by Paula Cox
She nodded and slipped inside, grateful that he closed the door without her asking. When Eliza spotted Nash on the bed, his arm wrapped in bandages and his face pale as death, tears filled her eyes again. It was a déjà vu moment like none she’d ever experienced before—like finding her father in his office all over again. This wasn’t the Nash she knew. This was a shell of him, even a shell of the man who had vowed to protect her at all costs.
Nash inhaled sleepily at the sound of her whimper, and he cracked one eye open.
“You look like you could use some sleep,” he croaked, and Eliza flew across the room and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing. Nash wrapped one arm around her and patted her back, murmuring soothing sounds. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m fine. I’m… Ow, Christ Eliza, don’t touch my shoulder.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, pulling back and folding her arms across her chest. She probably looked disastrous, but she didn’t care. All the fear, the panic, faded from her body, taking with it the tension in her shoulders and the clench of her jaw, leaving her slack and weak, needing to lean against his hospital bed for support.
She suddenly felt quite tired, and the thought of sleep was more and more appealing with each passing moment. But she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t even begin to think about herself when Nash was lying there before her, a victim of a gunshot wound. Instead, she reached out and brushed his hair back. The hospital had cleaned him up somewhat, but he needed a very thorough shower to get all the grime off his handsome features.
“What happened?” she asked gently. “I… Micky let me listen to the feed of your wire.”
“He what?” Nash snapped, sitting up fast enough to make him wince. She gave him a soft admonishment by clearing her throat and readjusting his pillows and blankets. Nash watched her for a moment, the heat of his stare dancing across her face, then muttered, “He shouldn’t have let you. I wouldn’t have… It was carnage over there.”
“That wasn’t because of you,” she insisted. Eliza refused to let Nash take any of the blame for what happened. From what she understood, Phillip Crest had started this war by killing members of Nash’s motorcycle club. The vice-dean had framed her father, ordered hits on innocent men, and threatened to kill Eliza if Nash didn’t deliver him an obscene amount of drugs. Then, when Crest was rooted out, he had his men try to kill Nash. No. None of this was Nash’s fault. “All of the fault here is on Phillip Crest. You didn’t ask to be blackmailed. You didn’t ask to get shot at.”
“I killed some men last night, Eliza,” Nash said, unable to meet her eye. “They’re dead because of me.”
“And… And I bet you’d be dead if you hadn’t done what you did,” Eliza told him, taking him by the chin and turning his head so that he would look at her. He didn’t, of course, his eyes looking through her rather than at her, but maybe that was all she could hope for in a time like this. “Nash… Don’t let this eat you up. I’m just so happy you’re here.”
Her gaze shifted to his shoulder, which must have been where he was shot.
“Eliza…”
“I know I don’t know anything about this,” she insisted with all the strength she could muster. “This is your world, not mine, but from an outsider’s perspective, aside from the, you know, drugs, you aren’t at fault here. Don’t let them warp you into thinking you should carry the responsibility of what happened with you. If you didn’t stop those men, they might have killed you. I understand.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then seemed to soften just a touch. Reaching out, Nash stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles, then, in a voice softer than any she’d ever heard coming out of his mouth, he murmured, “Thank you.”
Eliza nodded and swallowed hard, clasping his hand and pressing it to her cheek. She then looked pointedly at his shoulder and asked once more what had actually happened.
“I could only gauge so much from the recording on our end,” she told him. Her stomach knotted at the memory. “And it was pretty easy to assume the worst.”
“Through and through,” Nash said with a sigh, then rolled his eyes. “Bastards shot me when my back was turned. Probably aiming for my head. I went down like a lead pipe though.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, her eyes welling with tears again. Eliza did her best to fight them, but it felt very much like fighting a losing battle. “I mean, you’ve barely slept, a-and probably haven’t eaten much, so…”
“Oh, Eliza.” Nash pulled her close when she started to cry again, and she melted into his chest, trembling, and did her best not to touch his shoulder. “I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry about me this much.”
He stroked her back, her hair, her shoulders, and let her weep until there were no more tears to shed. When she was through, Eliza sat up and wiped under her eyes, then her nose, and fixed him with a pointed look.
“Of course I have to worry about you,” she said snippily. Nash’s eyebrows shot up, his lips quirking into a grin.
“And why’s that?”
“Because I’m in love with you, you idiot,” Eliza blurted, then resisted the very tempting urge to slap a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t embarrass herself any further. Nash stared at her, wide-eyed, as heat crawled up her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to say it, but it felt like the logical answer to his question. She loved him. She had loved him for a long time, even if her true feelings were buried beneath all the pain and stress and fear over everything that had happened.
