Chapter Fifteen
While Nate cleaned up in her bathroom, Olivia slowly made her way to her kitchenette to forage for something to eat. After sleeping solid for so long and the extremely pleasant way she’d awoken, she was ready to devour her own hand. Or her own cooking.
She found a small platter of fresh fruit in the fridge Aunt Mae had probably put there and a plate of brownies on the counter. Perfect. Chocolate was the most important food group. She took both to the couch as Nate emerged from her room.
Lord, he was gorgeous. Sweats low on his hips and nothing else. Bare feet, bare chest. She even loved his bald head without his usual black cap. Before him, she’d not had an opinion one way or the other on tats, but he’d turned her on to them. Big time. Especially with his naturally dark skin and muscles.
He took a seat across from her with his version of an amused smile. “Brownies and pineapple?”
“And strawberries.” She popped one in her mouth, chewing as she studied him. “Hungry?” She waved the plate at him.
“I’m good, thanks.”
To her knowledge, all he’d had was a bowl of soup and that was hours ago. “I screwed up our sleep schedule, but there’s nothing wrong with midnight snacks.”
“I only eat at designated times.”
The censure in his tone didn’t sit right. He had weird food quirks and she’d been dying to ask him about them. “Is that because of the military? Habit?”
His gaze drifted away. “Partly.”
“And the other part?” What wasn’t she getting here? Was it a discipline thing because of a training regimen? Judging by his facial expressions when she’d watched him, he didn’t care for eating with others. He acted as if food in general was a displeasure and, for a guy his size, he consumed very little.
He turned sideways to face her and crossed his arms. “I don’t know how to explain it to you in a way you’d understand.”
And there went those warning knells in her head. “Try.”
“I’d rather not.”
She forced herself to swallow the pineapple she’d been chewing as her stomach suddenly took a dive. “When you say cryptic stuff like that, I form my own conclusions and—”
“Growing up the way I did, meals were a privilege. I never developed an affinity for indulgence like others. I eat when I’m hungry. Okay?”
No, not okay. “What does that mean? Growing up the way you did. Do you mean foster care?”
He glanced heavenward as if seeking patience. “Yes.”
“And what do you mean by privilege?” Because that sounded an awful lot like he hadn’t gotten fed routinely.
Closing his eyes, he let out a slow, even breath, then looked at her. “It was hard getting used to new families all the time. Everyone had a different way to cook even the simplest of things. I’ve consumed fifty alternate versions of meatloaf.”
Yeah, that made sense. It was sad, but it’s not as if that was something fixable. In a way, she’d taken Aunt Mae’s recipes for granted, which was something Nate had never been allowed. And he hadn’t exactly answered the question, just dodged it.
“Explain privilege.” When he merely pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, she shook her head. “Were you...starved?”
Again, he took a deep breath like he was fortifying himself. “That’s a strong term, but I suppose it’s accurate in a couple cases. Most of the families I was placed with were nice. Some used food as punishment. Withholding it and so forth. It wasn’t unusual for me to get ginked from one location to the next with zero warning. I never knew what I was walking into.”
Lord. The fruit churned in her belly and threatened to come back up. What kind of person withheld food from a boy? “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Over and done. Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.”
“Olivia.” He sighed. “You keep doing that. Reversing the clock hands, dragging me back to the beginning. Why? It’s in the past.”
“Because it made you who you are.” His expression indicated he was through discussing the matter, but he had to understand his childhood wrongs weren’t his fault. They were the monsters, not him. “Justin and I were one living relative away from winding up in the system. If these things had been done to me instead of you, would you feel the same? Would you blame me like you do to yourself?”
He stared at her long and hard, his jaw ticking. The powerless torment in his eyes said he was pulling memories, inserting her instead, and it was ripping him open. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper and riddled with emotion. “I would never wish any of it on you. Not one second.”
“You’re not responsible for your past. Only how you choose to live in the aftermath.” Her throat grew tighter because she knew, just knew, she’d only nicked the tip of the iceberg that was his suffering. “You can’t run from it, but you can move beyond it.” He shook his head, yet she kept at him since she assumed no one had ever bothered before. “It doesn’t matter how much you resist. I have enough faith for the both of us.”
