Flesh 02 Skin (7 page)

“Night.”

The cuffs were likewise stuffed beneath the mattress, waiting. Her arm lay atop the blanket, hand curled into a fist. He snapped one end around her left wrist before she knew what had happened. Locked the other around his own limb and they were a done deal. Her elbow jerked back and smacked into his arm. Her fist flew at him, the one she’d bruised bashing Neil. He caught it midflight before she could do herself any further damage.

“What are you doing!” she screeched.

“Noise, Roslyn.”

“What are you doing?” She tugged hard on the sudden, unwelcome connection between them. Lips drawn back, enraged.

“You didn’t think I’d just let you run loose?” He didn’t smile, kept it matter-of-fact. “Ros, you did attack me. And I am holding you against your will.”

“But—”

“Of course, we’re going to have to sleep closer together.” He slid across the bed, laying their joined hands down between them. Or his half of the pairing, at least. Hers wavered in the air, unsettled. “There we go. More comfortable?”

“No. I want the chain back.”

“Too late.”

Her jaw hung open and her eyes were bright with hate. He’d seen it often enough from her to know it. “No. Nick …”

“Actually, I sleep on my side. Just a minute.” He lay down on his side and wound his arm around her middle, pulling her toward him. From this close her flowery scent gave him a headspin. “You can lie on your back with my arm over you, or you can be on your side with my arm around you. What would you prefer?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It’s done, Ros. Move on.”

Her eyes promised murder. A brutal death without a hint of remorse.

“Well?” he asked.

Her lips screwed up like a cat’s ass. With a growl she turned onto her side, presenting him with her back, because she always slept on her side too.

“Good choice.” Nick moved in for the kill. He molded his body to her back, keeping his arm tight around her. Of course she squealed and scrambled to try to escape him, getting nowhere. “Easy. Take it easy, Ros.”

She continued to fight, squirming and kicking back at him. He trapped her feet beneath his legs. Slid his other arm beneath her neck and held her against him with both arms. Without bringing his dick into it, they couldn’t have been humanly closer. His beauty bucked, twisting and turning for a few moments more. Pointlessly. The back of her neck dampened with sweat.

Shoulders heaving, she panted for air. “You fucker, you promised! No touching in a sexual manner.”

“I won’t take it any further.”

“How can I trust anything you say? You’re a goddamn liar.”

“This is your second night with me, Ros. It’s time to move things on a little. We’re sleeping together. Only sleeping. Nothing more.”

“So you’ll
move it on
until you’re raping me?”

“No,” he said. “Never.”

Fingernails dug deep into his arms as she tried to work her way free, again getting nowhere. “I repeat. A fucking liar.”

“Hush. Go to sleep.”

“Nick …” A pleading tone intruded on her anger. He already knew what she would say, or close enough to it. Either way, things were staying the way they were.

“It’s done. Sleep.”

She growled again, low in her throat. If there’d ever been a sexier noise, he hadn’t heard it. He shifted his hips back from her ass to hide the tell-tale state of his dick. It involved loosening his grip on her a little, but not a lot. Her hair smelled nice and the back of her neck even better. Salty-sweet perfection, not helpful at all to the state of his libido. “Is that better?”

“Awesome, you asshole.”

Silence held for a few minutes. He could almost hear the cogs and wheels turning in her head. Without a doubt, she was the noisiest thinker he’d ever met. Or maybe it was the grinding of her teeth again.

“Let it go,” he advised.

“Inflicting yourself and some semblance of intimacy upon me will not engender any sort of bond between us, Nick.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Huh,” he said. “You ever noticed how your words get bigger when you’re feeling cornered?”

She apparently had nothing to say to that.

“Tell me about your father,” he said. “You mentioned he was army?”

More silence.

“Go on.”

She sighed. “He generally wasn’t around. When he was, he was an asshole. A lot like you. So certain he was always right and everyone else could go to hell.” The fingernails digging into his arm eased a little, becoming more like a cat’s claws flexing. Testing, not teasing. “The only thing that mattered was what he wanted.”

“Harsh.”