Nash let out a heavy sigh, then put his hand on top of hers. “Eliza…”
“You don’t have to say it back or anything,” she said quickly, shooting him a brief look before looking back to their joined hands. “There’s no pressure to—”
She let out a surprised squeal when he dragged her into a tight hug, the sound muffled as their bodies pressed together. Eliza shook in his arms, pressed hard to his chest and her face buried in his neck. From there, she could hear both of their heartbeats, the steady pounding quickening the longer they held one another.
“Me too,” Nash whispered, his lips in her hair. Eliza gripped the front of his hospital gown, those two simple words enough to make her feel like she was flying.
“What was that?” she asked, although she already knew what he was trying to say.
“Me too,” Nash repeated, this time with more emphasis on each word.
“You have to actually say it.” She swallowed hard and fought back her laughter when he sighed again. “I take back what I said about feeling pressured. I hope you do.”
“I love you, too,” he said, lacking the humor she was trying to inject into the situation. They pulled back and looked in one another’s eyes, and Nash gave a little smirk. “Idiot.”
Chapter 48
“I got a small Cheese and a large Meat Lovers for Eliza?”
“That’s me,” Eliza said, standing up a little too fast and knocking into the newspaper stand beside her. The two teen boys waiting for their pizza glanced her way briefly, then went back to playing on their phones, and earbud from a seat of headphones in one of each of their ears. Ignoring the flush that crept up her cheeks, she hurried forward and handed the cook behind the counter her receipt, then took the two boxes, the large a little too big for her to manage gracefully, and shot him a smile. “Thanks.”
The man, aptly described as a silver fox by just about anyone who went to Marino’s Pizza in downtown Blackwoods, shot her a lopsided grin. “Anytime, doll. You give my best to Nash.”
“Will do,” she said, as she made her way toward the door. She pushed through it backward, nodding at the man as he waved her off, then set out into the beautifully warm spring weather. They were almost at the end of March now, with April a few blissful days away, and once more it was as if Blackwoods had never been shrouded by miserable winter weather at all.
She wore a thin pair of teal leggings beneath a soft yellow sundress, her purse hanging across her body, and like many
college girls in the spring, she had a pair of ballet flats adorning her feet. She wore her hair loose, enjoying the way it blew in the breeze, and plodded along down Main Street with too-big sunglasses on to shield her eyes from the sun. It had been a cloudless day for almost a week now, and her skin was loving all the extra warmth.
Nearly a month had passed since her horrible ordeal with Nash and her father and Phillip Crest. The vice-dean had been marked officially as missing for a few days after the incident, and while the police questioned Nash for hours, at no point did he break and tell them where Crest was—because apparently Crest had a debt to pay to the Steel Phoenixes before they handed him over to the police. And they did, of course, in worse shape than he was when they took him.
With all the evidence around him, particularly when the goons he hired to bludgeon her father confessed, he was looking at a lengthy jail sentence with little hope for parole. Eliza only hoped he wouldn’t get out in a few years for good behavior. After all, Crest knew how to act the part of the academically-inclined businessman. Nash figured he’d be in there for a long time, but Eliza wasn’t so sure. Her father swore it, too, once he learned who was behind his attack. But since he was retiring from his position next year, he wouldn’t have quite the pull in Blackwoods he did now.
Turning a sharp corner, Eliza headed for Nash’s apartment building with a bit of a bounce in her step. She would have rathered him stay with her, but since he was still technically in recovery from the gunshot wound, she knew he would be more comfortable with his own things around. Still, the apartment had mixed memories for her. It was a little rundown too, though she had high hopes for a change; she and Nash had been looking at two-bedroom apartment listings recently, and he seemed almost as excited as she was to decide on one.
Juggling the pizza boxes, Eliza managed to shove Nash’s key into the door downstairs, then, helped by a neighbor on the way out, she managed to finagle the massive box through the door and up the narrow stairwell to his apartment. Once inside, she found him in front of the TV, just where she’d left him.
“Smells delicious,” Nash said as she kicked off her shoes by the front door. Eliza grinned as he sat up and turned the TV off, noting that he only winced a little at the movement. His shoulder hadn’t needed to be wrapped for a few weeks now, but the pain was still substantial. It would get better in time, but there was a lot of physical therapy and doctors’ visits ahead of him—Nash was understandably unmoved at the thought of both.
“Marino sends his regards,” she told him, setting the boxes on the coffee table. When she settled on the couch beside him, she found herself sitting on the sweater she’d knitted for him while she was bouncing between her father’s room and Nash’s at the hospital. Black wool. Thick. It was getting too warm for him to wear it, but he usually still did at night.
“Good man,” Nash said with a mouthful of piping hot pizza. He subsequently doubled over and tried to blow the steam out before swallowing. Eliza stifled a giggle as best she could, but the sound that escaped still earned her a sidelong glare.
