From the Wreckage Read online

  Without even thinking twice about it, I drape my arm around her shoulder and pull her close to my side. Her head fits perfectly against my chest, the smell of her citrus shampoo surrounding me. The long strands of her hair fall over my hand on her shoulder, making my fingers itch to touch it. And in an effort to offer her some comfort, I comb my fingers through it, forcing her to melt even further against me.

  We stay like that until the credits roll across the screen. On a deep breath, she pulls away from me, swiping at her face once more. “You fell asleep through the part, but it was this movie that made me want to go into teaching.”

  Amazed by the fact that she makes no apologies for her emotions, I turn to face her. Leaving my arm resting along the back of the couch, I let my fingers still dance through the ends of her hair. “Yeah? How so?”

  Listening to her talk about how the old man in the nursing home cemented her desire to help others, I’m in awe of her genuine goodness. Her desire not only to teach students, but to help them reach their fullest potential is nothing short of moving. “Reading can change a person,” she continues her explanation. “And I’m not just saying in the very basic sense of making you a more educated person. But it makes you more aware of the beauty in the world. The creativity in your own heart. Reading is an escape from the world, but not all people see it that way. So if I can help my students find that escape, help them discover how words can change them forever . . .” She pauses, taking stock of my reaction. Satisfied with whatever she sees there, she continues, “I guess I just figured that was a pretty noble pursuit to dedicate my life to. It’s not running into burning buildings or anything like that–”

  “Damned if you’d ever catch me in front of a room full of teenagers.” Laughing, I add, “That’s a damn brave thing if you ask me.”

  Something passes between us. It’s unnamable, but it’s calm and peaceful. It’s understanding and respect rolled into one. It’s attraction and emotion all tangled together.

  “All right,” Grace cuts through the threatening silence. “Time to get you to bed.”

  “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep out–”

  Holding her hand up as if it will literally stop my words, she says, “Nope. I won’t hear any of it. Get your ass into bed. I’m setting my alarm for two hours.” She pulls her phone out from her purse and waves it in my face as if I need anything more than her seriousness to believe her threats. “So you better get going.” Still as a statue, she stands there, pointing down the hall. I’d have to laugh at her if she didn’t look so beautiful.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I mock. “You know, you could sleep in there with me. It’d save you the . . .” I pause, pretending to count off the number of steps to my room. Her hard eye roll stops me from saying the rest of my sentence, but it makes both of us laugh.

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” she assures. “Yet.” She winks, her lusty promise twisting in my gut. Despite what she’s just said, she doesn’t break character, still holding firm that I need to follow her instructions and get my ass in bed.

  But when I bend down to kiss her cheek, whispering a sweet, “thank you” in her ear, her face softens, a smile pulling at her red lips.

  In that moment, I know the last thing I’ll be able to do is sleep knowing Grace is here. With her on the couch, instead of next to me, somehow my bed suddenly feels too big, too cold, and too empty.

  It’s only thoughts of eventually feeling her next to me that make sleep come somewhat quickly.

  “Where the hell am I?” Calling out, I inhale a mouthful of soot and smoke. In between the coughing and choking, I manage to yell, “Help,” but there’s no one there to hear me.

  Blinded by the blanket of darkness surrounding me, I reach out to grab for . . . for something. Anything to let me know where I am, to help guide me out of wherever the hell I am.

  “Help!” I scream again, only to end up inhaling another mouthful of smoke. Fear takes over. My heart pounds in my chest and tears fill my eyes. Feeling along the wall at my side, I crawl toward what I hope is a door, or some kind of escape. Moving forward, the heat becomes unbearable. And when I turn back around, I’m met with raging flames. “Please! Someone help me!” Screaming until my throat is raw, I collapse against the wall at my back.

  The flames move closer.

  The wall behind me grows hotter.

  The smoke billows around me.

  The fear consumes me.

  Paralysis sets in as the fire inches toward me. Like a creature of the night, it creeps to me, nearer and nearer until it’s just an inch away.

