At Arm's Length Read online

  I nodded toward the bag in her clutch as soon as her eyes found their way back to mine.

  That seemed to break her out of whatever trance she was in.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. That’s why I actually came up here for. You just distracted me with all of,” she waved a hand in the direction of the discarded towel on the floor, “that.”

  She took a step forward in my direction and gestured toward the bed. “Sit…please.”

  I warily listened to her command, but I told myself it was because of the tentative way she said it. Like she almost wanted to be assertive but chickened out and had to be polite.

  She moved to stand next to me as she placed the bag in her hands down on the mattress. Her fingers quickly unzipped the pouch, showing me exactly what was inside.

  First aid supplies.

  “When you took off your sock hat I noticed that you had a gash up near your hairline.” Her hands were knotted together, and she looked a bit sheepish.

  My mind was racing a mile a minute ever since I wound up at Tate Manor, but how I had completely forgotten about the blood I found from an obvious wound on my forehead? Oh right, the answer was standing less than a foot away from me.

  And to tell you the truth, this little pixie had completely taken my mind off of my pounding head which hadn’t seemed to have subsided the slightest bit. I would need to remember to take some medicine or else it would just get increasingly worse.

  “My rental car slid down an embankment, which is how I ended up here. I must’ve hit my head when it wrecked into a tree.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, and I thought it was because that was the most I’ve spoken to her at one time, but then she surprised me when she gripped my shoulder in silent empathy. Her touch, no matter where it was, felt nice, but before I could relish the fact that she was touching me to begin with, her fingers were gone from my skin way too soon. I instantly missed the contact.

  And…now I sounded like a complete pussy.

  Get it together, Holden.

  “You could have a concussion. You can’t go to sleep tonight.”

  The way she sounded was almost as if she cared which was absurd because she didn’t know the first thing about me.

  A laugh threatened to escape my throat, but I held it back.

  I didn’t have a concussion. I may have one hell of a headache, but I also had a reason to have one. No, I would definitely know if I was concussed since I’ve had a few in my football career. If she only knew.

  She busied herself with the first-aid supplies trying her hardest to avert her gaze from mine. I found myself watching with rapt attention as she set out antibiotic ointment, a bandage, a bottle of peroxide and lastly, a few cotton balls.

  Next thing I knew, she was standing too close to me.

  As in way too close.

  Her body was in between my parted thighs bringing her fabulous, perky breasts directly in my line of sight. Breasts that would look superb in my hands, or wait, make that my mouth.

  She shifted the tiniest bit, and I had to legit stifle a groan. Any smallest movement and her legs would be insanely close to brushing against my erection. Which was at this very moment dripping with need for her.

  “Are you a nurse?” I asked, my voice gruff as she moved her hands closer to my forehead.

  Her brow wrinkled at my question before she briefly shook her head. “No, not a nurse, just management.”

  It dug at me that she seemed to think patching me up was some twisted sense of duty instead of helping me out of the goodness of her heart. Not that I deserved her help. I didn’t. It would just be nice for someone to do something because they wanted to instead of it being part of their job description.

  My face must’ve morphed into something that only confirmed my distaste. I could never seem to keep a handle on my expressions, which was why these days I didn’t have many emotions. Pissed off seemed to work just fine for me. This woman, though, seemed to bring every single one out of me. And with only knowing her a handful of minutes that realization was alarming. I needed to keep my distance from her, it was imperative. She raised her hands in surrender, the piece of cotton in between her thumb and index finger suspended in mid-air.

  “Easy there, Tarzan. You need to relax. Your forehead is all scrunched, it’s only going to make your wound bleed more.”

  I flinched at the name, then immediately tried to force the tension from my brow. Making my face completely blank, which was a bitch to pull off.

  Once satisfied that I wasn’t going to move, she began inching the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball toward my face once again.

  “This may…” Before she could get the find word out, she touched my face, eliciting a hiss to spill from my clenched teeth. “Sting.”

  What she didn’t know was that it wasn’t the sting of the medicine that caused me to flinch. It was the slow burn I felt from the soft brush of her fingertips against my skin. I felt it deep into my bones as it radiated throughout my body. I felt myself wanting to lean into her touch and demand even more.

  My fingers itched to wrap around her waist and snap closed the remaining distance between us. Oh, how easy that would be. But she didn’t want that, and I wasn’t one to defile a woman without her being on board. I wanted her body in every way imaginable, and the thing of it was, I didn’t even know her name. So since what I wanted obviously didn’t matter, I instead clenched my fists together to eliminate any temptation I had to touch her.

  “Okay, Frankenstein,” she took a step back, placing her hands on her hips; the movement only made me hotter. Her shirt rose showing just the barest hint of midriff. If I was already salivating over the smallest flash of skin, how would I be able to control myself if I got her completely naked and begging at my mercy?

  I knew my answer, and that was why I had to keep her at arms-length.

  Being around her was bad for my sanity and equally bad for her health. What little grasp I had on my control would be completely obliterated.

