Chapter Ten
Nate petted Bones from a living room chair, wasting time until Olivia and Amy proved to him they’d call it a night. Every evening for a week, they’d taken a walk after dinner, and he’d learned to stick around or they’d go without him. Maybe he was paranoid, but he didn’t give a damn. Until his heart stopped pounding when he didn’t have a direct visual on Olivia, he’d keep being paranoid.
The girls came in from the kitchen and took a seat on the sofa. Amy’s bruises were fading to an ugly shade of yellow and green, and every day she moved a little better. The sight of her no longer sent him into a homicidal fit, so there was that. And Chris was probably going to end up serving fifteen to twenty at a prison in Casper. Nate would take it.
Mae passed Olivia a mug of tea and glanced at Nate. “Want anything?”
“I’m good. Thanks.” She always asked like it was her job to wait on him. He didn’t care for it, but it seemed habit for her. “Are you guys staying in?”
“Yeah. I’m too tired to move. It started raining, anyhow.” Amy glanced around and frowned at the box by the fireplace. “What’s that?”
“Oh.” Mae rose. “I almost forgot. That came for you today.”
She went to lift it, but Nate stood and shooed her aside, doing it himself. After all, he knew what was in the package, and it wasn’t light. He set it by Amy’s feet and reclaimed his seat, figuring it would seem suspicious if he left now.
“For me? From who?” She examined the label, but Nate had made sure there was no return address. “That’s weird. It doesn’t say.”
Olivia helped her open it, and the gasp Amy let out, followed by happy tears, made the past week’s bullshit somehow worth it. She took the laptop out, followed by the camera, and stared at both.
“I don’t understand.” She glanced inside the package. “Oh my God. And a new printer, too.” Olivia removed it from the box when it proved too heavy for Amy. “There’s no note or anything.” Amy wiped tears from her cheeks and looked at Olivia, then Mae.
“Your parents, perhaps? Or Chris trying to apologize?” Mae shrugged.
Amy shook her head. “My folks can’t afford this and they never supported my photography. Chris, either. Besides, he’s been locked up.” She blinked at Olivia.
“Don’t look at me.”
“Or me.” Mae smiled. “Sure was nice of whoever it was, though.”
“I can’t accept this. There has to be thousands of dollars in equipment.”
Five grand, to be precise. Well worth the money see to the dejected look erased from Amy’s face. No asshole had the right to break her dreams or put bruises on her body.
Or come within ten feet of his Olivia.
Damn. There he went again. She wasn’t his, yet his primal caveman kept trying to surface.
Nate stood. “I’m going to sit outside for a bit if you need me.”
With Bones on his heels, he made his way to the rocking chair on the far end of the porch. Just beyond the wrap-around railing, rain beat down. A warm front had come through, keeping the temperature hovering in the mid-sixties and humidity clinging to everything. The scent of wet grass and mud mingled with budding flowers from the corner garden, and he breathed deep, listening to the patter of drops.
After awhile, he grabbed the tin bucket where he’d put his supplies while the dog curled up at his feet. He’d managed to find good use for the boards he and Nakos had stripped from the fence. Instead of being destined to become firewood, the pine kept Nate’s hands and mind busy, whittling a little at night after Olivia went to bed. He’d crafted two tiny figurines of Bones, several horseshoes, and a tree that resembled the cottonwood in her front yard. They weren’t pretty, but he found it relaxing.
He was just carving the shape of a horse’s flank when the screen door snapped shut and Olivia stood there, hands on her hips and tears in her angry eyes.
Carefully, he set his items in the bucket and stood, his heart wrenching ribs. “What’s—”
“You,” she growled and stalked closer. “You bought her those things.”
Shit. How did—
She launched herself at him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and cupped his cheeks.
He grunted, stumbled backward, and righted them, grabbing her ass so she wouldn’t fall. And damn. This couldn’t end well. “Olivia—”
“Don’t you ever tell me you’re not a good guy.” Before he could retort or argue or so much as blink, she pressed her lips to his.
Lights out. Sayonara sanity.
