Midnight (McKenna Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

“Give
me your hand,” he says softly.

It’s
better if I don’t watch. There are only two viable outcomes to that visual:
passing out or vomiting. I’m not sure which would be more embarrassing. A
shiver spreads down my spine from the gentle caress of his fingers when he
unwraps the towel, and assesses the wound.

“Charlie,”
his tone forces my eyes to his, “you have a long, deep cut along your palm. You
should go to the hospital for stitches.”

“No,
no hospitals.” For many long ago reasons, the clinical antiseptic halls of a
hospital nauseate me. “Please,” I beg him, “can’t you help me?”

He
sighs as he leans down to look closely at my palm. “I’ll need to clean out the
laceration to ensure it’s free of debris and to stave off infection. It will
hurt.” His tenor gentles as he prepares me for the inevitable pain.

"I
trust you.” His deep blue stare latches onto mine, the electricity strong
between us. “Please.”

Shaking
his head, he silently admonishes my decision while searching for the materials
needed in the first-aid kit. “Close your eyes,” he commands, leaving little
room for argument.

“Yes,
sir,” I tease, adding a mocking salute while leaning back against the couch.
He
can be so bossy sometimes
. I watch out of my peripheral vision as his head
dips down in front of me, studying the wound and dabbing it with the towel.
Reaching for a small bottle, his shoulder blocks my view.

“Holy
shit,” I hiss, naturally trying to tear away from his grip. He clenches my
wrist, pulling it so I can’t escape as the disinfectant burns and bites into
the gash. I groan as the sting subsides, rolling my head to catch his guarded
gaze.

“I’m
going to do it one more time.” His voice is pinched, as if he’s enduring the
pain with me. Quickly he douses the wound with more torturous liquid and I
mewl, but hold back the real expletive I would like to hurl at him. Squeezing
my eyes shut, I count to ten. I only open them when the heat of his breath
soothes the sting; he’s bent close, blowing tenderly.

“Better?”
he whispers.

“Yes,”
I breathe out, bewildered by his proximity.

Lifting
my head from the back of the couch, he’s closer than I anticipate, our lips a
whisper away. Neither of us moves, his gaze straying to my mouth as our breath
mingles together sweetly. It’s an excruciating invitation to unite yet he
doesn’t move. 

His
nearness, and the uncharacteristic desire raging through me for this man is
paralyzing. I want him to kiss me. Badly. My heart thrums so fast it's become a
hummingbird’s wing, the beats indecipherable. His hot breath warms my lips,
heating my body in more ways than one and causes my stomach to flutter, the
muscles constricting in an unfamiliar, yet delicious way.

Colin’s
eyes flash quickly to mine and back to my mouth, his tongue lightly stroking
his bottom lip, and it’s nearly my undoing. I stop breathing, waiting for him
to move, almost begging him to. I’m drawn to this man: this powerful, strong, elusive
man, and I want him to kiss me. Closing his eyes, he moves ever so slightly
toward my mouth, inhaling deeply, breathing into me not once but twice. Two
long, deep, intimate breaths.

“Colin.”
Even to my own ears I hear the desire hanging heavily in the word, yet I’m
surprisingly not embarrassed.

“Charlie.”
My name is a whisper on his lips, so close I can feel the sweet rush of breath
when he speaks, “I can’t.”

What?
I don’t understand
. He drags his gaze away from me, his hands grabbing the
butterfly bandages he laid out prior to cleaning the cut. And just like that
the moment is over, my lips cold with the undeniable air of rejection. With
deft fingers he closes the gash, setting four bandages along the jagged line in
perfect congruity, quickly wrapping a white sterile bandage around the palm of
my hand, keeping it firm but not too tight.

“You
shouldn’t get your hand wet for a few days; let the wound begin to heal before
you do. Re-bandage it tomorrow and look for signs of infection. If it’s inflamed,
swollen or deep red, you need to go to the hospital.” I hear him, but I can’t
answer. I’ve been repeating his decree over and over again, searching for the
meaning:
Charlie, I can’t.

“Charlie?”
His voice is firm, compelling my eyes to seek out his.

“Why
can’t you?”

“It’s
complicated.”

“Do
you have a girlfriend?”