He froze, eyes wide and nostrils flared as if he’d never heard of such a thing. “It’s not up to you, nor is it right for me to look to you to absolve my pain.”
“Take a good, long look. See me? This is what caring looks like. I realize you probably don’t recognize it, but make a mental note for future reference. And don’t think for a moment that I don’t know what it means to hurt. Despite my size, I’m not fragile.”
“That’s exactly my point.” He growled and scrubbed his hands over his head. “You’ve been hurt enough. I’m not adding to that.”
“Too late. That’s what people who give a crap do, Nate. I’m not interested in absolving your pain. Only you can do that for yourself. But I can climb inside and share it, lessen the burden. My actions are not your decision. It’s done. Get used to it.”
“Christ, Olivia.” Bit by bit, the fierce warrior shrank into the background and his expression softened. The guy who’d tended to her with wrenching gentleness returned as if he’d lost his will to fight. His throat worked a swallow. “Justin said you were stubborn, but I think that might be the world’s largest understatement.”
She grinned. “Now you’re beginning to understand.” She cleared her throat as her gaze dipped to his body. All the grooves and ridges, the ripples and contours. Her skin grew hot. “Terrible as foster care was for you, at least it taught you discipline. If you want to put a positive spin on things, glance in the mirror.”
His lips twitched like he wanted to smile. “I suppose it prepared me for the Army and MREs, too. Since I often had to eat things I didn’t like as a kid, I lacked the ability to appreciate taste.”
“What's an MRE?”
He scratched his jaw, rough with stubble. “Meal, ready-to-eat. Individual field ration in a pouch.”
She gagged. “Ugh.”
He laughed, grated and low. “Your brother initially had the same reaction. You get used to it. Some of the guys called them meals, rejected-by-everyone.”
Since he’d brought it up, she followed the topic change to keep him talking. “What was it like over there? Were you with Justin’s unit a long time?”
He nodded. “Met him on my second tour. We did a couple more together.” He glanced away, his dark gaze distant. “Most of the time, it wasn’t so bad. I think your brother had a hard time adjusting at first, but he was a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Everyone loved him. Talked a mile a minute.”
She laughed. “I think he had to in order to get a word in. He grew up with two females.”
“True.” His smile slipped. “Nothing much got him down. He had an infectious grin and was quick to use it.”
“Yeah.” She sighed, missing her brother with a fierce pang of longing. “I think I miss that most. His cheesy grin.” And one wrong move by a commanding officer meant she’d never get to see it again. “We knew there was the possibility he might not come home, but I never let it gel in my mind. It hit me hard when the soldiers showed up at our door to deliver the news. I kept thinking it was a mistake. Misguided delusion, I suppose.”
“A coping mechanism.” He rubbed his chest as if it hurt. “I did the same thing every day recovering in the hospital.” With a sharp inhale, he slammed his eyes shut and shook his head. Once he opened them, some of the distress was gone. Not all, though. “You want me to put that away?”
She glanced at her plate, having lost her appetite. “No, thanks.” The things he’d mentioned about food and foster care sprang to mind, then how he’d said he didn’t appreciate taste. Perhaps she could do something about it. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
Heading into her bedroom, she snatched a sleep mask from her nightstand drawer and returned. “Experiment time.”
The color drained from his face. “I’m not wearing that, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She tilted her head. “Do you trust me?”
“You know I do, but I’m not—”
“Comfortable? Taking away your eyesight might force you to bring internal images to mind?”
Mouth firm, he narrowed his gaze. “Yes and yes. The last time we did one of your experiments I wound up flat on my back in a treehouse with your mouth driving me out of my mind.”
She hummed her approval. “And when you think about your teen years, about the gang, are the memories as terrible?”
He opened his mouth as if to argue and quickly shut it again.
“Precisely my point. Experiment successful. You shouldn’t have taught me coping mechanisms if you didn’t want me to try them.”
