CHAPTER EIGHT
Gray
What in the hell was I doing?
Even as my lips moved over hers. Even as my tongue begged for entrance. Even as her mouth opened in welcome, I knew what I was doing was wrong.
For so many reasons.
Only a bastard of epic proportions would take advantage of someone in such a vulnerable position. She had a head injury, for Christ’s sake. The adrenaline had barely drained from her system after the accident in which she very nearly died. She was weak. Sore. I’d taken advantage of her under all of those circumstances. Worse, she’d let me.
I could remember Jessica talking about the Knight in Shining Armor Syndrome. She’d been reading one of the books she loved and had mused about the heroine falling in love with the pirate who saved her from drowning. The night before, we’d Netflixed Speed, where Sandra told Keanu that relationships based on extreme conditions never lasted, or something like that. As Jessica mused about pirates and ripped bodices, I’d taken the book out of her hand and pushed up her gown. With my mouth against her hot pussy, I’d pulled my best Keanu. “Then we need to just base it on sex.”
That was how it had been between us. Easy. Fun. Deep. Sensual.
Just like it was with the goddess. Dammit. Her name was Zoe. I needed to start thinking of her by her name. I needed to stop thinking about the way her fingers felt in my beard, the way her nails scratched at my back. I needed to stop thinking about how exquisite her mouth was, how soft her lips felt. How sweet her tongue tasted as it twisted with mine. The way she looked at me, those soft green eyes seeming to see into the darkest corners of my soul. Because it was possible Zoe saw me as her knight in shining armor, and I was about the polar opposite of a white knight.
I tossed another log on the fire, watched the fireworks of sparks explode and settle.
Her sounds. God, the little moans and whimpers she made went straight to my cock. There was something so innocent about her, which was a juxtaposition to how sexy she was. Full breasts, small waist flaring into full hips and ass. Long legs with skin so smooth it looked like silk, beckoning to be touched. Pillowy lips that didn’t look injected. And those eyes… damn. In the kitchen, I’d been seconds away from lifting her onto the counter and driving straight into her tight body.
We would fit together perfectly, I already knew that.
Just as I’d known Jessica was mine the instant I saw her.
With Jess, it wasn’t insta-love. It was insta-rightness. Insta-knowing. Insta-home.
I had known with a bone-deep certainty that Jessica was meant to be in my life. Sure, I had needed to get to know her, and she needed to get to know me and there were things that tested our patience or drove us to the brink of madness. But Jess had been the only woman I’d been willing to navigate that path with. The only one with whom I’d been able to see past the bad that life had to offer and focus on the good. Then… bam.
She was gone, and two years later, the same feelings of rightness were back.
And forgive me, Jessica, I wanted them. I wanted them so fucking bad.
I dropped my face in my hands. That was the bitch of it all. I felt like I was cheating, felt like I needed to explain. But there was no one to explain it to. No one to forgive me or say it was okay.
As dawn broke, lighting the cabin in tiny increments, I pushed to my feet to stand at the window. Damn. Blizzard was an understatement. The entire world was a sea of white, mounds of it nearly reaching the top rail of my expansive deck. It was still snowing hard, and the sky didn’t indicate it would be stopping anytime soon. We could get another foot from the looks of it.
Click. Click. Click.
I turned to find Maggie trotting up to me, her nose pushing into my hand. Behind her, Zoe was stepping from my bedroom, and the hair on my arms stood up as her presence altered gravity and the electrical pull between Earth and moon.
Damn. She looked good, her hair a mad tangle around her face. Even the bruises and red scratches couldn’t detract from how naturally lovely she was. And her legs. Jesus.
My cock fired to life, pulsing in the thin cotton of the sleeping pants I wore. Shit. I turned back to the snow and stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Good morning.”
I felt her approach, the way magnets must feel the presence of their opposite being pulled to them, and electricity crackled over my skin.
“Oh, my heavens.” Beside me now, she gaped in wide-eyed wonder at the snow. She looked up at me, those green eyes dancing as a smile spread over her face. “That doesn’t even seem real.”
“Come help me dig out a place for Maggie to do her business, and you’ll learn exactly how real this is.”
She laughed, her fingers moving to the window. To help her stay steady, I realized, as she swayed just a bit.
“How are you feeling?”
She wrinkled her nose. “My head feels a little less like a ticking bomb sitting on my shoulders, so I’m calling that a win.”
