Out Of The Smoke (8 page)

Chapter Six

The following Monday finally arrived. By seven in the morning, Alan had once again finished his early routine. This time he’d worked out so hard, his heart rate was still up. Could a person exercise enough to squelch their animal attraction to another? Doubtful, but worth the effort.

As expected, Liz was at the house promptly at eight. She looked fresh and clean when he opened the door to her knock, and although she wore a slightly different outfit from the two previous weeks, the clothes were still worn and ill-fitting. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail and looked even younger than before.

She smiled sweetly and came in without a word.

Although it pained him, Alan stepped back and allowed her space. He hadn’t slept much in the last week thinking of her. Wished he could smell her scent when he came in a room. He was especially concerned she wouldn’t show up again.
Please, God, don’t let me have scared her off.
How had he grown so attached to someone he knew almost nothing about in such a short time?

“Um, I hate to admit this, but all your hard work in my office seems to have disappeared in the last week.” He stepped back to allow her line of vision a better vantage with a calculated coy look on his face.

“Wow.” She looked around in dismay. She probably wondered what occurred to create the hurricane appearance of a room she’d just put to rights one week ago.

“See what I mean?” Alan stifled a smile as he stepped in behind her. “I rummage through everything and then just dump whatever I’m looking at on the floor or table to move on. It’s a terrible habit.”

“I see that.” Her eyes darted around the room. Her hands twitched at her sides, as if she itched to put the room back to rights.

“How about if I go work at the kitchen table for a while and let you have your way with this poor office? I need coffee anyway, and a change of scenery might motivate me.” Alan grabbed his laptop and a few folders while he rambled. Just being in the room with her was making him hard again.

Perhaps he could turn into a complete slob so that he would clearly need her to work strictly for him full time. Not a bad idea. Hell, she could be his assistant. She knew more about more topics than he’d ever known.

“Just do me one favor.” She looked at him and winced.

“Sure. Anything.” He was overjoyed she would ask for anything at all and more than willing to do her bidding.

“Don’t do this to the kitchen while I’m in here or I’ll never be able to keep up with you.” And God Almighty, she smiled.

“I’ll do my best,” Alan stated and ducked out of the room. If this arrangement didn’t kill him, it would at least… No, it was going to kill him.

*

With shaky hands, Liz went to work straightening the office that had seen better days. Did he do this on purpose? Or was he truly prone to complete and utter sloppiness? She didn’t really care, but the idea that he’d staged her work for today made her grin.

Liz had trudged through the last week with shrinking resolve. She was relieved when Alan left her alone in the office so she wouldn’t have to listen to his gentle breaths or smell his aftershave or feel his light touch that always managed to land on her arm when she was too close. For someone who tended to recoil when people touched her out of habit, she sure missed having this divine man’s fingers alighting on her skin.

Her resolve was firm and she intended to stick to it. No matter how much he made her palms sweat or how often he smiled in her direction or how wet her practical cotton panties got when she was near him just thinking about him.

In no time at all, Liz managed to put the office back together, re-shelved those monstrous law books, filed the papers stacked all over his desk, and even organized the mahogany surface to make it more functional. Now for the dust. The built-in bookcases were high and reached all the way to the ceiling.

She stood on a chair to dust the top shelf. Her fingers collided with a trophy of some sort and she watched in horror as the little ball player came tumbling down. She saw the figurine fall, but had no time to get out of the way before being struck in the lower back. The yelp that escaped her couldn’t be avoided either.

That sucker must be made of granite
.

A chill went down Beth’s spine as she flashed back in time. She could practically hear Matthew bellowing at her about her inability to do anything right, her clumsiness. Could picture him as he paced back and forth in front of her, and poked her repeatedly in the chest with his right pointer finger while his temper flared. His left fist opening and closing while she waited for him to hit her, punch her. She cringed. She’d never known whether that hand would open to slap her across the face, or close to slam a cheap jab into her stomach.

