Page 23 of Spark
Without realizing that I’m doing it, I part my folds and run my finger experimentally over my clit. I might be a virgin, but I’m not ignorant to my body. My sexual desire might be on deep freeze, but after a few enlightening health classes, I did some personal exploring to make sure I had everything everyone else does.
After I realized that nothing I did to myself made me feel particularly good, I never bothered to touch myself again…until now. I know that this is not the time or place for me to have a sexual awakening, but as the pad of my fingertip brushes over my clit, a surge of something bursts to life inside of me, and I have to swallow down the noise that tries to break free of my mouth.
I do not remember it feeling like this the last time I touched myself there. Unable to resist, I do it again, closing my eyes as I picture Warrick’s hand between my legs, his huge muscled arm flexing as his fingers touch me, making me feel…
No. Nope. No way. Ripping my hand away, I turn the warm water to cold and stand under the stream until I’m shivering and all I can think about is how freezing I am. When I’m confidentthat I’m once again numb below the waist, I turn off the water and wrap myself in a towel.
NINE
WARRICK
I’ve been up for well over an hour when I hear her move the bed in her room. I thought when I assured her that she was safe here, she’d believed me, but the moment she went upstairs, I heard the sound of the bed scraping across the floor. The noise had echoed through the ceiling and forced me to admit that she was scared to sleep in this house with me.
I know it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it had been. I don’t want her to be scared of me. I don’t want her to see me as anything but safety, security, and hers. Knowing that she moved the fucking bed so she could feel safe in her home fucking gutted me.
No more sounds came from her room after that, and for a while I wondered if she’d climbed out the window and I’d find the room empty this morning. I even sat in the yard for a while, watching in case it opened, or she tried to shimmy down the wall. But the window stayed closed, and she stayed silent, a perfect ghost barricaded in her room.
This house isn’t particularly old, but it’s old enough that the floors upstairs creak and whine, broadcasting every movement anyone up there makes. Holding my breath, I listen to herrush across the landing before the sound of the shower running echoes down the stairs.
My eyes sting from the lack of sleep I got last night, but I ignore my own exhaustion as I start to pull breakfast things from the refrigerator. Although I found her homeless and living in a tent, I still don’t know anything about her situation. It’s something I plan to start to rectify today. She’s skinny, too skinny. If I had to guess, I’d say that her healthy weight would bless her with lush, sexy curves, so it’s clear that she hasn’t been getting as much to eat as she should, or that what she has been eating hasn’t had the nutritional value to keep her healthy.
I need to know why she’s been living in the woods and what circumstances brought her here. I need to know what she’s running from and if anyone is looking for her. I need to know everything, so I know how to keep her safe.
Whisking up a load of eggs, I put chicken sausage and turkey bacon in a pan, letting them brown slowly until I hear the water turn off. Slicing up some avocado, I toast some bread, then portion the food onto two plates, finishing just as she steps off the last step and into the living room.
“Good morning, amore mio,” I say in greeting, not looking up as I split the protein shake I just made between two glasses and carry them both over to the table.
“Morning,” she says quietly.
“Sit down, breakfast is ready.”
“Oh, you didn’t need?—”
“Sit, amore mio,” I say again, returning to the kitchen to grab the plates and carry them over to the table. Just like last night, I’ve set the place settings so we’re sitting side by side, not opposite each other.
When she eyes the empty seat beside me, I brace for her to argue, or even for her to move to the other side of the table, butinstead she lowers herself into the seat she used last night and immediately lifts her silverware.
“Do you know what time it is?” she asks, staring at the heaped plate in front of her.
“Seven thirty a.m.,” I tell her, picking up my own silverware and starting to eat.
“Is there a bus that runs into town? My volunteering shift usually starts at eight.”
“You’re exhausted. I’m sure you can take the day off.”
“But the bus?” she asks again.
“No, there’s nothing that runs into town from up here. I think there’s a hotel shuttle that runs once a week to the spa resort a little higher up the mountain, but there’s not enough people this far up to warrant a regular service.”
“Do you have to go into town today? Or maybe one of your neighbors?” she asks hopefully.
“I doubt it. My brothers all try to spend as much time with their partners as they can while we’re off shift. Most don’t get out of bed for at least a couple of days,” I say, trying not to grin at her shocked expression.
“Look, Warrick, I really appreciate you letting me stay here, but I think it might be time for me to move on.”
“And where are you planning on moving on to?” I ask, not looking at her as I stab some food with my fork.
She shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. I’m sure I can find a job if I head to one of the bigger resort towns.”
