straight.
I don't know how long we spent, crushed together there against the hard surface of the hallway before he lifted his head.
"Coffee?" he asked in that black velvet voice.
"Oh, oh-kay," I stammered. Geez, the man nearly knocked the English right out of me with his mouth, his tongue, his strawberry-damn hands that had gripped and rubbed and moved over the bumps of the robe I was wearing.
I used my fingers to wipe my mouth as the other hand shot the deadbolt on the back door before I led the way into the shop. I know I must've stumbled my way around the counter, trying to remember my goal in spite of the fog that had again invaded my head and body.
His hand touched my waist as he came fully in, filling the space with his presence which was so much bigger than just his large frame.
"Coffee?" I confirmed, on a deep swallow, as I moved to Bertha.
"Please," I'm sure I heard him say as I turned my back to him. "You look beautiful, Lace."
No, that was not what he said.
He couldn't have been saying those words to me.
Not me, not now.
I knew how I looked, hair in a wet mess, clad in the old ratty robe of my ancestor. No makeup, nothing to entice a man like him.
Yet, he had nothing but a soft smile on his still scabbed face as I shot him a glance over my shoulder.
His hair was loose again today and he was wearing a sleeveless, blank gray tee over a pair of worn jeans.
And, low and behold, a new pair of navy running shoes.
"Nice kicks," I offered, loading grinds into the steel cup of Bertha's heart, shoving a green mug underneath the flow after her groans as the water began to fill her reservoir. It was only seconds before the green mug began to load with her beautiful gift.
"Thanks," he said glancing down at his feet and I caught a small lift on his mouth, a self-conscious little grin, as he spoke. That move, along with the grin, garnered a solid ten score from my mental judges.
I grabbed his cup from underneath the spigot and turned quickly back around.
Spilling the entire contents, the steaming hot, scalding, contents of the cup down him.
Oh, God!
Who knew he was that close, a half-step behind me?
Shit. Oh, damn, shit and hell.
"Oh, crikey. I'm so sorry!" I yelled, as my mind tried to find a way out of this. What worked for scalds?
Water.
Cold water.
I grabbed him and shoved him towards the stairs, intent on getting him out of the pain I'd caused. Rushing to get him to the cold wetness, to fix the hurt from the boiling hot coffee.
I kept him ahead of me, pushing and rushing upwards.
Everyone knew that blisters needed cold.
Dammit.
He wasn't talking but his eyes kept shooting over his shoulder as I moved him, shoved him from behind. I knew his skin had to have been stinging, but I'd already seen he had a pretty high threshold for pain when he'd done the five-point asphalt skid the other morning.
"Inside!" I yelled when he paused at the door of my apartment over the shop. "Go inside, Jack!"
I ran around him, rushing down the hall to the bathroom, pushing aside the shower curtain and twisting the cold water spigot to full.
"Inside!" I repeated on a shout.
I reached for his t-shirt and yanked it over his head as soon as he'd cleared the doorway.
"Shoes, off!" I yelled and tugged at the button of his jeans, noting the wet stains marking the light colored denim.
Damn, I'd managed to score him stem to stern with my attempt to simply get him a coffee.
Shit!
I shoved the heavy denim down as I saw him toe his shoes off.
I made a point to catch his socks as I dragged his jeans off his legs.
"Inside!" I again yelled and made sure he hit the cold water clad only in his boxer briefs.
I stood there a moment, panting, my heart out of control thinking of how he must be hurting with what were sure to be head-to-toe burns.
"Lacey?" he murmured. I saw his arms were tucked into his armpits, his back to the water.
"Yeah?" I responded, my eyes roaming, looking for blisters on his shoulders, chest and his very
I don't know how long we spent, crushed together there against the hard surface of the hallway before he lifted his head.
"Coffee?" he asked in that black velvet voice.
"Oh, oh-kay," I stammered. Geez, the man nearly knocked the English right out of me with his mouth, his tongue, his strawberry-damn hands that had gripped and rubbed and moved over the bumps of the robe I was wearing.
I used my fingers to wipe my mouth as the other hand shot the deadbolt on the back door before I led the way into the shop. I know I must've stumbled my way around the counter, trying to remember my goal in spite of the fog that had again invaded my head and body.
His hand touched my waist as he came fully in, filling the space with his presence which was so much bigger than just his large frame.
"Coffee?" I confirmed, on a deep swallow, as I moved to Bertha.
"Please," I'm sure I heard him say as I turned my back to him. "You look beautiful, Lace."
No, that was not what he said.
He couldn't have been saying those words to me.
Not me, not now.
I knew how I looked, hair in a wet mess, clad in the old ratty robe of my ancestor. No makeup, nothing to entice a man like him.
Yet, he had nothing but a soft smile on his still scabbed face as I shot him a glance over my shoulder.
His hair was loose again today and he was wearing a sleeveless, blank gray tee over a pair of worn jeans.
And, low and behold, a new pair of navy running shoes.
"Nice kicks," I offered, loading grinds into the steel cup of Bertha's heart, shoving a green mug underneath the flow after her groans as the water began to fill her reservoir. It was only seconds before the green mug began to load with her beautiful gift.
"Thanks," he said glancing down at his feet and I caught a small lift on his mouth, a self-conscious little grin, as he spoke. That move, along with the grin, garnered a solid ten score from my mental judges.
I grabbed his cup from underneath the spigot and turned quickly back around.
Spilling the entire contents, the steaming hot, scalding, contents of the cup down him.
Oh, God!
Who knew he was that close, a half-step behind me?
Shit. Oh, damn, shit and hell.
"Oh, crikey. I'm so sorry!" I yelled, as my mind tried to find a way out of this. What worked for scalds?
Water.
Cold water.
I grabbed him and shoved him towards the stairs, intent on getting him out of the pain I'd caused. Rushing to get him to the cold wetness, to fix the hurt from the boiling hot coffee.
I kept him ahead of me, pushing and rushing upwards.
Everyone knew that blisters needed cold.
Dammit.
He wasn't talking but his eyes kept shooting over his shoulder as I moved him, shoved him from behind. I knew his skin had to have been stinging, but I'd already seen he had a pretty high threshold for pain when he'd done the five-point asphalt skid the other morning.
"Inside!" I yelled when he paused at the door of my apartment over the shop. "Go inside, Jack!"
I ran around him, rushing down the hall to the bathroom, pushing aside the shower curtain and twisting the cold water spigot to full.
"Inside!" I repeated on a shout.
I reached for his t-shirt and yanked it over his head as soon as he'd cleared the doorway.
"Shoes, off!" I yelled and tugged at the button of his jeans, noting the wet stains marking the light colored denim.
Damn, I'd managed to score him stem to stern with my attempt to simply get him a coffee.
Shit!
I shoved the heavy denim down as I saw him toe his shoes off.
I made a point to catch his socks as I dragged his jeans off his legs.
"Inside!" I again yelled and made sure he hit the cold water clad only in his boxer briefs.
I stood there a moment, panting, my heart out of control thinking of how he must be hurting with what were sure to be head-to-toe burns.
"Lacey?" he murmured. I saw his arms were tucked into his armpits, his back to the water.
"Yeah?" I responded, my eyes roaming, looking for blisters on his shoulders, chest and his very
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