Small-Town Redemption (10 page)

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“You looked cold...” The rest was self-evident so he lifted his left shoulder, only able to achieve an inch or so of height, but she got the idea.

She uncrossed her arms and rubbed the edge of the blanket between her forefinger and thumb. “You covered me?” Her voice was still soft, as if she was in that halfway point between wake and sleep and didn’t want to ruin a good dream. “That was nice of you.”

And she smiled at him, a sleepy half smile that was somehow wistful and sexy at the same time. Something caught in his chest, like a hand squeezing the air from his lungs. A craving for her dug in with sharp claws, taking hold of his willpower. His good sense.

Before he could regain either, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

She gasped, the sound rushing through him like a windstorm, blowing everything out of his mind except the taste of her. Her hands flew to his chest, but she didn’t push him away. Not yet. So he kissed her again, slowly, carefully, doing his damnedest to coax a response from her. Her shoulders relaxed; her body lost its stiffness.

And she kissed him back, hesitantly. Sweetly.

Sweet, that was what she was, despite her smart mouth and cocky attitude. Too goddamn sweet for the likes of him with her big heart and willingness to help others. To help him. He’d end the kiss, end this madness...

In a minute. Or two.

Her hands slid up, one curving over his good shoulder, settling there lightly, the other tangling in his hair. He cupped her cheek with his left hand, the tips of his fingers pressing into the back of her long neck, his thumb on her jawline. He deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue over the right corner of her mouth. Then the left.

And went suddenly, viciously hard when she did the same to him.

A low, desperate sound ripped from his throat as he jerked her to him and kissed her harder, deeper, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth. Her hand tightened, tugging at his hair, the sharp bite only adding to his hunger. The beast inside him, the one he’d long ago caged, reared up, snarling and snapping, demanding to be fed.

He wanted to devour Charlotte. To take whatever she gave until his pain was gone, until he stopped yearning for something—alcohol, drugs, or those prescription pills that were close by—to take the edge off.

This, he thought, rising up so he was pressed against Charlotte’s slight curves, her breasts brushing his chest, this would work. Being with Charlotte, surrounded by her scent, accepted by her body, moving inside her, would take away his pain. At least for a little while.

But when they were done? When the sweat had dried, when their hearts no longer raced and their bodies’ desires were satiated? He’d still feel empty inside.

Worse, he was afraid that so would she.

He pushed to his feet. Pain rocketed through him, turned his stomach, had him swaying. Before he could even catch his breath, Charlotte was next to him, a steady, solid presence at his side, one hand at his lower back, the other under his good arm.

“Why don’t you sit down,” she said in her soothing nurse’s tone as she led him toward the chair.

He shook his head. Afraid to open his mouth in case the whimper trying to work its way up his throat should get out. He stared at her. He was an idiot. An asshole for taking advantage of her like that, kissing her that way when she’d barely even been awake.

“Why the hell did you stay here?”

He winced. That hadn’t been what he’d wanted to say. What he’d meant to say.

I’m sorry.

Two simple words. Simple to everyone but a Bartasavich. But those words hadn’t come out. Only a low growl of accusation.

“I’m still here,” she said slowly, as if he should already know her answer, “because you asked me to stay with you.”

His head snapped back as if he’d been punched. “What?”

“You wanted to know why I stayed. It was because you asked me to.”

He stilled, his shoulders going rigid. “I asked?”

“Yes.”

“I asked you to stay.”

“You seem confused, so let me make this as clear as possible. I wanted to leave, but you asked me not to, so I didn’t.”

A memory, faint as a wisp of smoke, floated through his brain.

Stay with me.

His voice. His words.

Hell.

“You could have left after I fell asleep,” he grumbled.

“After you begged me not to?” Eyes wide, she shook her head. “What kind of person would that make me?”

“Begged?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he muttered one word—a very succinct curse—under his breath. Dropped his hand and glared at her. “I need coffee.”

Except when he got into the kitchen, he realized there was no way he’d be able to get the grounds from the upper cabinet without either passing out or crying like a baby.

Shit.

