by Rose, Karen
This was trust. His trust. In me.
‘But what?’ she asked softly.
‘But . . .’ His jaw tightened, making the muscle in his cheek twitch. ‘It’s not just that I’m afraid to lose you. Because . . .’ He closed his eyes and she wanted to force him to open them so she could see his emotion. But she didn’t. She waited, allowing him to gather his composure. ‘Because you’re not staying.’
She opened her mouth. Closed it again, because she didn’t know what to say. He was right.
He cleared his throat and barreled forward. ‘As it stands right now, you’re not staying. You’ll go back to your life in New Orleans and I’ll stay here.’
Oh. Her heart hurt, but she forced herself to say the words. ‘We don’t have to take this any further, Rafe. I don’t want to hurt you.’ But I probably will. Dammit.
His chuckle was mostly a huff of air. ‘I don’t want to be hurt, either. Been there, done that, and it sucks. But I’d rather have whatever time with you than nothing, which might make me a masochist, but . . .’
She shifted to her back, meeting his gaze directly. ‘Me too.’
One corner of his mouth quirked up, making him devastatingly handsome in the morning light. Blond hair mussed, golden scruff on his strong jaw. And miles of muscles under the T-shirt he’d worn to bed. ‘Which thing?’
‘Huh?’ she asked stupidly.
The other corner of his mouth kicked up, and he slowly grinned. ‘Which thing are you agreeing with? You said, “Me too”.’
‘Oh. Right.’ She shook her head, making him grin wider, a smug grin that looked good on him. ‘Now I forgot.’
He laughed. ‘You’re good for my ego, Mercy Callahan.’
She stroked his jaw, loving the feel of stubble under her fingertips. It was just enough to feel good, not so thick and coarse that it hurt.
Not like his. And I am not going to think of him. Not here. Not in Rafe’s bed, which is safe and good. And right.
‘You’re good for mine too, Raphael Sokolov.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I want things with you.’
His grin disappeared, his eyes growing dark and aroused. ‘What kind of things?’ he asked, his voice gruff and raspy.
‘The things that scare me. Not because you scare me,’ she added when he stiffened. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’ She pressed a finger to his lips when he started to speak. ‘Let me finish.’ He kissed her finger and settled back on the pillow, waiting. ‘I don’t want to disappoint me, either. I’ve had a few relationships. They haven’t been amazing. One or two weren’t terrible, but it was mostly . . . platonic, you know?’
He nodded once, but still said nothing, which pleased her.
‘I’ve been with men, not many. Two. Well, two and a half.’
He barked out a laugh. ‘Do I want to know about the half?’
She laughed along with him, realizing that she’d never laughed in bed with any of the men she’d dated before. ‘He wasn’t half. What we did was . . . half.’ She pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks. ‘Dammit. Now I’m blushing.’
‘And you’re so pretty that way,’ he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. Or six.
She shivered and gave him a fast, awkward smile. ‘My point was . . . God, what was my point? Oh yeah.’ She shoved him lightly when he snickered. ‘Stop it. My point was that I’m not inexperienced, but it’s never been . . . glorious.’
His eyes widened briefly before returning to that sleepy, sexy look. ‘Glorious. I like that word. It’s a very good description of how it’s supposed to be.’
‘I’m glad you approve,’ she said primly, then laughed again when he snorted. ‘What I’m trying to say is that you’re special. And if we—’ She shook her head again. ‘When we do intimate things, I want them to be glorious. And I’m afraid they won’t be and we’ll both be disappointed.’
He was quiet for a long moment. Truly quiet, as if he was giving this real thought, not just waiting for her to finish so that he could talk.
She liked that, too.
‘What do you want, Mercy?’ he finally asked, completely serious. ‘Do you want to wait? If so, I can do that. Do you want to dip your toe in?’ He lifted one blond brow. ‘Or cannonball?’
She covered her eyes with her hands. ‘Oh my God. Really, Rafe?’
He nuzzled her neck, kissing up her jaw to behind her ear. ‘Really, Mercy. We can do nothing or everything or something in between. Whatever it is, I am pretty sure it’ll be glorious.’
