Chapter Twenty
“Oh my God. This is awesome!”
Nate laughed and revved the Harley’s engine to speed down the almost deserted two-lane highway. Wind whipped his face as Olivia's squeal filled his ear. He grinned again, eyeing the flat prairie and long grass swaying across the horizon. The Laramie Mountains shadowed the distance and fencing kept cattle from wandering. The cobalt sky went on for miles.
He didn’t dare go much faster, not with Olivia onboard and only one helmet, which he made her wear. But they’d been riding over two hours and she hadn’t shown any signs she wanted to head back.
He leaned into a curve, and she wrapped her arms tighter around his waist. Damn, but it felt good having her behind him, her thighs cradling him and her scent of rain melding with late afternoon spring. When he got the chance, he rode often, loving the solitariness of the open road and vibrations under him. It gave him a chance to clear his head, to breathe.
But her? With him? A turn-on to the nth degree.
He checked the mirrors and yelled over his shoulder. “Ready to go home?” He wanted a shower and then to sink inside her. Maybe not necessarily in that order. “Before you answer with no, understand that I’m hard as a rock and your breasts crushed against my back isn’t helping.” Nor were her hands that kept wandering.
Her laugh wrapped around his balls and cut off circulation. “Okay, bad boy. Take me home.”
Christ, finally. If someone had told him six months ago he’d choose a woman over his Hog, he would've had them committed. Instead, he anticipated the second he could get her alone and naked as he turned them around, gunning for the ranch.
Once in the driveway, he removed her helmet and threw her over his shoulder. Her husky laugh overrode the sound of his boots as he climbed the porch, stepped inside, and kicked the door shut. He headed right for the staircase before they could get interrupted by one of the many people who frequented her house, stopping only when he got to the third floor.
He deposited her on her feet in her bedroom. “I need a shower and then I’m yours.”
“How about a bath instead?”
One eyebrow quirked, he looked at her.
“With me?” She kicked off her shoes and pulled her tee over her head, revealing a blue bra shades darker than her eyes. Her auburn strands resettled into chaos. She gave him a teasing smile and backed toward the bathroom, crooking her finger. “Hot water. Bubbles. Slippery skin and soap...everywhere. I can make it worth your while.”
No doubt about that. He groaned and grabbed her waist. Her toes dragged on the floorboards as he carried her into the adjoining bath.
Giving her a quick kiss, he released her. “On with it.”
She filled her square tub with water and suds while he stripped, then she put her hair up in a knot as steam enclosed the generous space.
He climbed in with her back to his front and nearly groaned at the hot water lapping his body. Maybe there was something to this bath thing, especially if she made a habit of joining him. He made quick work of washing the road sludge off him, then took his time with her, and the whole room smelled like rain. Since he’d used her soap, he did, as well.
Nestled between his thighs, she reclined against him, seemingly interested with tracing the inked designs on his forearms. She often did it after sex, too, gaze lost in thought and like she needed the constant connection.
“I think you should take Rip up on the job offer.”
He’d almost forgotten. “Why? Trying to get rid of me?”
She laughed. “No, and I love having you around, but I figure police work is better suited for you than ranching. You’ve been doing great and the guys think so, too. Yet...I don’t know. You might be more content, more comfortable to have a badge pinned on your shirt. Some purpose. You can still help out around here and live in the house.”
Her suggestion and observation wasn’t that far off. He’d had a gun in his hand since he’d enlisted at age eighteen. “I’ll think about it.”
She grew quiet and contemplative again. Up and down and around went her fingers over his tat sleeves. “Have you visited Justin’s grave? Talked to him like I recommended?”
Damn. What had made her travel that path? Between spending time with her, his early morning exercise run, and working with Nakos, Nate hadn’t had much time. Besides, what the hell good would it do?
“It makes me feel better. I get the impression you’ve had something on your mind. Maybe hashing it out with an old friend will help.” She squeezed his arm. “Up to you.”
The way he saw it, standing graveside for a soldier whose memory haunted him hourly wasn’t going to make a dent in his absolution. He had enough ghosts. Chatting with one of them was only bound to make him more batshit.
