Ignited (15 page)

“Worse,” he said, a bitter note in his voice. “She stayed.” Henry took a breath and stared at his hands for a moment. “When my parents got married, they moved to Denver to start their lives. The way Granddad tells it, they were glad to be in the city. When my mother became pregnant, they were so excited. Mother went into labor late at night, and when my father was driving her to the hospital, they were hit by a drunk driver.”

Ruth gasped. Henry wasn’t looking her in the eyes; it was clear this was a painful subject for him. Her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, and they reached out for his. She entwined their fingers, and Henry did not stop her.

“My father died instantly, I was told. Mother was gravely injured, but a passerby stopped and got her to the hospital. She almost died, having me. She lost her husband.” Henry cleared his throat. “She doesn’t think it was worth it.”

The pain rolling off of him was palpable, and Ruth squeezed his hands.

“She’s never really wanted anything to do with me, and it only got worse when I grew up to look just like my dad. Granddad raised me, pretty much on his own. She talks to him, of course. He’s her dad. He’s convinced that one day we’ll mend that bridge, and I keep trying.” He gave her a bleak smile. “Hasn’t worked so far.”

His handsome face was twisted up with sadness, the years of neglect and cruelty etched in the downturn of his mouth, the furrow of his brow. He was such a kind man, and the thought of his mother being anything less than proud baffled and infuriated Ruth.

She looked at their joined hands. It felt so good, so right to be there with him, and she was tired of feeling anything else.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you my whole life’s story.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” she said, her voice shaking with vehemence. “Not for anything.”

And then she leaned forward and kissed him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Henry

Henry was so surprised that he didn’t automatically respond. He’d promised himself he’d be a consummate professional around Ruth that night, and he’d mostly succeeded—until now. There was nothing professional about locking lips with a patient.

There was nothing professional about wanting to do much, much more than that.

Ruth began to pull away, her brows drawn together in a frown, and Henry realized he hadn’t been kissing her back, which seemed ridiculous. She was Ruth Baker, and he had wasted too much time remembering their last kiss to let the opportunity pass him by again. Before she could get too far away, he closed the distance between them.

It was an awkward angle, her on the chair, him leaning way forward out of his chair, bracing his hands on either side of her thighs—but it didn’t matter, not really. Not when he was experiencing the perfection of her small, pouty mouth against his own.

She was tentative, her hands landing on his shoulders and then staying there, unmoving. He could sense her hesitation—and her eagerness. Her naïveté was sweet, endearing. Henry nearly shuddered at the idea that he could be the one to help awaken her body. He could show this to her, help her experience this.

Slowly, he parted his lips and touched his tongue against her mouth. She didn’t open her mouth, moving her face away from him instead. She tilted her head back, panting and flushed.

She was so beautiful. He could fall into the depths of her dark eyes, if he let himself.

“Okay?” he asked.

Her gaze moved over his face; he wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she seemed to find it, and she nodded. She blushed prettily. “I know we—before. But that was the only time I’ve ever kissed someone. I’m not sure what I’m doing,” she said, fidgeting in her seat. “Not really.”

He found her confession unbearably arousing. “Just relax. Tell me if you don’t like something,” he said, trying to get his breathing under control. “Do what feels natural.”

“Okay,” she said, and licked her lips.

He forced himself to move slow. He pressed his mouth to hers again, and once again ran his tongue along the seam of her lips.

She opened for him, then made a muffled sound of wonder when he kissed her deeper, deeper. The drumbeat of his pulse picked up when she began to kiss him back. 

Ruth followed his lead, mimicking his movements. Her hands clenched in the fabric on his shoulders and then moved down his front with slow deliberation. She clutched at his waist, and Henry nearly lost his head.

He surged up, hands around her middle as he picked her up. She was so tiny, so light in his arms. He sat back on his chair so she was straddling his thighs. Her long skirt hampered her and he recklessly shoved it, exposing her creamy pink skin. Her hot center was pushed up against the front of his trousers, his burgeoning erection. It felt so good, he moaned into her mouth.

