She lets out an excited giggle. He nuzzles at her neck, his hand, skating over her breasts through her thin camisole top. She relaxes into his touch for a few moments before reason comes flooding back and her eyes fly open. “Not here, Wes. We can’t.”
Wes raises an eyebrow, looking down at her as if he doesn’t believe her. Her voice is husky but there’s no mistaking her tone, she’s not kidding around. He releases her, holding his hands up in surrender. “All right, but you’re going to have to make this quick if you don’t expect me to try to persuade you differently.”
Isabel shakes her head at the wicked gleam in his dark eyes, busying herself with her first aid kit and proceeding to wrap his chest in the last of the bandages. They’ve gotten through almost all of her mother’s extensive first aid supplies in a week and she doesn’t even say what it is he is doing every night to need medical attention more often than not. That should be enough to tell her there is something that isn’t right about this whole situation between them. It isn’t that she doesn’t see it; it’s more like she doesn’t want to.
“Seems like tonight was tough.” She avoids looking at the expression on his face as she broaches the subject she’s not supposed to talk about. “But I guess I should count myself lucky that you didn’t come back with a gunshot wound for me to sew up.” Wes remains silent, impassive, and the fact that he’s not willing to take the bait riles her. “So how many were you up against this time? Five? Ten? Twenty?”
Wes holds up his hand, motioning for her to stop. “Isabel.” The warning tone in his voice is clear but it’s not enough to stop her; she’s on a roll now.
“What will it take? Are you just not going to be satisfied until you’re in such a state that I can’t take care of you? What happens if you end up in a coma or worse?” She doesn’t say the word, she can’t. ‘Dead’ seems so final and such a poor descriptor of the absence that it creates.
He stands up, suddenly seeming to take up all the space in the room. “Isabel, that’s enough.” His voice is commanding and she can see he’s angry. She’d poked the bear and the bear had finally poked back.
She looks up at him and, suddenly all the oxygen seems to have been sucked out of the room. She looks into his eyes and feels all the energy and anger seep out of her. “It’s just…” She pauses until she feels like she’s got her emotions more under control. “It’s just it’s hard to see you do this to yourself night after night.”
Wes’s expression softens and, wordlessly, he holds his arms open to her and she walks into them, burying her head against his chest as he strokes her hair, murmuring words of comfort. She relaxes into him, letting the sense of security she feels whenever she’s in his arms wash over her. For a few moments, nothing can hurt her. She feels like, together, they can face anything.
Gently, he pushes her back so he can take a good look at her face. His thumb runs over the apple of her cheek as he squints are her, critically. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
She shrugs, noncommittally, which tells him all he needs to know. Wesley knows about her insomnia. He doesn’t have to be a genius to have noticed, bearing in mind they’ve spent every night since that first one together. He doesn’t give her the useless advice she’s had before from well-intentioned tenants: that she should count sheep or drink hot milk before bed. It would be pointless if he had anyway; she’s tried them all, nothing works. Well, almost nothing.
It doesn’t take long for him to squirrel out of her the reason for her lack of sleep since her mother had died. “You been cooking the books again?” He nods vaguely towards her office.
“I wish there was enough in them to be able to cook!” She strives for humor but neither of them laughs. Isabel had told Wesley about the financial trouble the boarding house is in; there didn’t seem to be any reason not to tell him. After all, they share things that are far more intimate than their bank balances.
But what he doesn’t know is that her sleeplessness has gotten even worse recently, that the circles under her eyes are darkening. And it’s not just because of the unpaid bills and the general state of disrepair of the house, although that would be enough to keep most people awake night after night. It is because of him. Every night she worries it will be the night he doesn’t come back. But she can’t tell him that, not only because she doesn’t have any intention of sharing exactly how she feels about him, but because no matter how much she worries it’s not going to change anything. He will still be who he is, doing the work he does, putting himself in dangerous situations night after night.
Wesley takes a deep breath, as if he’s steeling himself for something he knows is going to be tough. Isabel looks up at him, hoping this isn’t going to be the moment when he tells her he’s leaving.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” He takes a small step away from her and motions for her to sit down.
Isabel throws him a suspicious look but does as he’s directed. “That sounds ominous.” She keeps her tone light, but it does nothing to allay the choked up feeling she’s starting to get in her throat. The ‘we need to talk’ opener was never a good sign in her experience. But usually she isn’t the one on the receiving end; this is a whole new world for her.
Instead of taking the seat next to her, Wesley starts to pace up and down, wearing a hole in the kitchen’s original Victorian oak wood flooring.
“I know things haven’t been easy for you since your mom died, and I know that, at the moment, pretty much every cent counts.” He looks to her for verification and she nods mutely. This isn’t the way that she imagined the conversation going. Absently, he rubs at the dark stubble on his chin, a habit Isabel has come to learn is linked with frustration. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me. And in my line of work I make a pretty decent packet of extra money. So I’d like to say thank you.”
He buries his hand in his back pocket. Isabel looks up at him quizzically, but he studiously avoids eye contact with her. He pulls out rolls of bills and holds them out for her to take. She blinks, hard, trying to figure out what it is she’s looking at. It doesn’t take more than a quick glance for her to realize he’s probably holding close to a thousand dollars in cash in his hands.
