Chapter Twelve
A tray balanced on his forearm, Nakos paused outside Amy’s bedroom. Unless she was changing, she always left the door open, even while sleeping. He would’ve thought living with a man, despite having known him all her life, would make her uncomfortable not having a measure of privacy. Yet every time he passed by, it remained open. He wondered if it had something to do with her attack, if enclosed places scared her.
He stared at her, asleep in bed under a mound of blankets. Only her face was uncovered, and early morning light bathed her profile. She had one hand tucked beneath her head and her dark lashes fanned her cheeks. At least when she slept the strain he often found in her expression finally eased. Peaceful, almost.
A shake of his head, and he stepped deeper into the room. He’d been in the habit of calling her angel lately. The word had flown out of his mouth the first time, unbidden, as if by no control of his own. It was accurate, though. She was a take-no-prisoners, hear-me-roar woman, but under all that backbone and attitude was a heart too big to measure. A side she rarely allowed others to witness and he swore she viewed as a weakness.
He hadn’t realized it until last night, but she’d been taking care of him and Olivia a long time. In her typical twisted way and without either of them knowing it, but that’s just what Amy had done. Put others’ needs and desires before hers, seemingly in spite of her own personal contentment.
To him, she had been a kind of saving grace, so the angel moniker fit. Plus, she was gorgeous. Not that she didn’t have a beautiful soul, too, but why she was so defensive left him at a loss. Half the night had been spent staring at his ceiling and calculating guesses. The twist in his gut and clamp around his windpipe were a testament to how much he hated the answers he’d assumed. Every action and reaction from her was as if she didn’t trust happiness. Like she didn’t deserve it.
Last evening, he’d chased her from the living room, outside, to the kitchen, and back again, shooting down her excuses for not acting on the attraction. Yet still, she’d stood there before him with wounded eyes wrapped in hope. And hadn’t given in. It wasn’t until he’d backed her against the wall and took the initiative that she’d responded.
Craziest part of all? Her submission. Just like she’d done the first time he’d kissed her by the tree, she’d handed him the reins and conceded. It was such a direct contrast to her temperament that he would’ve sworn she was messing with him if he hadn’t been right there with her. Seen her flushed cheeks. Heard her ragged breaths. Felt her heart pounding. Tasted the desire on her tongue.
He didn’t know what the hell was going on, what her reservations were, but he was going to find out. Based on how she’d behaved in the couple instances they’d been intimate, he knew his plan would work. He despised games, and if this was any other woman, he’d accept the loss and move on. However, there was no doubt in his mind she wanted him in return, and since this was Amy, he’d fight.
Setting the tray on the nightstand, he crouched and stared at her red lips, parted in sleep. An all too tempting mouth that was as lush as the sweet curves of her body. Her porcelain skin tone warmed in the morning light and her scent clung to the sheets, filled the room. He itched to run her cocoa strands through his fingers, but he denied the urge and left them spread over her pillow.
Hihcebe, the ache she instilled inside him. Insane. Potent. The revelation he’d gleaned last night hit him all over again. Had he been ready to accept it, he might’ve realized it sooner. This awareness, the desire, had been there all along, just like he’d told her. And denying it was no longer an option.
“Morning, Ames.” He smiled. She was going to be mad. Confused, defensive, and mad as hell. “Hey, anim. Wake up.”
A tiny wrinkle merged between her brows before she peeked one eye open. The other swiftly followed, and then all that blue-green landed on him. “It’s Saturday. We’re not working.”
True. He and Olivia traded every other weekend tending to the horses, and unless they were in wheat harvest season or the steer and sheep needing relocating to a new pasture, the guys typically had off. To think, he’d been nervous having two straight days alone with Amy. Now? Not so much. Anticipation clawed his gut.
“I know.” He smiled wider, enjoying her bafflement and the husky tone of her morning voice. “It’s time to wake up anyway. We have plans.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Oh yes, we do.”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “It’s rude to confuse me before caffeine.”
“I took care of that.” He pointed to the tray on her nightstand. “Coffee.”
Lifting her head, she eyed the plate of eggs, toast, and fruit beside the coffee. “What is that?”
“Breakfast in bed.”
Slowly, her gaze dragged back to him, suspicion narrowing her lids to slits. “Why?”
