Miles From Kara (11 page)

I shot her a look, but knew I wasn't getting anywhere. “You could have called.” Without thinking, I reached out and placed my hand to her stomach. “She's growing.”

“She is,” Maggie said, placing her own hand on her belly. “I wanted to tell you in person.”

I peered up at her, suddenly concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Fantastic, actually. I decided to keep the baby.”

“Oh, wow, that's great!” Before I could stop myself, I hugged her. “We should go shopping.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely! I'd love to buy her something. Are you free this weekend?”

She grinned. “I am. Thanks, Kara. You've been amazing.”

Maggie left with a smile on her face, and I started toward the back hall, when Tori stopped me, a concerned look on her face. “Kara, what are you doing?”

I pointed to the door. “I was going to work.”

“I don't mean that. I mean what are you doing with Maggie? She's a teen girl. Who has a father.”

“A questionable father.”

Tori shrugged. “A father all the same. You can't get involved with the people who come here. It goes against what we do. Taking them to the hospital during an emergency. Yes. Staying there all night even after her father came? That isn't okay. I realize you have a huge heart, and that's one of the reasons I hired you for this summer, but if you're going to do this for real, you have to learn that you can only do so much for these people. You have to keep it within the limits of these walls. Outside, it isn't our place, Kara. It just isn't.”

“It's just a present. Can't I buy her a gift?”

Tori considered me. “Just a gift?”

“Just one teeny tiny gift.”

She sighed heavily. “Fine, one gift. But leave it there. Don't immerse yourself in her world. It isn't right. If I feel it's becoming a problem, you will be removed from her case.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“Kara? I mean this.”

“Okay.”

Tori studied me for another moment, before releasing a breath. “Okay. You're in session room B again today.”

I pushed through the swivel door and down the hall to the second session room, my mind in a million different places. I didn't see how Tori could be so angry. All I did was help Maggie. I sat down in the chair behind the desk, curious if I should cancel the shopping trip with Maggie, when my phone buzzed. I peered down to find a new message from her. I'd forgotten that I programmed my number in her phone on the way to the hospital.

Maggie:
Thanks for everything. I'm not sure what I'd do without you!

I hung my head at the words. Clearly, Tori was right. I started typing out
You're welcome, but we should probably cancel the shopping trip
, but she sent another text before I could press send.

Maggie:
Can't wait to go shopping!

I deleted my reply and stared down at her words. I couldn't disappoint her. She had no one, and Tori said I could buy the one gift. I would stop it there. Just the gift, nothing more. I quickly typed back that I was excited too, to meet me in front of Helping Hands, and then set my phone on the desk, my heart full of guilt for reasons I didn't understand. I was just trying to help. Why was that wrong?

I waited for someone to enter my room, a depressed college student or teen contemplating drugs, resigned that I would do as Tori suggested. I would separate myself from these people. I thought of Sarah and now Maggie. I pushed too hard. I needed to help them without involving my heart. I could do that.

I just wasn't sure I wanted to.

The door opened and a college-aged girl I'd counseled a few weeks ago stepped in. I remembered her case very clearly. She was afraid of her boyfriend, afraid that he might hurt her. He'd begun drinking more and more, and alcohol brought out a side to him she'd never seen before. I remembered starting for the door to ask for a senior counselor to step in, but she begged me to keep it between us, that he hadn't actually done anything . . . yet.

“Skylar, right?” I asked as she sat down.

“You remembered.”

I smiled. “Of course. How are things going?”

Her gaze dropped as she fiddled with her watch, and that was when I noticed the fingerprint-like bruises along her left wrist.

“Oh my God, is that . . . ?” I pointed to her wrist.

Her bottom lip shook. “We had an argument a few days ago. He's so great and I love him, but then he starts drinking and, and . . .” She trailed off as tears began racing down her cheeks. “I don't know what to do.”

I swallowed hard to keep over-opinionated Kara at bay. I wanted to scream for her to knee the jerk where it counts and tell him it's over, but that wasn't the answer here. Besides, for me, right now, he wasn't the problem—or rather, the patient—Skylar was. I had to convince her that she was strong enough to stand up for herself and end things. “Skylar, I want to talk about what happened, but I can't speak about this without a lead counselor present. Can I please bring in someone trained to help?”

She stood up quickly. “No. I don't want anyone else to know. If he knew I was here, if he . . .” Her eyes darted around frantically like her boyfriend could be hiding in the corners or the shadows, waiting to attack her. The fear written on her face told me this wasn't the first time he'd left marks on her. I tried to keep myself calm. The last thing I wanted was for her to leave, but I wasn't allowed to speak to an abuse victim alone.

