Chapter Five
Olivia spent the next few days riddled in guilt and feeling stupid. And insensitive. And then more stupid. While they’d finished the week shearing and getting the wool loaded for the supplier, she’d done everything in her power to avoid all physical contact with Nate. She hadn’t realized how often she used her hands until she’d been forced to think about every move. The best way for her to teach him was by demonstration.
In bed, she flopped from her stomach to her back and stared at the ceiling. She was going on three nights of restlessness and nothing was working. She’d tried everything but the obvious path to assuage her wrongs. Because she was a coward.
Top of the list? She needed to have a conversation with Nakos to clear the air. Which was darn impossible with Nate underfoot. Nakos had been a friend since as far back as she could remember. She may not share his romantic feelings, but he was entitled to respect from her.
Lord. And Nate? What the heck was she supposed to say, to do, after learning what she had? He’d been in foster care as a child, and she wondered for how long. What had happened to his parents? Did he have no other family? Had the experience been a bad one? There was such a fine line between his circumstances and hers.
Their conversation out at Blind Ridge kept playing through her head like a bad sitcom. The way he went rigid when she’d touched him sent a pang of sorrow through her belly. It had to be a result of his injuries overseas. Perhaps a physical connection made him think of the pain from his wounds. Worse, what if it stemmed back to childhood? She’d heard horror stories about the system, and Chicago could be a rough city.
But instead of taking the time to read his signals, make sure he was comfortable and settled in, she’d set off his triggers.
So badly, she wanted to talk to him. Ease some of his pain. Justin had sent Nate to Cattenach Ranch for a reason and it wasn’t in her nature to sit idly by while someone was hurting. And Nathan Roldan was obviously dealing with a lot. From his weird food quirks to his nightmares to his strong but silent demeanor, something was eating him from the inside out. She had no direction for how to help him and he wasn’t exactly a chatter box.
Plus, he didn’t seem to want her help.
Bones ran into the room and nudged her arm with his cold, wet nose. He bit a corner of her blanket and pulled it off her as if telling her to get up.
She rolled onto her side. “What’s up, boy?”
He barked, trotted over to the door, and came back. He nudged her arm again.
“Okay, up we go.” She climbed out of bed and followed him into the hallway, then to the staircase.
There was a doggy door to the tack room, thus he didn’t need to go out. He could do it himself. She was pretty sure if there was an intruder or something amiss on the property, he’d bite first and ask questions later.
He paused on the landing for her to catch up, then made his way to the second floor, stopping outside Nate’s door. Bones looked up at her and scratched the floor as if trying to burrow inside.
“You really have a thing for our guest, huh?” Except her dog seemed almost frantic. He barked once and pawed incessantly, scratching the wooden frame. “Okay, hold on.”
She pressed her ear to the door. Heavy breathing and sheets rustling were about all she could make out. Her face heated. Was Nate, like, um...pleasuring himself? Wait. Bones wouldn’t be adamant about getting inside unless something was wrong. Maybe Nate was having another nightmare?
Knocking, she called his name, but got no response. It was a complete violation of his privacy to just open the door. What if he wasn’t in distress and she walked in on something? She chewed her lip.
Bones barked again.
“I’m totally blaming you if he’s naked.” Quietly, she turned the knob, and Bones shot through the opening.
The room was dark, aside from the light from the adjoining bathroom. Asleep, Nate was on his back and twisted in the blankets on the queen-sized bed along the far wall. Shirtless, he bowed off the mattress and resettled, but his fingers clutched the sheets at his hips as if holding on for dear life.
From the doorway, she pressed a hand to her chest while her throat closed. How utterly heartbreaking to witness such a huge, capable man be at the mercy of his subconscious. Bulging muscles and wide shoulders. Tattoo sleeves with more ink on his chest she wasn’t aware he had. Bald head and a permanent five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw. By his appearance, it didn’t seem right or possible anything could break him.
Bones jumped on the bed, sat by his hip, and barked two quick yelps.
