Torch (Take It Off) (5 page)

When he came around the hood, he laughed at me and the nurse. “You should see your faces.”

“You want me to get in that?” I asked dubiously.

The nurse leaned over the back of my chair and whispered in my ear. “Go for it, honey.” I glanced over my shoulder at her, but she was staring at Holt.

I wondered if she was telling me to go for a ride in the truck… or with the man driving it.

Holt held out his hand and gave me a look that dared me not to get up. Of course I had to take the challenge. I might be getting released from the hospital, but I was no wimp. I survived being tied up in a fire and tossed into a pool.

Holt splayed his hands around my waist, once again murmuring about my slight size, and lifted me into the cab of the truck like I weighed nothing more than a bag of Skittles.

Mmm.
Skittles sounded good.

“Let me help you with that,” he said, pulling the seatbelt around me and clipping it in place over my lap. Then he adjusted it across my chest before pulling back to look at my face.

“You ready?”

It was a simple question.

Yet the weight behind it seemed to catch my breath and make me wary. I don’t know what kind of emotion came through my face, but he chuckled and shut the door to go around and get into the driver’s seat. When he pulled away from the curb, I spoke up.

“You can just take me to the motel that’s down near the library.”

The truck jerked to a halt and I went forward. Holt reached out casually and splayed his hand over my chest, keeping me from going forward any farther. Then he snatched his hand back and looked at me. “Motel?”

My eyes widened at the hardness in his tone. “I appreciate you telling the doctor you would look out for me, but you didn’t really think I would stay with you, did you?”

“I gave the doctor my word.”

I gaped at him. Was he serious? He couldn’t possibly want me at his house any more than I wanted to be there. “I won’t tell him you took me to a motel.”

“I’m not taking you to a motel,” he growled.

“Yes. You are.”

He completely ignored the fact that he was sitting in the center of the road and crossed his arms over his chest and regarded me with raised eyebrows. “How do you plan to pay for the room?”

“I have a bank account,” I snapped, but then I realized my bankcards, checkbook, and driver’s license burned in the fire. “Oh.”

He smirked.

“Was my car damaged?”

“I don’t think so.”

I blew out a breath. “I have my library ID for work in my glove compartment. I can use that at the bank.” Thank God I kept it there. I also kept a twenty in there with it because once I left my wallet at home and starved the entire day because I had no money to buy lunch.

“It’s after five,” he said, pointing at the clock on the dash. “Banks are closed.”

I leaned my head back against the seat. It was starting to hurt. “Look. No offense. I am grateful to you for saving my life. For checking on me in the hospital and for bringing me these really cute flip-flops, but I don’t know you. I can’t just come to your house.”

“You’re scared of me.” He said it like the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

“No.” I protested. I really wasn’t. He made me feel… safe. But that was the problem. I wasn’t safe. Someone tried to kill me. I couldn’t just go home with some stranger because I didn’t want to be alone.

“Someone tried to kill you.”

“I know.” I held up my wrist.

“I’m not taking you to a motel.”

“It’s not your decision.”

“I’m the one driving.”

“You’re stupid!” I yelled.

He laughed. A real laugh that started in his belly and burst out of his chest. I giggled. I just called him stupid like I was twelve.

A car sitting behind the truck beeped their horn loudly, then sped out around us, the driver sticking his very unfriendly finger out the window and waiving it wildly around.

“Well, I guess he told me,” Holt said and flashed his teeth.

I giggled some more.

He put the truck in drive and pulled away. His face turned serious. “Do you really have no one?”

I sighed. “I can take care of myself.”

“How is it that someone like you ended up all alone?”

His words caused a hollow feeling inside me. It kind of felt like a giant pocket of air that kept expanding until there was nothing left but the pressure of emptiness inside me. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

“I’m tired,” I said. I leaned farther into the seat and looked out my window at the passing buildings. The sun was low in the sky and I knew in just a few hours, darkness would blanket the town, covering up all traces of sunlight. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the darkness.

The last time I went to sleep in the dark, I woke up tied to a chair in the middle of a raging fire.

“Look. Let me take you to my place tonight. In the morning, I can take you to the bank and to whatever motel you want. It’s only one night.”

I felt myself beginning to succumb to his words. I knew I would sleep better if he were close by. I tried not to think about that too much because I didn’t like it. I really was tired. My body was sore and all I really wanted was to take some pain meds and curl up beneath a blanket. A soft one.

“Fine. I’ll stay.”

He smiled like a cat that ate a canary.

“But if you try to kill me in my sleep, I will come back as a ghost and make your life a living hell.”