Unlike the night a week ago on her couch, there was no tenderness or coaxing. She ate at his mouth like she was starving. For him. With her hands everywhere—his head, his face, his shoulders—she tilted her head and moaned. She nipped his lower lip and slid her tongue inside to tangle with his. Hot, wet, deep.
“Sweet Christ,” he muttered and spun, reaching blindly for something to pin her against. His palm encountered the stone porch support and he eased her back against it, freeing his other hand to explore.
She ground her hips against his growing erection and he barked a sharp cry of surprise into her mouth. But she never let up. Opening wider, she turned a hot interlude into something downright pornographic, sizzling his nerves at the root and making him harder than iron. Swirling her tongue, caressing his, sucking on it.
And her hands. Uhn, her hands. The way she stroked the top of his head was the oddest turn-on. Or the firm grip on his neck as if claiming him for her own and daring him to pull away.
He grabbed her slim waist and dipped under her shirt, finding soft, warm skin. While she assaulted his mouth, he kept going until he encountered satin. He’d kill to know what color bra covered her perfect breasts and wanted a look at them more than any sustenance for preservation. He settled for brushing his thumbs over her peaks and groaning when they hardened more.
Mercy, she killed him. Her warm skin. Her hot mouth. Her slender body in comparison to his own. He was a dead man walking and, suddenly, didn’t give a rat’s ass.
Needing oxygen, he tore his mouth away and latched onto her neck. She heaved air and arched, making his erection painful behind his jeans. He never craved the ache more. Her flesh smelled like a sweeter version of the downpour behind them. Sucking, licking, he worked his way across her throat to the other side.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she breathed, grabbing his shoulders. “You made her so happy.”
He really didn’t want to discuss another woman just now, but he lifted his head and stared into her cornflower eyes. The raw emotion there closed his airway. “How did you figure it out, anyway?”
Her thumbs brushed his lower lip, and even that was a mind fuck. “The camera and printer were the exact same brand as the ones broken. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”
“Don’t tell her. Let it be a mystery, okay?” He’d accumulated quite the savings over the years not paying rent or other expenses. He didn’t want his gift to be a big deal and she was making it one.
“I don’t understand you.” Brows furrowed, she searched his gaze.
The fact that she was even trying to understand him was new territory for him. She very well might be the first to attempt the hopeless feat. “It’s not worth the frustration of figuring it out.”
Eyes wounded, she parted her lips as if to speak, but shook her head instead. She placed her hand on top of his head, her gaze following the movement. Slowly, she trailed her fingers to his forehead, his nose, cheek, mouth, and stopped on his chin. She did the same with the other hand as if memorizing his face, and his heart turned over in his chest.
She was back to the tenderness again and he couldn’t take it.
It took him two attempts to speak and, when he did, his voice was gravel. “What are you doing?”
“Touching you.” She traced his eyebrows, his lips.
He couldn’t breathe. Because he was a man who’d not had an ounce of affection, he didn’t know what the hell to do with hers. His chest pinched and blood roared in his veins. He didn’t deserve this, deserve her, but he couldn’t make himself move. She was both a balm and dick CPR, wrapped into a tidy bundle. The conflict was jarring.
Panting, he fought the push/pull war in his head. “Why, baby?”
She started the pattern all over again as if they had all night and she intended to do only this. “Because no one ever has and I enjoy it.” While he grappled with that answer, she kept going like she hadn’t just leveled him flat. “I don’t care what you say. You are worth it.”
Christ. “Olivia—”
“No talking.” She nudged his chest and dropped her feet to the porch. “Come with me.” She headed for the steps and he called her name. “I said no talking.”
“It’s pouring.” By the buckets.
She crooked her finger and descended the stairs, then waited for him. Immediately, her auburn hair got drenched and the yellow shirt molded to her lithe body. Her skinny jeans, already painted on her long legs, became second skin.
Fuck him. Desire was a living, heaving, clawing thing. More than that, a…passion that went deeper than a physical blow unfurled inside him.
It didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. She just kept coming at him. Nothing but fire and brimstone awaited him, and he wanted, with everything inside him, to experience something good first. Just once.
“Trust me, Nate.” Her lilting, soft voice carried across the raindrops to him.