“No,
Charlie. I don’t have a girlfriend.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of
his nose. Taking a deep breath, he looks to me with burning, fierce eyes. “I
have a difficult past. You deserve more than I can give you.”

“Shouldn’t
I decide what I deserve? What I want?” I think he’s stopped breathing, and I
wait for him to say something, the silence piercing and uncomfortable the
longer it continues.

“I
can’t,” he whispers finally.

I
flush with anger: anger at myself for pursuing him when I know it’s a bad idea.
And irrational anger with him for his ability to disregard the very clear
invitation I just laid none too delicately at his feet—or more accurately, at
his mouth. Is it possible I’m completely imagining the intense electricity
that’s all-consuming when we’re together? Yet after a moment’s thought I know
he couldn’t be more right. Colin isn’t the only one with a past that will
prevent any sort of future.

A
knock on the door breaks the unbearable tension as Evan pops in. “Rick Scott is
waiting on line one.” He turns to me. “You okay, Charlie?” His smile is keen
until he focuses on my face and then he quickly glances at Colin.

“I’m
fine,” I say scrambling to stand, flinching not-so-subtly when I unconsciously
use my injured hand to help myself up. I have a sudden need to flee, and escape
Colin’s presence. With a last glance in his direction I stare into his eyes.
They’ve darkened to mask any emotions present, a perfect poker face.

“I’ll
leave you to your business.” My voice is more curt than intended. I soften it,
warming to the sentiment. “Thank you for taking care of me. It was much nicer
than a hospital visit.”

The
only acknowledgement to my statement is his brusque nod, effectively dismissing
me from his presence. Turning, I practically lunge for the door, knowing I’m
not wanted. Colin McKenna doesn’t want me, and I’m not sure how I feel about
that.

“I
CAN’T BELIEVE
I let you talk me into this,” I say, turning in front of the
mirror in a dress Molly lent to me for the occasion. “This dress isn’t
appropriate for the bedroom, let alone a cocktail reception for a presidential
candidate. It’s indecent.”

It’s
true. This plunging, black satin number leaves little room for my breasts and
not much more anywhere else. I should have left my hair down for modesty, but
it’s piled on top of my head in a loose knot.

Turning
the corner, Molly gets her first look at me. “Shit. Tim will be panting when he
sees you.”

“Then
get me something else to wear. That’s the last thing I want to happen,” I say
while rolling my eyes. 

I’ve
enjoyed my time at campaign headquarters. Sally and Molly are fun, and after
working independently for such a long time it’s nice to have the camaraderie of
a team. Tim, on the other hand, has presented a challenge. His invitation on my
first day has transpired into an insistent appeal to dine with him at lunch
daily, and sometimes a dinner invite, asking me out incessantly. He’s nice;
Molly thinks he’s cute, but absolutely not for me.

Everyone
who works at Colin’s headquarters, along with three hundred other people, are
attending a cocktail reception in his honor tonight; my multiple excuses as to
why I couldn’t attend were derailed each time by Molly. She’s persistent, I’ll
give her that, and here I am, getting ready at her apartment for the reception.

“Look
at these!” I say poking at my ample cleavage. “They’ll enter the party ten
minutes before I do.” Cringing, I pull at the plunging neckline to draw the
fabric over my breasts to no avail.

“You
look fantastic, Charlie. Stop adjusting. It’s supposed to look like that.”

Turning
from the mirror I accept my fate. I’m going, I’m going in this dress, and I’ll
just have to figure out a way to get comfortable with it.

Colin
has been in and out of the office for the last three weeks. Evan wasn’t lying
when he said there was a change in plans from the original itinerary Colin
reviewed with me when I agreed to work with him. I’ve been here for these past
few weeks, learning more about him, his campaign and the people who work for
him.

He's
remained aloof, even tense with me since he cared for my injury. It’s almost a
relief when he and Evan are traveling; thankfully they take Ms. Bitchy with
them most of the time, which is a nice reprieve from her hostility.

Dragging
me from my thoughts, Molly pipes in, “I'll never get another opportunity to
attend an event like this. Never in my lifetime, Charlie.” She pleads again,
desperately. “You have to go with me. I need your support.”

