In the Clear Page 10

  A choked sob escaped the woman’s throat, and Lexie pulled her into a fierce hug. She could feel her tears, warm and wet, on her jawline, and simply held her for as long as she needed. She was exhausted, her arms like a pair of Jell-O tongs, and she could really use a cookie, but not nearly as much as this poor woman needed a friend.

  When at last she pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she offered a misty smile. “Thank you so much for finding her.”

  “I didn’t do much,” Lexie confessed. She caught a glimpse of Fletcher talking to one of the paramedics who’d arrived with the ambulance. “But I might be able to do this. Wait here a second, would you?”

  Not waiting for a reply, she moved to Fletcher’s side and tugged on his sleeve. She was grateful for the layers of material between them. Touching him right now—actually coming into contact with his skin—would have proven too much. All she really wanted to do was plunge into his arms and cry into his neck until she was ready to let go.

  She didn’t know why. She wasn’t sad. This story had a happy ending. The woman was found, the heroes had done their duty, a family would share the holiday together.

  And the best part was, she got to witness it firsthand. These things should have made her content, at peace. But looking up at Fletcher, his solemn face easing at the sight of her, she wasn’t sure peace was something she could ever look forward to again.

  “About thirty more minutes, Lex, and we can head out.” He smiled. “I bet you’re regretting the impulse that brought you out here now, aren’t you?”

  Despite the warmth of his smile—or perhaps because of it—she spoke up. “It wasn’t an impulse. Why do people always assume that the choices I make in the heat of the moment are the wrong ones? Maybe the fact that it takes you years to decide anything is the real problem.”

  Fletcher looked as though she had struck him, growing white and then red, hurt sweeping across his brow.

  “Oh, God,” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  Except she did. Fletcher had been secretly participating in this group for years, refusing to share what was obviously one of the most important parts of his life. So how long had he kept a picture of her in a compass, never once doing or saying anything to indicate she meant more to him than a friend?

  It wasn’t fair. Maybe she made mistakes. Maybe she sometimes acted without thinking, gave in to flights of fancy, leaped without looking. At least she was doing something.

  “You know what? I take it back. I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry at all.” Before he could respond, she continued with her request. “Martha’s daughter really wants to ride in the ambulance. Do you think you could talk to Lisa to make that happen?”

  “It’s not really Lisa’s jurisdiction . . . ”

  She didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “Figures. I’ll find a way to make it happen by myself.”

  In an unprecedented Fletcher move, he grabbed her by the hand, holding her back from the killer self-righteous stomp-off she’d been planning. They both had gloves on, but that didn’t change the fact that they were palm to palm, fingers very close to entwining. In all the years they’d known each other, they’d never once held hands.

  “Lexie—what is the matter with you? If it’s that important to you, let me see what I can do. There’s no need to yell at me.”

  “Isn’t there?” Yep. She was definitely yelling now.

  Fletcher looked around, clearly taken aback at making a scene in front of his people. Lexie knew it was immature of her, that the right thing to do would be to take care of Martha and her daughter and have this conversation somewhere private later. There were obviously some important things that needed to be aired between her and Fletcher, and she felt a sudden urge to rip everything open and throw it out right there. Messy and dramatic and out of place and human.

  “Would it kill you to just say it? Would it really be the worst thing in the world to let go and see what happens?”

  The shock on his face gave way to a firm resignation. “You’re making a scene for no reason. I don’t understand what it is you want me to say.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Firm resignation gave way to horror. “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw it, Fletcher. I saw the picture. I snooped in your bag and I fished out the compass and I looked inside. It was a horrible, invasive thing to do—the sort of thing I do all the time because I have no boundaries.”

  “You had no right to do that.” Even though Lexie was still yelling, Fletcher’s voice dropped to barely a whisper.

  “I know. And I did it anyway.”

  “What did you—” He seemed unable to finish the sentence, so Lexie gave him a few full-volume options to choose from.

  “What did I think? What did I feel? What did I plan to do about it?” She hadn’t really had time to process any of these answers, so she said the first thing that came to mind for each one. “I think your subconscious left it there for me to find. I feel like I don’t even know you. And I don’t know what I plan to do about it. I think the real question here is what do you plan to do?”

  Her answer was a big, fat nothing.

  “It’s not like that,” he said. “It’s just an old picture I found.”

  “And that’s what you’re going with?”

  He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll talk to Lisa for you. I’m sure they can coordinate something with Martha’s daughter.”

  She waited. She was prepared to wait much longer, determined to force him into saying something, revealing more, sweeping her into his arms and putting an end to the constant whirling inside her stomach.

  But before she could do more than wish, he turned on his heel and made for the ambulance.

  # # #

  The car ride down the mountain had to be one of the longest of Fletcher’s life.

  He’d been able to do what Lexie asked, and a tearful, exhausted-looking woman had hugged her thanks moments before she disappeared into the waiting doors of the ambulance. If he’d thought such a tiny act of heroism would redeem him in Lexie’s eyes, he’d been sadly mistaken.