“You should have a sling on,” Charlotte said as she walked into the room.

Straightening, he faced her. “I can’t even get the coffee down. I doubt I’m up for turning a triangle into a sling.”

She glanced from him to the upper cupboard to the material in her hand. Sighed. “Don’t move.”

Tossing the thin material over her shoulder, she opened the cupboard door, then rose onto her toes to reach the bag of coffee on the upper shelf.

It was far from a seductive pose, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. His blood stirred. An image, crystal clear and unwanted, slammed into him. One of her stretched out in his bed, her short hair mussed, her blue eyes dark and heavy-lidded. In his imagination, she continued to smile at him, reach for him, her long, lean body covered only by a sheet. Her pale skin his to touch. To taste.

In reality, she lowered back to her heels and tossed the bag of coffee onto the counter, then took the material and laid one long pointed end over his left shoulder. “Lift your arm.”

“You told me not to move,” he reminded her.

She made a frustrated sound again, as she had when she’d been forced to dig into his pocket for his key. It yanked his mind back to his daydream, and he wondered what he’d have to do to her to elicit that enticing rumble in a sexual way.

He doubted he’d ever find out.

Shouldn’t want to find out, he reminded himself, as Charlotte gently raised his broken arm and laid it across his chest, pinning the material in place. Wanting someone, something so much, was dangerous. It made you weak. Took away your control.

Hadn’t he proved that already? First by asking her to stay. Then by kissing her.

Now, by wanting to kiss her again.

With quick, deft movements, she brought up the other end of the fabric, tied the points together at the side of his neck. Stepped back. “That should do until you get a regular sling.”

Before he could make a mental note to do so that afternoon, she was filling the coffeepot at the sink. He didn’t bother pointing out that he preferred using distilled water; he just opened the bag of coffee and measured out grounds into a filter. A few minutes later, the air filled with the scent of brewing coffee.

Since Charlotte seemed content to remain silent for the time being, Kane gladly followed suit. Never let it be said he ever did anything to encourage a woman to rip him a new one.

That he deserved to be ripped into was beside the point.

Less than ten minutes later, he was taking the first fortifying sip of coffee when she broke the silence.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?” she asked, pouring herself a cup.

He sipped again, prayed the caffeine did its work quickly. “Care to be more specific?”

She blushed and dropped her gaze. He didn’t think she’d actually call him on it, on the kiss or his reaction to it. But then she lifted her chin and met his eyes.

And he knew he was screwed.

“You kissed me,” she said, as if daring him to dispute that.

“I remember.” He was afraid it was going to take him some time to forget.

“Why?”

Now he raised his eyebrows. Did he really need to spell that out? “The usual reasons, I suppose.”

Her color deepened, but she forged ahead. He could almost admire that about her. “No, I mean what was it? Gratitude? Pity? Good old-fashioned curiosity?”

He pressed his lips together. “No.”

“No?” she asked when he remained silent. “That’s it, just no?”

What else did she want from him? He hadn’t kissed her out of gratitude or pity. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that.

He’d kissed her because he couldn’t
not
kiss her.

He’d spent so many years taking, taking, taking. Whether it was women, drugs and alcohol or something he could purchase with his old man’s platinum card, if Kane wanted it, he got it. Until he’d hit rock bottom and realized nothing—not the best sex or latest designer drug or high-priced clothes—would ever be able to fill the emptiness inside him. He’d gotten clean, and had spent the past fourteen years able to withstand any temptation.

Until today. Until Charlotte.

Damn her.

“No,” he repeated, angry with her for proving to be more enticing than he’d originally given her credit for. Pissed at himself for being so weak. For wanting to blame her for that weakness. “It wasn’t any of those things. It was a mistake.”

His. But hopefully it would be the last one he’d make around her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
T
WAS
A
MISTAKE
.

Charlotte wanted to throw her coffee at him. But it was still hot and she’d hate to see him burned. Still, the man pushed her buttons. No doubt on purpose.