“Truth.” She shifted, her feet twisting beneath his. Nick drew back a little, giving her more space. Earning himself a begrudging, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What about your family?” she asked. “I’ve told you my messy tale. Turnabout is fair play.”

He cleared his throat. If anything would get his cock under control it was thinking about his family. “My father was a builder. My big brother became his apprentice. I had an uncle in the army. He was always travelling all over the place having adventures. He made it sound so great. So when I was old enough I enlisted.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah. Mostly. I didn’t see myself doing anything else.” He smiled in the darkness. He’d been counting on her curiosity. “But I wasn’t interested in settling down then. Priorities change.”

“Do you know what happened to your family?” she asked, ignoring the settling-down comment. “When this all went down?”

He nudged a strand of her short red hair with his nose. The scent of honey swept through his system. “They died. I went back a few months ago to check. To see if …”

Roslyn turned and looked over her shoulder, all the better to give him a pitying stare. “That was brave, going back.”

“Hmm.” His mother had been a good woman. Maybe even a great one. She didn’t deserve that sort of ending.

“My father got bitten,” she said. Her voice was cool, distant. The look in her eyes, not so much. “Mum called me on the mobile, managed to get through. Dad was locked in the bedroom. She’d taken a handful of sleeping pills, wanted to say goodbye. They had a place in the city. No chance of getting out. I can’t say I really blame her.”

“I’m sorry.” Inadequate, but true.

“There was another woman in the school,” she said. “After a couple of weeks, when it became clear help wasn’t coming, she killed herself. Drank a bottle of bleach. The others were furious, but I didn’t really blame her either.”

He stared back at her. “The early days were hard on everyone. What did you do to get through?”

“I had my library. I just kept reading, lost myself in my books. Mostly it worked.”

“I drank. Took pills.” His honesty caught her by surprise—he could tell by the way she looked at him. But he wasn’t going to lie. “I can barely remember January and Feb. Still can’t forget the shit that came before, when the plague first hit, but those months straight after, they’re pretty much gone.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I noticed you didn’t have a glass of wine with dinner. Figured you were staying on the ball in case I attempted another attack. Why did you stop?”

“I realized I wanted to live. Wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but just giving up … I couldn’t do it,” he said. “So I dried out. Haven’t touched anything in months. Even stopped smoking.”

She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak.

“What?” he asked.

“I can’t be your reason for living, Nick. That won’t work.”

He didn’t answer.

“Can you shift the cuff to the other hand?” Her face was calm, perfectly reasonable. “We’d both be able to sleep on our backs then, with a bit of room.”

“No.”

With lips slammed shut she turned away.

Behind him the camp light continued to glow. He’d have to sit up and drag her halfway across the bed to switch it off. Stuff it. It was a waste of resources, but he enjoyed watching her. The movement of her shoulder beneath the bulky-ass sweater as she breathed. The red of her hair, so dark in the low lighting. He tried to keep his arm light on her, perched on her hip, not pressing down all uncomfortable-like.

When was the last time he’d spooned with someone? Never. Spooning had never been a priority before.

“This isn’t going to work,” she whispered.

“We’ll see,” he whispered back to her. “Are you warm enough?”

She gave a little nod.

No point telling her to go to sleep. Expecting her to relax with him wrapped around her would be sheer stupidity. Her shoulders inched forward, or tried to. His arm didn’t let her get far. Outside the moaning went on and on. You could pretend it was the wind if you tried. It didn’t always work.

“So do you think,” she asked, “if we’d actually met somewhere back in normal times, you’d have been interested in me?”

Nick stopped and thought it over—or at least pretended to. “Yes.”

She muttered something along the lines of “fucking liar” beneath her breath. She was so cute sometimes.

“You’re a smart, good-looking woman,” he said. “I’d have been all over you.”

“Bollocks. I bet you went for the mouth shut, legs open, easygoing lay nine times out of ten.”

He tried not to laugh. “Of course I did. I’m male. But you grow up and your tastes mature.”

“Oh, please. Admit I’m here because I’m the only uninfected female under fifty in the vicinity.”

