Rolling to her side, Eric pulled her into the crook of his arm, cradling her as if she’d never deserted him when he’d needed her most. “It’s okay. Sh-h-h. Trust me, Shea. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“But it’s not,” she insisted, fighting to breathe. Eric needed to see who she’d become, not who she once was. The Shea he’d fallen in love with had died with Cheyenne. She didn’t exist anymore and Eric had to love her now for the woman she’d survived into, not who she used to be. He had to open his eyes and see the updated version of Shea Powers Reynolds. The ex-wife. The ex-mother. The ex-everything.
The moment her fingertips touched his scruffy face, he closed his eyes. A shudder raced through him, melting her heart, but Eric had to know everything, and he had to know it now. Before she chickened out. “I kept falling,” she whined. “Nothing helped. Not distance. Not booze. I thought I had to go far, far away before I... before I...”
A wicked tsunami of guilt crested high over the top of her endurance, threatening to crush her. But Eric didn’t seem repulsed one bit, his fingers gently stoking the back of her neck as if offering a prelude to foreplay. He ran his hand over her dirty, short hair, exhaling a deep breath. “I should’ve seen it coming. It’s my fault. I knew the signs. You had a bad case of baby blues after Cheyenne was born, too. Remember?”
“Yes,” she admitted, recalling it well. Those were some other, very dark days. “I had awful mood swings. One minute I was over-the-top-happy to be a mom, and the world was perfect, but the next, I felt as if I wasn’t good enough or perfect enough or—”
“Or happy enough or thin enough or anything enough,” he finished for her. “You cut your hair then, too.” He smoothed a hand over her scant locks, the kindest gleam in his eyes. “You had a natural hormonal reaction, and believe me, I understand, Shea, I do. The pressures of being a new mom are enormous. It didn’t help that I deployed and left you to deal with a newborn all by yourself. I worried about you the whole time I was overseas. Remember how often I called home?”
“I do.” She snuggled against his ribs, relishing how her body awakened to the corners and angles of the only man she’d ever made love with. Twining her bare feet around his ankles, she needed to be as close to him as possible.
“God, what was I thinking,” he murmured against her forehead. “I’m sorry. I should’ve seen it coming. I knew how happy Cheyenne’s birth made you, even if it made you a little crazy afterward.” He placed a soft, moist kiss in the middle of her grimy forehead. “I saw this type of thing happen enough overseas.”
His fingertips carved through her grimy hair. “It’s called complex bereavement. Untreated, it turns into severe depression. I should’ve recognized it and gotten help for you sooner. Faster. Before you ever felt that you needed to leave me in order to protect me. I should’ve protected you first. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, baby. I hope you still know that.”
Gah. Her heart opened wide at the gift he’d just poured into her soul. Forgiveness.
She lifted her chin, needing to reclaim the man she’d once run from. “Kiss me.”
He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers, igniting the ember that had lain cold for too long. Shea parted her lips and let the warm coffee-taste of his mouth and the calluses on his palms fill her up and break her open. She’d almost forgotten the pleasant rub of his whiskers on her chin and lips. The way he asked for more without speaking, and the way her body responded with an eager, Yes.
His fingers moved lightly over her clothes, peeling the henley and pants away. She shifted her weight to accommodate every last tug until he traced her bare stomach, his fingertips as hot as branding irons, his palms wide and strong.
Shea had no will nor resistance to the only man she’d ever loved. Her body clenched at the contact. Eric had always been her one obsession. The taste of his skin was a heady single-barrel kind of craving.
Easing away from her mouth, he cocked his neck to look down at what he’d bared. She’d left her wet bra back in Rosie’s room. Her panties, too. His breath caught as his gaze scrolled over her breasts down to her nakedness below. A glowing smile brightened his handsome face. “You’re stunning,” he whispered, more gravel to his tone than she’d remembered. There he was once more, the happy, hungry man she’d fallen in love with.
“You came for me,” she murmured, her love for him turning into warm anticipation.
