Who You Least Expect

by Lydia Rowan

  He tugged off his boots and then stood and lined them up next to the door, momentarily distracted by how out of place they looked and wondered how Blakely would react to having them disrupt the immaculate cleanliness and order of her hallway. He shrugged. She’d just have to deal with it. Then he tugged off his T-shirt, pants, and then underwear, all neatly folded and stacked on top of his boots. Long minutes had passed, but the sound of water continued. On an exhalation, he grabbed her doorknob, this one also polished to a shine, and turned it, breath bated at what might confront him on the other side, but his resolve didn’t dampen.

  The room was also pristine, the bed neatly made with mitered corners so perfect they would have made an Army man cry. He glanced to the left. The closet took the cake. From what he could see from his quick glance, the clothing was separated into pants and skirts and then tops, separated by color and then length, all the hangers equally spaced, shoes packed in clear plastic boxes and stacked in groups of three.

  He set his lips in a grim line as he stared at the closet. An image of Blake standing in front of it, spending what had to be a not insignificant amount of time making sure everything was just right and then moving on to do the same in what he guessed was every other room of the two-thousand-square-foot house, floated through his mind, and his chest constricted with pain for her and a fresh stab of anger at her parents. What she did wasn’t probably too different from the regs that governed him in Navy life, but he’d chosen them, accepted them willingly. She was driven by fear. That awareness pissed him off so deeply that it almost took his breath away.

  “Blakely!” he barked, his tone sharpened by the emotions that roiled through him.

  He took two long strides forward and when she didn’t respond, and the water didn’t stop, he continued his pursuit into the bathroom. The steam from the shower filled the small room and the air smelled of her, clean, almost astringent, but with an underlying sexiness that still spoke to him even after all that had happened today. He pulled back the curtain, momentarily distracted by the sight of water gliding over the soft curves of her body before he turned his attention back to the task at hand. She gave no indication that she noticed him, the goose bumps that sprang up on her skin as the colder air rushed in the one break in her distant facade, one that wasn’t even something she could control.

  Nor did she do anything when he stepped into the shower or when he crowded behind her, filling the space in the stall that was most definitely not built for two, even when one of the occupants was the small Blakely. He took the sponge she held from her hands and used it to clean her, hoping that his touch showed her that he would be here, no matter what. When he finished with her, he quickly washed himself, happy to rid himself of the grime of the day.

  After he turned off the water, she stepped out and grabbed a towel, acknowledging his presence for the first time since he’d entered the bathroom. Of course, she was murdering him with her eyes, but even that hard expression was progress. A beautiful naked woman should never make him this tense, but his heart pounded a heavy, irregular rhythm so loud that the sound filled his ears. Everything felt heightened, the sounds she made as she opened and closed the drawers of her vanity, the heat from the steam of her shower, the smell of her soap, all of it was more vivid, but none more than her. Through her killer glares, through her apparent indifference, he saw what lay underneath, and the Blakely that she so furiously tried to hide stood.

  And she looked on the verge of shattering.

  Another surge of protectiveness rose inside him, and he wanted to hold her close to him, push away the outside world until the cracks he saw healed. But that was beyond his power, something that pained him to accept but a fact that he couldn’t ignore. But he’d stay. No matter what, he’d stay.

  “Are you enjoying this?” she asked, her voice warped into a twisted imitation of the lovely sound that he’d come to associate with her.

  He started to answer, but held his tongue and grabbed one of the neatly folded towels stacked on her towel rack to dry himself. She was beyond reason, would twist anything he said to suit whatever story she was building in her head, so he stayed silent. But he didn’t leave.

  “You’re like everyone else, aren’t you?” she bit out on a disgusted huff. “‘Look! It’s the crazy, dirty Bishops and their crazy, dirty daughter. Oh, poor thing. Such a shame she had to live like that. She should know better. I wonder if she lives like that?’”

  She shook her head with faux pity, and then, the mocking singsong she’d taken up fell away and her voice turned to ice-chipped venom. “Well, as you can see, Cody, I try. It’s not perfect, but I try. And you and nobody else will judge me. Not here. Not in my house. I won’t have anyone questioning me, looking down on me, pitying me. Get out!”

  The vehemence in her voice, and the fact that she couldn’t see that she was nothing like her parents, had left him stunned, and the fact that she thought he pitied her and judged her hurt. Hurt so much that he only barely realized that her words had come with a shove. But the little push helped him shake off his thoughts and remember that this wasn’t her, that his Blake was so lost in the sea of emotion that been unleashed today she couldn’t keep her head above water. And it further strengthened his resolve to lift her.

  When he didn’t move an inch, it seemed to break something inside her. She pressed her hands flat against his chest, curling her fingers into his pecs, and then pushed with all her might.

  “Leave! Go!” she screamed as she pushed.

  “Blakely! Stop!” he said, and then he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her close, trapping her against his body.

  “Leave, leave, leave,” she whimpered again and again, the faintly huffed word like a dagger in his heart each time she uttered it.