He did that immediate brake thing again, using his arm to keep me from flying forward. I let out an exasperated sigh. “You are a terrible driver.”

“Katie, look at me.”

The command in his voice was undeniable.

I looked up.

He regarded me with somber eyes. “I swear to you I will
never
hurt you.”

Deep down I knew it. It was almost like an instinct. Like when you meet someone and right away you know they are a liar. Or that right away they give you the creeps. Well, with Holt—the minute I saw him, I knew. I knew he was a good guy. My subconscious called him a superhero. He wasn’t a liar or a creep—I would sense it if he were. Wouldn’t I?

You didn’t know someone was trying to kill you,
an evil voice in the back of my head whispered.

I told it to shut up.

I glanced back at him again. He was rubbing his stubbly chin with his hand, regarding me in a way that showed the doubt in his eyes. He was nervous. It was kind of cute.

“If you slam on the brakes one more time, I’m going to insist on driving.”

A slow smile spread over his face. “No women are allowed to drive this truck.”

I lifted a single eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Damn straight.”

And just like that, I was going home with a hot fireman stranger.

5

I didn’t realize the enormity of going home with him until he pulled in the concrete driveway beside his single-story home. It was a cute place—with a front porch that cried out for rocking chairs and extended the entire length of the front of the home. It was a newer built home, the siding a blue-gray color with wooden shaker-style shutters on each side of the window in a deep-brown shade.

The front door was white, and I knew if it had been my house, the first thing I would have done was paint it to match the shutters.

But this wasn’t my house.

My cute little house was no more.

“Everything okay?” Holt asked, turning to face me when I made no move to climb out of the truck.

“I like your house.”

“Thanks. I haven’t lived here very long. The inside’s pretty bare.”

“Like a clean slate,” I murmured without thinking.

“More like a bachelor pad.”

I glanced at him, feeling my lips pull into a half smile.

He didn’t say anything else but got out of his monster-sized truck. I opened the door and stared down at the ground hesitantly, thinking about how far up I actually was.

“Going down?” Holt said in a distinguished tone. He held out his hand and I didn’t hesitate placing mine inside.

His hand merely cupped mine, so gentle it was like he wasn’t holding on to me at all, and his skin felt cool against my heat-burned skin. Then he was taking me by the waist, lifting me down, and setting me gently on the pavement.

He didn’t step back but instead stayed in my personal space—invading it, taking it over. He leaned forward, causing me to lean back, and we bent in a gentle arch while he reached in and collected my sad bag of belongings.

Then he straightened and palmed the edge of the door and smiled, still not moving back.

I ducked around him, brushing up against his side as I moved. The brief contact sent a little sizzle of desire through me.

Get a grip, Katie!
I told myself, disgusted with my own behavior.

I heard a soft chuckle from behind, and I resisted the urge to turn and glare at him. Did he know the effect he had on me?

“Come on Katie-cat, let’s go inside. It’s hot out here.”

“Do not call me Katie-cat.”

“Why not?” he said, glancing over his shoulder while he unlocked the front door.

“Because I’m not twelve.”

“Thank God for that,” he muttered as the door swung open and a blast of cool air reached out and beckoned me inside. Summers in the south were brutal and today was a scorcher.

“I love air-conditioning,” I said as I followed him into the house. I pretended not to hear his last remark. I didn’t want to think too closely about what it meant anyway.

“Everyone in the south loves a/c,” he said, pushing the door shut behind me.

His home was beautiful. It was a single-story ranch home with an open layout. We were standing by the front door that opened into a fairly large living room. The walls were off-white and the floors were made out of dark hardwood. There were shades covering the windows but no curtains. The shades were white, so it allowed light to get in without disrupting privacy. The only piece of furniture in the living area was a large gray couch and—big shocker—there was a flat screen mounted to the wall.

From my position, I could see directly into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a large island with a couple barstools slid underneath. Behind the island, I could make out stainless steel appliances and dark-wood cabinets. There was a space off to the side of the kitchen for a dining table, but there wasn’t one there.

Off to our right was a hallway that I assumed led to the bathroom and bedrooms.

“How long have you lived here?” I asked.

“About six months.”

I made a noise in the back of my throat—a noise that irritated the already sensitive area. “You’ve lived here
six
months and only managed to get a couch and a TV?”

He grinned. “I have a bed too.”

I rolled my eyes.

He moved into the house, tossing his car keys and cell phone onto the island, and opened the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and carried it over toward me, extending it. “How’s your throat?”

