“Caring about what?”
“Ms. Lloyd. Not sure most people would give a damn the way you do. About the ad.”
“Yeah. Well, she’s not always nice, but she’s…lonely.” She shrugged. “I guess I can relate.”
He huffed out a tiny sound of humor and agreement and glanced up at the stars, so bright above them. When they rounded the bend and the dark house came into sight, Ive had a moment of panic, like he’d regret it if he didn’t touch her again.
So he reached out a hand, and instead of grabbing hers like he wanted, he rubbed the back of his knuckles against hers. It was probably a reflex that had her turning her hand and stretching out her fingers for his, but he took it, loving the feel of her skin against his, the way she held on as if she liked it.
They didn’t kiss good-bye or anything, but he kept her hand until the last possible second, only loosening when they reached the foot of the kitchen stairs.
She responded to his whispered, “Night,” with a smile, then turned and jogged up to the door.
He stood outside Ms. Lloyd’s house and waited until the lights turned off. Kitchen, hall, followed by a couple upstairs switching on, then off. After a while, he started back up the drive toward the forge, a jumble of things inside him, too mixed up to unravel.
Ive wasn’t the most sensitive guy in the world. He’d always thought of himself as having two basic settings: On and Off. Normal and Angry. Sane and Crazy.
What Uma did to him, though, blew that theory out of the water. Nothing with her fit into any of his usual categories. Nothing with her was simple.
As a rule, he paid attention to what people did, not what they said. He had a learning disability—he’d finally found out in prison. It was one of those things that had made everything difficult growing up. He’d never learned how to deal with the constant frustration. It had always translated into anger. His grandma had yelled; his teachers had scolded. Eventually, the only thing to make a lick of difference had been Uncle Gus taking him out to this very workshop—a woodshop back then—and showing him how to use his hands. Even so, he’d spent his life feeling like he was shouting through a wall of glass.
Everything was different with Uma.
First of all, when she spoke, he actually heard her. That wasn’t something he had much experience with. Usually, words rolled off him. Sounds were meaningless unless backed up by actions.
She’d called him an artist, said what he did was amazing. Her compliment had meant more to him than any he’d ever gotten. People hadoohedandaahedover his work before, but their praise had been just words: worthless.
What she said was different. It held meaning, weight. Ive actuallyheardher. Like English dubbing on a foreign film. But, more than that, he felt like he knew her—knew what she meant without her having to say a thing.
He’d do anything with her, he’d said. But it was more than that. He’d do almost anythingforher too. Anything at all to help her heal. When he’d seen her happy, he’d wanted to laugh himself; when she was scared, he’d wanted to die or—no. Not die.
Kill.He’d kill to protect her.
Some small part of him knew this wasn’t normal. It wasn’t what he was supposed to feel, but he couldn’t help it. This was who he was. She’d been here a week, but it was like they’d been together forever. She belonged here.
He pulled open the door to his forge, took a deep breath, and drew in what he thought might be her smell, still lingering on the air. It was familiar, elemental.
His.
The knowledge was fierce and primal. It would have scared him if it hadn’t been so right.
* * *
Anything you want.Those words kept repeating—a flashing neon or a ticker tape in her mind. All the way down the drive, with Ivan by her side, up the back steps under his watchful gaze, closing the dead bolt behind her in the kitchen, up the stairs, quietly, and finally, in the lonely safety of her room, those three words echoed through her mind.
Under the safety of darkness, Uma stripped down to her shirt and underwear before getting into bed, the frigid air lovely against her overheated skin. She could almost hear the sizzle as she slid between the sheets.
It was like being a network of nerve endings, made sensitive by just that one amazing kiss. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this—so alive, on fire, awake in a way she hadn’t been in years.
Tonight, Uma didn’t want to go to sleep, although for once, she might have been able to without much trouble. Apparently, two moonshines and the protection of a strong man did that to a girl. It had been so long since she’d had that wash of girlish excitement—the crackle of new attraction. She wanted to revel in the sensation.
Anything you want.
After Ivan’s offer, she’d been too shaky to stay without making more of an ass of herself. The walk down the drive had been excruciating—in a good way—filled with an awareness of him and the sort of anticipation that comes with knowing a guy likes you, but not giving in to the attraction.
And that kiss… If shehadsuccumbed, oh wow. What came next would have been amazing. There was no doubt. She’d never been kissed like that. Had never reacted so strongly.
Would he try again? Probably. Did she want him to? Maybe.