  He held her even tighter until finally, she let herself go limp against him. His already damp chest was soon wet with her tears and great, racking sobs rocked her petite frame. He lifted her and though he wasn’t certain the movement was even conscious, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against him. He could feel the emotion in every tremor of her body, in her deep, gulping breaths, in each tear that burned his skin.

  Cradling her close like a most precious treasure, he walked the short distance that separated the bedroom from the bathroom, and deposited them both on her bed. Her tears fell unabated, and through each one, he held her, hoped that somewhere, some part of her recognized—and accepted—that he didn’t judge her and that he wouldn’t leave her.

  Her sobs abated, and she fell into a deep, yet seemingly troubled sleep. He disentangled himself long enough to move her under the covers. She didn’t stir when he moved her, not even when he lay facing her, close enough that their bodies touched from thigh to chest and that he could feel each breath brushing against him.

  For what seemed like hours, his mind swirled with what he’d seen today, both with her parents and later in the night. He knew how much she hated being vulnerable, how she’d fight against anyone who dared see beyond her meticulous front. And if he knew Blakely as well as he thought he did, he knew he was in for a battle. He’d fight it, though, for her, and for himself. Because she didn’t recognize or couldn’t accept that she was not defined by her parents or her past, that she was worth fighting for, that what they could have if she let him in was worth fighting for.

  As he drifted off, he caught sight of the fan she’d described earlier, the shadow it cast falling over the bed, and wondered if she’d be happy when she realized she hadn’t turned it on.

  Chapter Twelve

  As she came awake, she first noticed the hard, muscled arm around her and then the warm, heavy weight of the body pressed at her front.

  Cody.

  He was still here. After what he’d seen yesterday, after what she’d done, he hadn’t left.

  That awareness made her queasy, the squeeze of happiness fighting the rush of shame. She’d never let anyone come to her parents’ house. Ever. But he’d been there, been inside,
seen what she’d come from. And worse, he’d seen what she would become and he’d stayed. She opened her eyes and looked at his face. He looked younger, almost boyish, no hint of the strength that he’d displayed, that she now knew was as much a part of him as his cocky playfulness, present. But she couldn’t doubt it, not now.

  Because he’d seen it, seen her, and he’d stayed.

  He opened his eyes and smiled at her.

  “Now, that’s a sight to see first thing.”

  She lifted one corner of her mouth but then dropped it immediately, her face seeming unwilling to make a smile. He didn’t seem to have the same problem, and he smiled again and then lifted his hand and traced a thumb across her cheek and then her lips.

  The blue of his eyes deepened, and he traced her lips again and then leaned forward, planting the softest kiss to her lips. She returned the kiss, and he sighed against her mouth as she deepened the embrace. She didn’t have the words to show him what yesterday meant, what he meant, but maybe this was a way that she could start.

  She reached out and curled her arms around his hard shoulders and thrust her tongue into her mouth, insistent need pushing away all other thoughts.

  But he broke the kiss and captured her gaze with his, his eyes even darker now and brimming with question. She had only one answer, and she captured his lips again, her eyes never leaving his. He paused, eyes searching, and for a breathless moment, she thought he might come to his senses and deny her.

  He didn’t. Without breaking their locked gaze, he rolled atop her and she opened her legs automatically, settling them on his hips in a position that let his cock nestle against her, his hardness further stirring anticipation in her blood. But beyond the desire that he stoked was something more. Being with him like this felt natural and comfortable, felt like something she could get used to. She pushed the thought away, not daring to reflect on it for more than a second. As he stared down at her, he lazily stroked his hands against the curve of her waist, over her breasts and back again. The touch was leisurely, easy, playful like he so often was, but the expression on his face was anything but. He was asking for trust, and for the first time in her life, she wanted to give it.

  The answer must have shone in her eyes, for he leaned down and captured her lips again, the kiss still her cocky-but-easygoing Cody, but now with an underlying urgency that she hadn’t felt before. He kissed her until she was a breathless, almost mindless mess, and then he moved lower, nipping at her neck and her collarbone before he moved lower and grasped her breasts, his large hands engulfing them.

  He kneaded them for a moment and then stroked her nipples, adding just the right amount of roughness that had her arching off the bed and into his touch. She wanted to feel his mouth on them, that same roughness combined with the heat and softness of his tongue only adding to her pleasure. And she knew that he knew what she wanted, what she asked for with her unspoken request, but he denied her, continuing to rasp at her nipples with his thumbs but using his tongue to trace the plump curve of her lower breast and then the valley between them.

  She cried out when he moved lower and dipped his tongue into her belly button, the novelty of the sensation not at all lost in the maelstrom he was creating as he continued to twist and pull at her nipples. When the first brush of air rushed across the sensitive skin of her mound, she opened her eyes and looked down her body to connect her gaze with his. His eyes weren’t unreadable anymore, nor was there question in them. They burned with need and passion and something else, something her mind screamed at her to ignore.

  He stayed there unmoving, again waiting for her, and again words failed. But her body—her heart—overtook her mind and she lifted her hips slightly, offering herself. A stab of disappointment pierced her when he looked down, but it was chased away by the press of his lips against her most sensitive flesh. Again and again, he placed the softest kisses against her lower lips and each touch only made her want more. As he kissed her, moisture began to flow from her and with each kiss, more of her cream passed from her to him until both of them were covered with her wetness.

