Lost (Captive Heart #1) (11 page)

His words make my body go rigid. Of course he’s been with dozens, probably hundreds of women.

Tucker notices. “Oh, fuck … Char, I didn’t mean it like that. I … I want you.”

Only because I’m the only one here.

I roll over, a bitter taste in my mouth and the moment dampened. I expect Tucker to leave, the sun descending and the cold of the air turning to ice.

But instead, I feel him press up against my back and his big arms circle my waist.

I hear his deep whisper. “I mean it Char. I want you. It may not mean much because we’re here, and because of the way this came to be. But I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than I want you. All of you. Not just like this.”

He grinds against me and I feel his large, heated erection pulse against my butt. I can’t help but groan.

“But for now, we’ll sleep. This was about you.”

He pulls in close, his big, lean body engulfing mine.

And with his warm, masculine limbs wrapped around me, I fell into the best night’s sleep I’d had since he brought me to this godforsaken place.

S
he thought
I was still asleep.

I knew that half an hour ago when she woke, the skies outside still dark with the set-in of Daylight Savings Time. That was the only explanation as to why it was pitch black but obviously morning.

We’d reached November sixth and no one had come here looking for us.

Char inched her arm from under mine again and I could hear the cogs of her brain whirling around. She was trying to pry herself from under my warmth, trying to get out before I woke up so that she didn’t have to face me or talk about what had happened last night.

Little did she know I was already awake. I’d been quietly smiling into her back for an hour, taking my time feeling her velvety skin under my fingers and barely resisting the temptation of her plump ass inches from my rigid cock.

The second she thinks she’s wiggled her way out, I’m going to pull her back down and trap her under me until she knows that what I said last night was stupid and idiotic. I have to make her see that despite what she thinks of me, which probably isn’t much, with her … this time, I want things to be different.

And despite the shit I’ve gotten her into, and the fact that starting something with her now has got to be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, I don’t care. I want to be with her, I want to have her and call her mine. That’s what I’ve learned over the last month and I’m not giving it up now.

Plus, I have major repenting to do. Three months we hooked up and no orgasms? I feel like a failure. Looking back on my sex life, I’ve always been a bit selfish. I’ve had more than my fair share of drunken hook ups, one-night stands, and groupies hanging off my dick. I never asked if they came, and they never seemed to mind.

But now … hearing that from Char. I can’t believe I actually put myself inside of her, thought I was making her feel what I was feeling. And to hear she’d been lying, that she wasn’t comfortable saying anything. But of course, I’d never made an effort to make her feel comfortable.

The whole thing makes my head hurt. We’ve just gone around in circles hurting each other, not being open or honest. And I was so exhausted by it.

Char finally manages to scoot herself far enough away from me that she is about to roll off the mountain of mattresses and stiff blankets. It’s then that I reach out and roll her petite frame back towards me, maneuvering my body so that I’m pinning her underneath me.

And I get an earful of bloody-murder screams.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?!” Char thrashes beneath me but I hold her steady.

“You weren’t really going to leave me in bed, all alone, without saying good morning. Were you?”

I nuzzle her neck and smell her hair, which despite having no girly products still smells fucking amazing. I was already rock solid an hour ago when I woke up beside her, and the way my cock is throbbing with weight now, I’m just aching to be inside of her.

“Get off of me, Tucker.” Char tries to push me off, but her hips pushing up off the mattress and into mine tell me a different story.

“Mmm, Charlotte Ann, I don’t think you want me to do that.” I tease, pinning her hands above her head in one fell swoop.

“It’s not enough to kidnap me, now you have to rape me too?” She hisses into my ear.

I’m off her and the mattress so quickly that I almost topple out the door of the cabin behind my back.

“Rape!? Jesus, Char, it didn’t sound like rape to me last night when you were begging me to make you come with my mouth?”

She looks away and pulls on the clothes scattered around the bed. “That was a mistake. Last night … it’s not happening again.”

I rub my hands over my face and feel my dick beg for attention where it’s tented in my pants. “What the hell? I thought we got somewhere last night.”