  My feet slip on the ground as I try to push myself backward away from the red hot flames. Everything slows down. My head gets fuzzy, surely from the smoke. Wide-eyed, I watch as the fire licks against my legs.

  “Up you go,” a distorted voice commands from next to me. A strong, glove-covered hand rests on my shoulder before cupping under my arm to help me up. The black room spins and whether it’s out of relief that I’m not alone or from inhaling so much smoke, my legs wobble. “No fainting on me.” Through the hiss of his oxygen mask, I catch a touch of humor in his words. In a flash, one hand is wrapped around my back while the other scoops behind my knees.

  “I’ve got you, now. Nothing to worry about.” His voice is so calm and soothing. So familiar yet so far away. Exhausted, I rest my cheek on his chest, expecting to feel the rough surface of his turnout gear. But instead, a soft, cotton T-shirt brushes against my cheek.

  “Hey, Gracie.” His voice is closer now as the fiery, smoke-filled room fades away. “Hey,” he whispers, his fingers gently combing through my hair. “You okay?” When I open my eyes, all I see is my fist, clenched and twisted in fear, wrapped around a T-shirt. The fingers that were in my hair seconds ago now graze along my cheek and jaw. The odd combination of soft, tender touches given by work-roughened, calloused fingers sends shivers along my skin.

  “What?” I croak, my voice thick with sleep.

  His hand wraps around mine, pulling it from the knotted mess of his shirt. Raising our joined hands to his lips, David presses a sweet kiss there. “You were having a nightmare. Screaming your head off,” he explains, stroking his thumb over my knuckles. “I tried waking you up, but you weren’t having any part of that.” His chest vibrates under my cheek with a soft chuckle.

  Straightening up, it takes me a second to even remember where I am. David’s apartment. His couch.

  His arms.

  Resting against the back of the couch, the blanket, which had been draped over my legs, falls to the floor, leaving my legs completely bare. “Shit,” I curse, trying to recover the blanket.

  David has the same idea. Beating me to the fabric, he lifts it back over my legs. “I took them off after waking you up that last time,” I blurt out, defending the fact that my jeans are on the floor.

  “It’s okay, Grace.” He smiles, a lazy grin that makes me even more aware of the fact that I’m only half dressed. “They look good there.”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can’t resist the urge to smile at him. “So I take it you’re feeling better this morning.”

  Stretching his leg out, he says, “A lot, actually. I mean having to leap out of bed into a dead sprint because I heard you screaming probably wasn’t the best idea.” Arching a brow, he grins again.

  Covering my face is the only way to avoid the embarrassment of my cheeks heating even more. “Sorry about that,” I mutter from behind my fingers.

  Strong fingers peel my own back from my face. “I wouldn’t have had to run if you were in there with me,” he points out.

  He’s peeking at me through my fingers like a little kid playing hide and seek. All innocent and sweet looking, yet his words are suggestively sinful. The contrast of sweet and sexy makes it impossible not to smile at him. “Yeah, you’re just fine,” I note, rolling my eyes at him.

  “A little tired and sore, but yeah, I think I’m good. I could eat, though. Want some breakfast?” Before I can remind hi
m he has no food, he’s up from the couch and making his way into the kitchen.

  With his back to me, I stand from the couch and step into my jeans. Sliding a barstool up to his counter, I watch as he glides through the small space. His arms stretch the short sleeves of his T-shirt as he scoops out the coffee and fills the pot with water. When he opens the fridge and squats in front of it, scanning it for something to make, the curve of his ass fills out his mesh shorts perfectly.

  Before I can take my eyes off him, he turns around, explaining, “I don’t have much.”

  “What’s that?” I spit out, almost forgetting how to speak.

  “Were you just checking me out?”

  “Uh, no,” I defend, my voice covered in guilt. “Why would you . . . I mean . . . no. I was not checking you out!” Carrying on about it probably isn’t helping my case. And of course he sees right through it, grinning at me like a fool.