“It’s fine, thank you,” I said, taking the offered drink and sipping.

“You gonna stand at the door all night?” he asked, going over and flopping onto the couch.

He took up half of it.

Being here suddenly seemed like a bad idea. I guess I hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be truly alone with him. At the hospital, someone was always out in the hall. The nurses were always coming in and out, but here… here there was only him and me.

He glanced over the back of the couch, his bright eyes spearing me in the fading light of the room. “You hungry?”

My stomach rumbled. I nodded.

“Pizza?”

I nodded again. “Veggie?”

He made a face. “Please tell me you don’t eat nothing but lettuce.”

I smiled, the tense muscles in my back relaxing. “No, but I like veggie pizza.”

“Sausage too?”

I nodded even though sausage wasn’t my favorite.

“Veggie it is!” He must have had the pizza place on speed dial because he had the pizza ordered in five seconds flat.

I decided to stop clinging to the door and moved farther into the room, slipping my flip-flops off and leaving them beside the door.

“So, Freckles,” he said when I sat down.

“Freckles?” I interrupted.

“You said I couldn’t call ya, Katie-cat.”

I shuddered. “I do have a given name, you know.”

“I don’t want to call you what everyone else calls you.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“Because I’m special.”

“There goes that ego of yours again.” I held out my arms wide. “Big,” I mouthed.

A few minutes later, the pizza arrived and I was a little shocked at how fast that happened. But when Holt opened the door and greeted the delivery guy by name, I understood. He must eat a lot of pizza.

When the box was open in front of us, the TV volume was turned down low, and napkins were scattered on the couch between us, he shoved half a slice in his mouth and then looked at me. “So, Freckles, who’s trying to kill ya?”

I choked a little on the bite as I swallowed, a little shocked at his bluntness. “No one.”

He looked at me in disbelief.

“I think it was just a random thing. A burglary gone wrong. The police seem to agree.”

“You think someone tying you to a chair and pouring gasoline all over your house was random?”

I set down the pizza, no longer hungry. “Yes, I do. I don’t know anyone who would try to kill me.”

He regarded me for long moments. “No one?”

“You say that like I’m some criminal with a bunch of mobster friends.”

He laughed. “There is no mob in Wilmington.”

I leaned in. “You sure about that?” I deadpanned.

His eyes widened a little and I grinned.

“Funny,” he said and shoved the rest of the pizza into his mouth.

“May I use your restroom?”

“Make yourself at home,” he said and then directed me toward the right room.

I shut myself in the bathroom and studied myself in the mirror. It was just as I thought. I looked like crap. Well, except for my hair, thanks to the nurse. It actually looked good, falling in waves over my shoulders and onto my chest. It actually stayed fairly straight too, the cinnamon-colored, thick strands only taking on a bit of waviness, likely from the time I spent in the hospital bed. My skin was paler than usual, making the practically orange freckles that scattered across my cheeks and nose stand out. My eyes were light colored, blue, but they weren’t icy cool like Holt’s. They were more grayish, like a stormy sky, and were lined with light-red eyelashes that kind of disappeared against my skin (thank goodness for mascara). My lips were full and peach-colored, on the pale side, and I usually used gloss to give them more pop.

I looked down at Holt’s shirt buttoned up over my hospital gown and grinned ruefully. I looked ridiculous. Carefully, I peeled off his shirt and untied the gown from around my neck. It was so large it fell around my bare feet in a puddle. I covered back up with Holt’s shirt, glad for once that my breasts weren’t large because I didn’t have a bra to hold them up. I couldn’t help but notice how comfortable the worn fabric of his shirt was against my skin and how it carried the scent of him, which caused me to breathe a little deeper.

I shoved the gown in the trash, hoping I would never have to wear one like it again, and then did my business and left the bathroom. By the time I was back on the couch, I felt weary and my injuries were hurting.

“Everything come out okay?” Holt said when I sat down.

“Did you seriously just ask me that?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You were gone a long time.”

“My hands are burned and so are my wrists!”

That seemed to wipe the humor off his face. I hadn’t meant to do that. “Want me to help you with the bandages?”

“No, the nurse did it before you arrived.”

“You barely ate,” he observed.

I picked up the pizza and took a bite, not because I wanted it, but because he clearly wanted me to. I paused in chewing. Since when did I do things because someone else wanted me too? Uh, never.

I set the pizza back down and scooted into the couch cushions, leaning my head back and trying to get comfortable. I felt homesick. I missed my couch, my favorite blanket, and my house. I knew this was only temporary, that I would have my own place again, but I hated temporary.