Over the Fence (23 page)

I chuckled, easing back into bed, exhaling deeply when the light shut off, and she crawled in beside me. This time it was she who moved and wrapped around me, offering me the safety of her embrace as she stroked my hair. I closed my eyes in pure pleasure at her gentleness.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I breathed into the darkness.

“You were calling my name. You sounded so frightened.”

“I was back in the fire and you were there.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I couldn’t get to you.”

“I’m right here, Nathan. I’m right beside you.”

A long, painful shudder escaped my throat. I hugged her tighter. “That’s exactly where I need you to be, Kourtney. Right beside me. Don’t let go.”

I felt her hot tears on my bare chest as she gifted a warm kiss onto my skin.

“I won’t.”

Wrapped in her warmth, with her tender promise in my ears, I slept.

I woke up in the quiet morning, alone, in Kourtney’s bed. I was buried into her pillow, clutching it tight, enjoying her soft, comforting scent. I still felt groggy, the effects of last night’s nightmare lingering. Talking to Kourtney about her past had stirred up my emotions which always led to a restless night, and the dream I had was certainly a resulting factor.

Sitting up, I turned on the light, blinked and looked around, finally noticing the details of her room. Mossy green walls and dark furniture made it a welcoming space. There were more photographs on the wall, no doubt also taken by her. Her bed was huge—bigger than mine and way more comfortable.

Recalling our somewhat revealing conversation the night before, I was determined to learn more about her today. I had to figure out what was happening in her head so I could deprogram it. Whatever the negative influences had been in her life, needed to be removed—permanently—and I fully intended to do that.

But first, I had to find her.

I glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was early; only just after seven. The skies outside were as heavy and gloomy-looking as they had promised. I frowned, wondering if Kourtney had gone for a run without me. I wasn’t going to be very happy if she had. Regardless of what she said of the asshole being a late riser, I didn’t want to take any chances. I threw back the blanket and shivered in the cooler air. I was still in only my boxers. Getting up, I searched for my sweats and T-shirt, but couldn’t locate them. After quickly making my way through my morning ritual, I followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen. I leaned on the doorframe, grateful to see Kourtney sitting at the table, her nose buried in a book. Smiling, I took in her black socks covered in little pink paw prints. I cleared my throat, grinning when she looked up, her cheeks turning a bright red as she noticed my appearance. Her gaze dropped as she mumbled a greeting. I pushed off the doorway and sauntered over, stopping in front of her.

“Chefgirl?”

“Yeah?”

“Cute socks. Did you wear them so they coordinated with my black boxers?”

She didn’t look up. “I didn’t know what color your boxers were when I put them on last night, Nathan.”

“So you say. Speaking of which . . .”

“Yes?”

“Where are my clothes?”

“I washed them. They’re in the dryer. The first load is done; the next one should be ready soon. I thought you’d still be sleeping and I’d have them dry for you . . .” She trailed off, sounding embarrassed and confused.

Chuckling, I lifted her chin. I gently tugged her glasses off and leaned down for a kiss. Her lips were warm and full under mine and I held her closer, deepening the kiss. Drawing back, I licked my lips. “Mmm, coffee,” I murmured against her warm cheek. I dragged my mouth up to her ear, tracing my tongue along the soft shell of it. “You know, Kourtney, all you had to do was ask.”

“Ask what?” she whispered, confused.

“Ask for me to parade around in my boxers so you could stare at my fine ass.” I nipped at her lobe. “You didn’t have to take away
all
my clothes. I would have happily obliged.”

Her gasp was outraged. “I wanted no such thing, Nathan Fraser!”

I sniggered lowly at her use of my whole name. “Whatever you say, Chefgirl. As if you didn’t try and lure me into the tub last night. I am so onto your tricks.”

Her hand ineffectually pushed on my chest. “Get away from me.” A buzzer sounded in the other room. “Your clothes are dry.” She pointed in the direction of the laundry room. “Go put them on. Now.”

“Okay, Kourtney.” I turned and strutted across the room with a wicked grin on my face. “Enjoy the show.” When I reached the door, I turned back and winked as I slapped one cheek for emphasis. “Next time you’re gonna have to ask . . . and say
please
.”

Her indignant yelp had me chuckling as I dragged on my sweats and T-shirt from the night before, grateful for the warmth. I folded the rest of my clothes, smiling when I saw how white the two pairs of socks were. I held up a pair of her socks and compared them to mine. Hers would easily fit into the heel of mine. For some reason it made me inanely happy to think about our laundry being done together. I was still smiling when I went back into the kitchen, catching Kourtney off guard as I grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around and kissing her hard.

She blinked up at me when I stepped back. “What was that for?”

I dropped another kiss onto her sweet lips. “For being you.” I kissed her again. “For letting my socks touch yours in the laundry and be white again.” Another kiss. I became serious. “For taking care of me last night.” I kissed her—this time long and slow. “For putting up with me . . . and my teasing.”

“I like your teasing,” she admitted.

“Good. I like your reaction to it.”

We stood, wrapped around each other. “Are you okay?”

I dragged in a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

She pursed her lips. “Fine. I don’t think I like that word.”

I chuckled at her turning my words back on me. I stroked her cheek, keeping my touch light. “Okay. I’m as good as I ever am after one of those dreams. Better because you’re here with me.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now. I want to enjoy the
today
I have with you, not the past.”

Her smile was soft. “Okay, then.”

