Out Of The Smoke (11 page)

“No, you’re teasing.” She was hopeful and adorable when she scrunched up her nose like that.

“Not teasing. Don’t worry, only the first floor heard you,” he joked. “Get some rest. I’ll make you some soup.” Alan stood and backed away from Liz with her hand still in his own until the distance forced him to let go. Her eyes drooped shut at the same moment.

Alan heated up some chicken noodle soup, but it seemed to have been in vain, because the slender woman asleep in his guestroom showed no signs of waking again that evening.

In the end, he decided to just lie down next to her on top of the comforter and close his eyes. If she awoke during the night, she might be confused, but at least he’d be close enough to quell her fears.

It seemed like he had just drifted into sleep when the once peaceful beauty next to him began thrashing around.

“No! Please! Stop!” Her arms flailed in front of her face as he sat up and witnessed her battle against an imaginary assailant. For the second time today.

“Liz.” Alan reached for her wrists to avoid being clocked in the head and instead managed to fall victim to her fingernails on his forearm. “Ouch.” He flinched, but didn’t let go.

His automatic burst must have startled Liz out of her sleep, because she suddenly went still. When he raised his face to stare into her frightened eyes, he saw a combination of sorrow and fear.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” she muttered softly.

“Do you do this often?” He released his grip on her wrists but didn’t let go completely.

“Perhaps. I’m not sure. I thought I’d gotten better lately. But it could be that I don’t always realize it happens.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just a nightmare. Not your fault.” Alan lay his head back down on the pillow next to Liz and moved his hand to graze his fingers over her cheek. “I’m sorry. Sorry someone treated you so badly in your past that you can’t even sleep at night. Sorry I didn’t meet you years ago and marry you myself instead of him. Sorry these nightmares are still haunting your dreams.”

“They aren’t nightmares, Alan.” Her voice was grave. “They’re memories. That’s my reality.”

Shit
. She was right. “What can I do? I’m here now.”

“Hold me until I fall back asleep? No one’s ever held me, just held me, while I slept.”

“Absolutely. I can do that.” He spoke the words semi jokingly, but his actions didn’t match them. He leaned forward and took her mouth in a kiss that set him on fire.

Her kisses were so passionate, once she got past the initial moments of timidity. This was their third kiss today, and each one had left Alan breathless and wanting more.

His hand wandered seemingly of its own accord behind her head to get a better grip. When he angled his mouth to the side and licked a line along her bottom lip, she moaned, a subconscious sound he was growing to realize would drive him crazy around her. So pure and uninhibited.

His intentions to remain gentle were thwarted when Liz herself pressed her tongue along his lips and then dipped it inside to graze against his teeth. Heaven opened up and rained down on him. She was minty and spicy and all Liz. Alan let his own tongue enter the dance and then spent an eternity exploring the inside of Liz’s sweet mouth.

Liz unexpectedly gripped his biceps tightly, pulling him closer.

Alan had to use his big head to get a grip on his little head before the fella took over and won.

She’s in pain and doped up. Don’t let this go further
.

Alan reached out, braced his hands on both sides of Liz and pulled back from the intense kiss. He set his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. Their mutual heavy breathing mingled between them and his cock grew stiffer knowing what affect he’d had on her. He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting her sweetness once again and moaned. “You’re so sexy.”

She smiled coyly and blushed.

“I can’t…won’t take advantage of you while you’re so medicated. Believe me, I want to, but when we make love for the first time, I want you to be sure and totally in control of your choices.” He held his breath to avoid the continued inhale of the floral scent of her hair, fanned out behind her on the pillow.

“Mmm,” Her soft fingers lightly grazed his face, his jaw, his neck, before burrowing into his hair and forcing his mouth back to her own.

Another all-consuming kiss flooded his mind, washing out any other thought but that of tracing her tongue, her lips, the entire inside of her mouth, memorizing the contours.

Minutes passed before Liz let go of her grip on the back of his head, dragging him back to earth. “If I weren’t so tired, I’d fight you on this,” she uttered, barely audible.

“If I weren’t such a gentleman, I’d let you.” Alan lay down beside her and laid his hand across her face as she turned toward him. His thumb grazed her cheek, their faces so close her hair tickled his neck. A small, relaxed smile pulled up both sides of her mouth. Liz’s eyes fluttered heavily for several seconds before she succumbed to a state of slumber. Her breathing slowed and deepened and he didn’t have the heart to move away.

Exhausted from the craziness of the day’s events, Alan let his body fall into a deep sleep.