He was teasing her, but only a little. And only to put her at ease. Which worked surprisingly well. ‘I want to be brave. You know. Sexually.’
His voice lost its teasing, but his mouth stayed on the skin behind her ear. ‘You don’t have to be.’
She dropped her hands from her eyes, meeting his. ‘But I want to be. I want to be brave with you.’ She winced. ‘But maybe not cannonball. Not just yet.’
His lips twitched and his hand moved over her shoulder to the top button of her pj’s. He toyed with it, making her shiver again. ‘But maybe dipping your toe in? The water’s warm.’
She laughed again. ‘God, we’re like middle schoolers, aren’t we?’ Then she closed her eyes on a gasp when he let go of her button and covered her breast with his palm, only the thin layer of her pj’s keeping them from being skin on skin.
‘I’m much better at this than I was in middle school. I promise. Can I show you?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’
He slipped the first button free, kissing the skin he’d bared. His lips were soft and warm and made her body edgy and tight as she waited for him to go on.
‘You say “stop” or “no” or anything like that and I’ll stop,’ he said, back to serious. ‘I promise.’
‘I trust you.’
He shuddered, dropping his forehead to her collarbone. He was quiet, motionless for so long that she stroked a tentative hand through his hair. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. It’s all right. All good. I was scared that you were afraid of me. I’m still afraid that if I move too fast, I’ll scare you away.’
She shifted to kiss his hair. ‘I’d come back.’
He looked up abruptly. ‘But I would have scared you to start with. I never want you to be afraid of me.’
She traced the line of his eyebrows, the slightly crooked ridge of his nose, his lips. ‘I’m not. I never have been. There’s something about you that makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt. But, Rafe?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can we go back to dipping our toes in? Because that felt really nice.’
His smile was beautiful. Glorious, even. ‘Absolutely.’ He returned his focus to her buttons, freeing them one by one until her top lay loosely open, but still covering everything important. He drew a breath and held it before brushing her top aside, then went still. ‘You are more beautiful than I imagined.’ He glanced up. ‘And I imagined, Mercy. A lot.’
She could barely breathe. ‘I imagined, too. Don’t make me imagine anymore.’
He kissed her mouth softly. ‘All right. Remember, if you want—’
She glared up at him. ‘Yep. Heard you the first time. I think I got it, Rafe.’
He chuckled then and slid down to kiss the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts.
She sucked in a breath, holding it. Waiting. And then his lips brushed her nipple and her lungs emptied on a quiet moan.
‘Good?’ he murmured, giving her a tiny lick.
‘Yes. Oh God. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.’
She could feel him smile against her nipple. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Then he took her into his mouth and she arched, closing her eyes and letting go. Letting herself feel. Hearing herself whimper as he lightly rubbed her other nipple as he sucked and licked.
By the time he’d changed si
des, her hips were moving of their own volition and he paused, lifting his head. ‘Mercy. Look at me.’
She forced her eyes to open and nearly whimpered again. His eyes were dark and hot and his lips were wet. Color rode high on his cheeks and his pupils were huge. ‘Do you want more?’
She swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’
His hand slid down her stomach, over her pajama pants, cupping her between her legs. ‘Here?’
She arched again, getting some of the friction she needed, but not nearly enough. ‘Yes.’
His fingers curved, putting just the right amount of pressure on her clitoris, and she bucked up into his grip. ‘You like that?’ he asked slyly, his expression almost feral.
‘You know I do.’
‘I like to hear it.’
She clenched her teeth, wanting more, but afraid to ask for it. ‘Yes. I like it. A lot.’
‘Breathe, Mercy,’ he teased, dropping kisses on both her breasts before kissing her mouth. ‘Or you’ll pass out and I’ll have to give you mouth to mouth.’
She laughed breathlessly. ‘Shut up.’
‘Well, that’s just mean.’ He kissed her again, smiling against her lips. ‘How much more do you want to dip in the water? Another toe or your whole foot?’