I drew a long breath. “Skylar, listen to me. You are safe here. No one will repeat anything you say. But I need to ask someone to sit in on our chat. Can you sit down please? Just give me a minute to grab Tori.”

“Tori?”

“She's the program coordinator and she's wonderful. Please. Just one minute.”

I watched as she slowly sat back down, and then I bolted from the room and down to Tori's office, knocking once, then opening the door. “Hey,” I said to her startled expression. “Sorry, but I have an abuse victim with bruises. I need your help.”

Tori nodded, and we started back down the hall. I opened the door to session room B, my mouth opened to introduce Tori, but I quickly closed it back. The room was empty. Skylar had left.

I turned to Tori. “What can we do? Her boyfriend is hurting her. We have to help.”

Tori slowly shook her head. “There's nothing we can do, Kara. She hasn't pressed charges, has she?”

I shook my head.

“Did she ask you to call the police?”

“No, but—”

“Then, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do,” Tori said. I started to argue when she reached out and squeezed my shoulder comfortingly. “I know, kid. Trust me, I know. It's one of the hardest things about running a center like this. This isn't a therapist's office, where we learn about our patients. Where we can guide them through weekly sessions. These people are here and then gone. Maggie, your teen? She is a rarity. I have a few patients that return, but most I never see again.”

I slumped into the chair. “How do you let it go?”

Tori's face softened. “I don't.”

I knocked on Colt's door a few hours later, my mind on everything that had happened that day. I tried to push it all away, but couldn't relax like I wanted to.

The door opened after a beat, and then Colt was standing there, wearing cargo shorts and a fitted red T-shirt, his feet bare. The ends of his hair were wet, and I smiled a little at the realization that he had showered for our date.

“Hey,” I said.

He reached out and took my hand, pulling me against him, and gently kissing my lips. “How are you? You look like you had a hard day.”

I rested my head against his chest. “I did. Maggie came by the center. She decided to keep the baby.”

“That's great, right?”

“I thought so. But then I offered to take her shopping and Tori got a little angry with me. Said I was getting too involved. Then another girl came by and her case . . . it's just all so hard.”

“Do you think Tori's right? About Maggie?”

I glanced up, hearing a change in Colt's voice. Like he was treading lightly, careful not to offend me. “Do you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I know we talked about your fear of getting too involved, and while I do think it's human nature to care, I wonder . . . I guess I wonder if this is smart . . . given your history. I mean, you're in college, Kara, and your experience mirrors hers a little too closely, don't you think? She needs a parent to help guide her. It sounded like her dad wanted to pull himself together for her.”

I set down my purse on his kitchen counter, a part of me offended that he thought I couldn't handle it, but another part of me knew he was right. “I just feel for her, ya know? I—” My words caught as I turned around to face the common area. I could see notes of Taylor here and there. Photos framed on a shelf of him snowboarding and surfing and doing other things guys did on a board. But there were other things, too. A charcoal set on the third row of the shelf. A drawing pad on the end table beside the leather sofa.

“Do you draw? Is that why you chose architecture?”

Colt walked around to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “I like the idea of creating something out of a drawing that is as magnificent as a building, which is why my major is technically civil engineering. I've taken several classes in Georgia's landscape architecture program, but I've always wanted to create buildings. I'd love to have a hand in both the drawing and the final product at some point. But yeah, I've had a passion for drawing since I was little.”

I eyed the drawing pad again, my fingers itching to pick it up. To flip through it to see what sort of things spoke to Colt. Was he a landscape artist? Or did he prefer people?

“Where is your drawing table?”

He motioned to the door on the left and I had a surge of feelings move through me at the realization that we were this close to his bedroom . . . and his bed. “There. Would you like to see?”

I grinned. “May I?”

He nodded forward, and I started for his room, peering over my shoulder to see if he was following, but he hadn't taken a step. “I'd rather you look on your own, without me over your shoulder. It's an experience.”

I held his gaze. “You're surprising. Did you know that? And that's saying something, because no one surprises me.”

“That's because most people are predictable twits. I like to think I rise above that.”

I laughed. “Slightly.”

“Are you calling me a moderate twit? Because if so, I'm fairly certain I could convince you otherwise.” He took the step I loved, all purposeful and sexy.

“Is that right?”