* * * *

Matthew waited with growing impatience outside the apartment complex for several hours, assuming on a Monday evening his estranged wife would have to return at some point. He was certain she lived here, so where was she? Thank God the days were neither hot nor cold here in early April. Otherwise, it would have cost him a fortune just to keep the car at a decent temperature.

Nothing happened. People came and went, but no one resembling Beth. Meanwhile he grew increasingly angry. How could she do this? How conniving. How not like her. She was about to learn a lesson unlike any she’d ever learned before. The lying cheating bitch.

He’d show her. The joke would be on her for the past two years of turmoil she’d put him through. He grew even hotter under the collar thinking of her making him the laughing stock behind his back.

And the best part was she was already dead, not once but twice. As far as Matthew was concerned, he could do anything he wanted to her and get away with it. Lock her up, permanently. Or even kill her himself if he wanted to. Who would look for her? She’d been declared dead for the second time just Friday morning.

An evil grin graced his face when he looked in the review mirror and thought of the old movie
Double Jeopardy
. It wasn’t quite the same of course, but he quaked with a renewed need to choke the life out of his conniving sneaky little wife. Had anyone ever heard of
Triple Jeopardy
?

I can’t very well be convicted of killing a dead woman, now can I?

As the sun fell behind the horizon, Matthew sat alone in his car with his thoughts of murder. One by one, the streetlights popped on around him, several lining the edges of the parking lot. No one had ever glanced his way to acknowledge him the entire afternoon.

The skinny blonde woman from earlier returned in her loud obnoxious vehicle. She was a little drunk and slammed her car door a bit harder than necessary, but she hurried toward a nearby building without noticing him.

He watched her climb the stairs to a second floor balcony and enter her apartment through a glossy orange door that had seen better days. Did Beth live near the woman? Were they neighbors? The window of the place next door was dark. Whoever lived there hadn’t come home for the evening yet.

Matthew’s head began to pound from the stress of furrowing his brow all day. He tried repeatedly to relax his facial muscles, but every time his train of thought wandered back to his deceitful wife, he couldn’t keep the anger from contorting his face.

Perhaps she was out with a man. Cheating on him. What would he do if she returned with someone instead of alone? Probably kill that bastard for touching what wasn’t his. The thought of her returning, laughing at some dude’s jokes and leaning into him while he whispered in her ear made Matthew slam his hands against the steering wheel so hard it was a wonder he didn’t break it. He rubbed his aching palms together and continued to stare at the shiny, burnt rust door he imagined now had to be Beth’s.

When he couldn’t hold his bladder anymore, he decided to unfold himself from the cramped space of the car and explore. A quick duck behind a bush allowed him to relieve himself and he then straightened up to his full height, stuck his hands in his pockets and casually ambled toward the building his informant had entered.

For a few minutes he just skirted around the outside, wondering what to do next. He suddenly spotted something that erased his permanent frown.

“Well how about that,” he said out loud, though no one was around. “Mailboxes. And how nice of them to have labels.”

It was nearly midnight, and all was relatively quiet and dark in the dingy apartment complex. Matthew Martin made his way to the second floor and over to apartment 2B. It had only taken a matter of minutes for him to figure out which apartment was hers. There was no Beth listed on any of the mailboxes of course, but the blonde had said her name was Liz and the stupid bitch was using her maiden name of Parker for her mail.

Sure enough he discovered the very door he’d been watching all day did indeed lead to his wife’s little hidey hole. With a simple credit card, he managed to jiggle the ancient lock and presto, he was inside.

How thoroughly sloppy and convenient.

No one noticed him scavenge around in her apartment in the dark. He didn’t want to turn on any lights and draw attention to his presence. Within a few minutes, his eyes adjusted to the dim room lit only by the faint beam streaming in the single window from one of the street lamps. The place was tidy, but she had almost no furniture to speak of. A fact that gave Matthew quite a thrill to realize she lived in poverty while sequestered away from him.

There was no sign of a man and he easily found her appointment book on the kitchen counter that served as a desk also.

Perfect. He flipped through it. It was filled with her distinct handwriting, a bubbly sort of scrawl one might expect to see from a teenager.

Matthew was starving. It was all Beth’s fault for dragging him across the country on this wild chase of hers. He made a sandwich and casually sat at the small beat-up table to enjoy the meal. If she walked in, great. If not, he’d catch her ass soon enough.

Where the hell was she on a Monday night this late anyway?

A glance at the appointment book revealed she had a different name written on each day of the week. Hmm. Was she cleaning houses? Didn’t take a rocket scientist. Today belonged to a certain Alan McCarthy. Matthew flipped to the back of the book and found an alphabetical listing of the very few people Beth apparently knew.

