Witness On The Run. Susan CliffЧитать онлайн книгу.
on the lights. It was a cozy room with two beds, a fireplace and a bathroom. Tala got out of his truck and walked across the parking lot, her parka hood obscuring most of her face. She didn’t object to the sleeping arrangements. Maybe she hadn’t anticipated having her own space. He followed her inside, his heart racing.
She sat down on the far bed. She bounced on the mattress to test its firmness. “This is nice.”
Cam glanced around for something else to look at. His gaze settled on the fireplace. There was a bin full of logs he’d split. The evidence of his last good deed unsettled him. He crouched down to build a fire with shaking hands. He didn’t know what he was so nervous about. They were here to sleep, nothing more. He wasn’t going to touch her. Even if he was capable of a clumsy seduction attempt, which he doubted, he wouldn’t try anything. He might be numb and emotionless, but he wasn’t a liar. He’d given her his word.
She stood, shrugging out of her parka. “I’m going to take a shower.”
He watched her disappear into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her with a click. He turned his attention back to the fire. When he had it blazing, he got up and dusted off his hands. Then he moved to the far corner of the room, by the window. There were logs stacked up near the chopping block. He considered going outside to split wood. Tala might appreciate the privacy. He turned his attention to the bathroom door, picturing her naked. Wet, dark hair. Warm, soap-slick skin.
His blood thickened with arousal. He could feel that, if nothing else. He was still capable of desire. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, but the images didn’t cease. He was ten steps away from a nude woman. He could hear the water running, streaming over her body. Erotic thoughts filled his head, fantasies and memories combined. He remembered how it felt to join a lady in the shower. To lift her up against the tiles and take her. To drink water droplets from her skin.
His hands curled into fists and his groin tightened to a painful degree. He didn’t know what to do, or where to look. Staring out the window didn’t help. It was as if his brain had short-circuited from the sensory overload. He was afraid she’d emerge from the bathroom and see him standing there with an erection.
He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his heart pounding. He tried to think unsexy thoughts, but it was no use. He was too wound up. He took deep breaths, fists clenching and unclenching. Unfortunately, his arousal didn’t ebb. He’d denied himself pleasure too long. His body was staging a full-on revolt. He needed to get out of here.
Springing to his feet, he walked outside, into the frigid air. He gulped it into his lungs, staring at the clear night sky. It was bracingly cold. He felt better. He wanted to stretch his legs, so he started jogging. He did a few laps around the neighborhood, his breaths puffing out in the black night.
After he regained control of his body, his thoughts cleared. He returned to the chopping block outside their cabin. There was a stack of heavy logs beneath a covered awning. The ax was in the shed. He placed a log on the stump and brought the ax down, splitting it in one strike. He repeated the process over and over, until his mind was numb.
Tala ducked into the bathroom and locked the door.
Even though Cam had made it clear that he didn’t expect her to sleep with him, she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. She shouldn’t have come here. Now she felt trapped. She was at his mercy.
What if he made a pass at her? He might think she was fair game for a one-night stand, despite his reassurances. The poor guy’s wife had died. He was lonely. He was young and strong and healthy. It was only natural for him to seek out female company, and he liked her. She could see it in his eyes. When his gaze settled on her, awareness sizzled done her spine. Because she liked him, too.
She studied her anxious expression in the mirror, feeling conflicted. She wished she’d asked him to take her to the airport. She could have spent the night on the benches. It wouldn’t have been comfortable, but she’d endured worse. At the airport, there were multiple exits. If she needed to, she could run.
Cam wasn’t holding her against her will, of course. She’d agreed to stay with him. She didn’t think he was a physical threat. It wasn’t so much that she was afraid of him. She was afraid of men, period. She was afraid of letting down her guard, and of getting attached. She hadn’t escaped Duane to become reliant on another man. She couldn’t make that mistake again. She had to take care of herself before she could feel safe with anyone else.
She turned away from the mirror and stripped off her clothes. As she stepped into the shower, memories from this morning crept up on her. She started shivering again, even though the water was piping hot. When she closed her eyes, she imagined the scene in the parking lot. Blood spraying from the gunshot wound, spreading from the body in a dark circle. She scrubbed at her skin, as if the trauma had sullied her.
After she rinsed off, she felt lightheaded and slightly nauseated. She stepped out of the stall, wrapping a towel around her body. She didn’t have anything to wear besides her uniform, which wouldn’t double as pajamas. Her tights were ruined, so she tossed them in the trash. Then she washed her underwear in the sink. They were nylon, so they’d dry by morning. She hung them on the hook behind the door.
She was reluctant to leave the bathroom without clothes on, but whatever. She’d have to climb into bed in her towel. Maybe Cam wouldn’t notice. Maybe he wasn’t that interested. She’d been told she was pretty often enough, but she’d also been told otherwise. Duane had yelled at her to shut her ugly mouth, or move her skinny ass. She didn’t think she was ugly, and she definitely wasn’t skinny, but his criticism had eroded her self-confidence.
Tension welled up inside her. A part of her wanted Cam to find her attractive. She just didn’t want him to do anything about it. She hoped he wouldn’t consider her near nudity a sign of encouragement.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and ventured out. She tried not to worry about Cam’s reaction, or overestimate her appeal. With her tangled hair and skinned knees, she wasn’t some irresistible femme fatale. He might not look twice at her.
As it turned out, Cam didn’t look once. Because he wasn’t there.
She clutched the towel to her chest, bewildered. He must have gone outside. There was no reason to run for cover now, so she stood in front of the fireplace. It was crackling with new flames, bright and warm. If Cam didn’t return, she’d spend the night in the cabin and figure out her next step in the morning. She’d have to look for work at another café or diner. While she finger-combed her hair, letting it dry, she became aware of a familiar sound. Someone was splitting wood. She approached the window and peeked through the curtains.
It was Cam. He swung the ax in powerful strokes, bringing it down hard. When he had a nice stack of split pieces, he carried them to the shed. Then he started over. He set a punishing pace, his brow furrowed. She didn’t know what demons were inside him, or why he worked so hard for physical release, but she enjoyed watching him. His strength was impressive and his tortured-soul expression captivated her imagination. She assumed he was still grieving. He was still in love with his late wife. That was why he didn’t want to “trade services” with Tala. That was why he seemed so detached and alone.
She left the window, her heart heavy, and sat down to fix her hair. She made two braids and secured the tails. She hadn’t worn her hair like this since she’d left Canada. She hadn’t wanted to look Indian while she was hiding out in Alaska, but she was proud of her heritage. The blood of her ancestors flowed strong and true inside her. Unlike her self-esteem, it could never be weakened or changed. It could never be beaten.
Cam came in from the cold, breathing hard. His face was flushed from exertion. He had a duffel bag in his hands. He did a quick scan of her towel-clad form. Then he unzipped the bag and took out a red-checked flannel. He thrust it at her, averting his gaze. “You can wear this to sleep in.”
She accepted the shirt with gratitude.