And the strangest thing happened. He realized he did trust her.
He stepped into the downpour and followed her to the other side of the house by a copse of trees. The rain lessened to a drizzle as she wove through several oaks until stopping under one with a rope ladder. He glanced up as she climbed and found a treehouse among the branches.
Shaking his head, he climbed up after her. It wasn’t any wider than he was tall and had no roof, but the leaves and branches above and around created a type of haven. It smelled faintly of mildew and aged pine, yet the structure seemed sturdy.
“This was my secret spot as a kid. Not because no one knew about it, but because I’d come here and tell my secrets out loud. I always felt better afterward.”
He studied her through the darkness, soaked to the bone and getting wetter, and dread settled in his gut. “Some secrets are just too ugly.” And she was so beautiful it hurt.
“There’s nothing ugly about you.” She stepped flush against him and grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Take it off.” She nudged the sopping material up until he had no choice but to pull it over his head or get strangled. It landed with a splat on the floor. “Sit down.”
“Olivia, what are we doing?”
Despite better judgment, he did what she asked and nearly swallowed his tongue when she straddled his thighs. A hand on his shoulder, she pushed, encouraging him to lay back. She was maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, leaving him to wonder how she became the dominant one between them. Then again, if she requested he bark at the moon, he probably would.
Settling his bent arm behind his head, he hissed at the cool planks against his back. She leaned over him, her wet strands a curtain, and he stopped breathing altogether. The rain had stopped, but droplets fell from the canopy of leaves. Between that and the darkness, she looked like a sexy version of a sprite.
“You taught me something about memory replacement when we were in the barn. I’m going to return the favor.” She kissed his jaw and he closed his eyes, confused and fascinated. “Why did you work for people who sold cocaine?”
His eyes flew open. “Olivia. We’re not—”
“Answer me and I’ll reward you.”
He froze, tempted. “Reward me how?” Why the actual hell was he considering this?
She offered a sly smile and splayed her fingers on his chest. Unimaginable heat spread from her palms and he groaned. “Should I keep going?”
Fire licked his skin and he blurted a response, seeking more from her. A necessity. “I had no choice. I’d joined a gang called The Disciples two years prior for protection. Chicago’s south side was not friendly.”
Just like that, she dipped her head and her hot, wet tongue swirled around his nipple. He choked and jerked toward her mouth. He shoved the fingers of his free hand in her hair and held her to him.
The new, riotous sensation made scrambled eggs of his brain and whatever good intentions he’d arrived with. He’d never been the focus of sexual ministrations before and he shook with uncoiled need. With previous partners, he’d been the one in control, and he hadn’t let them...play. This was...she was...
Shit. He was dying.
“Did you like being in the gang?” This time, she asked without lifting her face.
Chest heaving, he stared at the leaves overhead. “At first, but that changed fast. I’d finally belonged to something, but everything came with a price. My time wasn’t my own and they stole what little humanity I had left.” Knife fights and turf wars. Women were things to be owned and whored into submission. Constantly, he battled to keep a straight face when his stomach rioted at beating after—
She sucked his nipple and sunk her teeth around it, flicking her tongue. Broken bottles and graffiti disappeared. The blood and fear and screams dissolved into nothing but Olivia’s sweet mouth and the way she made his heart pound for a different reason. Glancing down his nose at her, he massaged her scalp to encourage her, wondering what was happening to him.
Moving to his other nipple, she paused. “What would’ve happened if you said no? If you walked away?”
“There was no out once you were in. They would’ve killed me.” Painfully. He’d witnessed it more than a few times. Torture. Stabbings. Carving their symbol on flesh. Boys begging for death—
She ran her hands up his sides while she licked the flat disc of his nipple into a hard peak. Lightning shot through his system and short-circuited everything except her. He ached. Christ, did he ache. For her to keep going, to stop, to quit making him...feel.
“But you’re alive. You escaped.”
Damn, it was impossible to focus. Cool raindrops leftover from the storm hit their hot skin and he was shocked there wasn’t steam. “Once I was thrown in juvie, I became disposable until release. But I joined the Army and never went back.”