Nate’s eyes flew open and landed on the ceiling. Wide, unblinking. His chest rose and fell with uneven, haggard pants for a few seconds before he closed his eyes and swiped a hand over his face.
Bones nudged his arm and laid next to him.
Turning his head, he frowned in confusion at the dog. “Hey, there. How’d you get in here?” Reaching over, he rubbed the dog’s head.
Olivia tiptoed down the hall, descended the stairs, and made her way to the kitchen to give him privacy, figuring he’d be upset if she’d seen him vulnerable. It was one thing to have a passing conversation about nightmares and another to have someone there while experiencing one. Nate didn’t strike her as the kind of man who opened up to people or leaned on others.
Still a little shaken, she stood by the sink and poured a glass of water, sipping while she looked out the bay window. A patch of Aunt Mae’s soon-to-be herb garden was to the right, not yet planted for the season. Beyond that and to the left were the rolling, grassy hills that led to the cemetery. The ranch was dark, quiet, unlike the emotions swirling in her belly.
She could only imagine the things he’d witnessed in his service. Justin had always tried to keep her separate from that aspect of his life, never saying much about his time away. But her brother’s slight detachment after he’d returned from a tour was nothing compared to Nate’s behavior. It killed her, that haunted look in his dark eyes.
“So the dog didn’t develop opposable thumbs, after all.”
Gasping, she jumped. The glass fell from her fingers and shattered in the sink. She whirled toward the low, hoarse voice and blinked at Nate. He’d put on a t-shirt—a crying shame, that—and a pair of nylon shorts covered his thick, hard thighs. Several red scars riddled the area and disappeared under the hem. His feet were bare and...big.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stepped to the other side of the island, keeping it between them.
“That’s okay. I was lost in thought.”
He nodded, gaze roaming her face. “You let Bones into my room.”
Unsure why she was suddenly nervous, she tilted her head. He didn’t appear angry, but her heart pounded and she trembled. “Maybe he let himself in.”
“I shut the door when I went to bed.”
Her knees knocked together. “You could’ve not closed it all the way.”
“I’m always aware of my surroundings. I shut the door.”
“How do you know it was me?” She had no clue why she was arguing with him, but her nerves morphed into an anxiety-charged storm. Probably because they were alone, in the middle of the night, with both of them barely dressed. Her tank top and boy-cut shorts showed more skin than they covered.
And geez. He was a drool-worthy, panty-drenching, yummy work of masculine art.
The slightest tic, and a corner of his lip curled in a passably amused smile. “Aside from the fact you’re awake and standing in the kitchen, I smelled you in the hallway outside my room.”
Her mouth opened and closed. “I...smell?”
“No, not...” He let out a frustrated sigh and skimmed his hand over his bald head. “Your shampoo or perfume. It smells like rain. It’s distinctive and lingers.”
“Must be my bath gel and lotion. Waterfall scent.” She’d had no idea it was oppressive. Embarrassed, she bit her lip. “I’ll stop using it.”
“Please don’t.”
“But you just said—”
“I said it was distinctive, not that I didn’t like it.” His nostrils flared with a sharp inhale and he shook his head like he couldn’t believe he’d admitted as much. “It doesn’t matter what...” His attention lowered to her hand. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” She followed his gaze and found blood on her left hand. A lot of it. “Oh. I must’ve cut it when the glass broke.”
Like a switch, his eyes glazed as if he’d zoned out.
“Nate?”
He flinched, and the next thing she knew, she was facing the sink, wedged between him and the counter, and he was holding her hand under a stream of water. His warm, hard body pressed against her back and the giant guns of his biceps brushed her bare arms. While he gently rinsed away the blood, she tried to get her bearings and failed.
She was surrounded by him. Enveloped. His scent of soap. His hot breath on her nape. The unrelenting muscle on every inch of his perfect form plastered to hers. He had his head over her shoulder to watch his task, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then to his tattoos. The ones on his arms seemed to be tribal designs of some sort.