Char stands, pulling on her sneakers and bundling up. “The only place we got is that I’m still your dirty little secret. Some little play toy you get amusement from when there is nothing else to do. But let me tell you now, I will not be that girl again. I won’t do this. And frankly, I’m getting really fucking sick of being here with you. So you better start thinking up a plan to get us out of here, or to let me go. Because I might just be bold enough to leave now.”

She pushes me out of the way and opens the door, and I feel the sting of it on my back when she slams it shut behind her.

* * *

I
knew
I was keeping what we were doing a secret. I knew I was keeping her hidden.

I thought, like the stupid fucking teenager I was, that maybe she hadn’t noticed that.

It wasn’t because I was ashamed of her, hell no! I was hooking up with one of the hottest, coolest chicks I’d ever met. I meant it when I’d said that I kept us a secret because being alone with Char was the only time that my life felt good … easy. If I took us public all of those years ago, there would have been questions and pressure and the gossip mill would have run wild. I would have gone away to school and we would have had to make long distance work and it wouldn’t have and … Jesus, the amount of shit we would have had to endure would have ruined us.

It was a dick move to never put into words what we were. I can see now that I hurt her so bad when it came to that. So badly, that it might not even be repairable.

It was an even bigger dick move to leave without saying anything. After all of the conversations we’d had, all of the intimacy we’d shared, and then I just left her without so much as a goodbye.

And now this. Would she really try to leave? I can’t let her do that.

And again, I am putting me and my needs before her. Every single time.

I’m selfish and flawed, I admit that openly. And I’m still looking out for number one. Because I won’t sacrifice myself for her to return to her life. And if she tries, I’ll have to ensure she doesn’t succeed.

I’m in the mess hall, cataloging the food and collecting a few things I need for my cabin. More toothpaste, even though I’m only brushing with my finger every night. Apparently lots of kids forget to bring a toothbrush to camp, hence there being none left in the canteen that they would have sold. But when you’ve abused drugs for as long as I have, and gone months without proper hygiene, this is like heaven. The feeling of a clean mouth is an addiction for me now.

I also need more toilet paper, even though the stuff is barely better than tissue paper. I have to use almost an entire roll when I shit. I’ve taken to hiding the rolls under my sweatshirt when I bring them back to my cabin. I don’t need Char mocking me for it. I’ve never lived with a woman, known her bodily habits like my own, and I don’t plan to start sharing now.

We’ve made it through maybe half the mass of boxes littering the supply room in the mess hall, some of them are stacked up so high they’re unreachable. I take down another box to check its contents, and low and behold.

A case of wine, two-dozen bottles, sitting pretty in the cardboard box.

My mouth starts to water. It’s the closest thing I’ve been near that could give me some kind of high in more than a month. I could open all of these shiny red bottles right now, and gulp them down in quick succession.

Get rip-roaring drunk.

My hand lifts, touching the dusty bottles in their packaging and moving them slightly. The rattle of the glass actually makes my veins jump and my throat ache with thirst.

Criminal. Kidnapper. Rapist. Drug addict.

Char’s words echo in my brain, sending stone after stone to weigh down my pathetic heart.

I step away, physically dragging my feet backwards away from the box of alcohol.

At that exact moment, I hear a pained scream.

My feet are whirling my body around, carrying my frame before I know it.

“Char!” I scream as soon as I’m through the door of the mess hall.

Silence.

She didn’t get away, did she?

“Char?!” My pulse is beating in my ears now, my frantic eyes searching everything in front of me.

Silence.

I strain my ears, listen for any tiny noise.

“Tuck.”

It’s so faint that I almost don’t hear it. But then there is another painful yelp and I’m sprinting in the direction of the woods. I crest the threshold of the trees and keep running.

“Char!”

“Tucker. Over here.” She sounds muffled and in pain.

I see the obstacle course come into view and I know she has to be there. I’m hoping against hope that she isn’t at the bottom of that massive wooden structure. That she just has a bee sting, in the middle of November, or maybe she found a dying animal, or…

But, no. There she is, a slumped pile of long brown locks and petite limbs crumpled at the base of the rock wall.