He licked his lips again. “And now baby, you’re going to come for me,” he teased as sweetly as if they’d never parted. He closed the distance and covered her mouth with his. His fingers danced over her stomach on their way to her core, filling her with an aching need to absorb every last bit of him.
Her body remembered his lips and tongue. She tugged his shirt out of his jeans, her tongue making mad passionate love with his. He couldn’t kiss her hard enough, deep enough, or long enough.
Easing away from him, she melted. The sight of his sculpted body drew her like a moth to the fire. This man’s body was pure porn. The need to feel him deep inside urged her hands up his abdomen and over his chest, shoving his shirt out of her way in record time. His clothes had to go. The snap on his jeans took little time. His zipper. She licked her lips as she pushed his jeans out of her way. He assisted, kicking off his boot and then his pants.
Pushing his back to the moss-covered floor, she couldn’t wait. Soft morning light spilled across his handsome face, taking her to another day when she was the anxious virgin. Make that the anxious and rowdy virgin. God, she’d wanted his body so badly that first night on their honeymoon. He’d been too much the gentleman, and all she’d wanted was him stripped bare and inside her. Spreading her legs, Shea straddled him once more, her palms flat to his chest, wanting every bit of exposed flesh until…
What’s this? Five vertical lines marred what had once been a glorious six-pack. Scars. The last time she’d seen this belly it had been tan and unblemished. Perfect. “What happened? Tell me.”
Eric shrugged, his eyes still big and black with lust, his hands on her hips. Tugging her downward, a smile curled his lips when her breasts flattened to his chest. “Brazil happened. An operation went bad. That’s all.”
“But someone stabbed you. I want to know the whole story.”
“And you shall, but not now.” He bucked up from the ground just enough to get his point across. A salacious grin replaced his gentle smile. “I want inside, Shea. Now. No more talk.”
She demurred; ready to give this man whatever he wanted. He was right. Words could wait. Most of them. “I love you, Eric. I never stopped. You need to know that.”
A spark flashed down deep in the brown. He clutched the sides of her face and lowered her to his mouth. “And I love you, baby. Only you.”
He kissed her hard, tangling his tongue with hers and reclaiming her mouth. Then her chin as he lifted her body over his.
She hugged his head to her while he latched onto her nipple. Energy snapped through her body in a fever pitch. Every last muscle clenched with anticipation. She clamped her knees, not completely claimed, but bursting with an inner explosion of electric fireworks that could. Not. Wait.
Ah! He wasn’t inside, yet already he’d lit her body with the delightful detonations of coming. Shea sunk her nose into his hair. How she craved this wonderfully delicious man.
No sooner had her unexpected climax slowed, when he rolled her onto her back. “So soon?” he asked, a dashing glimmer in his eye, and his thumb running laps around her wet nipple. “I thought you’d want more than just nipple kisses after all this time.”
“I do.” She grabbed the cheeks of his ass, breathless as the storm within her.
He lowered himself with excruciating slowness. Onto her. Into her. Watching as he sank lower and deeper. Filling her. Reminding her of the woman she used to be.
“I’ve missed you, Shea,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. He remained over her in pushup position and didn’t stop watching while he plundered her body, inch by incredible
inch. Up and down he flexed. In and out.
“Eric,” she moaned, needing all of him. Fast. Hard.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his eyes big and dark and taking her all in, his fingers trailing over her ribs and down to clutch her hips. “Tell me what you need, Shea.”
“You,” she growled, her hands in his hair. “Only. Ever. You.”
It happened again. Energy arced. The storm surge built to a thunderous, crashing crescendo. “Now baby?” he asked, his voice tight and needy. “Are you ready for me? You feel like it. Now?”
She couldn’t speak. Digging her fingernails into his back, they came together, claiming each other, right down to their souls.
Growling, he sucked a moist trail of fire down her jaw to the crook of her neck. And there he stopped, his breath hot against her skin. The corners of her mouth lifted into the first real smile in months. Aftershocks set off another round of clenching mini-fireworks. She held on tightly, sure that she and Eric had just set a new record for pleasure. This was more than make-up sex. This was legendary sex.