  “Okay then, Miss I Wasn’t Just Checking Out Your Ass,” he mocks. “Looks like your choices for breakfast are stale toast or leftover pizza.” Leaning across the small counter, his body eats up the space. His heat wraps around me, nearly melting me on the spot with his deep chocolate eyes and unbelievably beautiful face. I’m lost in his trance for a minute, unable to speak a word. His eyes lock on mine and we’re both frozen there, staring at each other, trying to figure this out. Sliding his hand across the counter top, his strong fingers dance across the top of my hand. With long, smooth strokes, he runs his fingertip up and down the length of each of my fingers. Shivers race up my arm, settling in fiery sparks on the needy peaks of my breasts. The fact that I’m not wearing a bra shatters through my brain like a freight train, pulling me back into the here and now.

  “David,” I whisper, my voice thin and needy. His name on my lips feels right. It’s as if it is the only word my mouth was ever meant to speak. “What are we doing?”

  He doesn’t move his hand, his fingers continuing on their delicious torture. And with every stroke of his skin on mine, all I can think about is what his fingers would feel like everywhere else. Keeping his eyes focused on my own, he smiles. His face is so damn perfect I almost need to reach out and touch it to make sure he’s really there in front of me. “I can’t speak for you, but I’m waiting for you to tell me what you want for breakfast.”

  “Not that.” I nearly groan as his fingers move from my hand up my forearm. “This,” I add as I halt the progress of his sensual touches. With my fingers laced through his, I can at least focus on speaking without him touching me.

  Cluing into the more serious nature of my question, he pulls us back to the couch. Sitting next to him does nothing to help me say any of what I need to say. He looks on, waiting for me to clarify, to say something, anything. “I know I complicated things the other day by saying we need to just be friends.” His hand covers mine again and he pulls our twisted-together fingers up to his mouth. Pressing a gentle kiss there, his lips pull into a sweet smile.

  “Why did it complicate things?” His words speak of one thing, but his lips, moving from our hands, down to the soft inside of my wrist speaks of something else entirely.

  “You can’t do that,” I protest weakly, my arm and body limp and relaxed with his tender kisses. He arches a brow, smiles against my skin, and continues his assault. “David,” I groan.

  “How about you tell me what you really want?” Extending my arm fully, his lips move to the sensitive skin at the inside of my elbow. He gently nips me before kissing away the sting. Waiting for me to answer him, he looks up at me through his long, dark lashes. When he can tell he’s got me in the palm of his hand, he scoots closer to me, keeping one of his legs tucked under his strong, lean body. Closer now, he drops my arm gently back into my lap and moves his hand to the side of my neck. His thumb strokes over my jaw—back and forth, back and forth. It’s hypnotic. “Because here’s what I think.” His hand stills on my neck, holding me steady. “I think you never wanted to be just friends in the first place. I think that was a convenient excuse for you not to have to deal with what you’re feeling.”

  “And what is that exactly?” My question comes out no more than a whisper, but even at that I’m sure he can hear the touch of sarcasm there, seeing as I make no effort to cover it up. “Since you so clearly know my deepest, darkest secrets, please tell me what I’m feeling.”

  He chuckles softly, but holds firm to my neck. “I think you were jealous when you thought I was leaving the bar with Kelsey, which can only mean that you are feeling something for me.” Angling his head to the side, he asks, “Am I on the right track?”

  Leaning into his hand, I let out a shuddery sigh. There’s nothing left for me to do but give into him. “You’re right. I didn’t really want to only be friends. I was jealous the other night, but it’s confusing.”

  “How so?” His eyes shine with genuine interest. He’s listening to every word I’m saying and reading my body for all the ones I’m not.

  “Because I don’t know you. And I . . .” Swallowing hard, I find the courage to say, “And I want you more than I should.”

  A shy smile tugs at his full lips and for the briefest of seconds, I’m pretty sure I’ve caught him off guard. His eyes dance with so much emotion, I can’t comprehend it all. “Don’t you get it?” he asks, his voice an odd mixture of confidence and uncertainty. “I feel the same exact way.”