She laughed again, struck by the ease, the naturalness of all of this. Of him. ‘Touch me. Please. Still no cannonball.’
He grinned and slid his hand beneath the waistband of her pj’s, then toyed with the waistband of her underwear. ‘Touch you like this?’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Do you want to ever get to cannonball?’
He pursed his lips, trying to quell his smile. ‘Yes, ma’am, I do. Whenever you’re ready. For now, though . . .’ He sobered, all serious now. ‘You’re so pretty. I can’t wait to see you. All of you.’ He moved his fingers down and then he was touching her and it felt so damn good. ‘Like that?’
Her head rolled back, pressing into the pillow. ‘Yes. More. Please.’
Without a word he obeyed, sliding lower, and then into her, and she moaned.
‘Looks like we both get a little wet today,’ he said, his words hoarse and rough and playful all at once.
Then he set a rhythm that had her arching into his touch over and over again, her body tensing until pleasure burst, consuming her. She cried out, loud and mindless and he kissed her, stroking her as she rode out the orgasm.
Finally, she collapsed onto the mattress, panting. When she could open her eyes, she found him staring down at her, satisfaction stamped on his handsome face.
‘I think I was loud,’ she said. ‘I should be embarrassed, but I’m really not.’
He smirked at that. ‘I think you were perfect.’
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘You’re still . . .’
‘Hard as a damn rock? Yes, I am. But that was for you, Mercy. You don’t owe me anything.’
‘I know I don’t. But I want to.’ She pressed trembling hands to his shoulders and gave him a little shove. ‘On your back, Detective. We’re not done yet.’
He tumbled backward, pulling his hand free from her clothing and making her wish that she’d been just a little braver. But they had time.
She’d thought she was done, her arousal banked, until he lifted his fingers to his mouth and, holding her gaze, licked them clean. ‘Oh,’ she whispered, fiery tingles racing all over her skin. ‘You’re bad.’
He waggled his brows. ‘Positively wicked. I deserve to be punished. Do your worst.’
She tugged at his T-shirt. ‘Take this off.’
He didn’t have to be asked twice, and the shirt was gone before she could even blink. She ran her hand over all that pretty, tanned skin, pausing at the puckered scar on his upper arm. That had been one of the bullets he’d taken for her that night in February. She kissed it now, tenderly, nuzzling her cheek against the soft blond hair on his chest when he sucked in a breath.
‘Mercy,’ he whispered.
‘Mmm,’ she hummed. She kissed across his chest, licking his nipples as he’d done to hers, then dipped her hand into the sweats he’d slept in, remembering how he’d made a point of the fact that he owned no sleep pants because he usually slept in the buff.
Suddenly she wished he hadn’t worn the sweats and tugged at them. ‘Take these off, too.’
His eyes blazed and he choked back a low moan. ‘You’re killing me here.’
Her heart was beating too hard to even try to think of a cute reply. ‘Do it, Sokolov.’
He grinned and lifted his hips, shucking the sweats down to his knees. ‘You can pull them the rest of the way.’
But she didn’t. She hovered, taking in the sight of him. All of him. ‘You are . . .’ Beautiful. He was beautifully made. Like art. Which sounded dumb in her head. Knowing she was blushing, she gripped him, reveling in the groan that rattled in his chest.
‘I’m what?’ he managed. ‘Tell me.’
It occurred to her that he might need the words too, and she wondered why that seemed so surprising. He had to know that he was built like a Greek god, but she’d loved it when he’d praised her body. She’d never thought to return the favor with any of those she’d been with before.
‘You’re beautiful, Rafe.’ She gave his cock a firm stroke, pleased when he bowed up, his head thrown back, exposing his throat. She kissed him under his chin, on his throat, on his mouth, vaguely tasting herself.
‘Not gonna take me long,’ he gritted out.
She kissed down the column of his throat, stroking harder and faster. ‘Let me see you. Let me see if you’re as beautiful when you come as I imagined.’
That was all it took. He ground out a guttural cry and came all over her hand, his cock pulsing with aftershocks. He shuddered, then relaxed, his lips curving into the most smugly satisfied smile she’d ever seen.
