Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

I swallow down the lump that’s still in my throat.

  “Yeah, and you should have seen her. Leah was shitting a brick while you were on the skis. ‘Rory, slow down. I think he’s hurt!’,” Rory teases in a mocking voice.

  “The girl who would do anything on a dare was like a mama hen over there,” Jessica adds. “Look at her; she’s still holding on to her chest.”

  I instantly drop my hand from my heart. Mortified, I look back at Adam, and his face has changed. Those eyes have turned black as night, the heat of his gaze burning through me from the opposite side of the boat. My skin is on fire, and it’s not from the sun.

  I find my breath, and my chest begins to rise. An electric current rushes up my spine and into my head. He’s back to staring into my soul, and if I don’t cover it up, he’ll see all my secrets.

  Suzanne clears her throat. “Who’s ready to head back to camp? I’m starving!”

  “Hear, hear!” Rory cheers. He starts the boat up.

  The five of us go back to the campsite. Rory and Suzanne return the boat while Adam lights a campfire. Jessica went for a run, so I unload coolers from the truck and get things ready for dinner.

  Using the folding table we set up, I line the skewers I brought and place the containers of precut foods down. A package of cherry tomatoes, cubed steak, pineapple, chicken, onions, and triangles of zucchini are placed on a skewer. I brush them with a little olive oil mixed with salt and pepper before placing the skewer down to the side.

  “Fancy meal you’re preparing there.” Adam takes a spot next to me, wiping his hands down on his shorts. His shirt is still off, and there’s a delicious scent of pine and smoke from the fire seeping off of him. “Leah, I want to—”

  “Don’t just stand there. Get to skewering,” I order, keeping my eyes on poking the skewers through raw meat.

  Adam pauses for a brief moment before turning around. He uses a canteen to wash his hands and rubs them down with some antibacterial soap. He takes a spot next to me and goes to work.

  “She cooks, too.” Adam sounds impressed with my spread.

  “Told you, Bob taught his daughters how to cook. I just had to ask my own Bobby Flay how to cook in the great outdoors. What do you think? Will this work?” I hold up the skewer I just made.

  He appreciatively looks at me. “I think you have many talents no one gives you credit for,” he says.

  I feel myself blush.

  I hold up a bundle of wet skewers. “Put anything you want on them. No specific order.”

  He takes the sticks and starts with a piece of chicken. “This will be the best meal I’ve ever had while camping. My dad used to bring a can of baked beans and hot dogs. You don’t know what it means to me that you—”

  “Hot dogs,” I say with my finger pointed up in the air. I walk to the cooler and take the dogs and crescent rolls out. “I found this recipe, too. Don’t know how good it will turn out, but you just roll the dogs in the dough and cook them over the fire.”

  Adam lets out a small sigh. “We’d better get to work then.”

  And we do.

  As I slide the tomatoes onto the skewers, I tell Adam about the tree house in my parents’ backyard. Luke, Emma, and I used to have mini campouts back there, but I never made it the full night.

  “Mostly because, just as we were about to pass out, Luke would pop up from his sleeping bag with a flashlight under his chin and scream, ‘Redrum! Redrum!’

  “Emma nearly broke her ankle with how fast she jumped down the ladder and into the house.”

  The memory of Luke’s face lit up in a bright yellow-and-orange tint, making poor Emma go as white as a ghost, has me laughing out loud. To my surprise, Adam is laughing along with me.

  “Sounds like my little brother. Landon used to take fake ants and place them all over my dad when he was sleeping. The old man would wake up screaming.” Adam takes my half-made sewer and adds pineapple and chicken to it.

  I cover my mouth with the back of my hand to keep from laughing. “When my dad came home with fried chicken, we’d place plastic chicken from my pretend kitchen playset in the bucket and watch as my dad went to bite into it.” I lower my voice down an octave as I say, “‘Pam, what the heck kind of chicken is this?’”