  My chest tightens, making breathing more than a little difficult. This sweet, yet rugged, shy, yet confident man wants me. It seems far more likely that this is actually a dream and, in reality, I’m home in my own bed, sleeping away the lazy hours of a Sunday morning.

  But I’m not. This is my reality. Sitting across from a beautiful man—a man who’s just confessed he wants me.

  With a nervous energy pulsing around us, we both nearly jump out of our seats when the phone rings. “Let it go,” he dismisses the noise, keeping his attention on me. “Grace.” There’s a command and a promise when he speaks my name. His face inches closer to mine, so close his warm breath cascades over my skin, making me shiver on the spot. “I don’t even know what I want to say.” His eyes move from my eyes to my lips, back to my eyes again. “All I know is that I don’t think I can go much longer without feeling your lips on mine.”

  Where my breathing is all labored and heavy, he’s calm and completely in control. His thumb grazes my lip and I give into my need, letting my tongue swipe against his roughened skin. On a sharp inhale, he leans forward, at the same time pulling me closer to him. With his lips mere centimeters from mine, he searches my eyes for permission.

  Using the pause to my advantage, I take what I’ve wanted from the second I saw him. More than shocked at my boldness, he gasps when my lips touch his. Empowered by the growl of appreciation rumbling through his chest, I hold his face in my hands. Cupping my jaw, his lips lock firmly on mine. It’s a kiss of possession, of need, of passion—of all the things I’ve always wanted but never thought I’d have.

  Neither of us pays any attention to the constant ringing of the phone in the background. It’s simply a continuous loop of white noise accompanying the sounds of our need.

  When his hands fall to my waist and he lifts me onto his lap, I revel in the feel of his hard, strong body beneath mine. Thoughts of what it would feel like to be under that same body flash through my mind, melting every ounce of whatever restraint I thought I had.

  Our tongues brush against one another. With heated and sensual slides, we get lost in what I will forever remember as the best first kiss of all time.

  With one hand dancing up and down my back, he secures the other at the base of my neck, twisting it in my long hair. Breathless and needy, our bodies begin to move to the rhythmic pace of our kiss. He hardens beneath me as I melt above him. His groans of pleasure are echoed in my moans of need.

  And if it wasn’t for the frantic sound of his mother’s voice playing over the answering machine, who knows how far we would have gone. Panic races through her words as she
rambles, “Dave, you have to come over. There’s water everywhere. The plumber was here this morning and it’s all a mess. Please call us back. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you all morning. I’m starting to get worried. Please.”

  Pulling back from him, I choke out, “You should get that. She sounds really upset.”

  He seems to war with the decision for a second before searing my lips with one more kiss. Lifting me off his lap, he says, “We are most definitely not done.”

  Slumping further into the soft cushions of the couch, I can barely catch my breath. My lips, swollen from his hot kisses, are almost vibrating with life. A smile spreads across my face remembering how hard he was, how heavily he was breathing.

  How much he wanted me.

  How much I want him.

  By the time I’ve processed all of this, David is walking back into the living room, to-go coffee cup in his hand. “Slight change of plans for breakfast,” he announces, sliding back into his spot on the couch.

  “Oh, man,” I joke. “And I was really looking forward to cold pizza.” As I take my first sip of coffee, I smile and wink at him, loving how smoothly we move from hot and heavy, to playful and funny.

  Without reacting to me at all, he sips his coffee. With his lips still touching the paper rim of his cup, he says, “We’re going to my parents’ house.”

  And then there’s coffee everywhere. “I’m sorry,” I choke. “Did you just say your parents’ house?”

  “I did,” he answers casually, taking another sip of coffee. “And once they heard you were here with me, they were really excited.” He smiles, a smug look that on anyone else would probably look arrogant, but on him it looks gorgeous. “So unless you want to let them down, you have to go.”

  “But I have nothing to wear. And I need to shower. And . . . no, just no. I can’t meet them today. Like this. They’re going to think we slept together, with me being here on a Sunday morning. I can’t face them,” I ramble on and on, his face becoming more and more amused with each word tumbling from my mouth.