“This is my way of saying thank you.” His voice is gruff, but his eyes are gentle. He actually looks nervous and it would be adorable if Isabel didn’t feel her anger already starting to rise. “Take it.”
Poor guy, he really couldn’t look more uncomfortable, but it’s too late, Isabel has already slid out of her chair and is standing toe to toe with him. She pushes the money he’s still holding in his hand away, letting it fall onto the kitchen table, a disgusted expression on her face. “You want to pay me for…” She can’t even bring herself to say the word, she’s so mad. “I don’t know who you think I am, Wes, but I can tell you that I’m most definitely not a whore who charges by the hour. Now that may be the only kind of woman that you’re familiar with, but that’s not me.”
She spins on her heel, needing to get as far away from him as possible before she actually becomes physically violent. Her mind is reeling from what’s just happened. Her entire perception of Wesley has changed in the space of a minute. How could she have been so wrong about him? How could she be hung up on a guy who thinks it is normal and okay to offer to pay her for sex? The heat of her anger does something to temper the bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth, but it’s nowhere near enough to stop the hurting.
“Hold on a damn second.” Wesley’s hand is on her arm before she’s even stepped two feet away and he turns her around, gently but firmly.
“Let go of me, Wes. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say to me. I think you’ve done enough for one night, don’t you?” Her green eyes flash at him and she tries to yank her arm away from his grip, but to no avail.
Of all the expressions she expects to see from him in the face of her anger, amusement is not one of them. “You know, you really are beautiful when you’re mad, Bel.”
“This is funny to you?” Her mouth gapes at him in shock, wondering if an alien has come down from space and replaced the Wesley she thought she knew with someone completely different. “What is your malfunction?” He shakes his head at her, looking down at his feet, but not fast enough for her to miss the smile he tries to hide. “Well, I’m glad to provide you with some light entertainment after your evening’s activities, but I really do have better things to do, so if you’ll just let me go.”
She struggles, snatching her arm away when she feels him relax his grip. He makes a calming gesture with his hands. His whole posture is much the same as if you were calming a wild horse. “Just settle down now, Bel. You may be beautiful when you’re angry, but I’ve had a long night and I’m not going to chase you all over the house.” He looks at her pointedly and motions towards the chair that she had vacated. “Sit.”
Her eyebrows go up so high it’s a wonder they don’t end up as part of her hairline. “Sit? So I’m a dog now?” She crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head in disbelief at the audacity of the man in front of her. If this is the real Wesley, he must be one hell of an actor. She isn’t exactly the naïve, trusting type but he’s still managed to fool her into thinking he really cares.
“Would you sit down in the damn, chair, Isabel, and shut your mouth for just a minute?” The thinly veiled frustration in his voice is enough to have her behind hitting the seat without even realizing what she is doing. “Thank you.” He nods in satisfaction, starting to pace in front of her yet again.
“Why would you think I see you as a whore?” The way he has cut straight to the chase leaves Isabel groping for words. “Have I ever made you feel like that? Have I ever given you any indication I think of you in that way?”
His dark eyes are full of sincerity and, behind the frustration on his face, Isabel sees something else, something that makes her doubt herself; she sees hurt. “No.” Her response is quiet, but the volume doesn’t make it any less true. He has only ever treated her with the utmost respect. She has no evidence to say otherwise.
“Well, I guess at least that’s something.” Wesley seems to be talking more to himself than her. He sighs heavily, looking over at the wad of bills that he’d let fall onto the kitchen table. “The money wasn’t for sex, Isabel. Whatever you may think of me, I can promise I’ve never had to pay for it.”
Isabel feels her chest tighten at the mere thought of him in bed with someone else, but she pushes that emotion away. “Why pay when you can get it for free, right?” She shrugs as if to show how little she’s bothered, but she’s never been all that good at bluffing.
Wesley looks like he’s chewing on a load of nails as he looks at her. “No one likes a smart Alec, Isabel. You’re lucky I don’t take you over my knee and spank that out of you.”
Isabel feels her insides clench at the thought, her body betraying her with him as it always does. “I’d like to see you try.” Her voice doesn’t hold any of the venom that she had been shooting for. Instead it sounds husky, almost like an invitation.
“I bet you would.” He grins wickedly at her and Isabel’s silky pajama top does nothing to hide the way her nipples have hardened almost on his command.
“If the money isn’t for sex, what are you thanking me for, exactly? As far as I remember, you are paying me rent for the pleasure of staying here.” She motions expansively at the house.
“It’s for patching me up.” His words knock the smart responses out of her. “It’s for being here every night when I come back, bleeding and bruised. It’s for helping me, when you don’t have to.”
Isabel can’t feel more stupid about the way she had reacted to him offering her the money. She’d behaved like a child, jumping to the worst possible conclusion she could come up with. But that doesn’t change what she was going to do. She makes her way over to the table, picks up the cash and holds it out towards him. “It’s a sweet gesture, Wes. But I can’t take your money.” She shakes her head, knowing she’s passing up the opportunity to give herself a couple more decent nights’ sleep without having to worry about the pile of bills sitting on her desk. But she knows she can’t take it.
