Chapter Eight
The ceiling above Nate’s bed creaked for the eight-hundredth time from Olivia’s incessant movement. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the dog next to him. “You should’ve slept with her instead of me tonight.”
Bones set his head back down, tail wagging.
Two hours since they’d returned from the barn, and it appeared neither was going to get any rest. Hell, she needed it bad, too. After her ordeal, she’d be no good to anyone as a zombie. Yet, she paced. And paced. He wondered if it was what he’d said that made her restless or if it was the day’s events. Which was worse?
And…great. The image of her on the ground and a gun to her head materialized again. Nothing would erase it. Swear to Christ, he didn’t think he’d ever been so scared shitless. If he had, he couldn’t recall.
Perhaps it was his connection to Justin, Nate’s time on the ranch, or his unfettered attraction to her, but his sun rose and set with Olivia Cattenach. Try as he might, he couldn’t explain it and he didn’t see a way out. It only got stronger as the seconds ticked by. Guard. Defend. Worse, and entirely new to him, was the urge to let her in. Mind. Heart.
He’d been protective of Justin, as well, just not to this degree. When Nate had first met the fellow soldier, he’d been unable to understand the instant connection. The kid had grated his nerves in an adorable way and, no matter what they’d seen overseas, Justin had forever kept his optimism. He and Olivia were so alike it was uncanny. Compassionate, sincere, forgiving.
Hell, Nate missed the little shit so much the loss was a cavern. It was his cross to bear. He had no right calling Justin a friend and certainly had no business lusting after Olivia.
The door at the top of the stairs just outside his room opened, and Nate flung the covers aside to shove his legs into a pair of sweats. Her footsteps padded on the creaky boards and he rushed to cut her off at the pass, intuition telling him her motives. Waiting for her in the doorway to his bedroom, he leaned against the jamb while Bones sat dutifully next to him.
She descended into view and paused on the last step, her gaze raking over his naked chest and bare feet. Biting her lip, she swallowed and focused on his arm. Why, he hadn’t a clue, but even with the dim light at her back, he saw her pupils dilate. And hell, a blush worked up her neck and infused her cheeks.
What she saw in him, he had no idea. Like he’d done with her brother, Nate had been pleasant and distant, and like her brother, she’d shot holes through his Kevlar to get underneath. Body builder physique aside, Nate wasn’t exactly the kind of man someone like her should be attracted to. Inked, scarred, and unattainable. Yet here she stood, her desire a living thing and trying to sink its claws deeper into him.
Her auburn hair was on top of her head in a messy knot and she wore the same damn...nothing from that night in the kitchen a couple weeks ago. Criminally tight shorts that barely covered her ass and a tank top which played a groan-inducing game of peek-a-boo with her ample breasts.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Her quiet voice was a combination of uncertain and come-hither, which did nothing to eradicate fantasy number seventy-four rolling around in his head to take her right on the stairs.
“Figured as much. You’ve been wearing the finish of the floorboards for a couple hours.”
She glanced at the ceiling. “I’m sorry to keep you awake. I’ll just go check on Amy and head to bed. I promise.”
Just as he suspected. “I was already up and Amy’s resting. Kyle’s in with her if she needs something.”
She pouted, part adorable and fully sexy, though he was pretty positive that wasn’t her intention. “She’s okay? I’ll just peek and—”
He stepped forward, cupped her shoulders, and turned her around. “She’s fine. No sense in disturbing her. She needs rest and so do you. Upstairs. Go.” When she glanced at him over her shoulder with a look of sheer helplessness in her eyes, he sighed. “I’m coming. Go on.” He’d make her a cup of tea and let her talk to death. That should do the trick.
A weary sigh, and she climbed the stairs. He followed with her tight ass in his direct line of sight and his pulse hammering. At the top, Bones trotted inside after Olivia and Nate quietly closed the door.
He glanced around and grunted in surprise. “You’ve got your own little pad up here.” There was a tiny kitchenette big enough for an elf that bled into a living room. Hardwood floors, like downstairs, except she had drywall instead of paneling. Off to the side was a doorway which he assumed was her bedroom. “To the couch. I’ll be right there.”