“Okay,” he said to appease her and tried to find something to change the subject. “I haven’t taken a bath since I was a kid.” He kissed her temple and laced their fingers together, enclosing her to him by crisscrossing their arms. “One of the families I was placed with didn’t have a shower. That may have been the last time.”
She made a noise as if distracted. “I loved bathtime as a girl. Got my imagination going. I’d splash around for hours. My parents would have to haul me out.”
Like food, bathing for him had always been about need, not pleasure.
Their many differences juggled inside his mind and his gut tensed. For weeks, they’d been playing this game of house, of being a couple, and he didn’t know how much longer he could do it. The heavy burden of Justin’s death kept dragging him back under, reminding him none of this was real. As soon as she learned the truth, everything good he’d ever known would be gone. From day one, she was destined to be his mirage—a tease for what he’d secretly desired, but could never have. The longer he kept at the lie, the worse it would hurt her in the end.
And there would be an end.
“You want children, don’t you?” His voice was as rough as the rawness in his throat. But he’d done this to himself. He’d allowed her in, just like he’d done with her brother. Selfish to the core. “You said that once before, right?”
“If for no other reason than to carry on the Cattenach legacy. But, yes. I want kids for personal reasons, too. A big family and a noisy house.” She turned her head and looked at him. “I assume you don’t, based on your childhood?”
Intuitive little devil. “What the hell do I know about family or raising a child?”
“Most people don’t when they first start out. They muddle through.”
Yeah, but they had some kind of memories or examples to fall back on. Nate had a cluster of strangers who barely tolerated him on a great day, rendered him invisible on a good one, and used him as a verbal or physical punching bag on a bad stretch. What he knew about right or wrong could fit in an envelope. Kids should be loved and nurtured and made to feel safe.
None of which he’d been given. It made him physically, violently ill to think about what kinds of traits he’d pass down, how pure innocence could be tainted with his DNA.
When he just stared at her, at a loss, she slipped out of his arms and rotated to face him, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Her patient gaze searched his. “If I were to tell you I was pregnant, what would your reaction be?”
Even though he knew her question was hypothetical, his heart stopped dead in his chest. Just...stopped. Panic clutched his windpipe, blocked his airway, and collapsed his lungs.
His reaction? No. Christ Almighty, no.
As if he hadn’t screwed up enough for two lifetimes, ruined lives, that would be the worst imaginable thing possible. He’d destroy hers. She was everything beautiful and kind and good this miserable existence called life had to offer. And a...mistake such as that one, just like what he’d done to Justin, couldn’t be taken back. Real or not.
But then he lowered his gaze to her abdomen, or where it would be were she not chest-deep in water and suds, and his pulse gained momentum. He knew her body, every precious inch of skin and subtle curve, and a picture shoved to mind. Of her belly swollen with his child. Her delicate fingers resting over the bump. A grin on her glowing face as she reached for his hand to place it under hers.
Something warm filled his chest and expanded, muting the pain he forever carried inside and illuminating corners. His lungs filled. His heart puttered anew.
And shit...his eyes burned.
“Right now.” Her lilting voice soothingly cooed to him, the tone as soft as she was making his resolve. “What are you thinking right this second? Once the oh no sensation passed, what was the first thing you felt?”
More images came. A little girl with auburn strands and cornflower eyes running through wheat fields, sunlight kissing her fair skin and freckles. A boy with shaggy chestnut hair like Nate’s used to be before he’d shaved it, laughing beside her on horseback, his dark eyes smiling in a way Nate’s never had. That sense of protection and utter adoration he attributed to Olivia filled him, watching the two small forms disappear over a ridge.
“Happiness,” he whispered, choking on the admission. But he shook his head in denial. It couldn’t be, could it? Olivia’s face grew hazy through a sheen of...tears as he looked to her for guidance. “Happiness?”
Was that what this was? Maybe. He wouldn’t know.
Fuck it all. Gutted, he met her gaze again and made a God-awful noise like a dying animal. Because, yes. This was what he imagined happy felt like.