“I told you last night, Ames. It’s on.” Damn, he wanted to kiss her. He settled for a quick one on her forehead.
She inhaled at the contact. Hard. “What do you mean, it’s on? What is it and why is said it on?”
Shaking his head, he chuckled low in his throat. “Drink your coffee.” He grabbed the file he’d brought up on her tray and rounded the bed. She trekked his movement until she had to roll on her back to follow him. He sat on the mattress beside her, back against the headboard, and opened the file. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he stuck it in his mouth while he read. Without glancing up, he mumbled, “It’s going to get cold if you don’t drink it soon.”
“What are you doing?”
Tongue in cheek, he studied forms. “Olivia wants me to head to Casper and check out a horse we might buy. I’m reading the vet report and history before you and I go out there.” He grinned around the pen, then put it aside lest she take it from him to use as a weapon.
“Me? Why would I go?”
“Because I’d like to spend the day with you and I intend to take you out to dinner afterward.” He purposely left the term “date” from the equation. Better to mention that in a public setting where she couldn’t kill him.
That got her to sit up. Impatiently, she shoved hair behind her ears. “We’ll circle back to that firm no in a minute. I meant, what are you doing in my room?”
“Drink your coffee. You’ll be less irritable and confused.”
“Nakos.” Her growl went straight to his balls and tugged.
He tossed the file on the blankets, straddled her hips, and palmed the headboard by her shoulders, trapping her. “I tried to get you in a caffeinated state first. Just remember that.” He studied her wide, unblinking eyes and flushed cheeks, fighting the barbaric urge to deepen that blush. “The it I referred to is you and me, and the on is in reference to moving forward. Because we are, anim. From this point on, we’re doing this. Period.”
Shallow pants had her breasts rising and falling, her erect nipples poking his chest through their shirts. And the material of hers was very, very thin. Deer-in-headlights battled with oh-my-God in her expression.
There it was again. Surrender. Like she had zero idea what to do with the fact someone was interested in her. He wondered if that was target specific to him or in general.
“This is a really bad idea, Nakos.”
Her whispered plea nearly did him in. Regardless, he didn’t yield. “So you’ve said. But your body’s response belies your words.” He traced a path across her throat with his finger, gaze following the movement. He was going to spend an hour alone on that patch of skin right there in the not too distant future. “Your pulse is thumping hard.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me.”
She met his gaze all right, but she said nothing. Helpless desperation looked back at him, shone in her eyes, and he knew right then and there he’d do everything in his power to find out what made her so wary she couldn’t trust even him.
Hell, he’d die before hurting her. After all these years, how did she not know that?
His instincts said claim, but he leaned forward and kissed her gently, taking her mouth in a sweep of his lips that had her uneven breath mingling with his.
Three times now he’d expected fire and brimstone, but was met with languid and fluid heat instead. Though she followed his commands, let him set the pace, she kissed with the side of her personality she tried to hide. Tender. Vulnerable. Compassionate. That she was letting him see that much only turned him on more.
He lifted his head, keeping his eyes closed while he lingered. “I think you get my point.”
Before he became incapable of pulling away, he kissed the tip of her nose and rolled back to his side of the bed. Spine against the headboard, he reached for the file and forced himself to read the documents. Or pretended to.
It took her long moments, but she removed the coffee from the tray and studied the cup, then took a sip. She eventually worked her way up to the fruit, leaving the eggs and toast untouched.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, hoping she’d say something. Yes, she drove him nuts with her sharp wit. Hell yes, she confused him nearly every second of the day with her tangents. That was what made her unique. Her snark and humor and gumption were all a part of her genetic makeup and as distinct as her. The quiet pensiveness was nice, too, but he didn’t want to trade one for the other.
Maybe that was it. Other lovers or her ex had tried to tame her. Why, he hadn’t a clue. She was perfect the way she was, kept him on his toes. Who’d want to switch animation for bottled placidness? The day he attempted to quash her spirit would be a cold one in hell.
She set her fork beside the plate. “Why did you bring me breakfast in bed?”
The better question was... “Why act like the notion’s preposterous?”
Though she didn’t look at him, the way she studied the comforter implied that was exactly what she thought. Instead of answering, she rose and collected the tray. “Are you sure you want me to go with you? I think it would be wiser if I didn’t.”
“I’m sure.”
