CHAPTER 13
Jane
I wash my hands in my bathroom sink and glance into the mirror. I’m pretty sure the look on my face is just as dopey as it was this morning. I’ve felt it all day. The way my cheeks pull up a little, the way my mouth has been curved in a smile, and the slight flush to my skin.
I went to bed last night thinking about that kiss with Kyle at my doorstep, and I woke up thinking about it. Hell, there’s even a slight tingling to my lips that hasn’t gone away.
Turning the water off, I dry my hands on the cute little hand towel done in lemon yellow with white lace edging, and look into the mirror one last time. Yup… bright eyes that I may have accentuated with some smokier than I normally wear eye shadow, along with a volumizing layer of mascara, and decide that I’m really going to do this.
I head into the kitchen and said dopey smile remains. I can feel it. If anyone had seen me today, they would have looked at me with knowing eyes—that girl was kissed and kissed well. But I’d been at home by myself today, doing some cleaning and a little bit of painting for purely pleasure purposes. It was a casual, summer day off for me, one of the things I loved about being a teacher.
I’d relaxed today, ruminated about that kiss, and around three o’clock this afternoon, made the decision that I’d see Kyle tonight. This may or may not be a surprise to him. When he walked off my porch last night, he left me without a single innuendo or hint that he wanted to see me again. Perhaps he thinks he’s made things clear. On the other hand, I’ve never really let Kyle put me off, and that seems to be a good play right now.
I cook dinner—a roasted pork loin, candied carrots, and fresh baked bread. Granted, the bread feels like a rock, so I throw it away and pack the rest up in a basket. After I top it off with a red-checkered linen cloth, I’m going to bring it to him and insist we eat it together.
Maybe I’ll get another kiss, although I’m not sure it could top the one he gave me last night.
Kyle told me he wasn’t a good man. He pretty much assured me he’d hurt me at some point. So when his lips came down on mine, I actually braced for him to be rough with me. Let’s face it… he’s crude, withdrawn, gruff, and anti-social. He’s all angled planes and tattooed skin with scary designs. I’d watched him grab Craig by the throat and single-handedly dispatch the creep without breaking a sweat.
And even though I wanted the kiss, I knew there was a slight possibility that Kyle could, in fact, be a dangerously dark man. Even more so, I knew I could have been in actual danger. After all, he pretty much told me he considered an invitation into my house to equate to a spreading of legs.
Oh, but that kiss.
He was none of the things I had some reservations about.
It was so soft and gentle. His mouth moved so slowly over mine without any rush, but with the intent to seek everything I had to offer. Kyle was absolutely unhurried. If I had to guess, I’d say he was savoring it as much as I was. He was content to just roam at a leisurely pace, and it drove me absolutely bonkers with needing more. So I made the next bold move by letting my tongue hesitantly reach out to touch his.
And I got a reaction.
A soft growl from deep in his chest as his hand tightened slightly in my hair, and it so turned me on that my body involuntarily leaned into his.
But then… he was gone, releasing me suddenly and taking a full step backward. His eyes were hooded and his face impassive, and I would have thought he was unaffected by it all, except his voice was very hoarse when he said, “Good night, Jane.”
Without another word, he spun around, bounded down my porch steps, and jogged across my yard to Cranberry Lane. I watched him—lips in full tingle mode—until he went inside his house and shut the door behind him.
I didn’t struggle all that hard in my decision to cook and bring him dinner. I know I should heed his warning that he’s a “bad” man, but I’m sorry… that kiss was way too gentle for that to be true. As such, I’m going to see what else is lurking under his carefully layered facade that’s designed to keep people away.
After picking up the basket, the dopey smile on my face remains as I head over to Kyle’s house. I have to concentrate to wipe it off, putting on my charming, quirky smile when I knock on his front door at six o’clock on the dot.
When Kyle opens the door and stares at me, he doesn’t look surprised to see me, but, truthfully, he doesn’t look happy about it either. One could argue that he doesn’t look pissed off or put out. Not curious or resigned. He just stares at me without giving me a single hint as to what he might be feeling.
And that’s okay.
I’m standing here, pushing myself into his life, because something happened last night when he kissed me. It was an epiphany of sorts because my entire life has sort of been settled. I had a charmed life growing up, followed my dreams to go to college and became a teacher, and I wake up every day living in a town that I adore with wonderful family and friends. But when he kissed me last night, the realization was clear that I had truly been missing something I had not realized I was missing until that moment. Kyle Harding presents more than just excitement and intrigue into my ordered world. He is an absolute puzzle, and I’m enjoying the process of figuring him out. Perhaps he’s even a bit broken, and while I don’t want to be the one to fix him, I do want to be an integral part in peeling away the outer layers so I can find out who he truly is. I’ve seen enough goodness and gentleness in him to know that he’s not who he thinks he is. While he acts like he wants nothing to do with the world as it exists, I’ve seen enough curiosity within him to consider the possibility that perhaps he could have things he’d never thought were possible.