  The two of us continue to work. Without discussing it, we’ve created an assembly line of sorts. I start the skewer with tomatoes, onions, zucchini, and steak and then hand it off to him to put on the rest before he brushes it with the oil mixture.

  Our fingertips touch as he tells me about his time in the academy. He was away from home for months as he went through boot camp with the state in order to become one of our protectors.

  “We had this one guy, Neil, who loved to play pranks. One night, I got into my bunk to find he put a big-as-anything daddy longlegs in my bed.”

  “Gross. Did you fling it at his face?”

  “Couldn’t. Sarge came in, so I had to jump into bed with the damn thing.”

  I lean back. “What? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “’Cause then Neil would have gotten a punishment, and the way camp works, we all would have been doing laps till the sun came up. Had to take one for the whole bunk.”

  I go back to skewing and passing. “How long did you have to lie there with the spider in your bed?”

  “All night. Sarge never left.” He places a finished skewer in a tin pan at the end of the table.

  “That sucks.” I hand him the next skewer.

  “One time, this other guy took food from the kitchen without permission. Sarge wanted to know who it was or else everyone was going to have to do drills. I knew it was my bunkmate, Trey, but I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “Why not? What happened?” A piece of steak is a little hard to get the tip of the skewer through.

  Adam takes the stick and meat from my hands and helps me. “We spent the whole night running. It’s an all-for-one, one-for-all mentality.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  “I wasn’t there to have a good time.” He stares off for a moment.

  The skewers are finished, so I turn to wash my hands. He follows me and does the same. We dry our hands and head back to the folding table.

  I lean my hip against the edge, look up at him, and ask, “Do you ever wish you went to school to study architecture? You loved it. Used to talk about buildings all the time.”

  He doesn’t take a second to answer, “No. I get to design homes all the time.”

  I stare at him for way too long before it hits me. “You design the Homes for All Souls houses!”

  His brows shoot up, and he nods, a proud smile on his face.

  “Badass cop and homebuilder. Wow, Adam, that’s…I’m so happy you were able to do something with your dream of being an architect. I always wondered why you changed course.”

  He crosses his arms, and his stance widens. Looking down, he says, “After Brad died, I found out Nico Martinez was his supplier. Nico’s cousin was a large supplier, moving the drugs across the state. I do everything I can to keep them out of the county, but it’s hard. Sometimes, I feel like I’m so close to getting to the source, but the problem is, you take one scumbag off the streets, and there’s some other asshole ready to take his place, make the quick buck.”

  “How do you stop it?”

  He shakes his head. “Some say, secure the borders; others say, better screening in the airports. Maybe legalizing is the answer. Take the power away from the dealers, so we can better monitor the situation. The honest truth is, I have no idea. All I know is that I will do whatever I can to make sure what happened to Brad doesn’t happen to anyone under my watch. And I am always watching.”

  I take a step forward, intending to put my hand on his arm but think better of it. Keeping my hands at my sides, I look up at him and say, “Who’s watching after you?”

  With a pained expression, he answers, “I do fine on my own.”

  I bite on my lower lip to keep myself from saying something I
’ll regret. Instead, I ask, “How did Brad hook up with trash like Nico?”

  “Nico was in his art class. He was a decent kid until his cousin showed him how much money could be made. Apparently, Brad wanted to tap into his creative side. Before he died, Nico had him design a stamp—kind of like a logo—for the glassine bags they distribute heroin in. The fuck’s crew still sells with Brad’s drawing on it.”

  “What is the logo?” I ask.

  “A woman’s mouth. The product is called Cupid’s Bow.”

  My hand juts up to my mouth and the little peaks at the top of my upper lip. Brad used to say I had a Cupid’s bow.

  “Through the years, Nico’s taken over the family business. He’s the head now. His cousins were put away a long time ago. I just hope he stays in jail. Wouldn’t be the first time I put him away, and he got released.”

  I place my palm on Adam’s arm. His skin is hot to the touch, and when he looks at my hand on him, his mouth parts.

  “Brad would have been proud,” I whisper, my hand sliding down to his.