And then he was in front of me, his hands gliding slowly down my arms before he reached my hands, and then he tugged me to him. In one swift movement, he pressed his lips to mine. All the ease of before was gone, and I had to fight to keep from moaning into his mouth, lost in how a person could kiss so unbelievably well. His tongue slipped into my mouth and his hands reached for my waist. Before I knew what I was doing, my hands were in his hair and I was flush against him, desperate to taste every last drop of his mouth, desperate to forget the stresses of my day.

He pulled away with a chuckle. “If I knew you would react like that, I'd have kissed you proper months ago.”

“Months?”

“Kara Marcus, I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I met you in your apartment. You were all spunky and fiery and ‘no one messes with my friend.' I'd never been so instantly attracted to anyone in my life.”

I closed my eyes and rose onto my toes, gently kissing him again. “You've just earned yourself another.”

“Well then, what else can I say to earn more?”

I coyly peered over at his door. “How about we judge by your drawings?” I pulled away from him with a smile. “If you're as good as you seem, you'll earn another kiss for them.”

He laughed. “And if I'm bloody awful?”

I shrugged, still grinning. “We'll cross that bridge when we get there.”

He laughed again, this time full out. “You Southerners and your sayings. I doubt you can go an entire conversation without using one. Everyone here uses them. White as rice. A penny saved, a penny earned. I suppose there's a manual somewhere or something. Instructions on how to survive in the South.”

I whacked at his arm, but I was laughing now, too. “Well, you sound insane half the time. So we're even.”

“Insane?”

“Yes, who calls McDonald's Macca's? I mean seriously.”

He grinned. “You're cute when you're defensive. Now get to those drawings before I change my mind.” He popped me gently on the bottom and I instantly wanted to abandon his drawings for . . . other things.

“What are you doing to me?” I asked as I reached for the door. “I'm a good girl.”

He winked. “We'll see about that.”

I pushed through his bedroom door, still laughing from his flirting, and stopped dead. His room was very guy-ish, and I wondered whether it was his décor or Taylor's roommate's. A chocolate brown duvet, no curtains, tidy in an overly organized way—but then none of that was what had my heart beating faster, warmth spreading through my chest. Above his bed was a charcoal of the Sydney Opera House that I knew was one-hundred percent Colt. I studied each line in the drawing, careful to notice how meticulous he had been, how everything about the sketch was lifelike yet personal, from Colt's vantage point. In a way that only he could show it. I walked around his bed for a closer look, sure that I could stare at the drawing for minutes longer, but that wasn't why I was in his room. My eyes scanned the room, stopping at his drawing table by the window, a small stool in front of it. I edged around the table and sat down at the stool, seeing several sheets of giant paper clipped to the top of the board. I smiled. Colt had left them out for me to look through.

I flipped the top page, which was blank, to the one below it, and gasped at the building layout before me. It was simple, yet futuristic. Strong and clean and absolutely masculine. I flipped to the next drawing, then again to another and another, taking my time with each, studying them as though they were prized art. To me, they were. They were different, sometimes in subtle ways, but other times, it was obvious that he was testing himself, seeing which direction he would go—modern or traditional. I flipped to the final drawing and my hand went instantly to my mouth. All of the drawings were fantastic, perfect, but they were nothing compared to the final. It was more feminine than the others, softer, everything about it emotional where the others had been all structure. Like a strong woman instead of a tough, durable man.

“So . . . what do you think?”

My eyes snapped over to the doorway to find Colt standing there, watching me.

My gaze dropped back to the final drawing. “They're amazing. Unlike anything I could have expected. You're an artist, Colt. They're beautiful.”

He shrugged off the compliment. “Which is your favorite, out of curiosity?”

I smiled up at him. “I think you know. It's the final drawing. With the angled roof?”

He grinned, clearly pleased with my choice. “Does that mean I earned another?”

I slipped off the stool and stopped in front of him. “You definitely earned another.” I slid my arms around his neck and rose onto my toes. I would have to remember to wear wedges around him. My five-two height made me feel like a tiny kid around his six-foot-plus stature.

“I'm too small for you,” I said.

“Impossible.” He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against mine. “But there is a way to make it easier.”

“Oh yeah?”

He lifted me up and walked me back to his bed, laying me down there. My heart kicked up as the fear that always came crashed into me. Colt started to climb down over me, then stopped, his eyebrows shooting up. “Did I misread you?”

I closed my eyes, humiliated beyond belief. “No . . . I'm just a freak.”

He studied my face. “The abortion?”

