Ava Gray - Skin Tight

Søren knew he was becoming obsessed with her. He’d watched her sleep for the last hour, stroking her hair. Get up, he told himself. Go. But he couldn’t make his muscles obey with her cuddled against him. Nothing had felt so good for years. Her quiet breathing lulled him, and before he realized it, he broke his last rule. He slept.

The sun beat down on him as he walked, sweat trickling down the small of his back. Overhead the sky blazed blue. He could see the white house where they lived from here, its green shutters brightening the place up. The paint had been Lexie’s idea. Since she’d been so quiet after her mother died, he had a hard time telling her no these days. Forest green shutters seemed like a small thing to give a kid who had lost so much. They’d also painted her room a rosy pink, and he’d stenciled strawberries in a border around the walls.

It was a nice neighborhood, where children could safely play in the front yards. In the distance, he heard the tinny tune of the ice cream truck, two blocks away. Kids gathered on their front porches, change clutched in their grimy hands.

Today, he was coming back from the post office after mailing off another round of résumés. Things were tight-there never seemed to be enough money to fix things up the way he wanted. But he kept the electricity on and food on the table and managed to pay the neighbor, a stay-at-home mom with two kids of her own, to look after Lexie while he worked. Whitney let him use play dates to run errands; otherwise, he’d have to drag Lexie everywhere with him, which he wouldn’t mind, but it wouldn’t be fun for her.

After paying postage, he had two dollars cash left until his next payday. Fortunately, the bills were paid, and they had food in the house. Lexie was good about not asking for toys constantly; she seemed happy enough with his undivided attention. In the evenings, they played Chutes and Ladders or Candy Land. Afterward, he whipped something up for dinner; tonight he was thinking macaroni and cheese, fortified with tuna and peas-what his mother called a poor man’s casserole.

Then they took their plates to the couch to watch TV together. His wife had always insisted they eat at the table, which was why he’d switched it up. The loss didn’t trouble him as much; he’d lost her long ago. But for Lexie, the grief was fresh, and he tried to spare her the reminders.

He spotted his daughter from half a block away. She’d just come out Melissa’s front door with their neighbor’s girls. Sunlight glinted off her light brown hair, finding the golden strands. Happiness swelled inside him. Because of her, he had purpose. He had a place he belonged.

The tinkling of the truck sounded closer now. His little girl turned. “Lexie, no!”

No, no, no, no-

“I’m coming, Daddy! I knew you’d get ice cream.” Expectations shaped by his curse and the distant tinkle of bells, she ran toward him, smiling. Straight into the path of an oncoming car.

This time, he strangled the scream. Cold sweat poured off him as he lay there, trembling. Reliving the accident. My fault. No matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise-no matter how much he wanted to lay all the blame on the people who’d changed him-he could not escape his own culpability. There would be no more sleep tonight. He should’ve known better, particularly with his emotions roused; nothing protected him better than detachment.

Still shaking, he slid from the bed and tugged on his boxers. Mia stirred, reaching a hand toward the warm spot where he’d been, but she didn’t awaken. Just as well-he wasn’t equipped to deal with her. He didn’t even think he could drive.

Work would calm him, keep the ghosts at bay, and he’d promised he’d assist in her search for the thief. He’d come a long way from that single father, barely making ends meet. He had new skills and resources now-and he’d give them all up if he could bring Lexie back.

He couldn’t.

So he sat down with Mia’s files and went through her notes. The sooner he got her out of Micor, the better. She played hell with his concentration and made him wish for impossible things. But he’d learned his lesson, and he wouldn’t repeat old mistakes.

Søren guessed her password on the third try and commandeered her laptop, account numbers in hand. He didn’t expect to find anything on her suspects, but it was best to be thorough. He had someone else in mind, anyway. Within an hour, he’d peeked into their private bank records, and none of them had anything suspicious going on. With the exception of the woman who lived outside her means and carried a staggering amount of credit card debt, they all looked clean.

Nothing about Micor would be easy, not even catching an embezzler. If he hadn’t been so frustrated, he would’ve looked on the place as a challenge. As it was, he simply wanted to finish what he’d started. It had been six long years, and he was… tired. He dug the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to rub out some of the grit. Her voice startled him, giving him an unsettling estimate of how much his guard had slipped.

“Can’t sleep?”

These hours before dawn were the most dangerous. He didn’t want to turn, wasn’t sure he could handle her right now. Something made him swivel on the office chair, and his stomach clenched. She was gorgeous. Tousled, touchable, and wrapped in his shirt. She’d only fastened the middle buttons. The sight filled him with wildly inappropriate proprietary impulses. He also found himself mesmerized by the contrast between the fabric and her sun-kissed skin.

“I rarely do,” he managed to answer, though his mouth had gone dry.

She blinked at that. “Night after night? That’s some serious insomnia.”

“I am aware,” he said dryly.

“It’s amazing you look so good, then.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her chagrin. “Are you complimenting me?”

“I didn’t mean to, but… it seems so.”

Søren took a ridiculous amount of pleasure in the fact that she liked the look of him. In anyone else, that might have seemed shallow or even vain, but he’d never experienced the like. Women were never attracted to him, not his body or his mind. He was always a shadow cast in someone else’s image.

“Thank you,” he said.

She seemed puzzled, but she shook it off, passing the island where he’d been working to pull two mugs out of the kitchen cupboard. Then she rummaged. “I can make hot milk, instant hot chocolate, or tea. Pick your poison.”

“Tea. What kind did they leave you?”

“You’re so sure I didn’t pack my own.”

“You don’t seem like a tea toter.”

Her dark eyes flashed in appreciation. “Looks like Sleepy-time herbal. Mmm.”

“I bet it tastes like thistles and wormwood.”

She put the kettle on, easy and graceful, as if they’d done this a hundred times. “That’s how you know it’s good for you.”

He found himself smiling for no reason. “You sound like my mother.”

“She must be a woman of remarkable good sense.”

“She is.” After he spoke, he realized he’d confirmed that his family was still alive. That should alarm him, but he couldn’t dredge up the usual paranoia. Not for Mia.

They stood in companionable silence while the water boiled. Then she filled the cups, sending a citrus-scented steam rising in the room. She added a packet of sweetener to each and let the tea steep. He found himself watching her, starved for the sight of a woman going about such small tasks.

Mia circled around behind him. Søren tensed from long habit and tried to spin to keep his eyes on her, but her hands caught his shoulders. He flinched from the heat of her palms, his muscles tight.