Flirting With Danger Chapter 10

Charlie cares for Luke

An ice cold shiver shot across Charlie's back and her heart kick-started into treble its regular pace, as that terrifying sound assaulted her ears and brought her out of her sleep with frightening speed. It was the sound of pure terror; a holler of jumbled unintelligible sounds emanating from someone in intense pain and fear.

"Adams!" she shouted out instinctively, bolting off the sofa and searching the room with confusion through blurry eyes.

He was sitting on the desk chair, the whiskey glass still in his hand, his feet up on the desk, his head slumped to one side, resting against the wall which the back of the chair was pressed against. Okay, so he wasn't being attacked. Her heart began to resume its usual rhythm.

"Let him go," he mumbled.

Oh God, he was having a nightmare.

"Give me the knife," he urged, his head jerking to the other side.

"Luke," she said gently, approaching the desk.

"Take me; don't touch him," he went on, oblivious of both Charlie and where he was.

"Luke," she said a little louder. "Wake up."

This time he appeared to have registered the sound in the room as his head moved in the direction of her voice, but his eyes remained closed. She reached the chair where he was sitting, crouching down to his level and holding onto his hand, which was clenched onto the chair arm.

"Luke, wake up," she repeated.

"Don't cut him. I aint afraid, cut me, just let him go!" he shouted in pure panic.

"Luke," she said firmly this time, shaking his arms. "Wake up, you're dreaming."

He finally woke with a roar, his red eyes flying open as he jerked forward suddenly on his chair. The abrupt movement of his hands sent the whiskey glass crashing onto the chair arm, smashing the glass in the process. He stood, looking around him in bewilderment, holding out a blood streaked hand.

"Are you alright? Let me take a look," Charlie said, reaching for his injured hand.

He pulled it back and turned from her, a deep frown on his face as he flung the window open for some fresh air.

"Luke, let me see to your hand," she reprimanded him.

"Stop fussin'," he replied, his back still turned to her. "Go back to sleep."

"I want to know that you are alright," she pushed.

"I'm fine; just go back to sleep," he repeated.

He wasn't fine at all. She had attributed the fact that he'd looked so tired to his jet lag, but having witnessed first-hand that nightmare, and considering how much whiskey he seemed to be getting through, she was now certain that he was having problems sleeping. This Borelli business had really taken its toll.

Charlie bent to open the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a First Aid kit. She placed it on the desk and opened it, pulling out bandages, cotton wool and a small bottle of iodine. Then she approached Luke again, determined to check his hand. She moved to stand by the window so that he was almost facing her, and she took hold of his arm, lifting it. He immediately twisted it out of her grip.

"Adams," she began angrily, "Stop being a child and let me see to your hand!"

He tutted, but reluctantly held his hand out for her.

She took hold of it, turning it over to examine his palm. There was a small, but fairly deep cut just below his thumb.

"Keep it there; I'll be back in a moment," she said, moving to the fridge and picking up a small bottle of mineral water. On her way past the desk, she grabbed the cotton wool, unscrewed the water bottle and wetted the soft pleat. She proceeded to clean the streaks of blood from off his hand and wrist, gently cleansing the sensitive area around the cut. Luke gazed down at her hands with fascination. Then she turned to the desk again and picked up the bottle of iodine, soaking another piece of cotton wool with the brown liquid. She returned to him, caught hold of his hand again, turning it round and holding the cotton wool to his cut.

"Hey! Awww!" he exclaimed, snatching his hand back. "What is that stuff?"

"Iodine," she answered. "Don't be a baby," she said, taking hold of his hand once more. "It will disinfect the cut."

"Stings like hell," he commented, wincing as she reapplied the iodine soaked cotton wool. Soon the burning sensation eased however, and he was able to bear the disinfection process without wanting to snatch his hand away again.

"You're a regular Florence Nightingale," Luke observed, watching her dress his wound.

She proceeded to wrap his hand with a bandage which she'd retrieved from the first aid box.

"Yes, well, I'm not having you bleeding all over this office," she replied sternly, aware that this kind of approach seemed to be working well. Next she would broach the subject of his nightmares, hopefully with some kind of success. "When did you last have a Tetanus injection?" she went on.

He frowned, "I dunno."

"In that case, you should have one," she advised, finally releasing his hand, satisfied that it was suitably dressed.

"Yes, mam," he came back with a half-smile.

"Now, how long have you been having those nightmares for?" she asked him as matter of factly as she could.

His smile faded, and he busied himself with studying the work she had done on his hand.

"I dunno," he shrugged.

"How long Adams?" she asked again.

"I dunno, alright!" he snapped. "A while I guess," he added.

She studied him paying way too much attention to his hand.