“You forget your friend Jeanie.”

Roslyn’s sock-covered foot kicked back, catching him in the shin. “Janie.”

“No kicking.” He threw a leg back over hers for good measure. “She’s your friend. What does it matter if I get her name wrong? Said she didn’t interest me.”

No comment.

“Are you jealous?” he asked.

She snorted. “Of what? That you didn’t kidnap someone else?”

He shifted a little closer and sniggered in her ear. “I’d take you as my hostage every time, Roslyn. Promise.”

“Hate you,” she said, sleep blurring the edges of her words.

“I know,” he said soothingly. “I’ve got the scar to prove it.”

Roslyn woke up alone in the bed again. Beyond the wide-open bi-fold doors the sun shone bright and birds were singing. Again. Also, an axe was swinging. Took her a while to place the noise, but that’s what it had to be. Having grown up in the city, hearing axes swinging wasn’t exactly the norm. She’d only moved to the country a year back when the job at the school had come up. It had probably saved her life.

The idea of a tree change had intrigued her, but it had been a career move. All part of her plan to work her way to the top and be the big boss librarian in an elite city school by thirty. Her precious life plan had been shot to shit.

The noise broke her out of her pity party.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

It came from somewhere beyond the back door, presumably where Nick was. Next came whistling. Something by AC/DC, maybe? Nothing she recognized.

She rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, where she brushed her hair and washed her face and so on. The chain clinked cheerily behind her the whole way—he’d put it back on her as she slept.

God how she hated this. Him touching her, the chain, all of it.

The scent of him lingered, reminding her she’d woken up once or twice during the night and each time he’d been there, plastered to her back with an arm thrown over her. It made for quite the desensitizing program. The second time she woke, her cheek had been mooshed up against his bicep, skin damp with sweat. No need for so many blankets with him right there, invading her space and treating her like his teddy bear.

She didn’t want to cuddle. Not with him.

On the kitchen bench her breakfast was laid out for her. All knives, fire pokers and anything else she might have thought to use as a weapon were absent, as per the usual. She should dig his heart out with a soup spoon. Nice and blunt and messy.

She slathered her still-warm floury roll thing in jam and ate it. Because of course he’d been baking. Proving himself to be an excellent provider wasn’t going to convince her. No matter the buttery brilliance of the breakfast.

What to do with herself for the day? The shelf of dusty classics sat on the wall, taunting her. If only she had her glasses. Already she missed her books. A big fat copy of
War and Peace
sat staring back at her. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the time to read it again.

The back door stood open and her chain reached just far enough to let her stick her head through. He’d moved the pickup, likely to get it out of the way so he could bring firewood inside.

The industrious man stood beside a tree stump with axe in hand. No shirt on. Dirty marks stained the side of his blue jeans, as if he’d been wiping his hands there. He had just the right amount of chest hair and his sweaty body gleamed appealingly.

Even sunlight was against her.

The axe rose high above his head, the handle held tight in both hands. Muscles moved in his arms, his shoulders, flexing and shifting in an amazing manner beneath his skin. His face appeared the picture of concentration. Eyes focused entirely on his target.

And down it came.
Thunk.

Two hunks of wood toppled to the ground. Nick pushed his brown hair back from his forehead, shoving his fingers through the sweat-dampened mess. The axe dangled from his hand as he breathed deep and stared off into the distance. He looked like an ad for testosterone.

He was unaware that he was being perved upon. Thankfully.

Everything inside her felt in flux. Something about the sight of him half naked stirred her up, stupidly. Her only defence was that it had been a bloody long time between dates. Her body warmed to the view, an all too willing traitor. She could actually feel her pussy flutter with interest. Shit. No. Not him. She needed to gird her loins. Close her eyes and picture him as another version of Neil. Or worse, Heathcliff. She’d never been a fan of that abusive bastard.

Nick’s head lifted and his gaze snagged hers. “Morning.”

“Hi.”

His lips widened into a smile, a cautiously warm one. The wound on his forehead was a blue-gray mess and yet he attempted to be friends.