“Hi,” I say with a shrug since my hands are full. But then I nod down to the basket in my hands. “Brought us dinner.”
His gaze drops down to the basket, and then back up to me. “Us?”
“Well, yeah,” I chastise. “I didn’t cook all this food just for you to eat it by yourself. I get some of the rewards too.”
“Are there any baked goods in there?” he asks dubiously, and I know I’m moments away from him opening the door.
Good thing I threw that bread away. “Nope. Just a pork loin and some candied carrots. I’m a good cook.”
“But the baking leaves a lot to be desired,” he adds on, and I can’t help but grin—not over his backhanded slight that was said all in good fun, but because his arm shoots out and he opens the screen door to let me in.
I push past him, taking in the rustic decor of his cottage. It’s totally a man’s place as there’s minimal decorative touches. The living room is small and boasts only a love seat and a ratty-looking recliner that’s crowded around an old wood-burning fireplace with a red brick mantle. My heart warms when I see my painting hanging over it.
Beyond the living room is a small kitchen. I walk into it, setting my basket on the old, chipped countertop. As I pull out the two casserole dishes—one that contains the pork loin I’d already cut into thick slices and the other holding the carrots—Kyle wordlessly pulls out plates and flatware before turning to the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water.
I dish up our dinners. By silent agreement, we both take seats at his kitchen table that has seen better days. It’s battered wood with nicks and scratches surrounded by four mismatched chairs.
I watch him carefully as he cuts into the pork, takes a bite, and chews slowly, his eyes focused on his plate. But I’m not going to sit here in silence when this is prime opportunity for conversation.
“Any good?” I ask, and he tilts his head to look at me.
He swallows as he nods. “Very good.”
I beam a smile at him. “Thanks. I’d actually made some bread, but well… you’d be throwing me out of your house right about now if I’d offered it to you.”
“You more than make up for the lack of baking skills,” he mutters before spearing a carrot.
“My mom’s a good cook,” I say by way of explanation.
“How is she at baking?” he asks.
“Sucks like me,” I admit.
He gives me an amused smile as he cuts another piece of pork loin. I use this opportunity to go for it.
“So you said you lived in Wyoming,” I say as I work at cutting my food up into bite-sized pieces. “What all did you do there?”
I expect sullen silence, so I’m surprised when he says, “Worked various jobs here and there, but did a few years working in the oil fields. Eventually, I became a mechanic.”
“Wyoming has oil?” I ask curiously.
He nods. “Mostly in the western part of the state.”
“And what type of mechanic were you?” I ask as I punch my fork down into a piece of pork.
“Motorcycle,” he says, and I’m surprised when he elaborates without me being pushy or nosy. “Started out as a hobby. Bought an old Triumph and fixed it up myself, then realized I liked working with engines. Eventually moved over to the eastern part of the state and became a full-time motorcycle mechanic.”
“I can totally see that,” I observe thoughtfully.
“How’s that?” His expression is doubtfully curious.
“Well, I mean you’re handy,” I tell him. “Good with your hands. Knew exactly what to do when my water pipes broke. Some people are naturally gifted with stuff like that. I also saw you working on your truck’s engine a few weeks ago, so I figured you knew what you were doing.”
“Engines sort of make sense to me,” he mutters as his gaze goes back to his plate. “But as good as I am with mechanical stuff, I totally suck at electronics.”
“But aren’t most modern engines full of electronic components?” I ask, enjoying this simple and unstilted conversation where he’s not holding back.
“True,” he says. “Always learning something.”
I nod. “Pretty big change you’ve made, going from a motorcycle mechanic out west to a lighthouse keeper on the East Coast.”
“You could say that.”
He doesn’t offer more, and the silence becomes instantly oppressive. So I veer off the path a little and try for something a bit more personal.
“So what do you like to do for fun?” I ask as he continues to eat. “I mean, you came in the dead of winter. There’s not a lot to do around here unless you’re into winter sports like snowmobiling or skiing. You had a few months where you were holed up in here all by yourself.”
He raises his gaze from a piece of carrot on his fork to me and gives a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know… I read a lot.”
My eyes brighten. “Really? I love to read too. What type of books?”
“Crime stuff,” he says.
“Like real crime or fiction?”
“Both actually,” he says. “I like the classics too. The guy who lived here before me left a nice collection, and I’ve read through all of them already.”