  But what did she expect him to do, on the mountain, in the cold, with everyone he respected watching? If she’d seen the picture, she knew. She knew how he felt, knew his last secret. He’d never thought Lexie, of all people, would be so cruel as to demand an answer without first providing her own.

  And now she was punishing him. With silence and an unyielding grip on the steering wheel, her eyes never leaving the road.

  “First thing I always do when I get home from a winter rescue is take a shower. As hot as I can stand.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And I usually eat much more than is good for me.”

  Her noise this time was less articulate than the last one.

  “Sleep is always hard, though.” Speaking to an angry wall was turning out to be much easier than speaking to an actual human. “I have a hard time turning everything off inside my head. It’s even harder with the ones that don’t end well.”

  She pulled the car over. It wasn’t a great spot for it, what with a snow bank cutting down most of the shoulder and a two-lane highway just inches away, but Fletcher refrained from commenting. He thought for a minute that she was going to order him out, make him walk the ten miles or so back into town, but she merely turned the car off and adjusted herself to face him.

  He knew what she was going to ask before she managed to get the first word out, which was precisely why he refused to give her the chance. Certain that speaking now would ruin everything so precariously balanced between them, he did the only thing he could think of.

  He kissed her.

  He met her half-open mouth with a growl of hunger. In his mind, their first kiss was always a soft thing, sweet and tentative, an explosion of happily ever after that had finally come true. Maybe he’d brush her lips lightly under the mistletoe or walk her home after a first date that allowed him the chance to say all the thing
s he’d stored up for so long. Perhaps he’d even steal a kiss when she least expected it, her eyes widening in adorable surprise as she realized the depth of her own feelings toward him.

  He had much more elaborate fantasies than that, of course. These were just the ones he allowed himself to admit to.

  This kiss landed somewhere much closer to the forbidden fantasies than the sweet ones. When she didn’t immediately push him away, he wound a hand up to her neck, pushing past the layers of scarves and hair until he reached the soft skin that lay underneath. Gripping that slender neck with more ferocity than he intended, he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss.

  She tasted amazing. He’d always imagined she’d be sweet, like cupcakes or strawberry lip balm, but he saw now how ridiculous that had been. She didn’t taste like food. She tasted like a woman, hot and willing.

  Emboldened by her response, he deepened the kiss further, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and shifting his body so that they drew closer together. But that was a mistake. The rustling of heavy winter coats coming into contact with one another broke whatever spell had been woven among her soft moans and his greed for more.

  Lexie pulled away, her gloved fingers pressed to her lips, a look of horror crossing the delicate features of her face.

  That look broke him.

  Irritation he was prepared to handle. Pity he could bear. But horror? He’d just laid himself on the line, exposed every raw part of him, and all she could do was look at him like he was a monster. A beast.

  “Don’t act like this is some big surprise,” he said, his words shot rapid-fire. He wasn’t sure he’d believed them until that moment, but now that they were out, he realized how true they felt. “You know how I feel about you. There’s no way you can’t have known. I’ve loved you for far too long for it to be a secret to anyone.”

  “Fletcher . . . ”

  And there it was again, the horror, the fear, the disgust.

  “Will you just start the goddamn car?” he asked, shoving himself back into his seat. “I’m sorry for shattering whatever lies you were telling yourself, but there it is. I love you. I think I always have—from the day I first laid eyes on you, golden pigtails, skinned knees, and all.”

  “I think we should . . . ”

  “Go.” He kicked his foot at the car’s floor, as if stomping on the gas pedal. “I’m begging you, Lexie. If you don’t start this car and take me home right now, I’m getting out and walking. It’s been a long couple of days. I knew I should have never let you come.”

  This time, she did as he asked. Her fingers fumbled with the keys as she started the ignition, and he could just make out the movement of her hand across her eyes as she wiped away tears.

  This would have been the perfect opportunity to take back his words, to apologize, to take her once again into his arms. But fear held him in its grip, and he was barely able to muster up the courage to keep his heart beating. Steeling his humiliation by fixating his gaze on the window and not her face, he spent the rest of the car ride wishing himself anywhere else in the world.

  It was the longest and the shortest car ride he’d ever taken. As she parked in his driveway, she took a moment to restrain him, a soft hand on his arm, more powerful than a shackle.

  She waited until he looked up to speak, her eyes still brimming with unshed tears. Her nose was red, her cheeks chapped, and she looked for all the world like she could use a friend right now.

  But that friend couldn’t be him. Not anymore. He’d lost her.

  “You’re right,” she said, her mouth turning down. “I did know. I do know. I think I’ve always known. But I can’t—”

  In that moment, what remained of his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. He pulled open the car door, grabbed his pack, and left before she could say the rest.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fletcher twisted the knobs on the shower and forced himself to step into the hot, scalding water without testing it first. It felt good, the sharp stabs of pain against his skin, the steam working up where it hit the chill of the bathroom.