"It's the fact that you are sleep deprived that's worrying me at the moment, especially with what you have been dealing with lately. You need a clear head," she warned.

He gave a small fake sounding laugh, finally looking up at her. "Hey, sleep is for the weak; I don't need no sleep," he joked.

"Yes, you do," she countered firmly. "Well, at least your hand is clean and bandaged now."

He turned it over and studied it both sides, before dropping it. "Yeah, thanks."

She began to tidy away the cotton wool and first aid materials while he just stood there watching her. Finally, she looked across at him, after having replaced the first aid box back in the desk drawer.

"Are you coming back on the sofa?" she asked.

Fear of reoccurring nightmares and making a fool of himself in front of her again made him reluctant.

"I ain't tired," he replied, turning to glance out of the window.

"Luke, you need sleep. Why don't you just try?" she suggested. "If you can't sleep, then get up again, but leave the whiskey alone," she added.

"I ain't tired Charlie," he repeated. "I'll come when I'm tired."

Damn it. She'd make him get some sleep if it killed her.

Heading for the sofa, she plucked up the blanket, laying it out and slipping underneath it. She raised herself up on one elbow, with the blanket clinging to her front, and her back exposed in Luke's direction. Turning her head to speak over her shoulder, she called out to him,

"Luke…" There was something extremely suggestive in the way she voiced his name, making him turn from the window the moment he heard her.

"Will you come and share my blanket with me?" she asked.

He stared at her in surprise, quickly warming to the idea. For the next few moments, he made a pretence out of thinking about it, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip as if in contemplation.

"Seems like I could do with some sleep after all," he finally answered, striding across the room to the sofa. She moved across to make space for him but he just stood, grinning down at her. Then, without warning, he dived onto the sofa, scooping her up and rolling them both around, with the sounds of her shocked protest in his ears, until she was lying on top of him, his arms around her waist and a pair of astonished blue eyes gazing down into pair of amused brown ones.

"Now, now Charlie, don't be takin' advantage of me tonight," he teased.

She pressed her lips together in a tight lipped smile. "Adams, when I said about sharing the blanket, I meant so that you could get some sleep," she emphasized.

"Yeah well, I had another idea. I was kinda picturing the blanket on a bed. Don't get me wrong, this sofa aint bad, but with a bed, there's more room to… roll around, you know, get into different positions. You know what I mean?" he grinned.

She shook her head at him. He was completely incorrigible.

"Yes, I'm afraid I do. You have an over active imagination Adams, now sleep," she stressed, waiting for him to lighten his hold on her.

Luke's grip remained steadfast however for a few moments while he enjoyed searching her face so close to his. He reached up with one hand and swept her hair back softly. The gesture changed the mood suddenly as the air began to crackle between them, and the longer their eyes clung, the more the air crackled. Suddenly the playful atmosphere was gone, replaced with something else. His eyes instinctively fell to her mouth, contemplating her glossy lips… wondering, imagining… She knew what he was doing. She needed to move but she suddenly felt frozen in the moment; nonetheless, acutely aware of how important it was that her next move be appropriate. As his eyes smouldered over her face however, she did the very thing she had told her brain not to do; her gaze lowered to his lips in return. Luke hadn't missed where her attention had moved to and his eyes widened, his heart racing with surprised excitement in response. Maybe he stood more of a chance than he realized.

Was she mad? What had she done that for? She shook her head to clear it and finally untangled herself from him, sliding into the space between Luke and the back of the sofa.

Luke lay for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, buzzing, with a million thoughts racing through his head, all of them involving Charlie. If she wanted him to kiss her, boy could he oblige! He wasn't going to push it then though. He'd have to find the right time. Maybe she'd reject him, but then again, maybe she'd really wanted him to kiss her all along. With that exciting thought still in his head, he finally turned to see what Charlie was doing. She was lying with her back to him again. To hell with that; he slid and arm underneath her and turned her, pulling her suddenly towards him.

"Luke?" she protested.

He was ready with a reply. "This sofa's too small to sleep like that; it aint comfortable."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I can't get to sleep like that," he added. After all, that was what she had wanted him to do: get some sleep.

She sighed and contemplated her next move. Damn it, she was tired too and it simply seemed petty to protest any more. Slowly she lowered her head onto his chest. He tightened his arm around her waist slightly in return, and pulled the blanket more snuggly around them, before studying her shining hair below his nose. It was hard to believe that he had spent seven years without her. Laying his head back onto the cushion behind his neck, he suddenly felt extremely warm and contented, and surprisingly enough, sleepy.

Having her there after the darkest of nightmares seemed to soothe his troubled mind and, for the first time in years, he slipped into a peaceful sleep, comforted by the warmth of her presence.

 

Author's Note

Is anyone enjoying reading this? Any suggestions?