Unlovable

Chapter 23

Darcie definitely saw. Roger owned a modest, two story home in the center of town. The outside of the house was well preserved and surrounded by weeping willow trees. It reminded Darcie of the homes she seen in old western movies, a large, wrap around porch, planted lilies and sun flowers. Immensely beautiful. It even had a short, waist high white picket fence that Roger had installed the summer before.

He unlocked the front door and held it open for Darcie. She did her best to hide the surprise she felt with the back of her hand.

Well, he has great taste in furniture, Darcie observed. A few pieces had obviously been refurbished, probably taken from Lily's Antiques. A cherry wood hutch that must have been from the early 19th century sat beside a deep oak armoire. She could appreciate the beauty in their defects, in the slightly shorter leg of an old wicker chair, or the long stretch of scratches hiding on the bottom of the hutch.

When Roger said the house was a mess, he hadn't been exaggerating. But, in his defense, he had spent the majority of his free time with her at the cabin. The architecture inside the home was as beautiful as the architecture on the out. It was clear that Roger had just done a significant amount of remodeling. New carpets, hardwood flooring in some areas, and the tile in the kitchen were all recently done, some of the tools used still sitting on miscellaneous surfaces throughout.

You have to be able to appreciate a man who knew how to use his hands for something productive. Too bad the same man didn't know how to bring a plate to the kitchen.

"Told ya'," he said as he tried his best to straighten out some of the mess.

Darcie followed him with a half empty garbage bag, picking up old newspapers and empty bottles herself.

"It could be worse," she said with a half-smile as she picked up an old sock and threw it at a pile of clothing in the corner of the living room.

"Not much," he said on a laugh before he realized that she was cleaning as well.

He grabbed her wrist as she reached out to grab an old, dirty, and slightly growing paper plate. "You don't have to clean."

She smiled and pulled her hand away.

"Let me help you for once," she said easily.

He sighed before shrugging and going to the opposite side of the room to gather up the excessive pile of clothing. Darcie cleared her throat.

"Besides, I thought maybe if it's alright with you maybe Wishbone and I could sleep over? I don't want the place to smell like old feet or stale bread."

She made a face at a smelly bowl of cereal and held it out as she brought it to the kitchen.

He had heard her say she wanted to sleep over, didn't he? Was it his imagination? He didn't know how much longer he could sleep in the same bed as her and not touch her. God, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to taste the bits of skin yet to be revealed to him, he wanted them to become one. He wanted to see the shape her face took when she was brought to that special peak of pleasure.

"Hey," he called as he wrestled a sock away from Wishbone. "Did you say you wanted to stay over?"

He pulled the sock free but fell on his bottom in the process. A small hand reached down to him and he extended his up. In seconds he stood directly in front of her, so close he could smell the scent of her shampoo. Anything either of them planned on saying had caught in their throats. Passion erupted from every source of their being, and the electricity they shared was bound to explode into a ray of light.

"Darcie," he whispered as his fingers lifted up to frame her face.

She leaned into his palm, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted and waiting. This was the moment they had been waiting for, the moment when they would share more than a roof and time. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her.