The hours ticked by while Matthew became increasingly angry and paced around the tiny apartment. He scavenged the entire place looking for anything that would tell him what she’d been up to. She was pretty tidy and there wasn’t a lot to look through, but he did find a stack of papers, computer printouts, and sat down at the table to scan through them.

Interesting. He didn’t see a computer or a printer anywhere in the apartment. There were articles on a variety of topics, mostly about overcoming abuse. Ha! He laughed out loud, forgetting himself and his location for a moment.

Matthew spread the pages out on the table. Each one he angled into the beam of light coming through the window so he could read. There were a few on cleaning tips.
That solidifies that idea
. Some were about homes for sale in small towns he’d never heard of. Was she planning to move again? Like that would ever happen…

“Well, well, would you look at that,” he mumbled to himself. Just as Matthew got to the bottom of the stack, he found an article about Mr. Alan McCarthy. The name jumped out at him and he grabbed her appointment book to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, McCarthy was the exact client whose home she’d scheduled to clean this very day. Now why did Beth have a newspaper clipping about one of her clients? Perhaps he wasn’t just a client after all. The article was about a court case he’d won.

He’s an attorney. Does Beth have something going with him?

Exhausted, Matthew sat down on the couch and closed his eyes. He began to think she wouldn’t return tonight at all. Was she still with McCarthy? Had she somehow found out Matthew was on to her and fled town? There was only one way to find out for sure.

Chapter Eight

Nearly two days later, Liz awoke to a tiny stream of light peeking through the slit along the side of the window shade. She felt refreshed and less groggy, but weak. She’d been in and out for two nights, barely able to stay awake with all the pain meds, but this morning she was more alert.

She really had to get out of here. It wasn’t safe anymore. Police and the people at the hospital had seen her. If Matthew was looking for her, it was only a matter of time before the cops realized who she was, right? On the other hand, if she’d managed to make it two days without being found out…

Maybe she worried for no reason.

Two days ago, she’d been in no position to argue. She’d been in pain, tired, drugged, feverish. Could she get up now and walk out? Literally or emotionally? She cringed to think how she would hurt Alan. He was obviously attracted to her. There was no doubt how she felt about him. It would seem like she was literally stabbing him in the chest to walk in there and tell him she didn’t care for him, that she was leaving. It would be a lie. Especially after the tender moments they’d shared the other night right here in this bed.

God, he’d kissed her like she was the most important person in the world. He’d even been chivalrous enough to stop things from going even farther when even she wouldn’t have had the strength to do so. But what now? Where could this relationship go even if she let it? Nothing had changed. She was still married to Matthew. She was in hiding. The option to live a normal suburban life didn’t exist for her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was on the run. Meeting someone and caring about them hadn’t been in the plan.

She liked how she felt when she was around Alan. Warm, comforted, cherished. As soon as he walked through that door, she’d be putty in his hands again. Her body would betray her brain. The sensations flooded through her at just the thought of him. Her nipples grew hard, her sex moist. She had to squeeze her legs together to fight off the tight ache low in her belly. Ugh.

Breathe. Just breathe. Think of…horror films…concrete…monsters under the bed. Anything to avoid thinking of Alan’s lips and his gentle touch.

As if she’d called him telepathically, Alan walked into the room at that moment.

“Welcome back.” He carried the familiar white capsules and a glass of water.

She balked at the idea. “I think I’ve had enough of those, but thanks.”

“Are you sure? You were in so much pain. I hate it when you moan.” He grinned. “Well, not
always
, but when you moan in pain I feel helpless.” He set the glass and pills down on the bedside table and touched her cheek. “At least you don’t have a fever any more. The doctor said you might only need the pain meds for a few days, but you’d still need to take ten days of the antibiotics for the infection.”

“I feel much better.” She stretched her arms over her head and rolled to her side. “I’ll rot if I don’t get up and move. How long have I been out? A month?” she joked.

“Hardly. More like two nights. Would you like to take a shower? Maybe walk around a bit?” His expression was one of concern, uncertainty. “You don’t want to push it.”

“I’m fine. Really. A shower sounds fantastic.” And thoroughly absurd in this man’s house, in his space. Thank God she wasn’t also in his bed. She’d never have survived the first night, would probably have died from breathing in his scent off the pillow even in her pain-induced haze.

“Let me help you up. Don’t move too quickly.”

Liz gingerly stood and found the act wasn’t all that difficult. With a little food in her system, she figured she’d be good as new. Her stomach knotted and ached from not eating. The hand she grasped Alan’s arm with shook from low blood sugar and the effort.