  He’d never been much of a one for cold showers—and even though one was certainly in order, as his throbbing erection attested, he preferred the agony of too much. Too much heat, too much sensation, too much emotion, too many memories of how Lexie’s lips felt giving way under his. It was better to get it all out now.

  That was the only way he’d be able to face her later. How had he let himself get so carried away? In all the years he’d known Lexie, he’d been a lot of things he wasn’t proud of. Lonely. Needy. Obsessed.

  But he’d never been mean before.

  With a groan, he rested his head and hands against the cool tile, letting the water continue to sluice painfully across his body. His skin grew red and heated, his cock doing much the same. Release was the only option, even though the last thing he wanted to do right now was reward his body for its actions.

  He didn’t reach for the soap or conditioner, instead fisting his erection and working the length with an almost bruising roughness. The intensity of his grip would make short work of this particular task, and that suited him just fine. Get in, get off, get out.

  It was only by a chance fluke that he bothered looking up at all. A quiet shuffling, a heavy breath—he’d never know for sure if he actually heard those things or if his imagination inserted them later. All he knew was that one moment he was alone in the room with the angriest erection he’d ever had in his life, and the next, Lexie was there with him, standing in front of the closed bathroom door. She was perfectly still, one half of her face visible where the shower curtain hung open, lips parted and eyes wide.

  She was watching.

  Fletcher’s first and natural reaction was to recoil, to pull the curtain around him and howl at her to leave. This was his agony, his shame—and her being witness to it only made him that much more of a beast.

  But the beast came back before he could give in to any of those more appropriate reactions. It demanded that he turn to her, his throbbing dick even more visible, angry and hot. It demanded she recognize that this was her doing just as much as it was his. Everything had been fine until she started pushing in and changing things.

  “What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

  “I thought . . . ” The words died on her lips. Of course they did. He was pointing at her with his erection.

  “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

  She spoke, but the sound of the beating water made it impossible to hear her.

  “What?” he—no, the beast—demanded.

  “You’re mad,” she repeated, and for the first time, shock began to register on her face. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the kind of shock that came from confronting a man at what had to be the worst possible moment in his life. She seemed surprised that he was capable of such an emotion. “Fletcher, you’re mad, aren’t you? At me?”

  “Of course I’m mad,” he managed, lifting a hand and bracing himself against the wall. “You have absolutely no idea, do you, what it’s like for me? Everywhere I turn, you’re right there, always smiling, always happy. Seeing you is the best part of my day. But you know what? It’s also the worst part of my day. Because no matter how many years I’ve spent trying to convince myself that being your friend is enough, the truth is that it’s not. I want more out of my life than to sit around waiting for a pager to go off. I deserve more.”

  He had never seen a woman remove her shirt so efficiently before. One moment she was across the bathroom, staring at him like he was an ogre, and the next, she was inches from him, standing there in leggings and a lacy blue bra.

  “What are you doing?” He barely recognized his own voice, was even more of a stranger to his body, which strained toward her with so much force he had a hard time keeping himself in check.

  “I’m coming in.” The bra came off next. He saw it coming, the way her arm twisted around to her back to undo the clasp, and turned away right before he
saw anything other than the brief flash of her impossibly firm, delicate breasts. “You’re not doing that right.”

  He closed his eyes and bit back a bitter laugh. This wasn’t happening. Not like this. He’d pictured Lexie naked so many times it was impossible for him to feign indifference. It was impossible for him to push her away.

  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

  “Please don’t.” He spoke sharply but didn’t move. He didn’t trust his limbs right now. “The last thing I need right now is for you to take pity . . . ”

  “It’s not pity. I just think you could use a softer touch, that’s all.” Then Lexie was naked. And she was in the shower with him.

  She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, stray fingers dangling dangerously close to his erection. She was gloriously slippery and soft, and he was pretty sure the flick of just one of her fingers would be enough to have him making a complete fool of himself.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” she said, pressing her mouth into his back as she spoke. It was probably the most intimate kiss he’d received in his life; so much more than a meeting of mouths, it was a suspension of time and belief. “Let me make it up to you.”

  “No.” There was so much contained in that syllable, it was impossible for Fletcher to do or say anything more. He turned to face her, taking her roughly by the shoulders and forcing her to step back. Keeping his eyes above her neck was probably one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life, but he did it, even when the brightness of her smile faltered. “This isn’t fair, Lexie, and you know it. Don’t touch me unless you mean it. Don’t cross this line unless you’re prepared to see what’s on the other side.”

  The corners of her mouth quivered, and because Fletcher blocked most of the water’s spray, she shivered and goose bumps broke out along the surface of her skin.

  “I do mean it,” she insisted.

  He shook his head. “Not like I do.”

  His words had the desired effect of causing her to step back. “You don’t own the rights to desire, Fletcher. Maybe I haven’t always seen you . . . ” color crept into her cheeks and she gestured vaguely at him “ . . . like this. But people change. You certainly have.”