Dutifully, she listened and sank onto the plush yellow cushions, wrapping herself in a blanket.
He pivoted toward the two-burner stove and filled her kettle with water, setting it to boil. “Where’s your tea?” He knew she drank the stuff because Mae tended to make her a cup after dinner.
“Check the cabinet next to the fridge. There might be some.”
He found a box of chamomile and another of cocoa. “Got anything one-hundred proof up here?”
“No, the good stuff’s downstairs. I have Bailey’s in the cupboard right below you.”
Blech. Hot chocolate instead of tea for her, then. He checked the date on the bottle, assured it was unopened and not expired, then poured a generous amount into a mug. When the kettle whistled, he mixed the cocoa and brought her the steaming cup.
“Drink,” he ordered and nodded when she took a sip.
From over the rim, her gaze landed on his chest and traveled across his abs, then his arms. Since there was appreciation in her eyes and he...liked it, he moved to the wall to study her photographs. Several contained her and Justin at various ages. A few were of the two of them with what Nate assumed were her parents.
“You look like your mom.” Gorgeous auburn hair, fair skin with a dusting of freckles, fragile frame, and a smile that could stop the earth from rotating on its axis.
“All but my eyes. Got those from Dad.”
Cornflower and very expressive. Yeah, he’d have to be blind to miss those baby blues. Too many times, he’d gotten sucked in with one glance.
They were a good-looking family. Or had been. Wholesome. Happy. It was as foreign to him as touch, but his chest pinched imagining what it would’ve been like to have someone, anyone, give a damn. Maybe he might’ve turned out different, been a guy worth the admiration in her eyes.
The other wall had nature photographs. Blades of grass, up close, with sunlight reflecting off dew. Another of a horse’s snout, steam billowing from its nostrils, and snow as a blurry afterthought in the background. Well-worn wooden planks with a ladybug front and center.
“These are good.” Impressive, actually.
She nodded. “Amy took them. She calls it fooling around, but I keep saying she should be serious about it. I haven’t seen her pick up a camera in a long time.”
“That’s a shame.” Not that he knew anything about art, but he knew crap when he saw it and these didn’t qualify. He went to turn when a corner cabinet caught his attention. Behind glass were several shelves containing figurines of... “The Loch Ness Monster?”
She was a trip. He would’ve pegged her for butterflies or horseshoes or something. Who collected an ugly mystical figure? Where would one even buy such a thing? Then again, she only had about ten total.
“We Scots call her Nessie.” She smiled and sipped her cocoa.
“That’s right. Cattenach’s a Scottish name.” Grunting, he claimed the seat on the other side of the couch, giving her a wide berth. “Makes sense with your coloring.”
Bones curled up on the rug in front of a coffee table and promptly closed his eyes. Smart dog. Which reminded him...
“What kept you awake? Talking it out will help.” He crossed his arms, wondering how many branches of the crazy tree he’d smacked his head on when he’d fallen. He’d typically take a second coming of the bubonic plague over conversation.
“Because talking worked wonders for you, seeing as you’re so well-rounded.” Blink, blink, blink. Grin.
Sarcasm and he were intimate bedfellows, and hearing it from her lips, combined with that sassy little smile he wanted to kiss off her mouth, had him struggling to breathe. Issuing a mental down boy when his dick twitched, he sighed. “Don’t make me regret coming up here. I’ll take the cocoa back.”
The grin amped and lit her eyes. “I drank all of it. Too bad.” She set the mug on the table. “It had enough Bailey’s to bring down an Irishman.”
He laughed and... Damn her. He actually laughed. The sound was rusty, even to his own ears, but something unfurled in his chest. Strangest shit, right there.
“Be still my heart.” She brought her bent arm to the back cushion and rested her cheek. “He’s capable of laughter. Sigh.”
Who said the word sigh out loud? Honestly. It was cute as hell.
“Okay, okay. I’ll stop poking fun.” She adjusted the blanket in her lap and sobered. “I was thinking about Amy. That’s why I’m awake. It’s driving me crazy, wondering how long Chris’s behavior has been violent and why she didn’t tell me.”