“Why don’t you take a bath instead?” He tucked her under his arm and slowly moved toward the bedroom door.

She leaned into his hard muscled body. She’d never been in a better place. “Sounds even better.”

“I have a great whirlpool tub in the master bath. You can fill it with bubbles and relax until you’re pruned.” His voice was deep, gravelly.

Liz held her breath until they reached the bathroom, her lips tucked in between her teeth. The second they got there, Alan sat her down on a stool and scurried around to fill the tub, gather towels, shampoo, soap, even a fresh razor, all of which he arranged on the side of the bath. As a finishing touch, he fished around in the narrow linen closet and returned with a pink bottle. “If you tell anyone I had this in the house, I’ll have you tarred and feathered,” he teased as he poured a stream of the bubble bath into the flowing warm water. When he finished, he turned off the water and flipped a small switch on the tile edge. A low hum ensued and the water sloshed in little ripples.

The air began to fog and she could already imagine the luxurious silky sensation of smooth water as it ran over her skin and burrowed into her weak muscles.

“I’ll go fix you something to eat while you get situated and come back in a few, okay?”

Come back?
God. Liz glanced at the water, full now to a height she could hide beneath. Were the bubbles deep enough to hide her secrets?

“Just get comfortable. I’ll give you a bit of time then check in.” He must have sensed her unease.

Was she ready for that? For a man to hover over her naked body? Besides the fact that she had some unexplained scars, other than the one he’d already seen, she wasn’t at all sure she was mentally ready for the direction this relationship might go. Especially with her naked and him prancing around in his sexy low-slung jeans and worn T-shirt that was just the slightest bit too small.

Oh, whom was she kidding? She knew exactly what would happen, and the moisture between her legs attested to it. She even pulled her knees in tighter under the borrowed T-shirt she wore and prayed she wasn’t leaving a wet spot.

Not waiting for her to speak, Alan moved toward the door, barely making a sound. “Okay, I’ll knock in a few.” He slipped out, leaving her to herself.

A long loud exhale was the first hint she had that she’d been holding her breath. The sore spot on her bottom lip let her know she’d had the poor flesh stuck between her teeth. With a sigh at what couldn’t be avoided, Liz pulled the sleep shirt over her head and climbed gingerly into the water, testing it with her toe and then her shin for temperature before sinking all the way in.

Oh…my…God, this feels fantastic
.

A bath had always been her favorite luxury, but after lying in bed for so long, it felt better than ever. The warmth seeped into her skin and relaxed her muscles. She couldn’t move for several minutes, just closed her eyes and leaned back against the fantastic vinyl pillow built into the side of the tub. If she died right now, it would be all good.

A soft knock brought her back to the present. “Liz? Can I come in?”

“Mmm hmm,” was all she could get out. It kept her from having to open her mouth.

From the slit of her barely open eyes, she watched Alan ease into the room, a tray in his hands. The smells that wafted to her made her stomach growl.

“Food…”

“Don’t want you to starve.” Alan kicked the stool over to the tub with his bare toes and set the plate on top so she could reach it.

His thoughtfulness overwhelmed her and brought moisture to her eyes.
You will not cry
.

“Here.” A glass appeared in front of her, filled to the rim with cold orange juice, moisture beaded on the sides, a bendy straw angled just right so she didn’t even have to move to suck in the delicious tangy sweet citrus heaven.

Alan laughed. “I have more. If you want, I’ll go get the entire carton.”

“God that’s good.” She didn’t even feel slighted by his little jibe.

“Eggs?” Alan grabbed the plate and fork and looked like he was about to feed her.

“I think I can manage.” She eased up just a fraction, mindful of keeping herself covered by bubbles, and reached for the fork. It wasn’t going to work. She was too hungry to be delicate. “Give me a minute?”

“Sure.” Thank goodness this gentle, kind man was so understanding. He wordlessly left the room, the small snick of the door closing the only noise heard over the soft rumble of the whirlpool.

Without another thought, Liz sat up and reached for the plate of food. The smell of bacon tantalized her taste buds to the point of drooling. If he’d moved any slower to leave the room, she’d have lost interest in her modesty and gobbled the plate of food down with no notice of her breasts’ exposure over the top of the water.

As soon as the first bite of eggs hit her palate, she moaned. Delicious. Triangles of toast, buttered to perfection, grabbed her attention next. It took minutes to finish every morsel and with renewed energy, she was able to grab the bar of soap and a washcloth and smooth it over her warm sensitive skin. She even managed to shave. She was just leaning back when another soft knock made her whip her head back toward the door.

“You okay?” His muffled voice barely registered through the wood.