You know, for all of Kyle’s gruff ways, I can totally see him reading the classics. I’ve learned enough about him to know he’s a smart guy.
“Did you go to college?” I ask curiously.
His gaze drops quickly to his plate, and I sense an immediate vibe of discomfort in the air. I wonder why that’s a sore subject, but then he looks right back up at me. “Yeah, I did. Worked my way through at night. Took me six years going part time.”
“Wow,” I say, completely impressed but not surprised. Kyle seems to be a goal-oriented type of man. “What’s your degree in?”
He hesitates only slightly, as if it might go against the rules to admit it to me, but then offers up. “Criminal justice.”
I smile in understanding. “Hence you liking crime books. So why didn’t you ever do anything with that degree?”
“What makes you think I didn’t?” he challenges me, and yes… his eyes flash with something I can’t quite describe.
“Did you?” I ask bluntly.
He holds my gaze steadily for a moment before he says quietly, “No. Found out I was more apt to commiserate with the criminals rather than catch them.”
My jaw drops. He sounds serious, and yet… there’s an untruth in that statement. I can hear it and it confuses me, because I also hear some elements of truth as well.
“I don’t believe that,” I say softly.
“Why would I lie?” he counters, his eyes continuing to bore into me.
“Are you a criminal?” I ask, not answering his last question.
He shakes his head without hesitation. “I have a spotless record. I’m sure you can look it up.”
“No, I trust you,” I say automatically, and I have to wonder why that popped out so easily. I don’t know him at all, but, for some reason, I believe what he just told me, despite the fact he’s clearly a secretive man.
Kyle merely grunts at me, and I’ll have to assume that means he takes me at face value. But he doesn’t offer me anything else, and I’m suddenly feeling off kilter. I feel like he was telling me something important about himself, but I can’t figure out the deeper message.
♦
Kyle finishes his meal well before me, and that’s merely because he focused on eating. I think that was a calculated move to discourage any further personal conversation, and I respected that.
So instead, I thought about that kiss we’d had, and I wondered if it would happen again tonight.
Then I became obsessed about it as I ate a piece of pork, then a carrot.
Pork. Carrot. Pork. Carrot.
When I finish the last bite, I look up at Kyle and find his plate empty. He’s watching me across the table with his arms crossed over his chest. His chair is pushed back a bit, one leg cocked with his foot flat on the floor, the other one pushed out straight with heel to the floor, so he’s slouched a bit lazily. “Dinner was great. Thanks.”
And that totally sounds dismissive.
So I try to stall. “I’ll help you clean up the dishes. After that, maybe we can watch a movie or something.”
He’s shaking his head in the negative before I even finish my sentence. “Don’t have a TV.”
“You can come to my house,” I offer, and then I blush, because I remember what he thinks about a woman who invites a man inside. “You know… I mean, I’ve got a lot of DVDs and such.”
He’s still shaking his head. “I’m sort of beat. Going to call it an early night.”
And yep… that was a total brush-off because it’s barely six-thirty. I’ve been here a grand total of thirty minutes and he’s had his fill of me—and well, my food. My heart sinks as it’s clear he wants nothing more to do with me, and I’m thinking that kiss last night may have felt amazing only from my perspective. This embarrasses me greatly, giving me incentive to make a quick exit.
“Well, okay,” I say as I push up out of my chair. Kyle does the same and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, just staring at me. “I’ll… um… get the dishes from you later.”
I expect him to fight me on that. Perhaps insist I take them right now. But there’s still more food in them, and that would require me to stay a bit longer to pack it all up, so I’m not surprised when he nods in agreement.
This heartens me slightly as I realize, at the very least, I’ll see him again when he returns my stuff.
Unless he just leaves them on my porch, which causes my stomach to sink.
The tug-of-war this man plays on my emotions from second to second is disorienting to say the least.
I turn and head through the living room, Kyle’s boots thumping softly behind me on the wood flooring. When I reach the door, he reaches past me and opens it. My mind races with something to say.
Anything that will keep an opening between us as my pulse fires on all cylinders.
I’m surprised when he pushes open the screen door, his shoulder brushing against mine, and when I step onto his porch, he follows me out.
Looking over my shoulder, I give him a tentative smile. “Well, good night.”
“Good night, Jane,” he says softly, and that right there… it’s regret in his eyes. I see it clearly and it causes me to freeze in place. Is that an opening?
Should I press an advantage?
But before I can even think what that might look like, he says, “Thanks again for dinner,” and then turns back toward the screened door.
My shoulders sag at the cold brush-off and I turn away, telling myself with absolute certainty I need to give up on him. He’s just not interested.
