Beyond Repair (4 page)

Tempting things
, she thought, then quickly pushed the
thought away.

She focused instead on the jacket, which also proved to be a
mistake. She’d been right about how it would look. It was weird but she had
been right. She could actually see the shape of him in the mess of material
he’d left behind, and it wasn’t a soothing sight. It made her think of stories
about goblin shapeshifters shedding their skin—as though this weren’t the real
him anymore.

This was the thing that had taken him over. The real man had
dissolved down into that sagging thing on the sofa, and now she was left with
the creature. Funny then, that this creature didn’t seem so bad. In fact he was
sort of better than the one he’d been when she first encountered him on the
rug.

That guy had seemed like a hard-partying probable jerk face.

This guy was sort of awkward and unsure of himself. He kept
brushing at his bare forearms, as solid as the rest of him but somehow
vulnerable now without their layer of leather. And when he looked at her
finally, that same vulnerability was in his gaze. All the silly, weird talk was
done, and there was just veiled blue, like something lost at the bottom of the
ocean. There were just the words he hadn’t said—
Why I did this, why I still
want to, why it felt so bad I thought I had to
.

She could see it all, because those things were in her too.
They made her want to hug him—though she knew what would happen the moment she
dared. Of course it was possible that he would talk and talk and talk about
himself and never expect a word from her. But it was equally possible that he’d
do the opposite.

He’d already done the opposite in so many ways. She’d
thought he’d be arrogant and aggressive; he wasn’t. She’d thought he’d be
bemused by the weirdest thing she could say; he hadn’t been. There was a chance
he’d listen.

But all that did was make her realize something, for the
first time…

She was absolutely terrified to say anything about herself
at all.

She woke with a start at some time past dawn, in the cold gray
light that usually heralded the day’s arrival. From where she was laid she
could see the mist pressing its fingers against the broad living room windows,
faint here but heavy farther back. The ocean was pretty much concealed in a way
that always disturbed her—as though she’d somehow found herself in some strange
hell, and nothing beyond her front door actually existed.

The movie star she was lying on didn’t really help matters,
in that regard. He seemed like the most unreal thing of all. Of course,
rationally she knew that was his thigh she was feeling beneath her cheek. She
could see his enormous knee out of the corner of one eye, and that salt-sweet
smell of him was very clear, here. But she couldn’t really process it.

Until she realized what had yanked her out of sleep.

She shouldn’t have done it. She’d meant to stay awake and
keep talking to him all night, in case something unthinkable happened. Then
somehow…somehow she must have started sinking on the couch—and maybe he’d
settled her in this position out of kindness, without thinking what that might
mean for him.

Hell, maybe he
had
thought about what that might mean
for him. He’d encouraged her to lapse into unconsciousness so he could too—only
he didn’t want to simply sleep.
He wanted to die
, she thought,
you’ve
let him die
, and Jesus, the panic that followed was near unbearable. It was
just like before, in that terrible doctor’s office. She could almost hear him
telling her that she had to calm down, she had to stop thinking about people
dying all the time.
It’s not healthy
, he said, in her head.

But right now she didn’t care if it was or not. She just
wanted him to be alive, and if he wasn’t, by God, she was going to punch him
until he returned. She sat up in a fumble, ignoring the horrid stiffness of her
limbs and the weird pain that shot through her bad arm. She’d slept on it when
she shouldn’t have, but what did that matter?

His eyes were closed. And in this ghostly gray light he
looked so lifeless, so stiff and pale. It made her almost afraid to touch him,
but fear forced her the rest of the way. It pushed her until she’d laid her
hand on the side of his face, and oh she thanked the heavens to find it warm to
the touch.

Not hugely so, but it was enough to give her back some hope.
She was able to swallow again, around the salty, great lump in her throat. And
she could breathe instead of panting, as she pondered how to next deal with
this. She had to wake him up, but he wasn’t responding to gentle taps and
tentative shakes.

What came after gentle taps and tentative shakes?

Shoving his ass until the
National Enquirer
takes
a picture
, her mind offered, but only because her mind was a jerk. She had
been forced into touching his ass. She hadn’t
wanted
to do it. And she
didn’t want to spiral the way she was currently doing, either.

She didn’t know when she’d grabbed his right arm, yet it was
happening. It was more than happening. Her nails were kind of digging into him,
and she was breathing all hard and funny. Somewhere in the middle of it all she
started shouting his name, so loud and frantic she barely noticed when he
finally came around.