  “Leah,” he breathes.

  His knuckles rub against mine, and a jolt of electricity zings from my fingers to up into my heart.

  I turn my hand around and offer him my palm. With a long, deft finger, he traces the lines of my skin. It’s a touch so small and soft, yet it is more powerful than any touch I have ever received from any man in my life.

  “Food looks awesome over here! Who’s ready to eat?” Rory slams down one hand on each of our shoulders and gives us a little shake.

  “Me!” I sing. I turn back to the table.

  I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to deny myself Adam.

  Eighteen

  We change out of our wet clothes, and the five of us take our seats around the fire. Adam brought a gas grill, which, to me, seems like cheating. I serve the macaroni and potato salads I brought and even whip out the special no-froth margaritas and the bottle of sangria I made at home with rosé, rose petal-infused rye, maple syrup and house root bitters.

  With music playing on my speakers in the background and the drinks being passed around, it’s a great party. Rory even comments on how awesome the food I prepared was, and Adam agrees. Suzanne, Jessica, and I tell stories, laughing and giggling while Rory and Adam talk.

  “And he’s like, ‘You shouldn’t be a teacher. You should be a librarian because I’d love to check you out.’”

  Suzanne and I laugh at the terrible pick-up line Jessica got from some guy at the supermarket.

  “You should have given him Ron’s number. That’s what Leah does,” Suzanne says, turning to me. “Did that guy from the other night call?”

  “Yes! Ron said the guy went into a stutter because he was so nervous. Even if you don’t know what Ron looks like, his voice screams meathead who will fuck you up if you touch his woman.”

  “What are you girls cackling about over there?” Rory asks.

  Suzanne is covering her mouth with laughter. “Leah gives Ron’s number out to guys who are pervy. It’s pretty funny.”

  Adam puts down his beer. “What about ones who aren’t perverts?”

  Suzanne looks at me with curiosity. “When was the last time you gave out your real number?”

  I twist my mouth. “Last fall maybe?”

  “Speaking of last fall—” Jessica’s starts to tell a story, but I become distracted.

  Adam’s eyes are squinting as he lifts his beer from the ground. He gets pulled from his thoughts when Rory hits his knee and starts talking. That’s my cue to give my attention back to the girls.

  As engrossed as I am, I can’t help but sneak a glimpse across the campfire.

  Adam’s hair is a rumpled mess. He laughs at something Rory says, and the curve of his jaw smiles with the action. Those crinkles around his eyes are back, and he looks so beautiful. His mouth surrounds the tip of the longneck as he takes a drink, his throat bobbing with each pull. I find the action mesmerizing, which is odd for a woman who literally watches people drink for a living.

  But, on Adam, the simple movement of his mouth is intoxicating. God knew what he was doing when he created the Adam’s apple. Hell, it was named for him alone.

  Jessica is going on about her summer students, but I can’t keep my eyes off my officer.

  He’s nodding, but a flicker in the amber glow of the fire must catch his eye because he looks my way, and I’m completely done.

  Gorgeous glasslike onyxes reflect the heat of the flame, and all I see is fire in his eyes.

  Because his eyes are looking at me.

  The world stops with that one gesture, and I cannot turn away because the hold he has on my soul right now has my feet feeling like lead and my body frozen in time.

  His lips part slightly, and his shoulders rise.

  His fingers spread out, as if his hands are longing to touch.

  He skims his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, his mouth begging to taste.

  His chest lets out a shaky breath, needing to be restrained.

  Like two ends of a magnet, our souls are being drawn toward one another. I am the negative, and he is the positive.

  He is everything good and right in the world, and he is pulling my wicked ways toward him, ready to be reconciled under the holiness of his heated stare.

  My chest quivers. I exhale just to let out the pure need I have in my body for the man across the flames. Maybe it’s the turn of events over the last few weeks, maybe it’s the nightfall or the fire or the booze, but a need I’ve never known travels through my body, sails through my blood, and lands inside my very core.