Leaning against the glass, I captured her chin in my hand. “Let me see.” Mimicking my position, she looked up at me. Her pupils were still unevenly dilated, which was concerning but not abnormal after such a blow. “Close.” Without hesitating, she closed her eyes, her long dark lashes fanning her cheeks. “Open.” Still uneven, but not as dilated as last night. I smiled down at her and dropped my hand to my side, stuffing it back in my pocket. “They look better.” So did the wound on her head. It was closing up nicely.
She smirked. “I thought my black eye looked pretty incredible. Purple was always one of my best colors.”
In spite of my efforts to not touch her, I reached up and stroked the bruised skin with my thumb. “It’s a good one for sure.”
The atmosphere pulsed, thickened. My eyes fell to her lips and…
Meow-eek.
Zoe exhaled, pushed her hair back from her face, and took a step away from me, although each move appeared to have cost her much effort. In the center of the room, the white furball squatted and peed more urine than an animal that small could possibly contain. “Oh no.”
Still staggery, Zoe picked him up, got a few hissing whacks in return while I headed to the kitchen for paper towels. “This is where you go,” she singsonged to the little shit as she sat him in the makeshift litter box. He immediately jumped out and pounced on the belt of her robe. When she stood, he went up with her, his sharp little claws hanging on.
I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. The damn thing was bipolar, but cute.
Maggie whined, regaining my attention. She was once again giving me her please look.
I looked outside at the continuing storm, then pointed at the litter box. “Want to try that, girl?” She didn’t look amused. I knew I was defeated when she gave me that look again. “Alright. You win.” I looked at Zoe. “I’m going to have to dig her out a spot. Eat whatever sounds good, or I’ll make something when I get back. All the appliances run on gas, except the microwave and coffee maker. If you want caffeine, you’ll have to use the press sitting next to it, and if you want anything zapped, you’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed stare at the massive six burner stove. “Old-fashioned, huh? I’ll tell that to my heroines who are cooking a cut up rabbit on a spit over the fire.”
I grinned. Damn. My face was starting to hurt from smiling so much. “It’s all relative.”
Maggie whined again, reminding me that I needed to be digging instead of flirting. I gave her a little salute and headed to my closet to suit up.
When I got back to the living room, I found that the kitten had climbed onto Zoe’s shoulder and was whacking at her hair. She seemed to be enjoying the momentarily playful creature. Maggie just looked desperate.
“Come on, girl.”
“Be careful, dear,” Zoe teased, her green eyes alight with mischief. “I’ll have coffee brewing if I can ever figure this percolator contraption out.”
“It’s a French press. The manual is in the drawer in the laundry room if you need help.”
The kitten was trying to climb on top of her head, and when she pulled it off, he hung on for dear life, taking about half of her hair with him. Crazy cat. At least the little shit wasn’t taking a swipe at her face.
Thoroughly annoyed with me, Maggie jumped and put her paws on the door. I pulled my gaze away from Zoe and headed that way. When I opened the door, the icy wind was like a full body slap.
“Oh my heavens.”
I looked back to see Zoe’s robe flying away from her legs, her hair sweeping behind her from the force of the wind tunneling into the cabin. The kitten went nuts in her hands as he tried to figure out what was happening. The look on the goddess’s face was priceless as she attempted to contain the squirming creature and not get cut to ribbons in the process.
I was laughing when I pulled the door closed, having to fight the strong wind to do so. As I shoveled, I realized I was still smiling. Hell, I was even humming. Humming. When I ran back through the tune I’d been singing, I realized it was “Sex on Fire.”
Damn, the goddess was under my skin.
When I’d dug out enough space for Maggie to do her business, I turned my back so she’d jump off the porch. The sweet girl was modest. She didn’t care so much about peeing, but pooping was a different story. She even looked embarrassed by her occasional farts and would often slink off when she let one loose, leaving me to deal with the smelly aftermath.
When I heard Mags digging to cover the evidence, I turned back around. “Feel better, girl?”
In response, she woofed and bounded into a pile of snow, completely disappearing. Then she was off, jumping and playing like a puppy as I got back to work. I chuckled. A good shit could do that for a person, or animal.
Nearly an hour later, I’d done enough and was nearly frozen to the core. I’d made a path to the garage and that was good enough.
Stomping my boots off on the porch, I waited for Mags to shake off some of the snow and ice stuck to her fur before opening the door. She trotted inside and went immediately to the fire, plopping down on her favorite rug. The kitten, who’d been watching us warily from the hearth, went into a fit of hissing and jumping before scampering under the couch like the devil himself was about to take a huge chunk out of his ass.
I shook my head at the crazy animal. It was so strange. Just yesterday, Maggie and I were coming in from the snow, entering a silent cabin. Less than twenty-four hours later, we were doing the same thing, but the cabin was very different. There was life in here now. Life I didn’t realize I’d missed.