He had to grab her arms right back, and tell her,
Hey,
hey, I’m okay
.

It didn’t stop her making a fool of herself, however. The
second those blue eyes met hers—so full of earnest concern and other amazing
things—she just reacted. She smacked her body into his and made a vise of her
arms around his shoulders. She hugged him the way people who’d known each other
for years hugged each other—even though they’d only met the night before.

And even more appalling…he was a fucking movie star.

She was randomly hugging a movie star, like some fannish
imbecile. He wouldn’t understand that she had these sudden panics, or that she
worried all the time about everyone dying. He’d just think she was an insane
groupie, or something.

She had to pull away, now. In fact she was on the verge of
doing that very thing when she sensed it. Just a stirring at the side of her at
first, but it was soon followed by the feeling of his hand hovering over her
back. When she strained she could almost make out its warmth, though she still
couldn’t quite piece together what he was doing.

It felt as if he’d forgotten how to move his body. She was
almost concerned, until that indecisive hand quite suddenly sank down over her
back. She felt each finger spanning her tightly—from her shoulder blade to the
bottom of her rib cage—and wanted to laugh.

He was hugging her in return. And quite clearly, he was
rusty at it.

“Oh my God, I’d forgotten what this felt like.”

“Not a lot of huggers in Hollywood, huh?”

“None like this—holy shit. Okay, I’m just going to kind of
slump into you now. So if you’re averse to that, say before I’m swamping your
helpless body.”

“I don’t mind if you swamp.”

“Are you sure? Because I think I’m a fumbling virgin at
this.”

“You’re doing fine. In fact I think I’m close to a cuddling
orgasm.”

She sort of wished she hadn’t said
orgasm
, but it was
too late to change her mind now. He didn’t waste a single second. As soon as
she’d answered, his other arm slid around her waist. Those big biceps
tightened, real close to her face. And most overwhelming of all—his head sank
into the space between her shoulder and her throat. It made a little nest there
and settled in against her skin. She could actually feel his stubble, so rough
against such a sensitive spot…and was that a hint of his lips?

She thought it was, but wouldn’t accept that it was anything
but innocent.

He wasn’t trying to kiss her, for God’s sake. This was just
the way the hug had shaken out, with her almost curled beneath him and his face
smushed against her neck. He had warned her he was about to swamp, and when
people swamped sometimes strange mergings happened. It was no big deal.

“Ohhhhhh yeah.”

No big deal at all.

“Oh baby this is so good.”

Really not a big deal.

“Can we just stay like this for a thousand years?”

Okay, maybe it was a little bit of a big deal.

“We probably have to. I think you’ve fused us together,” she
said, just to make things a little lighter. She even managed a tiny amused
breath, which should have sealed the deal. It didn’t, however. Somehow the word
fused
had come out just as sexual as all the rest of this, and the
little sound had a husky quality.

It was almost a moan.

She was
moaning
at him now.

While he in turn asked increasingly loaded questions.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, it’s cool. I like having four arms.”

“And a penis?”

Why did he have to talk about penises? She had absolutely no
idea how to get around that one. All she could manage was a wavering, “I can’t
wait to pee standing up,” but that only seemed to make things more complicated.
Now he was laughing, which was good in one way. He sounded so normal now when
he did it.

It was just the
feel
of him doing it. That was the
real problem. The sound seemed to vibrate right out of him and into her. She
actually felt buzzing in her own bones, and maybe also around places she
wouldn’t think too closely about. The penis talk was enough on its own. She
didn’t need to start thinking about any other body parts that had sexual
connotations. He was still recovering and she barely knew what sex was.

Connotations were just not possible.

She
wished
they weren’t possible.

“Mmmmm you’re so warm.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. Squeeze me tighter.”

“Like this?”

“God, yeah, just like that. A little to the right, maybe.”

“I can’t get any closer to the right.”

“You could if you hooked that leg over mine.”

He said it in an innocent kind of way, yet it was clear what
he was asking. If she hooked her leg over his, she’d essentially be straddling
him. She’d be fucking straddling him. She couldn’t
straddle him
—not under
any circumstances. She needed to think of a way out of this, but how? Solving
puzzles was really not her strong suit. She was pretty sure she’d proven that
over the last twenty-four hours.

And this was no exception.

“I think I kind of need to pee.”

