She’d been about to say, “With you.” But as much as he loved knowing she felt safe with him, the crumpling of her features, reflecting the defeat her fears created within her, was a bigger concern to him.
Everyone wanted to be needed. But being needed through wanting and craving was way different from being needed as a place to hide from the unknown. He knew about that kind of fear. The first months after his accident, it had kept him paralyzed in ways that turned his wheelchair into a prison.
“When I’m here, and it’s not time to leave, I get excited, thinking about going to school.” She was trying hard to steady her voice. Trying not to shake. Her fingers continued to curl against his flesh, convulsive kneading. “Happy, even. Now it’s time to do it, and I’m thinking about the people, the noise, all of it. It’s like walking along the edge of the ocean, my feet in it. It looks so amazing and big. One part of me thinks being in it would be wonderful. But then I think about getting swept away from shore so I can’t get back. Untethered… Unmoored.”
She pronounced the word carefully. She kept a journal, and he’d seen her make entries when she heard words she liked or didn’t know. At fifteen, she’d been close to illiterate. Learning to read had been the first thing that had brought her out of her shell. He remembered her and Les sitting on Les’s bed, Les going over English basics with her.
Sometimes he wondered if he was being fair, wanting her. Maybe her first true relationship should be with someone fresh and new, who could see her as she was now, rather than a culmination of her past.
He’d quizzed himself on that, ruthlessly. Was he going after her, interested in her, because she had been broken? Did he want her because he could feel powerful with her in a way he couldn’t anymore with the confident cheerleaders who’d once fawned over him? They’d loved his six-foot height and strong legs, his ability to pick them up and tease them.
And what about her? Was she drawn to him because he was safe? Known?
Yet as he looked at her pale face, felt her anxiety, he knew he wasn’t going to back off. He had an idea, supported by that gut feeling he’d had when he’d tightened his hand in her hair.
Still holding her in his lap, he fished out several more things from behind the counter. He’d had to shorten a length of chain for Kenny Fisher earlier in the week, and he’d dropped the eight-inch remnant behind the counter. It wasn’t a girl’s bracelet kind of chain, but 3mm links, extra durable hardware. Retrieving that, a spool of wire and the pair of small pliers with them, he nodded toward her left hand. “Hold it out to me. Palm up.”
An authoritative tone, easy as breathing. It was the way he talked to the seasonal help, the high school kids who helped unload Christmas trees in December.
But they sure as hell didn’t respond the way she did. He exhaled the command and she inhaled it, responding by lifting her arm.
She had a scar on it. The discoloration was faint, but the puckering of the skin was noticeable on a six-inch track of tender skin under her forearm. He thought it was a burn scar, but Daralyn had never offered any information about the old injury. Since it didn’t seem to bug her, and her worst scars were on the inside, making her self-conscious about one on the outside didn’t seem to serve a useful purpose.
He looped the chain around her wrist, figured out the length he needed, then removed it again. Sliding off his class ring, he laid it in her palm. “Hold onto that a minute.”
His initials were stamped in black on the square middle, his school name outlining it, the school’s mascot and graduation year on the dark gold sides. Her fingers closed over it, one of them slipping inside the ring to anchor it in her palm. She caressed the silky inside of the metal as if seeking the heat of his body. Maybe he was just imagining that, but the surge of feeling in his chest said he was right.
He used the chain and wire to form a bracelet, the ring the connecting centerpiece. After he fastened it on her, he ran his callused fingers over and around the whole thing to ensure nothing was jabbing her. As he caressed the soft skin, her pulse rate increased.
Registering the reaction, he glanced up, deliberately letting his gaze roam over her features. She had silky eyebrows, a fair forehead and straight nose. Then there were those very distracting pale pink lips. He wanted to place the heat of his mouth over them.
Her lashes swept down over her cheeks, but her wrist stayed willingly in his grasp. He kept his thumb coursing over that velvet stretch of skin below the bracelet as her fingers trembled. The chain was snug enough she would be aware of it there, the class ring a heavy, masculine weight at her pulse point. She’d folded her fingers forward, so one of her fingertips rested inside it again.
“Daralyn.” His voice had roughened, and he kept it that way. “Do you think about that kiss at Christmas?”
Her lips parted, her cheeks getting that charming pink color.
“Look at me."
He didn’t think he was breathing when her gaze raised to his, held. The golden-green color had deepened, the pupils big and dark. "Tell me," he said softly.
“Yes. I do."
"Every night?"
Her eyes sparkled a little, showing some spirit he liked. A lot. "I have other things to think about than just that."
"That wasn't a no. I plan on kissing you again, really soon. So if you die of a panic attack, I won’t get that chance.”
Her lips curved, her eyes lighting in a way that shot heat straight through every nerve-rich part of his body.
“Okay.”
Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he guided her to her feet. When her gaze fell naturally to his lap, she quickly looked away.
No big surprise, the pressure of her body had inspired a reaction. While he took immense pleasure in thinking about her gorgeous ass being on his lap, he couldn’t get hard from just the thinking. Psychogenic erections, the term for that, weren’t something he could have any more. But reflexogenic, caused by direct physical contact to his cock? Damn straight.
The press of her lips together, the significant sudden absence of that trembling in her fingers, told him she wasn’t upset by it. In a polite world, he’d make things easy by pretending he hadn’t noticed her noticing. He wasn’t feeling polite. Instead, when his steady, silent regard brought her gaze back to his, he locked her into a full acknowledgement of it.
She’s a woman now. As Marcus had said.
A crackle of gravel in the parking lot outside told him the community transport van for the college had arrived. But she still didn’t look away. It was as if she knew he had to tell her she could. His reaction to that was so strong, he considered pulling her on his lap again.
But Marcus had been right about that other thing. She’s everything. Her happiness, her well-being.
“Daralyn,” he said in measured tones, gripping his push rims so he didn’t reach for her instead. “Go on before you miss your ride.”
She swallowed. Turning away, she collected her backpack and picked up the lunch box. When she reached the door, she pulled it open, making the shop bells mounted over it ring. The chain on her wrist clinked against the knob.
“See you in a while,” she said, shooting him a shy glance.
“You sure will.”
A small smile, and she stepped out, letting the door close behind her.