“For you.” He leaned forward. “They were supposed to help you.”
“They did. And now they will in your case.” She climbed on his lap and straddled him. “Complaining yet?”
He dropped his head to the back of the couch and closed his eyes, his shoulders sinking in defeat. “Would it matter if I did?” He looked down his nose at her, seemingly hesitant but curious.
“Nope.” She ran her fingers over the white silk mask, giving him a minute. “It’s the middle of the night, everyone’s asleep, we’re alone, and nothing bad is going to happen.”
Up went his brows. “Who are you trying to convince?” He took the mask from her and put the band around his head, then slipped the material over his eyes. “Do your worst, baby.”
No, she’d do her best, but she grabbed her plate and set it next to them on the cushion in silence. Then, she leaned forward, crushing her chest to his, and kissed him. She ran her fingers across his wide shoulders, down to his biceps, loving the soft skin over hard muscle.
He tensed, but eventually participated and set his hands on top of her thighs, thumbs stroking the deeper he sank. His touch was as tender as the kiss, surprising her. They’d had brief moments where passion hadn’t kicked in the door, but not like now where he seemed more interested in showing her a part of himself rather than telling.
Drawing a ragged breath, he pulled away. “If this is the point where you bust out handcuffs and—”
“Wrong kind of experiment.”
He grunted. “I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or relieved.”
Laughing against his lips, she reached for a piece of pineapple. “Open your mouth.”
He hesitated, then did as she asked.
She traced his lips with the fruit. “Take a bite.”
Breathing irregular, he sank his teeth into the pineapple and chewed. A drip of juice fell onto his chin and he went to wipe it away, but she used her tongue instead. Licking a slow path up to his mouth, she paused as he groaned.
“What does it taste like?”
His brows furrowed. “Pineapple?”
“Describe it.” While he appeared to be thinking, she kept her fingers moving. Over his throat, collarbone, to the hard discs of his nipples. The longer she caressed, the more his erratic breathing escalated. “Tell me.”
His fingers clenched her thighs. “Uh...sweet. Juicy?”
As a reward, she kissed him again, deep, and ground her hips against his thickening erection. Back during their interlude in her bedroom, she’d learned he was big everywhere. Nine perfect inches covered in velvet skin. And she wanted all of him. Soon. He wasn’t ready yet, though. He still wasn’t taking much initiative.
A harsh inhale, and he cupped her jaw, his need apparent as he pulsed between her legs. “Damn, Olivia.”
“More?” She reached for a strawberry and brought it to his lips.
This time, he bit into the fruit without wavering. While he chewed, his hands trailed to her throat. Lower. He teased the neckline of her shirt with his callused fingers. “Tastes like summer.” He dipped his head and kissed her neck, setting off a thunderous tremble from deep within her core. “Let me amend that statement. Summer and rain. You make everything taste better.”
Which meant he was tasting. Not just seeing food as a basic necessity, but as something pleasurable. She broke off a small piece of the brownie and waited for him to lift his head.
He took it from her, but immediately stilled as if perplexed. “I haven’t had dessert in...I can’t remember.” He swallowed. Before she could respond, he tore the mask off and stared at her. Confusion. Interest. Surprise. His dark eyes searched hers. “Never really cared for sweets.”
“Why?”
His gaze skimmed over her face and he shrugged. “Didn’t have them often, I guess.”
“And now?” She broke off another chunk and held it out for him.
He glanced from the brownie to her and back again. As if unsure, he gripped her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. Gaze locked on hers, he sucked her fingers, swirling his tongue.
Dang, nothing was sexier than that move right there. Erotic and intense. She wondered who was playing whom all of a sudden. Her lungs struggled to cooperate while her pulse thumped, her heart pounded, and her panties grew damper by the millisecond.
He swallowed, still watching her as he eased her fingers out of his mouth. “I could learn to like it.” A battle waged in his expression. For what, she hadn’t a clue, but then he blinked like he was attempting to focus. “I could more than like it.”