He ran his hand over the rough stubble on his jaw as visual reminders of today’s events seared his retinas. “You won’t know the whole story until you can talk to her tomorrow. There’s no sense in beating yourself up over it.” Not that she’d stop simply because he suggested the notion. She wore her heart on her sleeve and carried everyone’s burdens on her shoulders. He’d tell her to quit that, too, but the world needed more bleeding hearts. “Besides, regardless of how long it’s been happening, you can’t make someone accept help if they don’t want it.”
She studied him a long beat. “And you don’t want help. Is that it?”
“We weren’t talking about me.”
Her lips curved. “In case you missed the topic change, we are now.”
A wise man would get up and concede the loss. He’d never been smart, though, and he couldn’t make his body follow his brain’s orders. In fact, nothing was computing at the moment because...
She was at it again. Her gaze dipped to his torso. Roamed over him with interest and fascination in the cornflower depths. Lips slightly parted, she drew a barely audible inhale and, with a flutter of her lashes, met his gaze once more.
The air crackled between them the longer they stared.
He’d never been particularly sensitive about his body, but the way she looked at him left him exposed and unnerved. And turned-on. Stranger still was the array of emotion in her eyes when she focused on what was above his neck. Half the time, he couldn’t keep up. Right this second, he could’ve sworn she was shoving aside shadows in his mind and checking corners for secrets.
Finally, she nodded as if she’d discovered something. “You said earlier you’ve never been touched.”
His heart puttered and quit pumping. She didn’t have to use her hands for him to feel her. Her gaze was enough. And where was she going with this?
“You like it when we do. I can tell.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “However, you claim you can’t be with me. Logically, if you enjoy it, you should be curious. But you deny yourself the opportunity. What does never having been touched before have to do with refusing to try now?”
“I said that so you’d understand why I acted the way I did when we were close.” And so she’d get it through her stubborn skull she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. It wasn’t that he hated being near her. The opposite. He craved it.
“As far as non-answers go, I give that four out of five stars.” Patience in her eyes, she lifted her brows, letting him know he wasn’t off the hook.
“I told you before, Olivia. I’m not the right guy for you.”
“Shouldn’t I get a vote? Decide for myself?”
No. Because if she knew him at all, she never would’ve let him in her home, never mind close enough to share the few moments they’d had together.
He turned his face away and dug his fingers into his eye sockets. To give her even a shred of the truth would mean opening the door to a past he’d sealed closed. And revealing the detrimental issue of what was on the other side—her brother and the reason he was dead.
“I’m not a good guy.” Nate forced himself to look at her, nail home the point for her and himself. “Everything I touch turns to shit. Getting involved with me will bring you down to my level and you’ll never climb out. I’m not the hero or the white knight, and that’s the man you should be looking for.”
Unblinking, she stared at him. “When you say things like that, it makes me want to...”
“To what?” He knew a trap when he saw one, but he stepped in it, anyway. Common sense got drunk and giddy when Olivia was on the premises. Maybe he should just raise a glass, too, and dub reason a lost cause.
“Prove you wrong.” She tossed the blanket aside, got on her hands and knees, and crawled across the sofa until she knelt in front of him on the cushion. “Sometimes the hero’s a beast or a frog or an ogre. Maybe I’m not looking for a knight.”
He couldn’t fucking breathe, damn it. “Olivia—”
She climbed on his lap and straddled his thighs.
Oxygen? Depleted.
His head hit the back of the couch. Panting, he stared at her, hands fisted at his sides and his dick throbbing to the jack-hammering beat of his heart.
And then she killed him dead. She set her hands on the top of his head and splayed her fingers. When he didn’t move, she caressed his scalp like he was a cat, and he thought about purring to reward her. It was difficult to tell who was getting more pleasure out of the situation. Though her cheeks were flushed and her lids were heavy, she seemed more interested in his reaction.
Trying to swallow and failing miserably, he gave into temptation and dropped his gaze. The swells of her breasts were inches from his face and the nipples had peaked to hard little buds through the thin shirt. Her toned thighs had his caged, and the tent in his pants was within thrusting distance to her heat. If not for her clothes, he feared he’d have already taken her. Another time, place, or woman, and this would be a done deal. She’d be screaming with orgasm number two by now.
