Hurricane - Chapter 10
When he woke, she was gone again. The bed beside him was empty although he could still smell her, feel her warmth. He groaned; his brain raged – not again. Then he heard the shower running and his grin could have lit the runway at LAX. She'd stayed.
He waited an acceptable amount of time, or what he thought was an acceptable amount of time, but he still cleared his throat before he walked in.
She smiled at his shyness, "Crews, we've had sex at least a dozen times. I don't think you have to…" she trailed off as his hands trailed over her shoulders and he bent to kiss her neck.
"Hmmm," he hummed against her skin. He lifted his head, "you were saying?"
"I forget," she admitted. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her.
"We can do this, Dani. I think it'll work," he offered innocently.
She sighed her disagreement but did not give it words to walk on. Her trepidation skulked in the corner like a sullen child. He was winning her over, slowly – inching away from the idea that this was huge mistake. With every passing moment, he was convincing her heart to come out and play – that it was safe with him – that he would not hurt her – ever.
Of course, he continued to talk because talking was what Charlie did. "If two people as damaged by the world as we are – can learn to trust again, to love again, then anything is possible," he wanted her to believe to.
She wheeled to face him. "How can you believe that after everything you've been through?" She wasn't angry or confrontational; she genuinely wanted to know how someone who had endured what he had could still believe in innocence, love, happiness. She didn't.
"What other choice do I have?" He smiled into her hair. She could not see it but she could hear the smile in his voice. "If I close out the world, then I never really got out of prison," he explained. "I want to be free. Free to take wild chances on things that might not work, but that I really want. And you're what I really want."
"Thought you said love had nothing to do with want," she questioned, hearkening back to his commentary about the people scattered throughout the city in steamer trunks last year. "Last year with the people in boxes…you said love had nothing to do with want."
"Need – I said love has nothing to do with need," he corrected. "It has a whole lot to do with want," he kissed her softly and withdrew, "and desire," he revisited her mouth, stoking the fire there, "and longing." She seized his t-shirt on his third trip to the well and pulled him into her hot eager mouth.
"Stop playing games with me," she kissed him aggressively. He groaned his want as she ground her pelvis against his.
"Do you listen to everything I say?"
She denied it immediately with a "no" so eager it sounded like a yelp.
"You do," pride snuck into his voice, "you do listen to what I say. Otherwise how would you remember something I said over a year ago?" He questioned her seriously, wonder apparent in his features.
"Okay," she rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I listen to the stuff you say," she acquiesced. "Some times I remember," it pained her to admit it.
'Then you remember this Dani Reese, I love you," he held her face in his hands, "and I probably always will," he told her honestly again looking at her to gauge her reaction. The panic he expected was not there.
"Probably?" she gave him a raised brow in playful inquiry.
"I'm dead serious," he countered pressing his advantage.
"I know that," she said in response. Her confession was strong and her truth clear and brilliant. It cut him in beautiful and elegant ways. She owned him and she knew it. "I just never expected to be satisfied with anyone again. I didn't think I could," she gave away her power position. She let him have the truth – all of it. She went as far as she was willing to go, she'd let him love her.
A week later, Tidwell called with the good news. They were returned to duty four days shy of their two-week suspension. Charlie wasn't nearly as eager as he'd thought he'd be. Dani didn't appear thrilled either.
They both took the news in stride, but knew that serious challenges lay ahead. They would return to work where they'd have to pretend they weren't sleeping together and they weren't spending a lot of time together. Reality had intruded upon their vacation from it and it proved harder than either of them had imagined.
After touching each other a lot in the preceding two weeks, it would be difficult to hide at work, difficult to resist. Dani found she stood nearer him than before, almost always in his shadow now. His hand placement when talking to her was often over her head, against a wall, leaning into her. He always held her eyes. He stayed close enough to smell the scent of her perfume, shampoo and sweat sometimes. Occasionally for no reason and with no warning, he would simply lean in and lave her neck lightly with his tongue, cool the area with his breath and then plant a warm wet kiss over the coolness. It nearly always made her lose her train of thought.
They held hands in the market and his hand was on her back anytime they went through a door he opened for her. When their hands weren't joined, she found herself reaching for him, fumbling until his long, lean fingers wove between hers and his warm palm claimed her smaller hand as his. He cared for her in tiny gestures and she let him.