  Every time I look at him, I feel like I’m being exorcised. I have to hold on to my body, for fear it will fly across the flames and into his arms.

  I stand and rub my palm across my forehead. “I have to pee.”

  As I scatter away from the fire, Suzanne calls out, “Don’t go too far.”

  I wave a hand in the air and walk into the woods. Away from Suzanne and her reminders of what’s at stake, away from Jessica who is here with Adam and is absolutely crazy about him, and away from the most insatiable need I have ever been given by a man in my entire life.

  I walk far into the woods until I barely see the orange glow from the flames. In the pitch-black of night, I place my hand on a tree. My hand skims the bark. The rough, cool edges ground me. I inhale the scent of moss and dew and try to calm my body to a place where it needs to be. Away from the one man I shouldn’t want.

  “Leah?”

  For a brief moment, I wonder if I’m hallucinating.

  I clench my eyes shut even though I can’t see a thing in front of me. When I open them, it’s still black, but the air is saturated in white noise.

  “Leah?” Adam’s voice is soft yet more demanding now.

  I can’t see him, but I can feel him.

  He’s close.

  So close.

  “I’m right here,” I say through shaky breaths.

  Heat. I feel heat. It’s radiating off him, so hot that I turn my body until it’s directly in its path.

  “I know where you are,” he says in that sensual voice. “I need you to tell me I can be there, too.”

  I bow my head down and breathe, “I wish I could.”

  I hear his heavy pants, deep and long. Leaves crunch under his feet as he draws near, searching for me. The pads of his fingertips brush the outsides of my arms, and the simple touch sets my body aflame. As soon as the skin makes contact, he lets go. The loss of his touch is devastating.

  “Adam, what are you doing here?”

  “You shouldn’t be in the woods alone. It’s too dark and dangerous.”

  “Is that why you’re here? I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Yes, you do,” he says, taking a step closer.

  I fall back into the tree behind me. My heart is beating wildly out of my chest. “Are you going to be my protector now? You spent years ignoring me, and suddenly, you have a gained interest in my safety?�
��

  It’s an odd sensation, being without sight. My other senses are heightened to the extreme as I am immersed in everything Adam. His controlled breaths are heavy in the air. The heat of his skin burns through him, warming me without a single touch. He smells like spice, smoke, and all-American man. And, when he speaks, I swear, the trees lean in as well just so they can listen to the most sensual sound on the planet.

  “When will you stop and see that you have it wrong? That we’ve had this all wrong?”

  “See what, Adam? I can’t see anything.” My words are a plea.

  “If you can’t see me, then I need you to feel me.”

  He takes a step so close that his body pushes up against mine, his arms down at the sides. I don’t know if I want them to stay where they are or wrap themselves around me.

  “Do you feel my heart racing? Do you feel how fast my blood is running through my body just because I’m near you?”

  The answer is yes. My own heart is about to burst out of my chest.

  “No,” I lie.

  Adam removes his sweatshirt and throws it to the ground. He grabs my hand, lifts it to his chest, and drops his hand, leaving mine to lace my fingers through his light smattering of hair. His body is hard and muscular, concealing a pounding beat that is pulsing against my palm.

  “This is how you make me feel. It’s how you’ve always made me feel.”

  My hand rises and falls with the heaviness of his words. Hesitantly, I lift my other hand to his face, as the desire to caress him is overwhelming. When my palm brushes against the stubble, his head falls into it, and he lets out a groan, as if my touch is the one thing he’s been craving his entire life.

  “How do I make you feel?” I ask.

  His arms are still at his sides, and I am secretly aching for him to touch me, too. Instead, he lowers his forehead to mine.

  “Like I have no control.”

  I close my eyes and firmly hold on to his face, not wanting him to move away, not even an inch. “That doesn’t sound like a very good thing.”

  “It’s not. I’m always on guard.”

  “You don’t seem like you are right now.”

  “You have no idea what it is taking me not to touch you right now.”