But this was Olivia. The proof was in their position and the basic, essential fact that she had her hands on him. He’d never ceded control a day in his life. Yet, for this tiny, fair-skinned, combustible redhead, he’d wave a white flag. Actually, he wasn’t sure he had a choice.
Her hands descended slowly, skin shushing skin, over his ears to his jaw. She held his face and brushed her thumbs across his lips. Her lust-saturated gaze followed the movement and he groaned at the carnal interest blowing her pupils. Her fingers trailed lower and the urge to touch her became a feral warrior cry inside his head. Gently, she stroked his neck, his throat, and he nearly snapped.
Grabbing her wrists, he ceased her movement. “You have no idea what a dangerous game you’re playing, baby.”
Before he knew what hit him, she leaned forward and brought her lips to his. She stopped short of an actual kiss and they shared air, barely connecting. Hovering. Drifting.
“Game, you say?” Her warm breath teased his lips as she spoke. While he shook from restraint, she tilted her head the other way, brushing their noses. “Scrabble? Monopoly?” Her breathy whisper and the joking reply made him groan again. “I know. It’s spin the bottle.”
Screw this. A man could only take so much. She’d been rattling the cage of his restraint since the episode in her kitchen. She wanted to play? He’d play.
Grabbing the back of her head, he threaded his fingers in her hair, dislodging the knot, and held her millimeters from his mouth. “War, baby.” And then, he plunged.
Except, instead of ravaging her mouth and staking a claim, he got confused by the softness of her lips and her tender response. Christ, he’d never been seduced before, but sure as shit, that seemed to be her counter offer. He could trace every red blood cell that swam through his veins. He was that hyperaware, that...lost.
Delicately, she parted her lips, swept them against his, and kissed first his top, then the bottom. Letting her lead, he pinched his brows together and held still. She didn’t come at him with fire. She told him a story. And he’d be damned if it didn’t start with once upon a time like she were proving he was some kind of hero. Specifically, hers.
Sliding her arms under his, she gripped his shoulders from behind. He inhaled—hard—at the overwhelming sensation of her warm hands on his bare skin. Her fingers moved across his biceps, tracing the dips and grooves of his muscles while she tilted her head and opened for him.
His insides incinerated to ash the moment his tongue stroked hers. A taunt and a coax. An endearment and a promise. She tasted like Bailey’s and cocoa, and it was so sweet, he figured he’d grown an affinity for it after one sip. Addicted, he went back for more.
Christ, it was like she was everywhere. The scent of rain in his nose. A caress against his flesh. Lightning in his gut. Lava in his blood. He didn’t normally care for kissing all that much. It was too intimate, too personal. No one had ever taken the time to show him they gave a damn, that he was worth the bother of learning. His body or mind. One kiss, and Olivia almost had him believing he could be a man worthy of her.
He wasn’t.
He went to pull away, but she had other ideas. She pressed closer until she was all but lying on his chest, crushing her breasts between them. Out of instinct, he grabbed her hips, and immediately knew it was a mistake. Because now he had his hands on her. A saint would’ve committed several carnal sins to be in his shoes.
She amped the wattage and explored his mouth with languid, deep strokes of her tongue. He matched her best he could, sinking into the hot, wet cavern of her sweetness. A mind of their own, his hands settled low on her back and slid up the curve of her spine until his fingers were buried in her soft strands.
This kissing thing had merit. Fucking hot and more tame than what he was accustomed to. Foreplay. Seduction. He was utterly lost and heading for oblivion when she eased away. A lazy lift of her lids, and his fingers clenched her strands. Damn, but her eyes were a sucker punch. Especially saturated in longing.
“Tell me again we’re all wrong,” she whispered. “Try to convince me we shouldn’t explore what’s happening, that you don’t want this.”
He didn’t know up from down and she wanted him to speak? Rationally?
Her smile was the be-all, know-all to an ultimate game of wits. “That’s what I thought.” She climbed off his lap, and he wanted to weep. “To be continued. Goodnight, Nate.”
Good…What?
He glanced at his raging hard-on, then her retreating form as she disappeared into her bedroom.