Alan came skidding into the room. No surprise after her squeal of pain. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m so sorry.” Liz scrambled down from the chair to pick up the tiny soccer player on his heavy base. A blush rushed to her face. Would Alan be mad about her carelessness? “I guess I didn’t get this guy back up on the shelf good enough. He tumbled down and…” She examined the trophy for damage. “I think he’s okay.”

Liz held the golden athlete out for Alan’s inspection with a trembling hand, her other going automatically to the spot on her lower back that now throbbed with an inordinate amount of pain.

Alan grabbed the statue and set it on the chair behind him without a glance at it. “Are you hurt?” She brought her gaze to his in surprise. He hadn’t even checked to see if it were broken.

“The…” She pointed at the couch.

“It’s just a stupid trophy. Don’t worry about it.” His brow furrowed. “Let me see that.”

Before Liz could stop him, Alan spun her around and lifted her shirt off her back to see the damage. He froze.

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch. I…I’ll go see about it.” She pulled out of his grasp and turned to head for the bathroom, wincing at both the knot forming on her back as well as the knowledge that he’d seen the evidence of other “injuries”. Hadn’t he?

“Liz…” He called her name, and then reached for her arm, as gently as if he were handling a small child.

Liz swallowed and fought back the tears that threatened to spill. She couldn’t remember when anyone had ever held her so gently. She couldn’t have this conversation right now, or his pity. She didn’t want to answer his questions. She couldn’t.

“I said it’s no big deal.” Without being too obvious, Liz tugged herself from Alan’s grasp and headed for the restroom. For the second time in as many weeks, she was reduced to tears in his presence.

Damn
. She could have gone her whole life without seeing that look on his face. As she splashed cold water on her eyes, she took deep breaths to calm herself. He wasn’t like Matthew. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t pissed. He wasn’t going to hit her. Or yell. Or lock her in a room.

Liz slid down onto the tile floor and leaned her head against her knees. She squeezed her eyes closed in attempt to shut out the images of her past. Unsuccessfully.

“You lazy, no good, piece of shit! Why do I bother with you?”

Liz pressed her hands over her ears to block out the hateful words and images as she tried to catch her breath and stay in the present. But, they kept coming.

“You think you can just do whatever you want around here with no repercussions for your actions? Huh? Do you?”

Liz began to rock back and forth against the counter. She fought the pounding behind her temples.

“You’re just begging me to whip you. Is that what you want? You like it when I drag you down the stairs by your hair? Huh? Answer me, bitch.”

Liz reached up to hold her ponytail. She could feel the pain run from the back of her head around to her temples from being dragged to the basement by her hair even though it had been over two years since she’d last experienced the abuse.

“I’ll shove your sorry ass in the basement closet again if you don’t answer me.”

She started to hyperventilate and cupped her hands over her mouth to force herself to breathe through her nose.
One. Two. Three.

Two days. He’d left her in the tiny room in the basement with no food, no water, and no toilet. She hadn’t been claustrophobic before that, but she was now.

Liz took huge gulps of air into her lungs. Her hands felt numb. Her butt hurt from sitting on the hard tile. Why now? Why did this panic attack have to happen right now? Here? In Alan’s house? She had to pull herself together.

Naturally, she hadn’t been able to afford counseling after she’d escaped the horror of her past, but she’d done everything in her power over the last thirty months to regain her self-respect and heal her wounds, both the physical and the emotional. She’d spent hours on end at the library researching and studying the patterns of abused women. It hadn’t been a truly clinical psychology, but it had helped and had been the best therapy she could afford.

The man on the other side of the door was just a regular man. One who was stunned by what he’d seen. She hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions. She couldn’t answer them. Not now. Maybe not ever. What were the chances of that?

She pulled herself upright, splashed her face with cold water several more times and stared into the mirror for a few minutes while the red splotches went down, at least a little.