I smiled back. “Okay, then.”

“Coffee?”

I rolled my eyes. “You really need to ask?”

“Do you want some breakfast?”

“You have cereal?”

“I have Cheerios.”

“Cheerios?” I snorted derisively. “No Fruit Loops? Captain Crunch?”

“No.”

I sighed. “I’m disappointed, Chefgirl.”

She picked up the box and held it out. “They’re honey nut.”

“They’re still Cheerios.”

She giggled. “I’ll make you a bagel?”

I shook my head, heading toward the patio door. “I’ll go next door and get my own. I’ll grab my tools while I’m at it. You can get my coffee ready while I’m gone.”

She followed me, watching as I climbed the ladder. “Why don’t you use the door?”

I grinned over my shoulder. “Because this is our thing—and besides, I know how you like to look at my ass as I go over the fence. I’d hate to deprive you of that guilty pleasure.”

“It is a rather fine ass,” she responded dryly, catching me off guard, causing me to pause my venture over the top. I gaped at her, then joined in her laughter before I swung myself over.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” I called over to her. “Welcome to the dark side.”

“Well, if you can’t beat them, join them,” she retorted.

I grabbed some clothes and stuffed them in a bag, and picked up my tool kit. I remembered the cereal and made my way back over the fence, dropping the bag down, swinging myself over. The door probably was easier, but this was simply
us
. I was glad our houses were separated from the others on the street. I could only imagine what the neighbors would think seeing me go over the fence all the time. Mrs. Webster would have a field day with it.

Kourtney was back at the table and I sat beside her, taking a deep drink of the hot coffee. I poured myself some cereal and munched away, watching her read as she sipped her coffee. The silence was surprisingly pleasant. It felt as if it was a regular, lazy Saturday morning being shared with someone special. After a few minutes I cleared my throat. “Kourtney?”

She looked up and for the first time I noticed her glasses. “Why are your lenses tinted?”

She shrugged. “I have them all tinted. You don’t notice the weird eye color thing so much then.”

I frowned. “Your eyes are
not
weird. They’re beautiful.”

“Most people don’t see them the way you do, Nathan.”

“It’s wrong to cover up something so unique,” I insisted.

Her face was a mixture of emotions. “I don’t know how to respond when you say things like that,” she murmured. “I’m not used to people saying nice things to me.”

I felt the stirrings of anger as I absorbed her words. I leaned over and clasped her hand in mine. “Get used to it. I’m not going anywhere and I have lots of nice things to say to you.”

Her gaze was shy as she glanced at me from under her lashes. Lifting her hand, I kissed the knuckles and squeezed it. I found my courage to bring up a subject I knew she was hoping to avoid. “Can I take you to the police station today to ask about a restraining order?”

Her face fell. “Do we have to? I’m sure he’ll stay away.”

“I don’t want to take the chance.” I tightened my grip on her hand. “I can’t risk you being hurt again. I want him kept as far away from you as possible.” I frowned as I looked at her arm, knowing beneath the sleeve of her sweater there were dark bruises he had caused. “I don’t want him to ever touch you again.”

“You stopped him before he really hurt me.”

I studied her defeated posture, my hand tense around my coffee cup. “Has he hurt you before?”

Her eyes shut and she nodded. “I was always his favorite punching bag when we were growing up; when he was upset he’d take his frustration and anger out on me—which happened often.” She sighed softly. “Most of the time, he used words to hurt me, but sometimes he’d get carried away . . .”

I set down my cup; afraid I would squeeze it too tight and it would shatter in my grip. There were many things I wanted to say. So many things I wanted to do, which included going to find him and giving him a taste of his own medicine. I knew, however, it wouldn’t solve anything or help her—it was her past. I crouched down in front of Kourtney and cupped her face, forcing her to look into my eyes. “He’ll
never
touch you again. You’ll never be subjected to his cruel words again. I swear it.”

She leaned forward and brushed her lips on mine. “Thank you.”

I held her face close. “You’re safe now, Kourtney. I have you.”

“I need to get used to that fact.”

“Yeah, yeah you do,” I agreed. “Because I promise you, it’s not going to change. You’re stuck with me, Chefgirl.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Good. Will you let me take you, to ask the questions and get the information?”

“Okay.”

Relieved, I brought her mouth to mine, kissing her for a few long minutes, letting her feel everything I couldn’t say—yet.

When we arrived at the police station, Kourtney was beyond nervous. Her hands trembled, her entire body tense. I tucked her to my side and led her inside. The station was almost deserted, for which I was grateful. A female officer looked up, then came over, frowning. “Kourtney?”

Kourtney’s eyes widened. “Joanne? What are you doing here?” She turned to me, speaking in hushed tones. “I went to school with Joanne. She was one of my few friends. We lost touch after I left for University.”

“I transferred here after I got married. Why are you here?” She took in the way I was holding Kourtney. “Is something wrong?”

“Is there somewhere we could talk in private?” I asked. “Kourtney requires some advice.”

“Certainly.” She nodded, and focused her attention back on Kourtney. “Did you want to do this without . . . ?” Her eyes shifted to me.

“Nathan,” I informed her. “Whatever Kourtney wants is fine.”

“No,” Kourtney insisted. “I want Nathan there.”

“Okay. Follow me.”

Twenty minutes later Joanne sat back, frowning, upset over the bruises Kourtney showed her. “Your brother was always an ass.”