What sort of person tried to get out of amazing, sensual
hugs by mentioning bodily functions like a three-year-old? It didn’t even work,
either. All that embarrassment, and it came to absolutely nothing.

“And I guess you think that means I’m going to let go?”

“Well, unless you want to experience your new lady parts.”

“Why on earth would you think I wouldn’t? Now hold on
tight.”

“You can’t be serious,” she managed to get out, shortly
before he showed her just how serious he was. He didn’t even have to put both
arms around her. He just kept that big hand on her back and pushed off from the
couch, and suddenly she was hanging off him like a little monkey.

“No no no, I’m falling!” she said, though she understood on
some level that it was another kind of panic talking. She wasn’t really afraid
of flying off him. Even if she did, what was the worst that could happen? She
might bruise her bum. Maybe she’d look like a bit of an idiot.

She already looked like an idiot, so that didn’t matter.

No, no, it mattered that the feelings were still happening.
And now that he’d lifted her, they seemed way more intense than before. The
open space between her legs was pressing against…she didn’t know what it was
pressing against. She just knew it was there, and that there was no way to stop
it. She’d semi-linked her legs around his hips the second he’d done it, and she
couldn’t back out of that now.

It would look weird. Christ, everything was so weird.

Yet agonizingly, he didn’t seem to notice at all.

“You’re not falling. You just don’t like being lifted up by
a big oafish idiot.”

Or maybe he did notice, in the coolest way possible. At the
very least he was aware that his manliness was disturbing her—and that relaxed
her a little. It gave her the space to tell him it was okay, in a roundabout
sort of way.

“I never said you were a big oafish idiot.”

“But you don’t like being lifted.”

“It’s not as bad now that I’m up here.”

“Getting used to it, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said, because she was. She could feel herself
slowly calming down. His hand felt really nice on her back, when he held her
like this. It wasn’t just a simple cuddling touch anymore, or something that
made her think of sexy things. It kept her strapped in, like a seat belt. It
kept her nice and safe and secure.

And then she realized what might be prompting such a
thought, and suddenly she was back to square one again.

“But you should probably put me down.”

“I don’t think I can. The hugging’s just too good.”

“You won’t think so when you realize how exhausted you are.”

“Are you kidding? I feel great. I feel like I could go for a
run.”

He’d warned her, but she still wasn’t quite prepared for his
sudden dash around the living room. She had to do an embarrassing gasp and hang
on tighter, and even more so when he went for the stairs. It was like being
suddenly six foot five, while standing on the bow of a rocking ship. She dared
to look and saw the steps over his shoulder, practically rolling like waves as
he ran her up them.

She almost screamed. She almost demanded he stop.

But when she went to do both, something else came out
instead. It just swelled up through her body, bright and brilliant and so
unfamiliar it took her a second to recognize what was happening. For a moment
she was sure she was going to be sick, and then it became clear—this was
giddiness
.

She was actually giggling with giddiness, like some
ridiculous kid.

She
felt
like a ridiculous kid—and especially so when
he suddenly dumped her on her bed. The last time anyone had done that she’d
been four years old, and in major trouble from the tickle monster. In fact, the
memory was so strong she almost expected him to do it. He’d lean down and dig
his knuckles into her ribs, just like someone else used to do. And though the
thought of someone else dimmed this fun somewhat, it didn’t darken everything
completely.

She was still laughing when she realized where they were.

In her bedroom.

On her bed.

With him almost straddling her legs, and his knees digging
into her mattress, and both of them breathing hard in a way that had seemed
innocent a moment ago…but now kind of didn’t. Even she could see he was staring
at her too intently, for fun playground antics. His blue eyes had gone dark,
despite the sun starting to strain through her thin curtains. And there were a
million little things about him that she wouldn’t really have recognized, if
she hadn’t seen them so many times in his movies.

His lips were parted, the way they did before he was about
to really kiss some starlet, and those heavily lashed eyelids of his had dipped
real low. However, nothing beat the way his big chest had started going up and
down and up and down.

Like heaving bosoms
, her mind offered randomly.

Before she stomped on it and shoved it in a cupboard
somewhere. Even if this was some kind of semi-sexual thing, he probably
wouldn’t want to be compared to a woman from an old-school romance. He probably
wouldn’t want anything she could do, in fact, because the last time she’d had
something like intimate contact with someone she’d accidentally punched the guy
in the face.

Good God, she couldn’t possibly let him see her fumbling,
punching attempts at something she knew nothing about. She couldn’t, she
couldn’t.