She bit her lip, gaze on her uneaten food. “How long before we have to leave?”
“An hour. There’s no rush.”
She nodded and headed for the door, but he called her name to stop her.
“Have you never had breakfast in bed before?” Three years of marriage, and not once on their anniversary? What about as a kid when she’d been sick or something?
“Let me shower. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be ready.” She turned again, totally avoiding him.
“Amy, leave the tray.” When she paused but didn’t comply, he stood and met her in the doorway. He took the damn thing from her and placed it on the dresser, then tucked his finger under her chin to force her to look at him. “I’m allowed to do nice gestures, am I not?”
She blinked up at him like he’d spoken Vulcan and the word “nice” didn’t compute.
Hihcebe. It really was a foreign concept for her. He didn’t know whether to be pissed off or gutted.
Either way, he had the strongest urge to drive to the prison where the Antichrist was spending the next fifteen to twenty and relocate the bastard’s teeth. Then again, her parents weren’t exactly pleasant people, either. He hadn’t spent all that much time with them, but their behavior at the wedding spoke volumes. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever heard them utter a kind sentiment in her direction.
“I’m not them.” He smoothed her hair with both hands. “I’m not the men you’ve dated, the asshole you married, or your tactless folks. I’m not them, Ames.”
She stared at his chest, her throat working a swallow. “I know.”
He ducked to meet her eyes. “Do you?”
A deep breath, and she looked away. As if an afterthought, she pointed toward the hallway. “I’m going to shower now. Just to be clear in case there was any misunderstanding and you planned to walk in on me again.”
“Hilarious.” He stepped back, though, glad she was acting somewhat normal.
After she’d disappeared into the bathroom, he remained where he was, thinking about the past hour. Since she’d ceded control in all things intimate, at least so far, he’d figured he’d just bowl her over and chip away at her reserve. Except her shock and awe this morning added a whole new element he hadn’t anticipated.
It seemed no one had ever courted her. Archaic as the term was, respect and decency weren’t altogether dead. He didn’t do a lot of dating himself, but compliments and attention to his partner were his usual operandi. The way Amy had responded would imply she hadn’t had even that much. He had to wonder how the Antichrist had moved past first base, never mind gotten her to say yes to his marriage proposal.
He was the best I was going to get...
Her words from the night of the wedding came back to him, and he rubbed the twinge of pressure in his chest. He’d known her marriage had been mostly temperate, judging by the things she’d said, and it had ended in hostility. It never crossed his mind she’d been...neglected, though. Add in the fact she’d thought that asshole was her best option, and it proved the disregard predated Chris moving to Meadowlark. Going all the way back to her parents and previous boyfriends, no doubt.
Mind blown, Nakos grabbed the file and tray, then headed downstairs to the kitchen. He didn’t know how, but he was going to fix this. Tossing the food she hadn’t eaten, he rinsed the dishes, his mind a riot. With that task complete and hands on his hips, he glanced around, trying to conjure ideas. Solutions.
His gaze landed on the shallow windowsill above the sink and the flower she’d set there. A couple days ago, she’d spent thirty minutes taking pictures of it. Something about light and dust motes and color. The yellowish petals were wilted and the leaves on the stem were dried. But it gave him a starting point.
Snatching her camera bag off the table, he shoved his Stetson on his head and his feet into cowboy boots. He went outside and around the side of the house to a wildflower patch, the sun warm on his skin. Cicadas buzzed while he took stock.
The field had been around since his parents lived on the ranch and he’d never paid it much mind. Yellow, purple, pink, red, blue, and white petals in various shapes and sizes blew gently in the breeze. His mother would know their names, but the knowledge was wasted on him. He picked two of every color until he had a decent bunch, then strode to his truck. He set Amy’s bag on the floor by the passenger seat and laid the flowers on top.
Leaning against the cab, he crossed his arms and waited for her. Letting the scent of grass and soil settle him, he tipped his face toward the sun and breathed deep. Cooped inside too long and he tended to go crazy. He’d worked the ranch yesterday, but last night had been tense and this morning an eye opener. Just stepping outside again calmed his errant thoughts and the incessant trip of his heart.