Calm as you please, she set her wet hands on top of his head. “And there’s your answer. It doesn’t matter where you came from.” She placed her palm over his heart. “What matters is what’s in here. And you, Nathan, are a good man. You will make a great father someday because you know how awful it is to go without, to be hurt, and you’d never instill what was done to you on another. You’re also street smart with honed instincts. But, most of all, despite not having been shown any, you are capable of love.”
Christ. If she’d stabbed his carotid with a rusty utensil, it would hurt less.
Nostrils flared, throat on fire, eyes wet, he struggled through the uprising insurgence of mutiny inside his skull, his chest. Every-damn-where. “Baby...”
“Shh.” She pressed her lips to his and spoke against them. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Hell. For the first time, he just might be. “What are you doing to me?” Gritting his teeth, he hissed and cupped her jaw. Gave her a little shake. “Olivia, baby. What are you doing to me?”
“Nothing. Just giving what you should have had long before we met.”
That wasn’t nothing and they both knew it. Family, friendship, loyalty, respect, a sense of worth, of belonging, and...a home. Were there no lengths she wouldn’t go to?
Her sad, sweet smile was the last straw. She’d broken him. For good.
Rising, he climbed from the tub and held out his hand for her. Once she’d stepped onto the mat, he dried her off, then himself, and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and rose over her. Braced on his forearms, he studied her pretty face, took in each aspect to be sure his suspicions were right. In awe, he gave up fighting and shook his head.
Love. That’s what looked back at him.
Though she didn’t offer the words, three little syllables he’d never heard, she told him with one glance. He’d seen it often on others, had longed for it himself once upon a time. He relished the flame it kindled in his chest, let it burn and smolder, knowing he’d never feel it again. She should give this gift to someone deserving, and he wouldn’t dare tell her in return, but he could show her what she meant to him.
He reached for the nightstand, but she grabbed his hand. “You had frequent check-ups in the Army? You’re safe?” At his nod, she swallowed. “So am I, and I’m on birth control.”
No protection? She drove him to the brink of sanity, made his heart bleed, and he should genuflect merely being in her presence...but she wanted to drop the last barrier he had at his disposal?
Before he could wrap his head around that, she rolled him to his back and straddled him. Holding his face as if he were the precious one, she leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Tender. A brush of her lips and a sweep of her tongue. She said everything and nothing, and filled the infinite space in between.
Unhurried, he attempted to relay his sentiments in return. How unworthy he was of her. How she was the very thing he never knew he always wanted. How, heaven help him, she showed a monster like him what it meant to be significant.
And with her hair a curtain to shield them from outside world, he gave her his complete trust, put himself in her hands. Let himself slip into the delusion one last time.
She shifted and took him inside her, never breaking from the kiss. Unimaginable heat and soft flesh cradled him, inch by excruciating inch, until he was buried so deep, there would be no resurfacing. No recovery.
His sinuses prickled. His eyes burned. His throat constricted.
She paused, keeping them suspended on the edge of oblivion, and he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
He’d not, in his wildest fantasies, imagined just how glorious she’d feel with nothing between them. Heightened. Overpowering. Intense. The sensation took sensitive and gave it a steroid chaser.
Worse was what followed. The blatant, unrefined emotion, the sensual slowness in the way she handled him. She caressed his shoulders, his arms, and laced their fingers. Still, her hips didn’t shift, nor did she attempt to seek pleasure.
No. Instead, she made love to his mouth.
He sensed what was coming, but was helpless to stop her. Always before, desire and need had taken hold, had made being with her fierce and passionate. Though those elements hovered in the distance, this moment would be permanently hung on his memory’s wall.
Because she made love to him. And he let her.
With a tremor and a shaky exhale, she rocked her hips, her cornflower eyes locked to his. She kept him trapped in her gaze, in the torrent of emotion he found there. Over and over, so damn slowly that he broke out in a sweat, she rode him. Days, years, millenniums passed until her body told him she’d had enough, that she needed him.
Untangling their fingers, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her, never veering from her eyes. The punch of intensity at the connection slammed into him. Her breasts were crushed between them, she held his jaw, and they shared oxygen a suspended beat. Kingdoms could have been erected and destroyed, he’d never be the wiser.