“Jesus, Char, what the hell happened?!” I run to her, lifting her shoulders and face where they’re face down in the cold, dead leaves.

She winces. “I was climbing the rock wall. I don’t know I was bored and thought I’d give it a try. My foot slipped, I think it might be broken.”

I look her over. There is a bloody cut on her right cheekbone, she must have struck one of the rocks on the way down.

“Okay, hold on, I’m going to sit you up.”

I grab under her shoulders and below her knee, not without her giving a painful whimper, and lift her into my arms. Char grabs hold of my neck and presses her face into my chest, using my sweatshirt as a tissue. I don’t want to keep her out here, propped up against the cold, hard wood wall in the dirty leaves.

“Can you hold on for a few minutes?”

“I think so.” She nods into my chest and I press my lips to her hair, trying to bring any comfort I can to her.

So I run, as gently as I possibly can, back to my cabin. After setting her down on the mattress, I work at rolling her pant leg up as cautiously as I can.

Char winces and a sob escapes her lips.

“I’m sorry, Char, but I have to take a look.”

“I think it’s broken.” She half-whines, half-cries.

I pull her shoe off, with a scream and a hiss from her, and finally get a good look at the ankle. Her entire right foot is swollen, puffed up and turning a ghastly shade of blue. I press on a couple of spots, ask her for the pain tolerance and level. I turn it, much to her resistance and argument.

And lucky for her, I know what broken bones look like. “It’s not broken.”

“How would you know?”

I give her a stern glare. “Do you know how many broken bones I’ve seen in my lifetime, let alone had? I know it’s not broken. It’s just really badly sprained.”

“Well, what do we do now?” She lies back, huffing at the ceiling and I see the tears leaking from her eyes.

“I’m going to see what I can find to wrap it and ice it. For now, I’m putting this wad of blankets under your foot so that it’s elevated. You need RICE—rest, ice, compression and elevation.”

She nods and I leave, running back to the supply closet and grabbing all of the medical supplies I possibly can. I pause at the swinging door for one minute, eyeing the case of wine. It’s good for pain relief.

That’s what I tell myself before reaching in and grabbing a bottle to bring back with me.

When I get back to the cabin, Char still has that grimace on her face.

“Okay, I found an old ACE bandage and some gauze, and some Neosporin for your face because that cut looks like it hurts.”

I begin to work tenderly but firmly wrapping her swollen ankle in the gauzy ACE bandage.

“Where did you learn all this?” Char isn’t smiling at me, but at least her face isn’t twisted up in pain anymore.

“Uh yeah, I was an athlete for like, fifteen years of my life. I think I picked up a few things.” I give her a wink.

“You’re just a ball of surprises these days aren’t you? Construction and now Mr. Nurse. It’s like I don’t even know you.”

“Maybe you don’t,” I say quietly as I apply Neosporin to the inside of a Band-Aid and gently place it over the cut on her cheek.

She stares at me, like she’s about to say something, but I don’t want to talk about us anymore. I’m tired, and so is she.

“I brought along this. I couldn’t find any Advil, but thought you might want to use this for the pain.”

I hold out the bottle of red wine. Leave it to Mr. Marsh to buy wine with twist tops, making it all that much easier for me to simply drown my sorrows in a bottle.

Char lets out the first small laugh I’ve heard from her in two days. “I do prefer a glass of red now and then.”

“Well, there are no glasses, so you’ll have to go straight from the bottle, but I won’t tell anyone about this unladylike behavior if you don’t.”

I finally settle down onto the bare floor next to her as she lounges on my makeshift bed.

She twists off the cap and takes a testing sip from the bottle. “Not bad. Want some?”

She holds it out to me, and how easy it would be to just take it. To feel that tangy, heady liquid pass my lips and surge through my veins.

“I … shouldn’t.”

Her lips turn down and those big brown eyes nearly bug out of her head. “Oh, jeez, Tucker I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that … I just didn’t realize …”

“It’s all right,” I lay a hand over hers, the one not holding the bottle, “I’m not an alcoholic, but you know … addictive personality and all. It’s probably best if I don’t start.”