“I
doubt that, Molly. You could have fun anywhere, with anyone.” I grab my clutch
purse before slipping into the stiletto heels, also on loan. Her wardrobe looks
more like a Nordstrom rack than a closet; I don’t think she’s ever worn a
T-shirt in her life. Silk, satin and sexy are the details she looks for in
clothing.

“Okay,
I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”

She
catcall whistles at my final product. “You clean up nice, Charlie Carter.
You’re going to steal all of the men away from me tonight, and I was hoping to
meet my future husband.”

“I’ll
be sure to kick some back to you when I’m through with them,” I tease, knowing
very well she’ll have men groveling at her feet the minute we walk in. Molly is
beautiful and has a personality that matches.

When
we pull up in front of the venue, I’m surprised at the location. It’s not far
from campaign headquarters in an industrial district of the city. The building
looks like a warehouse, yet it’s been revitalized with large floor-to-ceiling
windows. Inside, bright lights hold the night at bay and allow arriving guests
a peek at the party before walking in. Metal and wood combine in the interior
to create a distinct and surprisingly comfortable atmosphere.

As
soon as we enter our coats are whisked away, replaced by champagne flutes.
We’re directed into a large room with exposed beams and white walls holding
old, blackened machine parts. The eclectic mix of materials creates an
interesting and somehow modern décor. Lights, which burned a bright welcome in
the lobby, are dimmed in the open party space.

"This
was a factory at one time. The parts on the walls were taken from the old
machinery and repurposed as artwork by the owner,” Molly answers my unasked
question. “Senator McKenna is passionate about reusing materials and recycling,
but I’m sure you already knew that.” She glances at me out of the corner of her
eye. She has suspected something since Colin’s reaction to my hand injury a few
weeks ago, and it’s taken the same amount of time to convince her absolutely
nothing is going on between us. I thought I had talked some sense into her, but
maybe I was wrong.

“Yes,
I did. But only because I read about it in the reports at the office.”

“Mmhmm,
sure.”

“Let
it go, Molly. There's absolutely nothing between Colin and me,” I say for the
one-millionth time, my heart constricting as I do. Damn heart. I need a new
one; this one is defective. It keeps breaking into pieces each time I see him
or hear his voice. I’m still reeling from the imprudent feelings my traitorous
body insists upon. I can’t seem to forget his piercing eyes, and the
butterflies merrily dancing in my stomach each time he’s near.

Molly
insisted on our tardy arrival and now I can see it was a good idea. The room is
overflowing with bodies, making our entrance unnoticed by most.

Colin
is nowhere in sight thankfully. I hope to enjoy the night without the tension
that normally encroaches when the two of us are in a room together.

Finishing
off my first glass of champagne, I look around for a refill.

“Someone’s
out to have a good time,” Evan says, eyeing my glass while reaching over to a
tray upheld by a stunning blond for the refill I was hoping for. Winking at
her, he cheerfully grabs a flute and swaps it out for my empty one. “Ladies,
you look stunning.” His eyes roam quickly over Molly’s assets and back to my
eyes; for some reason I don’t garner the same casual perusal he bestowed upon
my friend.

Evan
looks casually dapper in a tailored dark-gray suit, a lavender shirt and tie
the only hint at his cheeky personality. Molly is staring at him
appreciatively, and for the first time I realize she has a crush; her eyes are
bright and eager in her own examination of him. How could I have missed this?

“Enjoying
the night so far?”

“We
just walked in, actually,” Molly answers.

“Well
the party just started then.” He winks again and I roll my eyes at his cheesy
line.

A
leggy brunette easily distracts his gaze. “Excuse me, ladies.”

“He’s
just sex on legs,” Molly verbalizes exactly what I was thinking.

“So,
you’re hoping to have a go at him?” My eyebrow lifts while I wait for her
reply.

“It’s
that obvious?”

“Not
normally, but tonight you were practically undressing him with your eyes,” I
can’t help but giggle at her horrified expression. “Have you ever . . .”

“Hell
no, Charlie. I’ll stick to the dream of having him in my bed. I’m not setting
myself up for the heartache sure to come along with a hook-up.”

I
understand completely. “Who’s throwing this party for Colin?”