“Why?” His arms remain crossed over his chest. He stares at her, his eyes seeing down into the depths of her soul, but he makes no move to take the bills from her.
“Because money is never just money. It comes with attachments and compromises. It’s never just a thank you; there’s always more to it than that.” She shrugs, as if it is that simple. “Besides, things aren’t so bad that I have to take charity. I don’t need to depend on the kindness of strangers quite yet.” Her stab at humor doesn’t do anything to change the amazed expression on his face.
“It’s not charity.” He shakes his head at her, as if he can’t believe what it is he’s hearing. “And if it were, so what? Do you think the power company gives two shits if the money you pay them is a gift or not?” He paces up and down, but his eyes don’t leave her face. “You know what your problem is, Bel?”
She rolls her eyes at him. “Please, I’m desperate to know. Tell me, Wes, what is my problem?” She crosses her arms, feeling the fire of her anger return.
“You’re too damn proud.” He throws the words like an accusation. “You’re too proud to let anyone help you, because you want to be able to say you did it all yourself. You’re not happy unless you’re proving something to someone. Why can’t you just let someone help you?”
Isabel feels a prick of sadness come into her voice, despite her best efforts to quash it. “Because the more they give you, the more you rely on them and then what happens when they’re gone?”
A flash of understanding falls across Wesley’s features and he lowers his tone, making his voice gentle as he steps closer to her, closing the distance between them in two strides. He hooks this index finger underneath her chin and lifts it up so he can look into her emerald-green eyes and she can look into his bottomless dark ones. “Why are you so determined to see the worst in everyone? Does that just make it easier for you to push everybody away?”
Isabel’s mouth works wordlessly, but it’s hard to bring herself to say anything around the lump in her throat. “You’ve known me for all of five minutes, Wes. You can’t possibly know who I am or the way I behave.” She waves away his comment, despite the fact that he’s managed to hit the nail directly on the head.
“I know you better than you think, Bel. You can fool a lot of people, but you can’t fool me.” He leans towards her, invading her space and it’s all she can do not to lean into him, not to let him get to her. “You’re scared, Isabel.”
She scoffs, shaking her head, sending her curly dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. “I’m not scared of anything, Wes, and least of all of you.”
“Oh yeah?” He leans in farther, scrutinizing her expression, his face only inches from her. “Because I think you’re terrified, terrified that you feel something when you’re with me that you can’t control, something that doesn’t fit into the nice, safe little life you’ve made for yourself.”
“Don’t act like you know more about me than you do, Wes.” The fire is in her words but there’s nothing matching in her tone. His observations about her have hit far too close to home. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.” She makes a move towards the door, but his hand shoots out to her arm, holding her in place.
He tugs her gently, spinning her around and pulling her close to him so she’s right up against his chest. She’s plastered against him and there’s no mistaking the hardness pushing on her hip. They’re both breathing heavily from their battle of wills and when Isabel looks up at him she sees his eyes are hooded with lust. Her body responds to him instantly; she feels her nipples harden and the heat between her legs spread.
“Let me go, Wes.” Her voice is husky, with none of the anger that had been filling it before. She twists weakly in his arms, but it’s more for show; she doesn’t really want to get away from him. If anything she wants to be even closer.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” The challenge in his tone is clear and the way he’s looking at her leaves her in no doubt as to what ‘this’ entails.
She swallows hard, unable to form the words because the thought of his naked body against hers is almost too much to handle.
“Bel.” His voice is strained and Isabel can tell that he’s as turned on as she is. He’s holding on to his last vestiges of control.
But she doesn’t want to give in to her desires. There’s something about what he’s said to her, the way he seems to know her so well without even having to try. It’s disconcerting and, more than that, it’s dangerous. Isabel is all too aware that one day he is going to up and leave the boarding house. There is no scenario in which he is going to stay forever and they are going to live happily ever after. The realization makes her heart ache a little and that just bolsters her certainty over what she has to do. She has known she’ll have to start pushing him away sooner or later; she had just hoped that it would be later. She can’t deny the way she feels about him is growing each day and the power he seems to wield over her is like nothing she’s ever experienced before. Her self-preservation instincts are kicking in and she knows what she has to do.
“I don’t want this.” She holds her breath, her eyes looking up at him defiantly as her mouth forms the words that are almost impossible to say.
Wesley raises his eyebrows at her, surprised at her reaction and then he looks deeper into her eyes as if he’s searching for some kind of meaning there. “Liar.” That one word is enough to topple her defenses, but she stands tall, refusing to let him see. He releases her from his hold and steps away from her, looking at her in a way that tells her he’s reading her mind again. “When you’re ready to tell the truth, you know where to find me.” He turns away from her, leaving the kitchen, padding quietly away from her.
It’s not until she hears the door of his bedroom close behind him that she allows herself to sink down into one of the chairs. She looks down at the table that’s covered in bits of bloody gauze and bandages. It looks like there had been a war in this room and she supposes it’s not all that far from the truth.