Savage Cinderella

Savage Cinderella- Chapter 3- In the Light of Day

Chapter 3

In the Light of Day

The man finally drifted off after she stopped answering his onslaught of questions. She’d prepared a cup of willow bark tea mixed with chamomile and valerian that he drank without argument, despite complaining of the pungent odor and bitter taste. Uncertain of his motives and having no clear plan for the unusual houseguest who lay in her bed, she remained wary, answering in vague, clipped sentences until he yawned deeply and stopped talking. The powerful mix of herbs should keep him sleeping comfortably until morning. She’d worried about his head injury, but since his vision seemed fine and he was speaking coherently, she decided that sleep would be the best medicine. If his breathing became labored or shallow, she would wake him. She stoked the fire, added a few more logs, and then sat down on the old sea trunk listening to the rhythm of his breath.

 Dozing, she awakened to the steady sound of his light snore, so unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting. To have another person sleeping so near tugged at a place deep in her soul—a place where warm arms held her gently and the sweet smell of home permeated the air.

A mother who carried the scent of eucalyptus: a father who smelled of coffee and newspaper: sitting in a big kitchen eating cinnamon toast. The distant memories emerged in flashes, and a desperate desire for companionship hummed beneath the surface of her dreams. The thought of having someone to depend on both warmed and frightened her.

The hollow ache of loneliness had lived inside her for as long as she could remember. She had accepted that a different life lay in a world beyond her reach. Why did his presence make her question her future? Thinking about the future only made her sad. Her very survival depended not on another person, but on living one day—one moment—at a time. She pushed the thoughts aside. 

The gray light of dawn seeped through the window and sent shadows across her prisoner's face, which now held an almost angelic expression. Brinn’s eyes wandered down the curved muscles of his neck and shoulders and up his outstretched arms. She watched the rise and fall of his wide chest. Then she followed the line of his lean, muscular body, aware of the sensations that crept along her skin.

Inspecting his tanned arms—the fine hairs golden in the first rays of morning light—she wondered what it would feel like to touch them. Was the hair as soft as it looked? Were his muscles as firm and taut as they appeared? Her eyes drifted across his smooth chest. The contours of each defined curve of his torso made her flesh rise and tingle. It felt like it did when she stood under a cool waterfall on a hot summer day—a sensation that took her breath away. The pounding in her ears was not from the familiar torrent of cascading water, but from the blood that pumped furiously through her veins.

 Her eyes fell below his waist, and her heart nearly stopped. Her first instinct was fear. This gave way to curiosity as she noticed the large protruding shape under the blankets.

Tentatively crossing the room, buck knife drawn, she silently observed Justin's slow, steady breathing. She tugged at his bonds, making sure they were secure. Brinn cautiously lifted the blankets and peered beneath them. She sucked in a breath, dropped the covers, and backed away.