58
A wisp of cool air curled over my skin, and I hugged the pillow closer.
Still cold.
No, exposed.
Something heavy was in the air, and that something was hanging over me. I opened my eyes, my body tightening around the pillow.
Cedar, a hint of tobacco. Metal and cinnamon gum.
That something was him.
A large figure loomed in the dark. The thud of his clothing hitting the floor had my pulse jumping rope double time.
“Finger? What are you doing?”
“Getting in your bed.”
I sat up, pulling the sheet over my bare body. “You break into my house because you want a fuck?”
He chuckled softly, pulling back the sheet and climbing in next to me. The heat of his limbs, the wall of his torso pressing against me. His hair was wet. The fragrance of my shampoo tickled my nose.
“I repeat, you don’t know how to ask?”
An arm wrapped around me pulling me close. “Sunshine,” he whispered, the rough pad of his palm moving down my side to my hip. “Tonight I need to be here with you. You want to fuck, we’ll fuck. But either way, I’m here in your bed.” He was determined, but an underlying note of tenderness in that scratched husky voice of his made his words seem almost fragile.
My mouth dried, my pulse picked up. “Did something happen? Something bad?”
“Only good things.” His leg rubbed mine. “But it was a lot of different things all at once, and I’m waiting for the aftershock to hit.”
My hands pushed against his chest. “Are you in danger? What the—”
“Not sure yet.” His palm smoothed around my neck. “But it had to happen.”
“What exactly?”
His hand dug in my hair at the back of my head. “Today I blew my horn and the wall fell down.”
I swallowed hard at the purposeful tone in his voice, the tingles shooting over my scalp at his firm touch. “You’re quoting the Old Testament?”
“Yeah. I always liked that Bible story of Joshua’s destruction of Jericho. He blew his horn, the wall fell, and they burned the city with fire and ‘all that was therein.’” He let out another soft chuckle. “Jericho, the Flames—harlots all.”
“Joshua, Finger—whatever.”
“Hmm.” He took in a deep slow breath. “Everything’s changing for the better. I’m making sure of it.”
His erection rubbed against me. My skin heated, and I held my breath, suddenly unsure of what to do. Suddenly I wanted to run out the door. Suddenly I wanted to bury my face in his throat, wrap myself around him and hold on tight.
“You still deciding?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Let me stay.” His hand smoothed my hair down my back.
“That’s really nice, you asking when you’re already naked in my bed.”
“Let me hold you tonight, Lenore. Sleep next to you. I’m wired, but I’m exhausted.” His voice was low.
My hand opened over a pec, his heartbeat drumming under my palm. A simple gesture I’d done thousands of times in the past. Now it felt new, daring, exhilarating. My every sense was pinned on that touch. I stroked his firm flesh, and a low noise escaped his throat.
“You need me, is that it?” I asked.
His hand covered mine on his chest, keeping it still. “I’ve always needed you. Now more than ever.”
The quiet sincerity and genuine yearning in his voice, despite his fatigue, clutched at my heart. But I wasn’t going to let his blitzkrieg tactics get the best of me. I removed my hand and lifted myself away from his body. “You took a chance coming here. I might not have been alone. I still might not be. It’s early yet.”
His lips twitched. “Uh huh.”
“Not concerned?”
“No.” He inhaled deeply, a warm hand lazily sliding up my side brushing the curve of a breast. “Coconut and violet smells good on you. You still take a shower every night before bed?”
His memory was impressive. “Yes. Did you take a shower just now?”
“Yeah. I used the fig and vanilla, though.”
“I made those shower gels, by the way.”
“You’re a talented woman.”
“You’re a man unafraid of fig and vanilla. I think I like you.”
“Hmm.” His eyes closed, his lips curling at the edges. His breathing deepened, his muscles relaxing underneath me.
Joshua slept.
I lay down once more, my body melding against his warm one. A heavy arm slid up my side.
I fell asleep, too.
I woke up early as usual, but this time Finger was in my bed, and my lungs crushed together at the sight of him, at the feel of his massive body next to mine. His side of the sheet was twisted in between his long, powerful legs. His hair unfettered over my pillows. Those pronounced shoulder and upper arm muscles of his glaring at me.
He was beautiful. Scarred, battle weary, yet always battle ready. The biblical warrior.
I extracted myself from him and quietly got out of bed.