Damn, but Amy had him on edge. Every cell in his body wanted her. She called to him in a way no other woman had before, and it had hit him so fast, he couldn’t grab a shred of focus if he attempted the task with both hands and a lasso. The lifelong friendship and how much he cared about her muddled the physical aspect with the emotional one. Every declaration from her or realization on his end was destroying him atom by atom.
He hadn’t been joking when he’d admitted to her what it had been like for him growing up. Even in this day and age of equality, many of the Arapaho still viewed things as them versus the white man. Not an animosity, per se, but a subconscious tremor below the surface. History clashing against modern advances.
For him, the only time he’d felt safe, normal, or not judged had been with his folks or in Amy’s presence. Olivia brought peace, sure, but Amy took that beyond a superficial level and made it a state of mind. A way of life. Day by day, month by month, year by year, she’d built upon that initial sensation. He was so accustomed to it, so submerged, he hadn’t noticed the significance until other emotions rose up to suffocate him.
Truth was, he didn’t think he’d be half as comfortable in his own skin or have a quarter of his confidence if he’d never met her. He’d been raised by two quiet, loving parents who’d taught him how to stand on his own. That had carried over when they’d left the reservation to work at Cattenach Ranch. Yet it was Amy who’d shown him there was more to the world than tending land, more to him than being a simple rancher.
Brave, broken Amy.
Guilt shoved around in his stomach. If he’d realized his feelings sooner, could he have stopped her before she’d made the mistake of getting married? Could he have done something earlier about this warped view she seemed to have of herself? Most of all, could they have been together all this time instead of wasting it in ignorance?
He’d never put much stock in what-ifs and could-have-beens. It served no purpose. He couldn’t help but feel responsible, though. He was her friend. He’d go as far as to say she was his best friend, and the thought of her hurting in any way slashed his insides to shreds.
The porch door slammed with a clack and he watched her descend the steps toward him, his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. She wore skinny jeans that molded to her interstate of legs and a loose yellow top that hung off one shoulder. Her hair was tied up in a knot, wisps framing her face, and she’d foregone makeup. He much preferred her natural than how she’d been done up at the tavern last night. She didn’t need cosmetics.
Stopping in front of him, she gave him a once-over. “Are you okay?”
“No.” Why lie? He widened his stance and grabbed her hips, drawing her to stand between his legs while he continued to lean against the truck.
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t know where to start, or even if he should, so he brushed a wild strand of hair from her face and let his fingers linger on the ends. Soft. All of her was soft. Her voice, her skin, her body. Hard as she seemed, he knew the truth.
“Nakos?”
Letting out a breath, he met her gaze. Her mermaid eyes were a blow. Always. But in the sunlight and inches from him, he got sucked in by the potency of their color. Expressive, too. Typically, it was his first line of defense with her, checking her eyes. Sometimes it was the only way to gauge her at all. His gaze roamed her face, the fair tone and arched brows, before settling on her mouth. Her lips had a naturally dark hue and a pouty shape.
“You’re beautiful.” Distracted, he ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip.
She caught his wrist, her expression implying he’d insulted her somehow.
Hihcebe. Don’t tell him no one had ever said that to her before, either. “You are.”
Her nostrils flared as she closed her eyes. Shook her head. When she opened them, torment thrummed from her and punched him with the aftershocks. She stepped away. “I’m staying home. I’ll see you when—”
Fingers in her belt loops, he hauled her right back. “Have I ever lied to you?” He wasn’t expecting a response, but he paused anyway. “You all but called me perfect last night, listed several admirable qualities you claimed I have. Am I not allowed to return the favor?” He tilted his head while she looked everywhere but at him. “I could give a shit what your folks or ex or anyone else has drummed into you. I don’t lie and I don’t say things for the sake of filling silence. You’re beautiful. To me, you’re beautiful, Ames.”
After a tense beat, she deflated and eyed him warily. “Thank you.”
Thank Almighty. It was a start.
“You’re welcome.” However, his relief was short-lived after he straightened and opened the passenger door. She merely stared at him, unmoving. “Are you coming?”
“What are you doing?”
“Holding the door for you.”
“Okay,” she drew out slowly and stepped closer, only to freeze again. “What’s that?”
He bit back a sigh. Barely. “Flowers.”
“For what?”
Apparently, they’d landed back in kindergarten and were playing the “how come” game. He called upon all the patience he had in reserve. “For you, anim. They’re for you.”