“So you mistakenly kissed me?” she asked, unsure why she felt the need for clarification when so far, all of his answers to her questions only left her more confused and embarrassed. “How, exactly, does that work? Because it seems to me, you leaning forward and placing your mouth directly on mine was a deliberate action.”

Deliberate. Slow and sensual. God. Her lips still tingled, and she’d bet if she ran her tongue over them, she’d still taste him. She took a quick swallow of coffee.

“The action was deliberate,” he finally said. “The mistake was in thinking it was a good idea.”

That didn’t clear things up at all. Men. The last time she’d kissed him—sort of—hadn’t gone well, either. Then there had been the lip-lock she’d put on James when she’d been trying to convince him they were meant to be together.

If she wasn’t careful, and didn’t have a deep well of self-confidence, she just might get a kissing inferiority complex.

“Of course it wasn’t a good idea,” she said, shooting for haughty, but coming across as just bitchy. A woman scorned and all that. “Please do me a favor and the next time you think about kissing me, don’t.”

“Don’t think about it?”

Now he was messing with her. “Don’t kiss me.”

He nodded as though he was completely on board with that idea. “No problem.”

No problem?
Not
kissing her was no problem?

Jerk.

His lips twitched as if fighting a smile. He’d better keep fighting or so help her, she might resort to violence. He cleared his throat. “I’m curious about one thing....”

She wasn’t going to ask. She wasn’t going to ask. She was not going to...

Oh, who was she kidding? “What’s that?”

His gaze pinned her to the spot. “Why you kissed me back.”

Her face flamed. How could she not kiss him back when he was so good at it? She’d never been kissed like that before, as if every thought he had, every minuscule part of his being, was focused on her.

As if he wanted her, bedhead, shapeless scrubs and all.

“I was still half-asleep.” It wasn’t quite a lie. More like a half-truth. “I wasn’t completely sure what I was doing. Plus,” she hurried on before he could say something else guaranteed to make her feel like even more of an idiot, “I was surprised you’d kiss me. What with your daughter sleeping down the hall and all.”

Pouring more coffee into his mug, he jerked, had the hot liquid puddling on the counter before making a mad dash for the edge and dripping over the side. “What?”

His face was white, but she didn’t think it was from his injuries.

“You didn’t know,” Char said. She shook her head. “She told me you were expecting her.”

“She’s here?” He looked around, expecting the teenager to materialize out of thin air. “Estelle is in Shady Grove?”

Char almost felt sorry for him, he seemed so shocked. So out of his element. “She’s in your bedroom.”

He slammed the pot down and hurried out of the kitchen. Charlotte tossed a few paper towels over the mess on the counter before easily catching up with him at the end of the hall.

“Estelle.” Using the flat of his hand, he pounded on the door. “Open up.” He juggled the knob—locked—before knocking again, this time with the side of his fist. He whirled on Charlotte. “You saw her? Spoke to her?”

“Yes and yes.” She frowned at him. “You don’t look so good. Why don’t we go back to the living—”

“Estelle,” he called again, turning back to the door. Amazing how angry he could sound when he barely raised his voice. If she was Estelle, she’d be mighty worried about now. “If you don’t open this door by the time I count to three, I’m going to kick it in. One...”

“Do you really think threats are the best way to go?” Char asked. “She’s not a toddler.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” he told Char tightly. “Two...”

“True, but I feel I have a certain vested interest, what with me making sure you survived the night and all. I’d like to make sure your daughter survives the morning.”

“I only beat her on alternating Tuesdays,” he said drily. He raised his voice. “But I might add in a Sunday whipping if she doesn’t get her butt out here. Thr—”

The door opened. “Good morn...” Estelle’s eyes widened and the serene—probably practiced—smile on her face slid away. She swallowed. Her lower lip quivered on a soft sob. “Oh, Daddy!”

And she threw herself into Kane’s arms.

With a grimace and a grunt that sounded as if he’d been tackled by a 300-pound linebacker, Kane stepped back before regaining his balance. Estelle clung to him, her arms around his neck, her face buried in his good shoulder.

He lifted his arm and wrapped it around Estelle’s waist. Sighed the heartfelt, resigned sigh of fathers of teenage girls everywhere and kissed the top of her head.