When Liz finally opened the bathroom door, she found Alan standing in the hall leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded, looking very serious. Not surprising. What did she expect?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Talk about it?
No
.

“No.” Liz brushed past Alan and headed for the kitchen. “Did you do much damage in the kitchen while I was in the office?” She tried to sound lighthearted as her steps hastened.

Silence followed her down the hall. She was glad he was behind her so he couldn’t see the grimace she was unable to wipe off her face from the pain radiating up her back. What the hell? She’d barely noticed the injury while she’d been in the bathroom…distracted by horrifying memories. But the little trophy must have hit her just right, because man did her back hurt now.

“I don’t think so… Listen. It’s noon. Let’s make some sandwiches and sit down. You’ve been at it all morning without a break.”

“Good plan. You sit and I’ll make lunch.” She forced a tight smile over her shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you cook too. My heart won’t be able to take it.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but no matter what he said to her, it pulled her tighter into his clutches every time.

Matthew had spoken to her in a similar manner once, before they’d gotten married. Before he’d started demanding perfection from her.

She reached behind herself to touch the sore spot on her back. Was it getting worse?

“No, actually, I can’t cook very well.” She pasted on a half grin at his mock dismay when he snapped his fingers in front of him. “But I’m pretty good at slapping meat and cheese between bread. I’ve even been permitted to wield a knife on occasion and slather some mayo or…gasp…cut the bread in half.”

That got a full laugh out of him, and lightened the mood.

When he sobered, he spoke gently. “You’re leaning to one side. Please sit down and put some ice on the knot undoubtedly forming on your side while I make
you
a sandwich instead.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but simply pulled out a high-back bar stool and motioned her to sit at the counter.

Although his instructions were sometimes more like demands, Liz didn’t get even a remote sense that he forced her to do his bidding. He’d even been apologetic about it. And she was glad to take the pressure off her throbbing injury.

She sat and Alan quickly brought her a Ziploc baggy filled with ice.

Grateful for the ability to save face, Liz pushed the ice against her back and relaxed against the chair to support it and keep from falling.

When she looked up, he was staring at her, his arms loaded with ingredients from the refrigerator. “What do you like on your sandwich?” He unceremoniously deposited the loot on the counter between them.

She swallowed, but couldn’t stop her eyes from watering once again. She couldn’t remember a single time in her life when anyone had ever asked her what
she
wanted or for that matter did something for her. It was only a sandwich, but it was so much more. She suddenly doubted her resolve to keep Alan at arm’s length. What if he was truly sincere? Was it possible for someone to actually care about her and her feelings?

“Liz? Honey? You’re killing me here.” Alan froze in front of her. “I’m trying my damndest to be chivalrous and you’re ruining it with those tears. Stop it or I’m going to come over there and pull you into my arms,” he warned playfully.

“Ham…turkey…swiss?”

“Coming right up.” Without looking her in the eye, Alan spent the next several minutes assembling bread and meat and cheese. Liz tried to regain her composure.

Alan placed the sandwich on the table before her. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him as he headed for the fridge, and then returned with a variety of soft drinks balanced across his forearms. “Or I have juice, milk, and water, if you prefer?”

“Coke is fine.” She reached for the closest can and lightened the load. Alan set the rest of the cans on the counter with a shiver, red splotches covering his arms from the cold.

They ate in silence, Alan across from her. The food had no taste. She didn’t remember swallowing a single bite, but when she looked down, it was gone. Then for no justified reason, she began to speak.

“I was married to him.”

Alan stopped chewing, the last bite still in his mouth. Moments passed. Neither spoke. The only sound was his audible swallow.

Liz took a deep breath and cringed inwardly when the act jiggled the ice at her back. “Still am, actually,” she managed through slightly clenched teeth. When was this pain going to let up? She was trying her damndest not to let it show, but jeez.

Alan didn’t move. Didn’t pressure her to reveal more. Whatever emotion he felt didn’t register in his tailored expression.