She kissed her way up his chest and under his jaw. A semblance of reality trickled through his haze. Tilting his head, he threaded the fingers of both hands in her hair and forced her to look at him.
“I did terrible things, Olivia. Stuff I can’t erase.”
Her somber gaze studied him. “If you could go back and do it over again, would you join the gang?”
“No.”
“And do you regret the things you’ve done?”
“Yes.” Every second of every minute of every day.
She swept her fingers over his face as if wiping the past away. “You were just a boy. A scared, helpless boy. The fact that you feel guilty, that it’s eating you up even now, should tell you what’s in here.” She pressed her hand over his heart. “Good people do bad things for all kinds of reasons. Fear, desperation, but that doesn’t make you a terrible person.”
He shook his head, powerless against her.
“When your mind goes back there, think of this instead.” She kissed him, soft and slow and with such aching reverence, he had to close his eyes. “And remember this.” She sat up and placed her hands on his pecs. Gaze holding his, she skimmed her fingers over the ridges of his abs. “Allow yourself to feel good, Nate. That’s what you do to me.”
Christ Jesus. She was…he didn’t know.
Gritting his teeth, he gave her a little shake. “You should run, baby. Where I go, pain follows.”
She set both her hands on the floor by his shoulders and leaned over him, blocking out everything but her. “You call me baby when frustrated or aroused or scared. Are you aware of that? You don’t seem to be.”
He stilled, frowning. No, he had no clue he’d been doing that. Pet names weren’t his bag. Then again, of all the terms he could’ve inadvertently used, baby was more of a signal for...possession. A claim she was his as much as an endearment she meant something profound.
“I...” What? He wasn’t exactly sorry and, though the path she was dragging him down could only end badly, he couldn’t stop desiring her. Christ knew, he’d tried. “Do you want me to stop?” He’d find a way, somehow, to accomplish it.
“No.” She leaned in and spoke against his lips. “I like it.”
He groaned and, holding the back of her head, pulled her to him the rest of the way. She opened for him immediately as if anticipating what he needed and wanting nothing more than to provide. He’d noticed that in their few interactions before, as well. Her kiss was the mirror of her character. Kind. Giving. Observant. Clever. Sexy. Or, when at her emotional breaking point, fierce.
And she always seemed to be telling him something. Like right now, as she held his jaw and offered slight teases with the tip of her tongue on the top of his, she was in nurture mode. I’ve-got-you meets it’s-safe-for-you-to-fall. It was enough to make a grown man weep.
With an arousing little hum in her throat, she pulled away. “Why do you shave your head?”
He blinked at the abrupt topic change and scratched his jaw. “I got in a fight in juvie. A kid grabbed my hair and one-upped me. Shaved it ever since.”
“Interesting. I thought you were going to say something like you were hiding male pattern baldness or a receding hairline.”
One second she had him on the brink of madness and the next huffing a laugh. “No. Or, well, that may be the case now. I wouldn’t know.” He stared at her, wondering if she didn’t like the look or something. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Just curious.” Again with the hands on his head. Stroking. “It’s hot.”
“Hot,” he repeated, not computing.
“Sexy, attractive—”
“I know what hot means.” Damn, but he grinned. She was adorable. “I’m just not seeing how you’d think so.” Not for the first time, he wondered what the draw was for her. He wasn’t a cowboy or anything all-American, and that was the kind of man he pictured her with.
“Good thing they’re my eyes, then.”
He gave up. Understanding women, especially this one, was like trying to learn molecular fusion while drinking Jack Daniels. Pointless.
Drawing a cleansing breath, he set his hands on her thighs and rubbed his thumbs over her wet jeans. “If we’re done with this torture session, we should head back inside before you get sick.”
She rolled her lips over her teeth, fighting a grin.
Yeah, fine. Let her poke the bear for being protective. But she was drenched and the temperature was dropping.
“I don’t know what to mock you for first—the torture comment or the fraternal one.” Her cornflower eyes lit with humor and settled the last of unease in his chest.
He gave her ass a firm slap and she yelped. “Home, Olivia, or I’ll carry you.”