Stilling his left hand with her own, she turned it over to look at the underside of his forearm. The ink continued and shifted as he moved like a living extension of his skin. It was beautiful up close. She’d only seen glimpses before. Caught up in the pattern, she traced the black lines with her fingertips from his inner elbow to his wrist and back again.
He wove the fingers of their other hands together, still under the spray, and she diverted her attention there. Like his feet, his hands were huge. His skin tone was several shades darker than hers and he dwarfed her with his size. Strong, steady hands. Yet, he slid his fingers between hers, stroking, unerringly gentle.
While her body heated at the intimate, arousing connection, he cupped her free hand and sandwiched both between his under the water, palm to palm. The contrast was amazing. His dark, tatted tone to her pale skin. Compared to him, she seemed delicate.
As if fascinated by the position, he brushed his thumbs over hers and let out a shallow, ragged breath that fanned the shell of her ear. Goosebumps skated across her flesh, but it was him who shook.
“Are you cold?”
He dropped his forehead to her temple. “The opposite.” His nose brushed her cheek as he lowered his head, and she emitted a full-body tingle. “Just the opposite,” he repeated, his rough voice barely above a whisper.
Shaking his head, he shut off the faucet and reached for a paper towel. He dried her hands like she were a toddler in need of assistance, then held up her hand to examine it. Only a small half-inch knick on her outer palm, but it had created a lot of blood.
He pressed the paper towel to the cut and held it there. “It’s not deep enough for stitches.”
She nodded, recalling his initial response. “Does the sight of blood bother you?” Half her ranch hands passed out cold at the hint of red. It was a pretty common phobia and men could be babies.
“Not usually.”
“You seemed a little rattled before.”
“Justin died next to me. My mind flicked back for a second.” He straightened suddenly and cursed, then muttered something that sounded like filter. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
She turned in his arms, finding his eyes closed and his jaw tight. In all her grief after losing her brother, she never stopped to consider Nate’s feelings. She’d had to bury Justin, but Nate was the one who’d been right there when he’d been killed. That kind of thing had to leave scars.
“Don’t apologize. You should feel free to talk to me.”
His eyes opened and he looked at her. Shook his head. “You’re not my therapist and it was insensitive.”
“If we’re going to be friends, you don’t need to bite your tongue.”
“Friends.” His confused expression indicated the concept was foreign.
Lord, he needed a stiff drink and a deep-tissue massage. In that order. “You know? Friends. Staying up all night gossiping and braiding each other’s hair.”
He frowned, but after a beat, his lips curved. “I don’t have hair.”
She glanced at the top of his head. “True. You have that Hell’s Angels meets Mr. Clean thing going. But you’re way more badass than that cartoon cleaning wuss.”
As if wanting to laugh—or groan—his lips parted. Nothing came out.
“I swear, I’ll get a grin out of you yet.”
“I smile.” His brow wrinkled as if he was affronted.
“No, you tease with traces of a smile, but only do the actual deed when being polite.” She poked his chest, but nearly broke her finger for the effort. Dang, the guy was made of concrete. “I have a feeling when you actually do grin, like from the gut, you’ll make panties melt.”
“Panties...” He huffed a laugh-groan combination and cleared his throat.
“Don’t pretend you have no clue what I’m talking about. If you didn’t want females dropping at your feet, you should’ve thought about that, Mr. Perfect Row of White Teeth. Too late now to bypass the hot tats, bulging biceps, and abs of steel.”
“I’ve totally lost track of this conversation.”
She offered a dramatic sigh. “We’ll just have to be the kind of friends who paint one another’s toenails instead.”
With a dip of his chin, he eyed her like she’d gone mental. “Tempting as that sounds, I’m going to have to pass on that, too.” He studied her. “I started working out in the gym to bulk up, so I’d never be considered weak again. It also helps with frustration. The...abs of steel? They were just a side effect.”
She stared at him, leveled once again by the verbal bombs he kept dropping amid conversation. “Who said you were weak?” She’d claw their eyes out.
Bearing his teeth, he glared at the ceiling. “Christ, it’s like my mouth is under hypnosis around you.”