His arms circled her, held her close, and Ruth seemed to lose herself in his touch. Her mouth was hot and wanting against his own, and of her own volition, she moved against his hardness.

He ripped his mouth away, dropping his head back against the chair, panting toward the ceiling. Her body felt so good, so tempting.

Ruth stilled on top of him. He looked up. Her mouth was red from his kisses, the flush high on her cheeks. She looked unkempt and almost too gorgeous. Her pupils were blown wide and slowly, with trepidation, she swiveled her hips again.

It was impossible, how amazing it felt.

Ruth paused. “Am I—doing this right?”

“There is no way you can do it wrong,” he told her, barely getting the words out. Henry gripped her hips, holding her tight against him, and pressed up. She choked on a gasp. It was a sound he wanted to hear again—and again and again and again.

He wanted to feel her without the barriers between them, skin to skin, intimate and real. His right hand migrated from her hip down her leg, where it pushed up under the hem of her skirt, climbing higher and higher. His touch was soft, light. He didn’t want to push her. He just wanted her to realize all the ways they could both feel
good
.

He watched his hand disappear, and when it lingered on the soft skin of her inner thigh, he looked up. Ruth watched him, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded. He’d always thought her beautiful, but now he was seeing her in an entirely new way—she was
sexy
. He kept his hand in place, quirking an eyebrow, and she nodded, understanding his unspoken question.

Without wasting another moment, Henry pushed his thumb against her nub, circling it gently. Ruth threw her head back and keened loudly, the sound echoing in the stillness of the kitchen. Her breaths were ragged, and her hips moved against him when he did it again.

She gave another moan. Her panties were growing more and more wet, and Henry started to move them aside, dip his finger between her folds, explore her further, when Ruth froze. Her voice was breathy as she said, “I’m so hot.”

Henry grinned to himself, but when he caught her eye, he saw something he hadn’t expected—panic, rather than arousal.

“I’m
too
hot,” she said, pushing back and slipping off his lap. “I’m—I’m going to catch on fire, I can tell, I don’t know how to stop—”

Her hands burst into flame, and Henry scrambled out of the chair, toward the sink. He turned the spigot on full blast and said, “Quick, quick. Come here!”

Ruth rushed forward and stuck her hands below the rushing water. The flames disappeared instantly. Henry slipped back into doctor mode. He reached out to examine her hands. The skin was pink and tender, but otherwise, she appeared unharmed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, a clinical note entering his voice. “Does it hurt?”

Ruth shrugged and extracted her hands from his. Her shoulders rounded in defeat; he hated to see that look on her. “Not much. It’ll fade soon enough.”

The air between them had suddenly and drastically changed. There was no way to go back to kissing, not now when she was feeling so low. Henry reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, then leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to her forehead.

“Do you want to go home?”

Her nod was so small, he barely saw it. She gave him a guilty look, and it pained him. He didn’t want her to feel bad.

“Okay. I’ll walk you.”

She smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

Henry could feel Ruth’s hand brushing against his own as they walked side by side back to her house. She led them off the normal road, and it took longer than going through town, but Henry wasn’t going to complain about getting to spend more time in her company.

It was a beautiful night. The heat had faded with the sun, leaving behind a sweet evening breeze. He’d missed Independence Fall’s cool nights when he’d lived in Denver. There were few lights on, and the stars shone bright and clear above them. The light from the moon illuminated half of Ruth’s face, making it easy to catch her pensive expression.

Reaching out, Henry tangled their fingers together. Ruth didn’t pull away, and the small smile that curled the corner of her mouth made his heart leap in his chest. He had stopped questioning how he had fallen for her so easily. It was like he looked at her and his heart abandoned all sense and reason.