I get no more than two steps toward the first porch step before Kyle’s hand clamps on my wrist and he’s spinning me back toward him. My mouth falls open in a gasp of surprise, only to be covered with his as he pulls me roughly to him.
He puts a hand to the back of my head, another at my hip where he squeezes once before pulling me flush against his body, and then he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before.
Never, ever kissed like this before.
Certainly not like last night, which was gentle and exploratory, hesitancy a barrier. But this is a full-on assault on all of my senses. His mouth is urgent, rough, and demanding. His tongue immediately claims mine, and I give it up to him without a second thought.
My hands reach blindly to grip into his t-shirt, and then claw inward so I can hold him tightly so he can’t get away and I can’t fall down because my knees are so weak.
Almost as if he’s satisfied that I would never in a million years think to pull my mouth from his, his hand drops from my head to take my other hip and he presses me into him.
And I feel everything.
Every inch of his hard body.
Most importantly, I feel his erection pressing into my stomach, and I go dizzy from how quickly this has escalated.
A tiny moan flutters up from my throat and doesn’t even hesitate before it slithers into his mouth. Kyle’s fingers dig harder into my hips as I press my body tightly against his, my arms now snaking around his shoulders. My fingers touch the back of his neck, sliding upward to the back of his head where they rub against the stubble of his shorn hair briefly before gliding back down and around to lie against his chest.
I can feel the mad hammering of his heart, and mine seems to gallop at the same speed within my chest. My entire body is on fire, my limbs feel like jello, and an ache throbs between my legs. In this very moment, I’ve never been more turned on in my entire life by a man, and if we were in my house, I’d indeed be spreading my legs for him.
Not a doubt in my mind that’s what I’d be doing.
But then Kyle hesitates, his mouth pausing and his grip loosening. His forehead touches mine as he mutters almost painfully, “You need to go.”
“No,” I say automatically, my fingers dragging over his chest, down his stomach, and pausing at the waistband of his jeans.
Kyle lifts his head, and his troubled eyes bore into mine. His words are clipped and harsh. “You need to go, Jane.”
“No,” I say again. Okay, it comes out almost like a whine, and my fingers boldly skim downward to brush over his erection in a very desperate and perhaps pathetic move to keep him in the moment.
To not lose him.
Kyle hisses and his body jerks when I press my palm against him, and holy mother of God, it’s huge. I want to feel more, so I start to curl my hand around him, assured he won’t be able to resist.
I’m wrong though, probably about everything.
Kyle’s hands shoot upward, roughly grabbing my shoulders so he can push me away. It’s not a hard push, but in a nanosecond, he puts two feet of space between us and then drops me like a hot potato.
I stare at him, my chest heaving with hardened nipples. A silent plea on my mouth for him to touch me again.
He shakes his head, but his voice is surprisingly gentle when he says, “You need to go, Jane. This isn’t happening.”
“But I don’t understand,” I whisper.
Kyle scrubs a hand over his head and huffs out with frustration. “There’s nothing to understand. I’m not good for you and I just can’t go there, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay,” I argue, and even though my body is starting to cool, I feel more drawn to him than ever. I feel absolutely compelled to admit to him, “I like you.”
Kyle’s eyes gentle as he gives me a sad smile. “I like you too, Jane. But it can’t go past friendship. I really shouldn’t even take that, but…”
“But?” I prompt him.
“But nothing,” he says firmly. “I’m not going to be here long, so I’m not about to start anything with you. So it’s just friends, Jane, and frankly… I won’t make a very good friend so take that for what it’s worth.”
My eyes drop to the porch, and I try to make sense of the emotions warring within me. So much disappointment, and a huge pool of sadness, that Kyle feels the need to stay so closed off.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and my eyes snap back up to his.
And he is sorry. His gaze is filled with regret and pain, not for me, but for himself, and it crashes into me hard.
“Me too,” I murmur with a nod of my head. “I guess it’s just friends.”
“Just friends,” he agrees. He even attempts a smile that’s completely lackluster, causing my heart to squeeze like it’s been locked in a vice grip.
“Well, good night,” I say with a smile back at him.
“Good night, Jane,” he says and turns away from me. I watch him walk through his door and shut it behind him, the memory of his regretful gaze burned vividly into my brain.
Most women would take him at face value and give him what he just asked for. But I’m not most women, and I’m sure Kyle has that figured out. I know he thinks he needs space, probably to protect himself and me at the same time.
I see something different though.
I see a man who wants something for himself but is too afraid to take it. He’s afraid of failure.
So I throw my shoulders back, determination forging my spine into steel, and I vow to myself I’m going to get through those walls he just put up around himself, no matter what it takes.