Her heart broke. Again. He didn’t seem to have anyone else in his life and, Lord knew, he needed someone to talk to. Why not her? She’d never judge him or repeat what he said.
“Nate.” She cupped his tense jaw, but he stiffened and closed his eyes. She dropped her hand immediately, fisting her fingers. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Olivia, listen—”
“No, it’s my fault. I promised to stop. I’ll be more conscious about where my hands are at all times. I know you hate it and I’d never want you to be uncomfortable here.”
“I don’t...” He looked away, rubbing his neck. “To set the record straight, I don’t hate being touched. I’m sorry I made you think you did something wrong.”
“But you—”
“I’m unaccustomed to it. Okay?”
No, not okay. “What does that mean?” That implied he could, at some point, get “accustomed” to contact. But what kind of person wasn’t used to being touched? Then again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
He didn’t answer, but the tension drained from him before her eyes. Like he’d resigned himself to the situation, his shoulders relaxed and the stress lines on his face disappeared. Staring somewhere over her head, he sighed.
“All right. One thing at a time.” She waited for him to meet her gaze once more. “Take Bones in your bedroom with you from now on.”
“He’s your dog, Olivia.”
“I learned to share back in kindergarten.”
His expression was a mix of frustration and amusement. “I can’t sleep with the door open. He won’t be able to get in or out.”
“My suite has a doggy door. We’ll switch yours for mine in the morning. You can do that, yes? Hang a door?”
“Sure, if they’re the same size. Otherwise, I might need to trim. But I don’t—”
“Problem solved.”
His eyes narrowed. “And how will he come and go from your room?”
“I’ll leave the door open. Stop being argumentative.” She grinned to diffuse his irritation. Which didn’t work. “He woke you from a nightmare tonight. He seems sensitive to your moods. You might get a better night’s sleep knowing he’ll rouse you before it gets too bad.”
He studied her for so long, she had to fight the urge to squirm. At times, he could be intense to the point of scary. Not that she was concerned he’d hurt her, but whatever thoughts and memories roamed inside his head were obviously not for the faint of heart. He must’ve seen something in her expression because his gaze softened, swept over her face like a tender caress, and then lowered.
Taking her hand, he removed the paper towel she’d fisted and set it on the counter behind her. His thumb stroked her palm as he examined the cut. “It quit bleeding.”
Her heart hadn’t. It was hemorrhaging inside her chest cavity at an alarming rate. A week, and this broken soldier was nailing her emotions to the wall. “Yeah, it’s fine...”
She looked down as he brought his head up, and their cheeks brushed. Instantly, he cupped the back of her head and held her in place. She couldn’t tell if it was to stop her from turning her face and bringing their lips in alignment or to keep her from pulling away.
Whatever the reason, her pulse thumped, and she became acutely aware of everything. The clock on the wall and its slow, steady tick. The rasp of his stubble against her skin. His chest rising and falling at an unhealthy pace. The way her breasts were crushed between them, making her nipples bead. His hard muscle covered by hot skin and how much of it was plastered to her. He smelled like soap and denim and—
“Don’t move,” he grated.
“I didn’t.”
“I was talking to myself.” His full lips grazed her cheek when he spoke, creating an unfair erotic tease.
She trembled. “All right. Why?”
His fingers clenched in her hair. “To remind myself to ignore what my body’s telling me to do.”
“What’s it saying, your body?” Because if it was on the same page with hers—
He groaned, and the rumble vibrated her chest. “To pin you against the counter and take your mouth in a hard, deep kiss until you can’t stand on your own two feet.”
Lord. She whimpered. “Why don’t you?” Her panties were soaked and her breasts ached something fierce. It had been ages since she’d been this turned-on and... No. She’d never been this aroused.
“Because I’m not the right guy for you.” He drew a slow inhale. “In ten seconds, I’m going to back away and head upstairs. Aside from putting a bandage on your hand, you’re going to forget this entire exchange ever happened.”
“Nate...” Dang, she couldn’t think straight.
“Ten.” In a blinding millisecond, he severed all contact and strode out.