and I know my persistence is wearing on him. It’s only more obvious a second later when he squeezes his lids shut. “Trent—”
He hunches forward, his head slumping into my shoulder. “You know it’s taking every ounce of me to keep in control, right?”
“Don’t. Forget control. You don’t need it,” I whisper into his ear.
He groans, flopping back. “You’re making this so hard, Kacey,” he murmurs, a pained look on his face.
With my hands on the back of Trent’s broad shoulders, I shimmy forward until I’m right on him, feeling his need for me so acutely. I lean in and let my lips brush over Trent’s neck. “What exactly am I making hard, Trent?” My voice is breathless, an intentional move to entice him.
It works.
Trent’s hands grab me from behind as he pulls my body flush against his, his mouth devouring mine with a new level of hunger. He forces my mouth open and his tongue slides in, entwining with mine. Gripping the back of my head with one hand, he pushes my mouth closer against his.