He was obviously in pain. Just as it was obvious he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Such as tell Estelle to stop squeezing him like a boa constrictor.

Charlotte tugged on Estelle’s elbow. She didn’t so much as lift her head. “How about we ease off a bit?” Char asked, then gentled her voice. “Honey, you’re hurting him.”

Estelle loosened her hold enough that Kane was able to extricate himself. “I’m sorry,” Estelle cried softly. “It’s just...” She raised her head, her eyes swimming in tears. “You look so awful!”

“You saw him earlier this morning,” Char reminded her.

“I know.” Estelle sniffed. “But he looks worse now.”

“Well, that is true. What?” Char asked when Kane glared at her. “It is.”

He turned his scowl on his daughter—his daughter. Char could hardly believe it. But the proof stood before her in an oversize jersey and bare feet. And she didn’t have to worry about Kane following through on his threat to beat the girl, either. The way he looked at Estelle, as if she was a precious gift he’d been given and had no idea what to do with, told Char as much.

“What are you doing here?” Kane asked Estelle.

She chewed on her thumbnail. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“What did you do now?”

“Nothing. God. I just meant you know—” She gestured at his broken arm. “Because of your injuries and everything. I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’d be more comfortable if you were back in Houston where you belong.”

“Dad-dee,” she said with an eye roll and a toss of her snarled hair before she brushed past him and padded down the hallway.

Kane went after her as fast as his healing body would let him. Char couldn’t help but follow along.

“Don’t you have any flavored creamer?” Estelle asked, sticking her head in the fridge, which made her jersey ride dangerously high.

“Use milk,” Kane said. “And put some pants on.”

Another eye roll, this one accompanied by the slamming of the refrigerator door. “Milk?” she asked, as if he’d suggested she put a drop or two of arsenic in her morning cup of joe. “Yuck. You know I like flavored creamer.”

“I do know that,” he said as he gingerly lowered himself to the couch. “What I didn’t know was that you’d be in my apartment this morning.” He turned to Char. “You knew she was here.”

“Hey, don’t start growling at me. She told me you were expecting her. Plus she has her own key.”

“Daddy always gives me a key to his place,” Estelle said, having relented and poured a good amount of milk into her coffee. She sipped it. Made a face. “This is the first time I’ve used one, though.”

“Really?” Char sat on the opposite edge of the couch. It was her day off and she had tons to do, not to mention she could use another hour or so of sleep, but this entire scene was fascinating. And way too interesting to walk away from. “Why is that?”

They both ignored her.

“I’m not going to ask again,” Kane told his daughter. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to come,” she said, flopping onto the chair and tucking her legs underneath her. “If I had to stay at that bitch Pilar’s house one more day, I’d die. I’d seriously die!”

“Who’s Pilar?” Char asked.

“She’s Estelle’s best friend,” Kane said.

Estelle crossed her arms. “Not anymore, she’s not.”

Kane’s lips pinched. “You two had a fight?”

“A fight? I wouldn’t waste my precious time fighting with her. If she wants Chandler so badly, she can have him.”

“Your best friend stole your boyfriend?” Char asked. “That’s low.” She reached over and patted Estelle’s knee. “I don’t blame you for leaving her place.”

Estelle leaned forward. “I know, right? I mean, I was going to break up with him anyway—all he ever wanted to talk about was baseball. So boring. And then I find out he and Pilar have been, like, hooking up behind my back!”

At the mention of his daughter’s ex-best friend and ex-boyfriend hooking up, Kane turned green. “No hooking up for you,” he ordered roughly. He jabbed his finger at Estelle. “Not ever.”

Her innocent expression was a work of art. It was as if the heavens had opened up and holy light shone down on the teenager’s head. “Of course not, Daddy.”

Char glanced between daughter and father. Couldn’t help but grin. She should be horrified to find out these secrets about people she barely knew. Not eating up every word and wondering what they’d be serving for dessert.