“Smells good,” I said as I unwrapped the scarf from around my face and began peeling everything off. The scent of bacon made everything better. Always.
Zoe came around the corner, a bucket in her hands, her hair in some wild knot thing on her head, pieces flying out in different directions. “You look like the abominable snowman,” she said and placed the bucket on the counter. I recognized it as the one I’d been soaking her clothes in.
“Well, you have a mild resemblance to Medusa at the moment. If you wrote paranormal, you could hook those two up.”
Her hand flew to her hair and she laughed, a lovely, joyous sound. “Well, you better be careful, or I’ll turn you to stone.”
I grabbed a towel and started to dry the snow and ice from my beard. “I’m already an ice cube so it won’t take much.”
Smiling, she stepped over to the stove and turned the bacon sizzling there. A sense of déjà vu that was so strong it nearly knocked me sideways assaulted me. How many times had I watched Jessica do just that? Dark hair piled on top of her head. Robe dangling around her legs. Feet bare despite the cold. Moving around the kitchen so naturally she looked like she was born there.
“You okay?”
I blinked and realized she’d caught me staring, my coat half on, half off, like I had indeed been turned into the hunk of rock I’d just teased her about.
I grunted something and finished pulling off the bulky jacket. Hanging it on the hook, I bent to untie my boots. I didn’t answer her question. I couldn’t because I didn’t know how to answer it honestly. Was I okay? I didn’t know.
The fridge opened, and I looked up to find her pulling out a carton of eggs. I needed to remember to take a carton from the freezer to thaw or we wouldn’t have enough for tomorrow. I had powdered eggs and some frozen mixes, but they weren’t the same as when you broke the shell yourself.
“Omelets okay?”
My chest grew heavy, like a vice was squeezing off my breath. “Yeah. Omelets are terrific.”
She flashed another smile that lit up the universe and began breaking eggs and chopping vegetables. “Anything special you like?”
Yeah. You. Bent over the counter, my cock buried deep in your wet pussy, your breasts in my hands as you scream my name.
“Not picky. I’ll eat anything.”
Especially you. I want to spread your legs apart and feast on your sweet flesh, fuck you with my tongue and fingers until you come on my face.
Disgusted with my lizard brain, I stalked into the bedroom to change out of my wet clothes. Choosing thick sweat pants and a fresh t-shirt, I changed out of the loose boxers I normally wore to a pair of tighter boxer briefs. Maybe these would put a stranglehold on my damn dick.
Back in the living room, I tossed more logs onto the fire as I watched Zoe squinting at a manual, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Jesus. Was there anything she did that wasn’t sensual as all hell?
I cleared my throat. “Need help?”
She frowned in frustration, blinking as she moved the manual back and forth. “My vision is still a bit blurry.” She pointed at the Mr. Coffee machine sitting to the side. “That, I know how to use. I’m not totally useless as a human.”
I laughed. “Want me to start the generator? All the outlets will work, and you’ll be in civilization again.”
She looked up at the nonworking lights, then around the cabin. “No, that’s okay. I like it like this. I didn’t even realize the zing of noise electricity makes. It’s so quiet this way.” She laughed, blushing. “Sorry, I’m being overly dramatic. It’s just making me feel a bit closer to my heroines to not have everything at a press of a button.”
I want to press your button. Take it between my teeth, suck it into my mouth.
“Gray?”
I was staring again, and I ran a hand through my hair, realizing I was probably freaking her out. “Sorry. Let me show you how to make coffee the French way. Maybe tomorrow we’ll try to make some over the fire. You’ll really appreciate your heroines’ suffering then.”
The soft seafoam green of her eyes was locked onto me as I approached. She swallowed hard. “I, um, boiled water and am letting it cool a bit liked the directions say.”
I glanced at the stove where the bacon was draining and a skillet sat ready for the omelets. A pan of water sat to the side of a burner. Reaching into the cabinet, I pulled the coffee beans and grinder out.
She bobbed her eyebrows up and down. “Fancy.”
“Yeah, all abominable snowmen like their beans freshly ground.”
She rolled her eyes and watched with interest as I poured some beans into the grinder, like she was memorizing my every move. “You want to do this while I supervise?”
A blush crept up onto her cheeks. “Sure. Then I’ll be able to add a new skill to my ridiculously short list of them. Who knew adulting could present so many challenges?”
I watched her close the bag of beans and replace it in the cabinet. Even her hands were lovely. Unpolished nails, just a little longer than the tips of her fingers only complemented their graceful length.
“How old are you?” The question burst out of me.