Just as her heart filled with love and relief, grief swept in, an undertow she couldn’t escape. The memory of Cheyenne’s death eclipsed the afterglow. It hurled Shea back to the day she thought she’d lost everything. The vision of her beautiful baby’s bright brown eyes full of light and life, so much like her father’s eyes, shimmered into view. The same clear color as the man who held Shea in a loving hold—who couldn’t seem to face her.
‘What have I done?’ cried up from her broken heart as she held Eric tight. But then she knew. They’d made their perfect child during another moment of fiery, playful passion. That was why he hadn’t yet lifted his head. He was remembering Cheyenne, too. Tough men don’t cry.
A hiccup wrenched out of her at the knowledge of all he’d suffered. Pressing her lips to the side of his head, she whispered, “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Eric, and I’m sorry Cheyenne died, but please let me be strong for you.”
He groaned, and her whole being filled with compassion for the tender warrior wrapped in her arms, the one with the heart of gold. She offered his words of comfort back to him. “I’m here, baby, and I’m never letting go again.”
He growled. He grunted. But finally, easing away from her neck, he cupped her face between his hands and blinked away his tears. “I’m supposed to be the strong one.”
“No,” she corrected gently because now she knew. “We’re not strong alone. Only together. Trust me on this.”
He blew a deep breath through pursed lips. “God, these last three years have been hell.” And then he kissed her. It seemed he couldn’t kiss her hard enough or deep enough. He moaned in her mouth, his fingers clamped onto her head in a gentle vice. Their teeth bumped, and she let go of Cheyenne’s memory for—just a second. Or two. Because Cheyenne’s father needed his wife. And Shea needed her man.
Once more there was nothing in the world but two people who still loved each other. Other tears trickled out of Shea’s eyes. Tears of forgiveness for herself. Tears of love for Eric. It was okay to let go of Cheyenne in order to hold onto Eric. It was good.
Drawing in a deep breath, Shea relinquished her mistakes of the past. Absolution swept through her from the passionate kiss Eric seemed intent on branding her with. Every last doubt melted away. He loved her and he didn’t blame her.
At last Eric lifted to one elbow beside her. Tears still glistened on his thick lashes, and he didn’t wipe them away. “Never again,” he ground out, gently cupping her cheek. “From this moment onward, we go forward. Together. We never forget our daughter, but we don’t forget us either. We share the good and the bad times. All of them. We help each other endure whatever life throws at us. It’s you and me against the world. Agreed?”
She sniffed her need to repent away. It might always be there, but with Eric willing to open up and share his grief, her guilt was manageable. “I have no secrets. Never again. Ask me anything.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “And I’ll do the same, but know this. I’ve never been afraid to die, but I am afraid to live—without you.”
Ah, he was tearing her heart out. But Shea knew. There in the middle of an Irish glade somewhere between Dungarvin and Kilkenny, she had finally come home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Come see this,” Shea called quietly. She’d barely dressed and stepped out of view.
Already clothed except for his boots, Eric ducked into his shoulder holster and scrambled to join her, his heart pounding at what—or who—she might have encountered. He’d already stashed the Harley beneath a cover of ivy and branches, concealing it from obvious view. He’d made sure the intruder was gone. She didn’t sound panicked, but his heart hammered anyway. Call it over-protectiveness. Call it paranoia. He needed her safe.
Eric kept an eye out for Aishling, too. She’d wandered off, but he hoped not too far. The cat had to be deaf the way she’d settled down inside his jacket despite the noisy motorcycle. She’d purred, she’d actually purred. Something wasn’t quite right with that nosy feline.
Rounding a line of mighty trees that had to be hundreds of years old, their branches reaching up high and their trunks stretching wide, he paused. There, caught in the golden shafts of sunlight stood what was left of an ancient Irish castle. Breathtaking.
Thick green moss coated the one gray wall, now crumbled into ruin. A single stone turret reached above the treetops. Other branches and vines hid the ornately carved remnant of yesteryear. Despite the trees and ferns surrounding it, a steady stream of water trickled from somewhere above the door.