He’d never felt so connected to another person so quickly. The only people who knew the whole sad history between him and his mother were his grandfather and Mrs. McClure, who’d been a part of his life nearly as long as Granddad. She was more motherly than the woman who had given birth to him.

Henry had always been careful with his own heart, in that way. He’d dated, and he’d never lacked for friends, but there’d always been a small, scared part of himself that he held back. It was difficult to trust others. If there was anything his relationship with his mother had taught him, it was that people could and would hurt you, even if it didn’t make sense.

There was something about Ruth, though. She made him forget his reservations. Her life had been so difficult, even if she wasn’t fully aware, yet, of all she had suffered at her father’s hands. He could see that awareness growing inside of her, and it was amazing to watch her take these revelations in stride as she continued to grow.

She’d dealt with the loneliness of her powers, with the fear of them, entirely on her own for weeks and weeks. She’d had the presence of mind to know when she was no longer in control, and she’d sought help when she needed it. She was incredible, and beautiful, and so much more amazing than anyone else he’d ever met—how could he help but be enamored by her?

Ruth squeezed his hand, her small, strong fingers wrapped up in his. There was a sly grin on her face, and he couldn’t help but return it. He felt giddy.

They crossed the bridge and headed south to Schmidt Park and circled around to the back of her trailer, where the window was still propped open. She hesitated and then leaned in close. Her voice was a breathy whisper. “My father sleeps with his window open, so keep quiet, okay?”

He nodded, then lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss onto the back of hers. “Can I see you again?”

Ruth bit her lip, studying his face. She nodded. “When will you get the test results back?”

The test results—he’d been so swept up in Ruth, he hadn’t thought about the blood he’d drawn from her. The lab was out of town, a hundred miles away in Denver. It would take days to get there and days to come back. “Probably not for a week or more,” he said, trying and failing to hide the note of disappointment in his voice.

She, too, seemed distressed to realize it was so far away. “Can you find a way to let me know when they come in? Meet me outside of the church, like you did this morning?”

He couldn’t wait that long. He couldn’t be that far away from her—her beautiful mind and soul and body—for that long. “What if we practice your powers, work on your control?”

Ruth blinked. “What?”

“Maybe if you knew how to keep a handle on yourself, you wouldn’t be so scared all the time. I can … supervise. Make sure you’re not alone so that if something goes wrong, I can help.”

There was a moment of silence as her face scrunched into a look of concentration. She blew out a breath, squaring her shoulders. “When?”

“Tomorrow?”

“So soon?” She giggled quietly. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick of me?”

He shook his head, suddenly serious. “Impossible.”

Ruth stared up at him, her too-big eyes boring into his own. He wasn’t sure if he leaned down or if she went up on her toes—but suddenly they were kissing again, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Tomorrow night. The lake. Ten o’clock?” he added, mumbling the words into her skin.

She nodded and then went to the window. He put his hands on her waist, helping her to hoist herself up. His fingers lingered on her hips until she slipped inside.

She waved good-bye, her figure little more than a shadow, and Henry felt like his heart stuttered in his chest.

The doubts didn’t creep back in until Henry returned home. He’d stored the vial of Ruth’s blood in the kitchen, but having it there felt strange and unsanitary. He frowned and put it among his medical supplies, which he stored atop the refrigerator.

Seeing the vial reminded Henry that Ruth was his patient—or, at least, she was supposed to be. What was he doing, kissing her like that? He’d promised himself he’d only invited her over for the sake of privacy and security during the medical procedure.

Doctors weren’t supposed to get involved like this—it went against everything he’d sworn to do when he earned his medical license. How could he be objective when he couldn’t stop thinking about Ruth’s tempting lips?

He couldn’t be. He never had been, not since that day in the general store, when all he’d wanted was to do something nice for her. He’d been smitten from the start, and now those feelings were only deeper. It was more than an infatuation. It was—it was
important
, the way he felt about Ruth.

But that didn’t mean it was right.