She smiled, shooting me a curious look. “How old do you think I am?”
Oh, no. No. No. No. I wasn’t falling into that trap. I lifted my hands in surrender. “No way in hell am I guessing.”
She closed the lid of the grinder, looking at it closely. “Fine. If you have to know, I’m seventeen.”
Oh, good god. I was a dirty old man. Shit. Fuck. Damn.
She laughed. “I turned twenty-two last week, but the look on your face was worth the lie.”
A rush of air pushed out of my lungs. Good. At least I wasn’t fantasizing about a child. That would have sent me over some edge of no return.
“How old are you?” she asked. “And how do you turn this thing on?”
I smirked. “Forty-one.”
It was her turn to gape. Two could play at this game. Then I realized that if she believed me, my ego might never recover.
Her eyes narrowed but still flashed with good humor. “I’m calling bullshit on that one.”
“Then you would have called correctly. Knock ten years off that. I’m thirty-one. And to answer your other question, push down on the top.”
She looked back at the grinder. “Oh.” Then pushed down. The scream of the grinder caused her to jump back, both of her hands flying to her head as her face twisted into a mask of agony.
I reached for her. Shit. I hadn’t thought about the noise. Pulling her to my chest, I held her head against me, making soothing sounds into her hair.
Long moments passed. I just held her, needing her closeness as much as it seemed she needed mine. Her hands slipped under my t-shirt, her fingertips pressing into my back. Stroking a hand down her spine, I stopped just above her lush ass, wanting to move lower, wanting to feel it in my hand.
I was growing hard, and I knew she could feel it against her stomach, but I was finding it very hard to care.
Human connection. I didn’t know how much I’d been internally longing for it, but damn, it felt so good to have the warmth of another person pressed against me. Jessica had been the last woman I held in my arms.
Jess. Dammit.
As a kid, my foster parents scrubbed me up and dragged me to church every Sunday, parading me in front of the other parishioners who constantly told them “how self-sacrificing they were” to take on such a “troubled youth.” That was me. And I was troubled. I was troubled by how my parents overdosed when I was eight, leaving me to find their dead bodies after school. I was troubled to be thrust into a foster system the next day. I was troubled when the first home was abusive. The second home was too.
Then I’d gone to live with the Petersons for a while. It was heaven. They were kind, had good food. Mr. Peterson helped me with my homework and showed me how things worked. Mrs. Peterson ruffled my hair and kissed my cheek as she asked me about my day, and really listened like she cared. Then she got cancer, began to whither into a skeleton, and I was moved to live with the Morris family. In many ways, I’d wished I’d never known how good things could be with the Petersons. I wouldn’t have been able to miss something I never knew. Long for it. Grieve for it. Feel a bone deep anger that it was gone.
In the Morris’s church, I’d sit still and listen to the preacher shouting at the congregation. He shouted about sin and eternal damnation. Heaven and hell.
I didn’t know if heaven or hell actually existed, but what if it did? What if Jessica was there, “watching over me” as all the Bible people said she would? That meant she was watching me lust after this girl. Kiss this girl. Possibly fuck this girl.
The thought was deeply disturbing.
With supreme effort, I released Zoe and slowly stepped away. “You okay?”
Those eyes. So light green they could be confused for gray when they weren’t lit up with humor lifted to mine. “Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting all that noise. My head is still throbbing, although I think I’m getting used to it more than it’s getting better.”
I glanced at the grinder. “How about you go into the bedroom while I finish the beans? It’ll just take a few seconds.”
She licked her lips and nodded before walking away. I blew out a breath, adjusted my boxers, and waited to hear the click of the door before pushing the button. After the promised few seconds, I called out, “Done,” and the door clicked open again.
Quiet as a cat, she padded back into the kitchen, a bright smile plastered on her face. “So… you’ll show me the French press?”
She followed my instructions on measuring out the grounds and then pouring the hot water over them, giving them a good stir. “Now we wait. I like my coffee strong, so I usually wait five or six minutes. But we can do four today. I’m not picky.”
Zoe glanced at the clock and returned to the stove. Turning on the burner, she started to work on the omelet, but I noticed her fingers trembling a bit. I was making her nervous, and the animal inside me was glad.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked as she poured the egg mixture into the sizzling skillet.
I considered the question, remembering the hungry eyes of the gold diggers at Jessica’s funeral. She hadn’t been six feet under for more than five minutes when offers of condolences were purred in my direction.
“I write security software.”
She lifted a brow. “Like for virus protection?”
I grinned. “Something like that.”