After Kane kissed her, she’d thought for sure she’d never get over her confusion and, yes, her disappointment that he’d ended said kiss rather...abruptly. Despite his confession last night, how he’d asked her to stay, she’d still considered him hard and rough and dangerous. Their kiss only proved how dangerous. But somehow, witnessing him in this new light—this new, amazing paternal light—made him seem less of a rogue-seducer-slash-breaker-of-female-hearts and more vulnerable.

She wished she knew what to do with all this newfound insight.

“This is so much fun,” she was surprised to hear herself admit. She shouldn’t take such enjoyment from his discomfort. But boy, oh, boy, she did. “I’m glad I stayed.”

Kane obviously didn’t agree. He stood—albeit painfully and slowly—then tugged Charlotte up by her elbow. “Time for you to go.”

“Daddy,” Estelle cried, leaping to her feet. “That is, like, completely rude.”

“Charlotte’s used to me being rude,” he told her. “Now toss her those shoes so she can be on her way.”

“This is exactly the reason you don’t have any friends,” Estelle told him as she handed Char her sneakers.

Char grabbed her purse from the end table, having no reason to stay—having many reasons to go—but reluctant nonetheless. “She’s right.”

“She’s always right,” Kane muttered. “Just ask her. Or her mother.”

“Goodbye, Estelle,” Char called over her shoulder as Kane led her to the door. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You, too.”

Kane opened the door, but Char just slung her purse over her shoulder, then pulled on her shoes. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around?” she asked. “I think Estelle and I have bonded. And now, in the way of women everywhere, we’ll probably be BFFs before the day is through.”

He sent a beseeching look at the heavens. “Just kill me now.”

“Not sure you’re looking in the right direction for that request.” Her shoes on, she straightened. And was practically pushed out the door. She stood there for a moment, frozen in time, her mouth open. When he started shutting the door, she slapped her hand against it. “You know, just when I start to think you’re not as big of a jerk as I initially thought, you do or say something to prove me right. I mean wrong.” She waved a hand in dismissal, irritated with herself for not making sense. Wanting to blame him for that as well. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

He didn’t respond. Just shut the door in her face.

The ass.

And to think, she’d actually wanted to stay so she could learn more about his relationship with his daughter. Their history. What Estelle was doing in Shady Grove.

She’d wanted to learn more about him.

If he was an ass, then she was a fool.

She turned on her heel and stomped down the stairs, resolved to forget every moment of their time together and move on with her life.

* * *

“S
TART
FROM
THE
beginning,” Kane said.

Estelle ducked her head to scoop up a bite of vegetable omelet—and, okay, to hide an eye roll. “Can I at least eat before you start interrogating me?”

They’d just gotten served and she really was starving. After Dad kicked Charlotte out, he’d demanded—yet again—to know what Estelle was doing there. As if she could get into the whole story without proper nourishment.

Especially as she was making up said story on the spot.

She’d told him there was no way she could get into all the details without some breakfast first. And, since all her dad had was an almost-empty box of generic corn flakes and stale white bread, he’d brought her to Wix’s Diner. It was a dump, but not as bad as some of the dives he took her to when he visited her in Houston.

At least the silverware was clean. She shoveled in another bite of omelet. And the food was good. Best of all, they had lattes. Not real ones. Just the kind you got from one of those machines, like at the convenience store. But at this point, begging couldn’t make her choosy.

Or something like that.

“Estelle,” her dad said in the deep, serious tone he used when he was trying to intimidate her. “I know you’re smart enough to figure out how to eat and talk at the same time.”

God, did he have to be so grumpy? Even on his best days, he was never exactly cheerful, and yeah, he had the whole “I’m recovering from a motor vehicle accident” thing going on, but please.

He didn’t have to be such an old grouch.

“You’re mad I’m here.” She set down her fork, worked a good amount of vibration and pitifulness into her voice. “You could at least pretend you’re happy to see me.”

He sighed. Looked tired. And way older than usual. “Of course I’m happy—”

“You don’t want me.” She added a loud sniff, which had several other diners turning their heads her way. Managed some moisture in her eyes, though try as she might, she couldn’t get a single tear to fall. “You wish I was never born!”