Brushing a tangled curtain of ivy out of his path, Eric halted in his tracks. There was no enemy nearby. Only a very naked Shea. She stood alone facing the other way, caught in a golden beam of sunlight. Enchanting as hell.
She could’ve passed for an elfin sprite, as thin as she was. As perfect as she was. Her short hair had been mussed good and proper during their lovemaking. Kind of spiky. So damned sexy.
His mouth went dry.
Shea reached upward to catch a narrow stream trickling off an overhead arch in her cupped palm. The golden drops slid down her arm and dripped off her elbow while others slid over her breast and nipples. Better yet, a portion of the water sluiced over the rounded globes of her bare-naked backside.
He stood there entranced while motes of dust filled the beam of sunlight he was caught up in. Could’ve been fairy dust. Looked like magic. It certainly worked a spell on him.
His body steeled with the need to hold her again, an appetite he didn’t want to control. She hadn’t explained everything, but what she had offered spoke loud and clear to his father’s heart. His husbandly heart. He couldn’t have turned aside from this woman if he tried.
Love will do that to a guy.
Slipping the holster off his arm, Eric stretched one hand behind his head as he stripped his shirt up and off. He hopped out of his pants one leg at a time, maybe a little too eager, but hell. This had to be how Adam felt in Paradise when confronted with the temptation of the only woman in the world, and about to fall for her all over again.
“Shea,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the bewitching scene. It was as if he’d never met her before, as if they were starting over at square one.
She turned, her face lit with a gentle smile as her gaze smoothed over him, head to toe. “Join me?”
A man did not have to be asked twice to join a naked woman in a shower. He set his weapon and his clothes on a cushion of moss beside her carefully folded pants and shirt. In two steps, he had her wrapped up tight in his arms. She melted into his chest with a sigh, her deliciously soft breasts crushed against him.
There he stood at the edge of eternity one more time, only wiser, infinitely more in love, and yeah, scared to death. He knew real loss and pain this time around. To walk back into that fire probably made him the dumbest man on earth by some folks’ standards, but not his. For Shea and for the sweet memory of Cheyenne, Eric went
willingly. He couldn’t say it enough. “I love you so damned much that it hurts.”
“I know,” she murmured, lifting her gaze to his. “I don’t understand how you can, but I believe you do. I believe in us.”
“I like that word. Us.”
He glanced upward to understand where the water came from. It was warmer than he’d expected. There was no hill or plumbing in this wooded glen, but high above the arch, a stone trough had been built into what appeared to be a solid granite walkway to this single wall. Thick with green moss, the underside of it was dripping wet. It had to be an ancient cistern, a water collection system of some sort. Cracked over time, it allowed for this mini-shower in Paradise.
He glanced downward. Those two creamy breasts mashed up against the dark hair on his chest shot a spike of pure lust to his groin. Eric nuzzled her neck, wanting nothing more than to make love to his wife again, but they’d already courted danger. Still…
His pistols were close at hand and the Arab biker hadn’t come back. This could work.
Shea made the decision for him when she circled her arms around his neck, her fingers light on his shoulder blades. The turquoise in her eyes seemed greener. Her pale skin nearly luminous. Shea glowed. For the first time, no guilt or worry etched her brows, and she was right. They did need a shower. Why not take one together?
He tipped her backward under the trickle, letting it run over her hair and face while he gloried in the sight of the naked body in his arms. Running a hand over her small but firm breasts, he massaged and pinched those tender rosebuds that tasted like wine. Fine wine. Definitely a blush, one that matched the pinkish-hue spreading over the rest of her creamy skin.
She blinked with water in her eyes, trusting him. A profound sense of peace invaded his core even as heat flamed up his legs. Every male muscle sprang to attention. Focusing on bathing her body had created a physical firestorm neither he nor she would be able to ignore. A hard-on wasn’t much for subtlety in his pants, less so without them.
Eric (In the Company of Snipers Book 15) Page 13