He got her coffee and knew just how she wanted it. When she'd caught him habitually tasting it first, she'd scolded him, until he whispered in a low voice that he wanted to make sure it wasn't too hot. He later confessed, that he loved to revisit the flavor later while kissing her and it was a guilty pleasure of his – the before and after taste of coffee from her lips.
They were eating dinner out two nights before they were due back when Charlie asked her to consider taking the weekend and deal with the lingering issues of her father's death. She stared at him in disbelief.
"You have to deal with it some time – I think that time is now. I think you're ready," he told her. "I think that we're going to have a harder time than you think," he voiced his concerns, "pretending that we aren't more than we were two weeks ago – that things haven't changed."
"And you think dredging up my problems with my father are going to help this how?" she wondered with more snap in her voice than she wanted. They had experienced nearly a week with no drama and she didn't welcome the return of the world of drama to her life.
"I think that until you know answers, the questions are going to cause you doubt. Doubt is not something we need. We need to be sure of one another and for that to happen I have to tell you some things that might be painful," he countered.
"More painful than my father throwing himself off a roof?" she barked.
"Yes," he answered levelly, "to die physically is one thing but to lose your illusions about someone is a different kind of death."
"And did you lose your illusions, Crews?" she questioned testily.
"Only about myself," he responded. "I still suffer from illusions about those that I love," he told her plainly.
"Meaning me?"
He shrugged. He was mute in his own way of rebellion. She'd begun to learn his tells and Charlie didn't fume and rage, not with her. When he became angry, he said his piece and then fell silent – gravely silent. It drove her berserk and he knew it.
She was now pissed. "I'm going home. I have to get ready to go back to work."
He drew her close and called her back with his voice and his eyes, "Dani, don't…"
"C'mon Crews," she pointed out weakly. "We're no good for each other. This has disaster written all over it." She admitted her fears. "We've had a great week, but this can't work."
"It can if you want it to," he vowed. His hand strayed to her hip and the other brushed hair from her face. She closed her eyes and breathed - willing him to stop, but her body betrayed her as she felt herself melt into the lines of his taunt torso. His grip tightened and his warmth seeped into her easing knotted muscles and tired bones.
Tears slipped from her eyes as the one man she trusted implicitly held her close. A deep breath eased from her as his head sunk into her hair and he inhaled deeply. "Why can't we just have sex? We're good at that," she told him what worked for her.
"We can do that, but tonight I just wanna sleep with you, Dani," he promised into her ear in a low tone. "You can do that can't you? Let me hold you while we sleep?" His offer rode on a tempting silken tone. "I want us both to have one night of peace," he kissed her neck as he withdrew.
He both felt and heard the sharp intake of air and her shudder involuntarily. He waited for her eyes to open and what he saw there gave him his answer. Alone in quiet moments she was his again, maybe just for the night, until the world intruded and drove her away again.
"Charlie," she whispered. "Please don't…"
"Shhh," he placed two fingers over her lips. "Stay with me, Dani," he pled.
She didn't answer, but she got in the car. Twice on the way to his house, he tried to talk, but she shut him down. She wasn't mad; she was thinking. When she pulled to a stop in his drive she asked him hard question.
"Are you willing to accept that all this might ever be is sex? Are you willing to understand that I don't do monogamy, marriage, family, kids? Are you Crews? Cause I think you and I are wired differently. I don't want what you want, what Tidwell wants – it's too much."
He considered her words carefully. There was an important qualification in what she'd just said. The word she chose was "might." It was evidence of her changing mind. She was leaning his way, much more than ever before, but they were a long way from what he wanted. He turned and faced her, "I'm willing to give what you'll let me have – for now. But I will always want more. Can you handle that?"
"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I'm not used to people expecting things from me. I'm a screw up and everybody know that."
"I don't believe that shit for a second," Charlie's rare use of curse words emphasized his belief was heartfelt. "And deep down neither do you, but it's easier for you to accept failure. Failure is easy. Success costs," he sounded dour as he ended his statement, "believe me I know."
"I'll stay," she told him. "But when you get your heart broken, don't say I didn't warn you," she foretold their future.
"I'm tougher than I look," he promised her as he left the car and went inside.
His disappointment in her assessment of their future showed, but they were too far down that road to turn back now. That road either widened into a superhighway or was a dead end and only traveling it would tell.
"I hope you're as tough as you think you are," she spoke the words to the empty air left in his wake. It wasn't clear if they were meant for him or herself, but she followed him in the house anyway.