Eyes open, he kissed her—the pressure light, wide-mouthed, and with the barest hint of tongue. And then he thrust. He used his arms as momentum to have her grind as his hips rose. She trembled, whimpered, and her lashes fluttered.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he pleaded. “Look at me.”
When she complied, he thrust again. Heat exploded and planets collided. She rode him, matching his tempo, holding her face close to his so that there was nothing and no one but her. Pace painstakingly deliberate, he repeated the dance, bringing her down around him as he rolled his pelvis.
He flattened his hands on the smooth expanse of her back, then detoured south to grab her ass. Damn, the motion was amazing. Jarring. She wrapped her arms around his neck, caged the back of his head by crossing her wrists. Still, they watched each other, lips mating, bodies knotted, and her heart pounding against his chest.
The result was an epiphany, his version of an apocalypse. Because there would be no life without her. Truthfully, his existence started just a couple short months ago.
And it would end tomorrow when he told her everything.
For now, tonight, he had her. He gave her everything he had left so she’d hopefully find it in her heart, in some distant day, to forgive him. To understand.
She breathed his name, and it took immeasurable restraint not to kick up the rhythm as she grew close to unraveling. Quaking, she looked at him. Pleading. Searching.
“That’s it, baby. I’ll catch you.” Somehow. But who’d break his fall?
Her walls fisted him. “Nate, I—”
He crushed his mouth to hers to stop what she was about to say. It couldn’t be taken back and she’d only regret it later. While she came, splintering in his arms, he grieved for the words he’d never get to hear. But that was his punishment. He deserved far worse.
With a shout into her mouth, he followed her and clung to her shaking body as he emptied inside her. Leveled, gasping, he rested his forehead to hers.
Taking in her flushed cheeks, her lips reddened by his kiss, and the sleepy wantonness lingering in her gaze, he died all over again. Christ, he’d never get over this. Over her. He’d almost rather be clueless than know there could be good memories to override an eternity of horrible ones.
Fisting his hand in her strands, he pressed her face into his neck and slammed his eyes shut when the hot threat of tears rose anew. Goddamn agony.
Somehow, he breathed through it, shoved emotion aside, and eased backward onto the mattress. With her on top of him, he kicked the blankets until he could reach the edge and covered them.
Her cheek on his chest, he smoothed her hair from her face and skimmed his hand up and down her spine. Kissed her strands. Let his lips linger. Breathed in her scent. Basked in her warm, soft skin against the hard planes of his body. And stored all of this for later.
“Nate?”
Christ, please. Save him.
“Not tonight, baby. Go to sleep.” Arms around her, he held her in a cocoon and prayed she’d listen.
After a few minutes, her breathing evened and he sighed in relief. Once he knew she was out cold, he carefully rolled and resettled her on her side of the bed. He tucked her in and slipped from under the covers to get dressed.
From there, he headed downstairs, packed his meager amount of things, and secured the canvas bag on the back of his motorcycle. Then, he gathered the carved figurines he had lying around and set them on the dresser in the bedroom he’d been using. Hopefully, they’d make her smile and not cause more grief.
Finally, he climbed the stairs to the third floor and sat in the chair in her bedroom.
Watching her sleep, with a heart so heavy it may as well be lead, he dreaded the moment she opened her eyes. The irony wasn’t lost on him and only made a mockery of the situation. A month ago, he’d been poised in the same spot, trained to her every nuance and twitch after her injury, scared out of his ever-loving mind she wouldn’t wake up.
Elbow on the chair arm, he rubbed his lips. Her long, pale lashes shadowed her cheeks and her auburn strands fanned the pillow. That lush little mouth of hers was partially open as she slumbered away. Her habit of setting her hand under her head and her bare shoulder peeking out from under the blankets only added to the adorableness, fed into the naughty sprite image he’d first envisioned.
He watched her through the night, and when morning broke, he rose to wait for her in the other room.
She’d been right about one thing. Turned out, monsters were capable of love after all. But it didn’t mean they should.