“That’s really interesting. I’ve taken computer courses, and when I look at a code, I’m always amazed that so much gibberish makes sense to anyone. That all those seemingly random numbers and letters and characters actually talk to the computer in a way it understands.”
“Yeah. I’ve always been fascinated by how things work. When I was a kid, I loved taking things apart and putting them back together again.” And getting the hell beat out of me by my foster family didn’t stop the curiosity.
Zoe was too busy fiddling with the omelet to see the black cloud settle onto my shoulders, but she must have felt my change of mood because she looked up at me with concern in her eyes. “Do you still like to take things apart and put them back together?”
Yeah. I’d like to shatter you, watch your face while you break apart under me, then kiss you until you’re whole again.
“Gray?”
“Yeah. I’ve always been good with my hands. I built the sunroom on the back, expanded the deck. When I feel like it, I write software.”
As I watched, she jiggled the eggs in the pan, and with the smoothness I’d never quite duplicated myself, she flipped it, grinning at her success.
Just like Jessica.
My heart ached then leaped with the thought. Confusion and guilt and longing collided inside me, swirling around like the blizzard that had brought us together.
Still smiling, she reduced the heat and turned back to the press. “Coffee time. What do I do next?”
Stepping behind her, I showed her how to put the filter stem on top of the beaker and press it down, my hands on top of hers. “Ah… and so the name French press was born,” she said, her voice morphing into a weird British accent. “I’m sure the snooty French never considered that we mountain people would be pressing their invention.”
I laughed, enjoying doing something so simple. I also enjoyed having a reason for my arms to be around her like this. She fit me perfectly. I wouldn’t have to lower my head much to rest my chin on top of hers.
Even when the coffee was done, we continued to stand like that, neither of us moving. Gravity changed again as we stood there, my hands on hers, her back to my front. Her fingers flexed, then turned until they threaded with mine. Her breathing had shallowed, grown faster. Just like my own.
“Gray?” My name was soft on the air.
“Yes.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
I wished I could see her face, read her eyes. “Done what?”
She squeezed my fingers but didn’t continue. A long sigh escaped her instead.
It hit me. No fucking way. “Zoe, are you a virgin?” I stepped away, let her go. Watched her turn to face me.
A single tear fell, and she swiped it away with the sleeve of her robe. “No.”
A rush of relief settled over me. “Okay,” I said without thinking. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
She stiffened, her face growing darker as I watched her move back to the omelet, adding more cheese on top. She plated it and began working on the second one. Her hands moved furiously as she added everything to the skillet. Then she turned on me, her eyes angry now.
“Why don’t you think that’s possible? Do I give off a slutty vibe or something?”
That surprised the shit out of me. “No. I—”
She poked me in the chest, her nail digging into the thin material. “Do you think that just because I have tits and ass I show them to anyone with a dick?”
“No. I—”
“Well, I haven’t.” She poked again. “And I don’t, okay. I can’t help the way I look. And I know what you’re thinking…” The nail turned, dug in as she gave out a harsh laugh. “Poor little pretty girl has it sooo hard.” Another tear fell, and she left it alone. It hovered at the base of her chin before dropping to her t-shirt, darkening the material near where her four-leaf pendant lay above her heaving chest. “You don’t know me. You don’t know…” Her voice cracked, and she trailed off, turning back to the stove.
In that moment, I felt helpless, and there was only one other time I felt this way.
The gun. Jessica on the floor. Bam.
I’d survived my childhood, getting into fistfights nearly every day. I’d built a multibillion-dollar company from the ground up. I could take apart any machine. I could fell a tree and make a house out of it. I could kill a man with my bare hands.
The thought stopped my mental tirade. I looked down at my hands and was almost able to see the blood still lingering there. Not the man’s blood, but hers. Jessica’s blood. And the blood of the child who died just ten days before she should have breathed her first breath.
No. I didn’t know Zoe. And she didn’t know me. She didn’t know what I was capable of. What I could do, would do if pressed into a corner.
Click. Click. Click.
As if sensing the tension growing in the cabin, Maggie nuzzled the side of my leg. The kitten pranced in behind her and started swatting at Zoe’s toes.
Zoe plated the omelet, added a few slices of bacon beside it before she stopped moving and exhaled a long breath.
She looked at me. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
“I’m sorry for being thick and saying something that clearly upset you. You were right. I don’t know you.” I stepped closer to her, pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But I want to.”
And not just carnally. I wanted to know all of her. Inside and out.
Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she blinked them back and turned her face into my hand lingering there. She kissed my palm, her breath warm against my skin.
Then she stepped closer, until her body was pressed against mine. My heart squeezed as I looked down into her incredible eyes. “I want to know you too.”