They sat there, Eliza’s legs stretched over his lap, and enjoyed their individual pizzas in an easy togetherness. Their conversation flowed, moving from how Nash’s arm was feeling after taking his most recent painkiller to the dinner they were both required to attend at her father’s this weekend. Apparently, the man was warming to the thought of Eliza dating a biker, but she figured it would still be a frosty reception anyway. That didn’t bother her. Nash could handle her father.
“You know,” she mused as she reached across and closed her pizza box. Three slices was enough, but Nash was working his way through slice number five with no signs of stopping. “I don’t think I want to finish my degree.”
He looked at her sharply with a frown. “Why?”
“This whole thing… Law school has never felt right,” she told him. It was a realization she’d come to the night all that drama with Crest went down, but she hadn’t had the courage to say it until now. “But researching data, facts, proving my father’s innocence… I liked that. I want to do that.”
“Sounds like what a lawyer does,” Nash remarked dryly, and she gave a humorless laugh.
“No, it’s what a private investigator does.” She drew in a nervous breath as soon as she said it, bracing herself for Nash’s response. When he didn’t give one immediately, she said in a very small voice, “I think I want to… to become a private investigator. Choose the cases I work. Genuinely help people.”
“You know most of your cases will just be catching and photographing husbands cheating on their wives, right?” he told her, chuckling. She pursed her lips, biting back a smile, and watched as he set his half-eaten slice of pizza aside. As he turned to face her better, she sensed he was actually giving this his full attention. “Are you sure, Eliza? Is that what you really want?”
She nodded. A lot of thought had gone into the decision, and she figured she could actually help people instead of writing case reports and waiting for the legal system to catch up to the evidence.
“I know you’re behind on your schoolwork again,” Nash said as he placed a gentle hand on her leg. She tensed, waiting for the but. “I know you can get back on track. And Eliza… You should finish school.”
“But—”
“I will support you in whatever you choose to do,” he insisted, silencing her protests by pulling her into his lap with his good arm. She helped by wiggling into place, her head on his shoulder. As he spoke, his voice vibrated in his chest and it tickled her splayed fingers. “But even if a PI is your calling, you should still have a degree. It’s just… It’ll really help you.”
“But you don’t—”
“My business degree might be sort of useful when I get out of the Steel Phoenixes.” Nash shifted and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I mean, I want to go where you go. Can’t be a contributing member of the gang forever, right? I’ll probably need to find legitimate employment at some point. If I didn’t have the school stuff behind me, it’d be harder. It’ll be harder for you, sweetheart, if you don’t graduate.”
He was right, of course. The logical side of her knew that, but she was tired. All these years of struggling for something she didn’t want had taken a toll.
“I guess,” she muttered sullenly. She’d hoped he would have been waving pom-poms around and shouting chants of encouragement, but that might have just been wishful thinking.
“Look, like I said, whatever you choose, I’ll support you,” he murmured in her ear, then gave her cheek a quick kiss, “but I just want you to have the best chance possible. I know you can do it. You don’t need to be a practicing attorney just because you have a law degree. I know a few PIs… I can set you up to talk to one sometime if you want, maybe to shadow him on some of the safer gigs he has?”
“That’d be awesome,” she exclaimed, sitting up a little too fast and jostling him around. His face screwed into a pained wince, and she gave her apologies by way of sweet kisses along his jawline.
“You’re still a little too exuberant for me these days,” he said with a heavy sigh, and Eliza slid across his lap to straddle him, her hands falling to his shoulders. Even if she was too exuberant, her energy hadn’t killed his libido. As she nudged her hips over his, his cock hardened against her thigh, and she met his gaze with an impish smirk. Given his shoulder’s condition, it was difficult to play the way they used to, but she’d learned the merits of gentle lovemaking with a man she loved. Sometimes Eliza even preferred it.
“I should have known,” she said demurely, her eyelashes fluttering as she looked down, the perfect display of shame, then added, “Master.”
The smile Nash gave her could only be described as wolfish, and she felt his hot breath on her cheeks, full of unsaid words and deviant desires.
“Yes, you should have known,” he growled, his voice a deep rumble, and then grabbed her chin harshly and tilted her head up. Her lips curved into a sweet little O, her breath catching in
her throat.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered. Nash shook his head.
“Not yet you aren’t.”
Eliza bit back a groan, wetness gathering between her thighs. Unable to help herself, she ground against his growing erection, only to stop when he reached down and caught her nipple between thumb and finger. They’d grown hard and visible beneath her sundress, and she pressed her lips together to hide the way his unsaid chastisement sent a flood of arousal coursing through her body. When their eyes met, he twisted, and she looked down with a whimper.
“Go and get the flogger,” he instructed, his affect carefully neutral.
“Yes, Master.”
He released her a moment later, and Eliza climbed off his lap. Even though she knew she’d be punished for it, she hesitated and spared a look at his arm. “Are you sure?”
“I still have one good arm,” he hissed. His tone made her pussy clench. “Now go and do as you’re told.”