My gaze lifted to meet his. How was it possible that he always knew what was wrong? Saw through my careful façade? “It's just hard. Once you've had the scariest thing happen, it's hard not to think about that scary thing . . . and it's hard to want to do what caused it.”

Colt lay beside me, propping his elbow up and resting his head in his hand. “Does that mean . . . you and Ethan never . . . ?”

I almost laughed. Ethan was the most over-the-top sexual person I'd ever met in my life. He was a good guy at heart, and he would never have forced me to have sex, but he sure as hell made me feel guilty if I tried to get out of it. “No, we did. I just never . . . fully experienced it.”

At that he sat up and peered down at me. I knew my cheeks were aflame now, but we were already too deep into the conversation to stop. “Kara, are you telling me you never had an orgasm with Ethan, or never at all?”

I tossed an arm over my face to hide myself, and said in the most pathetic voice imaginable, “Never at all.”

Colt pulled away my arm, forcing me to look at him. “Don't be embarrassed with me. Nothing you could say to me would ever make me judge you. Don't you understand that?”

I placed my hands on my stomach and released a calming breath. “I do. I'm just . . . honestly I'm not sure that I can . . . you know, go.” Oh my God. I was going to die, right here. Kara Marcus, death by mortification.

Colt laughed, and I started to get up, when he gently stopped me. “Don't go. I'm sorry I laughed, it's just, what you're telling me has less to do with you and more to do with your . . . partner.”

“Sorry, what?”

He fixed me with those chocolate eyes. “In capable hands, you would do a lot more than simply
go
.”

Warmth spread through my core at the thought. At his suggestion. “Are you saying your hands are . . . capable?”

“Extremely.”

The warmth spread through me, an undeniable want building in its wake. Why did I have to be so afraid of sex? Every fiber in my body ached to pull Colt to me and take this as far as he was willing to go, but my mind screamed at me to stop. To think.

“Let me ask you something,” he said.

I glanced up.

“Sex makes you nervous due to the risk, right? What if we took away the risk?”

“What? How?”

“There are other things we can do, Kara. Other things to make you feel good.”

The want in me skyrocketed at the words
feel good
from his deliciously full lips. “So, no sex?”

“For now or forever. That's your choice, but there are a lot of things between this”—he kissed my lips, igniting the want—“and sex.”

“So . . . other things?”

He licked his lips and nodded, and my heart began to beat noticeably faster in my chest. My eyes met his. “When can we begin?”

His lips crashed onto mine, my words all the permission he needed. He pulled back and looked at me, sweeping my hair from my face. “You control this. You say when, okay?”

I nodded and his mouth fixed over mine, the kiss building. His hand moved to my neck, then trailed down over my breast, causing me to moan into his mouth. It'd been so long since that simple gesture did anything to me that it caught me by surprise. He hadn't even touched my bare skin and already I felt myself becoming wet. His hand left my breast and his fingertips teased the skin on my stomach, just inside the edge of my tank top.

“Your skin is so soft. It's like silk,” he said, pressing his lips to my neck, then collarbone, where he sucked gently, turning my insides to liquid.

He pushed the strap of my tank top off my shoulder and kissed from my collarbone around my shoulder. “Okay?”

“Don't stop.”

He reached down for my shirt and slipped his hand under the hem, tracing the lines of my abdomen, then the outline of my bra. “I want to take this off.”

I sat up, my eyes on his, then slipped off my tank top. “So take it off.”

He smirked. “Good girl, you say?” He flicked the back of my bra, unfastening it with one hand. I dropped it to the floor with my shirt and laid back down, allowing his eyes to take me in, and holy hell, his look alone was so full of desire for me that my already damp panties became even wetter.

His fingertips trailed over the lines of my breast. “So beautiful.” And then his lips were back on mine, and his fingers were toying with my left nipple, gently pinching and tugging and making me want to beg for his lips to take over, but I didn't have to wait long. He dipped his head to my right breast, his fingers still on my left, and began to work with his tongue, flicking and tasting and sucking. “Oh, God . . .” I said, unable to remain silent.

And then his hand moved down my stomach and inside the waistband of my shorts, all hesitation gone. He slipped a finger inside me, and I cried out in complete and utter satisfaction. His lips returned to mine, kissing me hard as his finger moved within me, swirling, deeper and deeper, in and out, toying with my folds, driving me slowly insane. I arched my back, desperate to be closer to him, but he held me back, forcing me to go slow. His mouth slipped down my neck, his tongue trailing a fiery line to my breast, and I felt sure the entire building would wake up from my screaming.