  “What’s with the nicknames?” I asked, curious as to why she couldn’t just say the name I had given her, almost needing my name to spill from her lips.

  She had already put away the peroxide and was administering the finishing touches on the bandage by attaching the adhesive strips to my forehead.

  “Well,” she said concentrating on her fingers as they worked but also seeming to mull over her words, choosing them carefully. “Frankenstein because if you were any more tense, you’d be made of stone. And Tarzan because when I met you downstairs, you were grunting as if you were a caveman. I nearly expected you to beat on your chest. Then I come up here, and you’re wearing nothing but a towel, which I may add could vastly resemble a loincloth.” She was just too cute waving her hands around animatedly as she spouted off this nonsense. “Those one named nicknames are only fitting since you seem to be a one-named wonder.” She ended shrugging, thinking that her explanation defended her logic. “So there you have it.”

  See what I mean? Too fucking cute.

  This time, I couldn’t contain my laughter, so I tipped my head back and let it rip, releasing the foreign sound from deep in my gut.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed, and it felt fucking great.

  When my attention came back on pixie’s face, she had the most breathtakingly beautiful smile on her face that had my heart seizing in my chest.

  Forget not knowing her name, I was already fucked.

  Holy moly! I felt the reverberations of that laugh all the way down to my toes.

  If I hadn’t watched the sound actually come from his mouth, I wouldn’t have believed the deep, rich bellow had been from him.

  But it did, and it was now ranked as my absolute favorite sound, coming in a close second only to his voice.

  Intense sounds like that could make a woman lose her mind. Or what was even more dangerous—her heart.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ve got me at a disadvantage.”

  My brow quirked. “
How is that?”

  “It seems that I now have no fewer than five different nicknames from you, and I don’t even know your name.” My hand flew to my mouth, I really had been terribly rude.

  Way to go!

  “So you see, I myself could be fearful for my life at the possibility of being in the presence of a,” he grasped his chin in his hand, “oh, how should I put it?” His eyes transfixed on my own, underlying humor transposing his gaze.

  Don’t say it, I willed as my face enflamed from the impending embarrassment I knew was going to be unleashed on me. Please, please don’t say it, I chanted in my head.

  “Serial killer…”

  Oh shit! He had to say it. Couldn’t just bury that little nugget of truth he held in his overpowering hands.

  Kill. Me. Now!

  I wondered exactly how much of my conversation with Trudy he had heard.

  I squared off my shoulders acting as if it didn’t bother me that he was eavesdropping, which of course was a lie. In fact, it bugged the ever-loving shit out of me, but I decided to save face and meet him head on.

  But when I spoke my voice betrayed all of my false strength and bravery and came out small as I nearly whispered, “My name is Marlee Tate.”

  “Marlee? Like the dog from the movie?”

  I gasped because let’s face it, it seems like the only conceivable reaction around him. I was appalled and apparently stunned into silence.

  I couldn’t think of one single viable retort.

  Sure, later when I replayed this entire exchange in my head, I’d have the best darn response possible. But that didn’t help me here, right this second.

  And to think, I came up here to help him out, and he goes and insults my name.

  “Oh, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it, eh?” he goaded.

  He was absolutely correct. But that was the thing, I normally didn’t ever dish it out at all. And the sinking feeling in my gut made me know for certain that I definitely couldn’t take it. Sure, on the outside I may always act as if I was well put together, but that couldn’t be any further from the truth.

  I built the mindset to always view and perceive all things with constant positivity, but it was all a rouse. I would focus on others to guide the focus away from me. I was a fake. I would use my positive outlook as my armor to hide all of my insecurity.

  This tactic usually worked without fail. People liked talking about themselves if given the opportunity, so I gave them that. But not with Holden. Within a matter of minutes and even fewer words he’s flayed me open to my core. Exposing all of me and my emotions that I tried to keep under wraps.

  Just by a single glance and silly words.

  I muttered an excuse that my own ears didn’t even comprehend and got the hell out of that room. I slammed the door closing myself off from the watchful eye of Holden.

  With my back pressed flat against the wall, I couldn’t tell you exactly how long I stood out in the hallway. A shuffling noise promptly snapped me back into reality making me realize that I was still…

  In. The. Hallway.

  No matter if he pissed me off and made me feel entirely too stripped bare, that wasn’t a reason to slack on my hospitality. And it certainly wasn’t a reason to let him die on my family’s property because someone didn’t check up on him being he could very well have a concussion.

  Thirty minutes later, I climbed back up the stairs, only this time carrying a tray piled high with food. A bowl of homemade beef stew that I made earlier in the afternoon, a big hunk of crusty bread, and two bottled waters.

  Normally I would fuss about staging a fresh flower in the middle of the tray with the silverware and napkin folded and placed just right. But Holden didn’t seem like the hearts and flowers type, more like one who could care less if his utensils came encased in the finest linens or wrapped in thin plastic.

  I fingered the tray, situating it so I could hold onto it with just one hand and knocked again on the solid wood door with the other.