  She was so distracted she didn’t realize he’d moved his hands until he grasped her knees and pulled them farther apart, exposing her fully to him. Then he moved in slow, deliberate circles, stroking his hands up her thighs, getting closer and closer to her core with each movement.

  “Cody!” she cried out as the tight pull of arousal built.

  “Ssh. I’ve got you, Blakely,” he whispered.

  The brush of his breath and vibration of his words made her cry out again and her legs went slack. When he finally reached her core, he trailed a finger across her slick opening, parting her. And then he followed the path he’d taken with his finger with his tongue. She gripped his shoulders, seeking purchase, and he was there, strong and steady as he always was, there to hold her.

  He continued to trace her slit, alternating between his finger and his tongue, and when he hovered his thumb over her clit and then pressed down, she thought her heart would stop with the pleasure of it. She was panting now, and she choked out a moan when he delved his tongue inside her and then retreated to circle her opening.

  In and out he went as he teased her clit with his fingers, drawing a low moan with each stroke. Her climax hit her hard and unexpectedly, and she felt herself draw tight and then release as he carried her through it.

  When he pulled away, his face shined with her juices, something that twelve hours ago would have left her embarrassed, but that now, in the glow of her orgasm, only made her smile faintly. He left her but returned quickly, sheathing himself with a condom and then moving astride her in three fluid motions.

  He entered her in one hard thrust, her arousal and remnants of her orgasm leaving her slick and welcoming as he stretched her. He thrust into her, setting an unrelenting pace, but there was a tenderness underneath that hadn’t been there before. Without stopping to think, she reached up and stroked his face and then pulled him toward her, kissing him with everything she had. The taste of her essence on Cody’s lips was her undoing, and as he moved inside her, she came again, crying out into his mouth.

  He went rigid above her and then on an exhalation came, his cock turning even harder inside her and then pulsing against her walls. She kissed him again, then moved to his shoulder and stroked her hands against his arms. A few moments later, he smiled at her, still buried to the hilt. They stared into each other’s eyes, the rawness of the moment, the connection that they’d forged, almost a living thing.

  “Good morning,” he finally said, and they both laughed.

  ••••

  Blakely had escaped to bathroom, ostensibly to fix the mess that she knew was her hair, but also to give herself some space from the intensity of the morning. In the aftermath of last night, of the exposure of earlier, she’d been stripped bare and though she didn’t want to push him away, this level of revelation was new and not entirely comfortable. But she’d hidden out as long as she could and now, with a deep breath, she emerged, ignoring the random assortment of crap that lined the halls and filled the living room as she made her way to the kitchen.

  “I made you cereal!” he exclaimed when she entered, lifting a bowl in the air, seeming completely unconcerned with his nakedness.

  She laughed before she could stop herself, but she immediately sobered when she thought about all the things she’d now need to clean.

  “Cody, you’re naked,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.

  “You should be too. Now sit. I’m freaking starving,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

  She moved to sit, but then her gaze caught on the cereal box that sat half on, half off the counter and then moved to the three bran flakes that were on the kitchen floor. Panic bubbled inside her. Without further thought, she started toward the counter, but before she made it two steps, Cody’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “Leave it.”

  Despite the panic and worry that now raced through her
, Blakely stayed still. Her eyes didn’t stray from the cereal that lay on the floor, but something in his tone kept her from moving. Her palms itched with the need to pick up the cereal. Her mind raced with the consequences of leaving it, but she stayed in place.

  “Sit. Have some breakfast,” he said, his voice soothing but uncompromising.

  She walked to the table and sat, but her gaze was still drawn to the offending mess.

  “Blake, forget it. It’s not going to hurt anything if it stays for a few minutes.”

  She scoffed and then turned her eyes to him, the cereal forgotten, at least for the moment. “That’s how it starts, Cody. A few minutes turns into a few days, which turns into a few years, which turns into a few decades. Trust me. I know,” she said, hating the edge in her voice but knowing she spoke the truth. “If I’m not vigilant, always, the chaos will win. And I will not let the chaos win.”

  He didn’t respond, and his gaze never left hers as he pushed a bowl across the table, and she added milk, the grumble of his stomach making her smile. After he’d poured milk into his own bowl, he began scooping still mostly dry cereal into his mouth.

  “You’re way too sexy to like raisin bran,” he said between bites, frowning briefly before eating with renewed vigor.

  “What can I say? I contain multitudes. And raisin bran is good,” she replied, smiling faintly, her panic and tension fading the tiniest bit.

  “That you do, Ms. Bishop,” he said, and her smile waned.

  She looked away from him and immediately regretted it, the precariously perched box on the counter and food on the floor again sucking her in. Through an exercise of will she hadn’t thought herself capable of, she pushed down the need to stand and go tidy the mess and looked back to his face. He dropped his spoon and leaned back, the ripple of his muscles as he moved pulling her gaze to follow. That cocky smile he flashed her livened her for a moment, but the weight of the impending conversation made the excitement fleeting.