An exhale, and he rested his head on the back of the couch. He gingerly swiped a strand of hair from her forehead, tracing the stitches with his fingertips. Chocolate gaze on the movement, full lips twisted in thought, he looked like he was a million miles away.
“I did think you were dead.” His gaze slid to hers. “Hank was right, though. I don’t remember saying it aloud.”
“I’m not. I’m right here.”
“Since you instigated this twisted heart-to-heart, I’ll be honest.” He offered a slight shake of his head. “When I found you, I swear, my heart stopped. It hasn’t beat right since. I don’t know what you’re doing to me or why you’re hell-bent on trying to fix me, but...” He shook his head again as if at a loss for how to finish.
“Fixing you implies that you’re broken.” With a heavy heart, she wondered if it was possible to undo a lifetime of damage. “There’s nothing wrong with you, aside from a misguided sense of guilt.”
He gave her a frustrated, not-this-again look and glanced away.
She gripped his chin with her thumb and forefinger to make him face her. “Tell me something good about yourself that you do well. And don’t say fucking.”
His lashes fluttered in a rapid blink as if shocked by her curse.
“Yes, I swear.” She smiled. “I don’t do it often, but I’m capable. Fuckity fuck-fuck. Now, tell me something good about yourself.”
Affection warmed his eyes as humor curved his lips. “I’m great at reading people.”
Interesting. “Maybe you should take Rip up on his offer of a job, then. Police work would suit you.” She inhaled his scent of soap and warm male, wanting to burrow into him. She absolutely adored him all gooey around the edges as much as the alpha side he tried to cage. “Read me, Nathan. What do you see?”
His hands settled on her waist. “I see a woman who was so intent on making her little brother feel secure after their parents died that she grew a fierce independent streak and forgot altogether how to put her needs first.” His thumbs stroked her ribs over her shirt. “She’s breathlessly beautiful and knows it, but doesn’t have a vain bone in her body and gets suspicious when someone’s attracted to her. She uses humor to put people at ease, even if she’s uncomfortable herself, because she doesn’t have an inkling how not to be selfless.” He paused. “How am I doing so far?”
How was he doing? Dang. “Forget Rip. You should work for the FBI.”
He nodded, expression serious. “And the way you look at me sometimes, like right now, with warmth and adoration, indicates you’re slipping into dangerous territory. The more time we spend together, the deeper you embed, and it’s wrong. I don’t like it.”
“I think you do like it. Too much. Which scares the crap out of you.”
Unflinching, unblinking, he went stone-cold still and stared. “You’re a square peg and I’m a round hole, baby. We don’t fit.”
“Then we’ll build our own world in the shape of us.”
Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose, then exhaled and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “Christ, you have an answer for everything.”
“Not everything.” She might be getting through to him on a surface level, but she’d failed to penetrate. Regardless, she wrapped her arms around his head and held him to her. “Life is scary, more so if navigating alone.”
“Justin used to say that.” His low admission was slurred since his face was pressed against her, but his tone was contrite.
“It’s one of Aunt Mae’s phrases.”
He turned his head, kissed her neck, and rested his temple on her shoulder. “He talked about you all the time. I thought you were twins until he corrected me.”
“We were as close as twins. Looked enough alike, too.”
He grunted. “Felt like I knew you long before I arrived in town or saw your face, but I was wrong.”
Taking that as the compliment she hoped he intended it to be, she thought about Justin’s letter and the mention of Nate. “Did he know? About your past, I mean.”
“I told him about juvie, but not how I ended up there. And that I was a foster kid.”
That cemented the footprints of suspicion in her mind. This whole “watching over her” promise Nate had made to Justin never sat right. Her brother knew very well she could handle herself. Perhaps part of him wanted someone to take care of her for a change, but it wasn’t about her so much as it was for Nate. To give him a home and a family and support and purpose.
Everything he’d never had in his short thirty years.
He ran his hand up and down her back. “I call it verbal diarrhea. Ten minutes with him and he’d get me talking. Pissed me off.” He lifted his head, brows raised. “Not unlike another redhead I know.” He smiled, full and wide and like a punch to her abdomen. “You’re much better to look at, though.”