  Holden wretched open the door, his chest still perfectly bare and his sweats riding ridiculously low on his hips. I didn’t know if sweatpants could ever be considered sexy, but on him, they were sinful as hell. He had a smattering of dark hair that trailed down and disappeared into his waistband which could be construed as inviting, and I had to quickly swallow back my drool before I made a fool of myself. Maybe I should say embarrass myself even further. I completely forgot about our earlier confrontation as I took in his short tousled hair that stood in several wayward directions. My hands screamed to tug on the ends as his own had obviously done. The bags under his eyes were darker, pure and utter exhaustion lining his masculine features making him appear harried.

  He had yet to utter a single word, no surprise there, but he continued to stare at me, his muscles tensing as his hands closed into fists.

  I felt small under his foreboding scrutiny and rethought my coming back up here. His irritation was plain as day that I wasn’t welcome.

  I cleared my throat and continued on acting as if I wasn’t seriously affected, which we both knew was complete shit. “I told my chef not to come in because of the storm, but I tend to do okay in the kitchen.” I forced myself to take a deep breath to calm my nerves and cease my useless rambling. “I thought you might be hungry, and I wanted to make sure that you were all right.” I shrugged a shoulder before he narrowed his eyes and snatched the tray from my hands with ease.

  He took a step back creating just enough room to grip his free hand on the doorknob. Some would think this was a welcoming gesture, inviting one into their room. “I don’t have a concussion.” Just as quickly as he had opened the door, he slammed it in my face.

  Or maybe not.

  The action made me feel even lonelier than I had before. “Back to stiff non-pleasantries again I suppose,” I said aloud before saluting to his closed door and heading back downstairs to lock up.

  Since the snow had drifted so much, there really wasn’t a reason to stay up all night waiting on a potential guest to emerge through our front door. No one would be out in this weather.

  Passing back by room number eight, the one next to mine, I noticed the empty bowl on the tray sitting on the floor outside his door.

  The reality and the absurdity of the entire night came slamming down on me. Holden was a guest at my family’s inn, and it would serve me well to remember that.

  Placing the finishing touches on the breakfast plate I was working on, I turned around and saw Holden standing there unmoving, his eyes transfixed on my hands.

  “Holy shit!” I dropped the plate on the floor as I clutched one hand to my chest feeling my heart beat against it in rapid succession and threw the other out in Holden’s direction. “You have got to stop scaring me like that.” I bent down to pick up the now ruined food and the plate, feeling as if ten years had been taken off of my life at the bare minimum. Luckily it was plastic and unbreakable, and not my mother’s finest china or else this conversation could’ve taken a real turn in a direction he didn’t want to see coming. Nevertheless, I continued to berate him, “I mean who comes into a room without making any noise whatsoever?” I looked back at his face to see him revealing a bemused expression. “Are you a ninja or something? Do you get some sort of sick thrill out of scaring innocent women? You know you’re lucky I don’t have a variety of weapons at the ready, or this could really be an awkward situation.”

  The side of his mouth quirked up almost resembling somewhat of a smile, which I knew had to be impossible. It was just my torturous mind playing tricks on me; there was really no other explanation. As my heart rate returned to normal, I wondered which Holden I would get the pleasure of interacting with today, especially since he hadn’t spoken yet. Not that that was particularly unusual, the man hasn’t said more than a handful of words the entire time he’s been here. He was turning out to be an anomaly, one that, even with the repercussions, I desperately wanted to figure out.

  Even completely clothed in dark
wash jeans and a simple t-shirt, he was no less drool-worthy. His muscular arms were straining at the seams, which told me that he either was or could be a force to be reckoned with. And while that thought should, in fact, have me sobering up and placing as much distance between us as possible, I felt the inauspicious desire to peel back his layers until I got to the very heart and soul of the man. I knew that was crazy especially since I literally just met him and he’s grunted at me more than he’s spoken. But I couldn’t ignore that something about him called to me on another level.

  A level that I very much wanted to explore.

  Where I thought his eyes were set on my hands before, they were most certainly pinned on my pants now, and I felt my face immediately inflame.

  “I’m sorry, I thought I would have time to change before you came down. I know I look like a mess,” I indicated toward the sloppy knot on top of my head and then to my hoodie and flannel pajama pants. I didn’t know why I deemed it necessary to explain my choice of clothing to run around in, but I didn’t want him to view me as being unprofessional. I was bringing a whole new level to the word pathetic.

  He ignored my apology and sat down at the small round oak table we had nestled in the kitchen that all the employees used.

  I would have preferred to have us sit in the more formal dining room that was reserved for guests, but apparently, Holden thought differently. Sitting this close to him was bound to feel entirely too intimate.

  Spinning around on my sock-covered feet, I turned back toward the stove and busied myself by putting together another plate when I heard him clear his throat.

  I mentally braced myself for whatever hatred-filled asinine comment that would come spewing out of his mouth. The probability of it pissing me off was tipping more along the lines of highly likely.

  Taking a deep breath, I looked back over my shoulder at him, and he almost seemed unsure of himself. Seeing the look of uncertainty marring his beautiful face had my insides thawing toward him the littlest bit.