Instead of heading to Craig’s early morning power cardio class as I did on an almost daily basis, I got dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a loose fitting top and headed for my living room to do a few yoga stretches. Otherwise both my brain and body would be cranky, and I didn’t want to be cranky, especially with Finger in my house. I needed to be clearheaded and composed.
Good luck.
His big leather jacket with his patches was flung on the top of my sofa. I picked it up. The heavy weight was familiar, the smell of that worn leather and faded metal a perfume of my past. I hung the jacket on the back of a dining chair.
When I was done stretching, I put away my mat, and made a big pot of coffee and prepared two small bowls with my granola, sunflower seeds, cinnamon, blueberries, grated apple, and a drizzle of honey. I had no idea if he’d like it or make a face and call it rabbit food, but what the hell. Should I make him a huge eggs, bacon, and pancakes type of he-man breakfast? Maybe he didn’t eat breakfast at all? Gah.
Movement from the bathroom made me blink. I took in a breath. “Will you relax?” I whispered to myself. Why did I feel like a girl on a first date with her longtime crush? I rolled my eyes at myself.
I waited for the shuffling of clothing, for footsteps. But there were only short quick breaths echoing down the hallway. I took my coffee mug in hand and made my way toward the sounds.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Finger lifted himself up at the pull bar that was stretched across a doorway. He was focused on an imaginary point in the hallway, dipping down and swiftly pulling himself up in a smooth arc motion. His every muscle worked, body taut, skin flushed. Flex, pull. Flex, pull.
And he was naked.
Flex. Pull.
And he was magnificent.
And I’d had him next to me in my bed all night long. I took a sip of coffee and burned my tongue.
His feet settled on the floor, his hands releasing the bar, his dark eyes hanging on mine. “Morning.” He rubbed a hand over his sweaty chest, his morning wood, mighty wooden.
“Uh huh.” I swallowed down more blazing coffee.
He smirked. “You use the bar?”
“Sometimes.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Like twice a year. Maybe.”
The smirk transformed into a full grin. “What do you have it for then?”
“Beck put it up. He uses it whenever he comes for a visit.”
“Right.” His face tensed for a second. “I haven’t used a bar in a while. It’s difficult for me to get a good grip with my hands.”
“Oh, you were doing just fine.”
That grin of his returned. “I stick to pushups.”
That I’d like to see.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Definitely.” He went back to my bedroom and came out moments later wearing his jeans and a tight, long-sleeved T, a plaid flannel shirt unbuttoned over that, his boots in his hand.
I handed him his coffee and sat at my dining table.
“How’s Joshua this morning?” I asked.
He laughed, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s got to get back to Nebraska.”
“What happened yesterday, Finger? Why were you so concerned?”
“Yesterday was the beginning and middle of the end. It was a long time coming.”
“What did you do?”
“Punished the harlot.”
“Which of the many harlots?” I asked.
“Reich for starters. My National President, who was coddling him. Clearing the land, baby. Outside and in.” His dark metallic eyes stayed on mine as he drank his coffee.
I toyed with the edge of my beaded placemat. “You’re concerned about blowback?”
He picked at the blueberries in the cereal, popping them in his mouth. “Not usually. But things are different now. Now I have you again, and I’m not letting go, for anyone or anything.” He ate a spoonful of the granola.
“You have me?”
“Yes. And you have me.” He chewed, those iron eyes on me again, making my stomach seize. “Tell me you made this granola yourself.”
“I made this granola myself.”
“It’s real good. I’ve never liked cereal for breakfast. As a snack on the road, on hikes, yeah. But not for breakfast. Talented woman.”
He sat on the chair next to me and shoved on his boots. Leaning in close, he brushed a hand across my jaw and up the side of my face, but he didn’t go in for a kiss. In a tense, expectant silence, we stared at each other’s lips, eyes, taking each other in, the differences, the similarities, applying brushstrokes of color to a pencil sketch, tasting the wine we had bottled ourselves a long, long time ago.
A giddy coil unwound inside me. He was still my Justin underneath the deeper lines, the thicker beard. That dark gleam in those savage eyes was still there, still unfurling me, still filling me. I glided, sails full on his wind.
His features remained intent and he pulled me in closer, planting a lingering kiss on my lips, his tongue taunting mine. My breath caught, my lips stung. I dug my nails into his formidable biceps. Was it possible to be infatuated, enthralled all over again all these years later?
He brushed a finger over the compass with the flaming blue N on my chest. “I like that tat.” He planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Finger—”
He grabbed his colors from the chair and stalked out my front door. “Tonight, baby.”