‘I think that was an unqualified success,’ he murmured, his breathing unsteady.
‘I think you’re right.’
He reached over the side of the bed, scooping his T-shirt from the floor, and cleaned off her hand. ‘You’ll get all sticky.’
‘I wasn’t complaining,’ she said, more than a little disappointed when he pulled his sweats back up. She settled her cheek against his shoulder, sighing happily when his arms came around her like a vise. ‘When do we have to wake up?’
‘We don’t leave for Santa Rosa until ten, so we can sleep a few more hours. You wore me out.’
She wriggled closer, inordinately pleased. ‘Go me. Oh, and thank you.’
He laughed quietly. ‘You are most welcome. And thank you, yourself.’
Reno, Nevada
Tuesday, 18 April, 6.25 A.M.
Amos twisted his clenched hands around the steering wheel, so stressed that he thought he’d throw up. It was barely dawn, but there were cars everywhere. People everywhere. The cars were all different. The signs advertised things he’d never heard of.
He felt like Rip Van Winkle, waking after a twenty-year sleep. Only I’ve been asleep for thirty. He couldn’t begin to imagine how the world had changed. He was afraid to even consider it. It was all too much.
He kept his eyes focused forward as they passed the sign proclaiming Reno only ten miles away. At least he knew where he was now. He’d only been to Reno once, with his grandfather. They’d gone ‘silver mining’, panning in a creek that Amos, with the awe of a five-year-old boy, had thought was real. His grandfather had found a small pebble-sized chunk of silver and with a deep, affectionate chuckle had handed it to him.
It was now snuggled at the bottom of Amos’s backpack. Worthless, really, from a monetary standpoint, but priceless in memories.
His grandfather would be heartbroken to learn that Pastor had lied to them. That Eden was a fraud. His grandfather had been one of Pastor’s most devoted parishioners, had defended him staunchly. Had raised Am
os to respect the pulpit and the man who stood there.
Yes, his grandfather would be devastated about Pastor. Amos could only hope the old man who’d raised him would be proud of him now. I’m trying. But I’m so scared.
He glanced down at Abigail, startled when she blinked up at him, her large gray eyes round as saucers. She was still lying where he’d placed her, so quiet he hadn’t realized she was awake.
‘Hey, Abi-girl,’ he said lightly, hoping she couldn’t feel his fear.
She yawned. ‘Can I talk now, Papa?’
He returned his attention to the road, forcing a smile. She’d been so brave, obeying every command he’d given. ‘You can. But I have to drive, okay?’
She perked up at that. ‘Drive? You’re driving?’
‘I am. But I’d appreciate if you’d stay down for now. Just a little longer.’ He had no idea who was watching. He knew he was being paranoid, but it was better safe than sorry at this point.
‘Okay, Papa. But I’m hungry.’ She hesitated. ‘And I need to use the potty.’
His panic returned. Where could they stop? And then he saw a sign he did recognize. Golden arches. His lips curved. Some things didn’t change. ‘I know a place.’
He took the next exit and pulled into the parking lot of the McDonald’s. ‘We’re not in Eden anymore, Abigail.’
She stared up at him with her old-soul eyes. Her mother’s eyes. ‘I know that, Papa.’
Amos chuckled, a tiny piece of fear dropping away. He was so lucky to have this child. ‘Of course you do. Well. This place is one my grandfather used to take me to.’
‘Back in the olden days,’ Abigail said sagely.
‘Indeed,’ Amos replied gravely. Then he smiled. ‘You ready for some breakfast?’
‘I can get up now?’
He turned off the engine and pocketed the key. ‘Yes.’ He held out his arms. ‘Want a ride?’
She sat up primly. ‘I’m seven, Papa. I can walk.’
‘Of course you can.’ He got out, shouldered his backpack, and then opened her door. ‘After you, my lady.’
She giggled. ‘Silly Papa.’
He held out his hand. ‘Even seven-year-old princesses hold their papas’ hands, okay?’