“Yeah, I am.” Well, at least exposure-wise. Now that she had energy and was no longer in pain, she wasn’t going to be able to control her physical response to Alan’s proximity.

“Ah, you look much better. There’s color in your face. You were so pale.” He floated over, moved the plate to the vanity, and sat on the stool beside her.

Liz swallowed, unable to raise her gaze higher than his pecs. If she saw his expression, she’d crack. If it were pity, she’d be pissed. If it were lust, she’d probably jump him. If nothing at all registered, she’d probably cry at this point.

“Can I wash your hair for you?”

“Really?” Was he serious? Would she be able to stand having his touch on her scalp, massaging her skin? Probably not.

He didn’t wait for a reply, but moved to angle the stool behind her head and reached for the shampoo.

Mustering up some level of compliance, Liz quickly dunked her head and came back up with water dripping down her face.

“That’s one way.” He leaned over her and wiped the excess moisture away from her eyes. “I was going to pour a few cups over, but this works too.” Would she forever melt inside when he smiled like that?

Liz closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
Lord, have mercy
. Strong firm fingers performed magic on her scalp and shoulders, massaging through her hair far more than expressly necessary to get the job done.

When she thought she could speak without her voice squeaking, she asked, “Were you a beautician or a massager in a past life?”

“Nope.”

She didn’t even open her eyes to see his expression. When would she be able to face him? Probably whenever she was ready to face her own emotions where they concerned him.

“Did you want to do that dunking act again or shall I rinse these long locks with a cup?”

Liz sucked in a deep breath and yanked herself under again. She floated for a few seconds suspended under the water, the only noise the sound of the jets, she could almost pretend she led a different life. One where Alan was the man she’d married, laughter and romance filled her days.

One can only hold their breath for so long before they have to come up for air, literally and figuratively. The bashful moments of hiding behind her eyelids were about over. She knew deep down that she wanted this, wanted to make love to this man.

“Wasn’t sure you were going to resurface.” Alan pushed her hair from her face and rubbed his thumb across her brow. “It’s nice outside. How about you get dressed and we’ll sit on the patio. You could use a little vitamin D, some color.”

Was she flushed beet red from arousal and hot water?

“I left you a clean T-shirt on the sink. Sorry I don’t have a lot of clothes around that will fit you, but I did wash what you were wearing the other day, so at least you’ll have clean…stuff.” Had he been about to say panties?

She bit the inside of her lip at his flustered expression as he walked out of the room.

The oversized towel he’d left her was so luxurious she didn’t want to unwrap herself to put any clothes on at all. After combing out her hair, she sat in front of the vanity and stared at her pallid reflection in the mirror for a few minutes.

Her cheeks were flushed right at the highest point below her eyes, in sharp contrast to her wan skin. She hadn’t really stopped much to just look at herself lately, for a long time really. Would she be considered pretty to most people, as Alan seemed to think? Hadn’t Matthew commented on her smooth skin and silky hair when she’d first met him?

Before she’d met him, she’d thought of herself as attractive. Her friends had always envied her looks, especially her shapely legs in a pair of heels. But her husband had managed to convince her that the only reason a man would be interested in her was for sex.

She could hardly remember those days, clouded as they were by the turn of events after their wedding. A few years of daily reminders of her faults, real or imaginary, would erase any compliments previously bestowed. She knew better now, and the years of torment were fading fast under Alan’s admiring gaze, but would the remnants forever hang in the shadows, taunting her?

With some reluctance, she stood from her musings, hung the fluffy white towel on a hook. She hurried to shrug into the soft cotton T before Alan came back to check on her and caught her naked.

When Liz emerged from the bathroom, she wandered through the house on bare feet, the T-shirt and her panties the only things she had on. Where did he even come up with a shirt that at least covered her to mid-thigh? He never seemed to wear anything that large himself.

She found him through the sliding glass door of the kitchen, sitting on a lounge chair on the patio, newspaper in one hand, steaming cup in the other. When she leaned against the thick glass, she took a moment just to stare at him. He reminded her of a bronze statue in the park—one of those life-sized figures forever frozen in the middle of an activity. “Lazy morning on the patio” it would be called.

Without noticing her, Alan leaned forward, straddled the long slats and lay the paper down in front of him. He held just one corner up, intently interested in some particular article, his mug resting on a knee. The curve of his back accentuated the ripple of muscles and lines along his spine. The locks of his hair blew in the slight breeze and Liz ached to run her fingers through it. What she wouldn’t give just to freeze time for everything but herself so she could leisurely explore his body with her fingers, learn his contours without his knowledge, without her feeling self-conscious about the activity.