by Skye Jordan
“I can’t remember…sex being this fucking good…” he panted. “This is all I could think about all damn week. Seeing you, talking to you, feeling you. Being inside you. Fuck, this is crazy.” Then he turned his head and pressed his mouth to her neck.
Emotions coiled and built and tears burned her eyes. Tears of joy. Tears of appreciation. Tears over the realization that she wasn’t as completely broken as she’d believed.
A sudden and fierce affection for Beckett blossomed. Beckett and his confidence, his sweetness, his patience. She’d spent two years hiding from life. A fear only Beckett had been able to break through, allowing her to step back into life. Really step back into life.
His groan vibrated over her skin, and he started to move again. But this was different. This was a sensual, deep pull and drive that stole her breath just as intensely as the frenzied grind from before. And, the way it had their first night together, the rhythm seemed to simply glide into place. Eden lifted to meet his thrusts, took his hungry mouth with the same need to consume and be consumed. As their passion deepened, he drove harder and faster, hammering a familiar yet fresh pleasure through her body.
“Eden… Fuck, baby…” His teeth grazed her shoulder. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna feel you get all wet. Wanna feel you squeeze all around me. God, you feel so fucking good.”
His words kicked the heat up another notch. He seemed to read her every sound, intensifying the strength and speed to drive her directly to the edge.
Her body reached, stretched, tightened. Damn, it was so intense. So all-encompassing. Her free hand clutched at his forearm.
“Oh yeah,” he rasped in her ear with a sexy thrill in his tone. “I feel it. Mmm, it’s comin’. God, I wish you could feel what you do to me. Open and let go. Let go.” He pressed his mouth above her ear. “Let me have you, Eden. All of you.”
She relaxed, released her muscles, and his next thrust acted like a bomb. The orgasm exploded deep inside her. She cried out, and her body seized as ecstasy rocketed through her. She choked and moaned. Bucked and writhed. And the pleasure seemed to go on and on and on.
The climax was still twisting and shuddering through Eden when Beckett broke. With his face pressed to her neck, his hips pumped in a fierce succession. His growl vibrated over her skin, and his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth around curses. His own pleasure ravaged him into tremors.
When he finally collapsed, his full weight on her, Eden sank into the mattress with no complaints. She let her mind slip away, floating on the bliss that always seemed to characterize her time with Beckett.
15
Long, quiet minutes passed while Beckett caught his breath and let his heartbeat come back to normal. But his head was still floating when he eased the weight of his body off Eden, rolled to his side, and pulled her with him. He curled around her, wrapping her in his arms, burying his face in her hair.
“Baby,” he whispered, “you fuckin’ destroy me.”
She hummed, and her hand slid over his forearm, pausing to spin the bracelet still on his wrist a few times. Her own arm was still adorned with half a dozen bracelets in different colors.
God, his heart felt too big for his chest. He ached with the fullness beneath his ribs. Every time he saw her, he learned something new, like peeling back another layer. And his feelings for Eden seemed to be multiplying at a terrifying rate.
He glanced at the clock on her nightstand. They still had time before she had to leave. He kissed her head and whispered, “Want to shower with me?”
When she didn’t answer, didn’t so much as move, he propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over to look at her. And found her asleep.
His heart squeezed, and a smile lifted his mouth. Beckett pressed his face into her soft, fragrant hair again, trying to make sense of the way this woman made his stomach twist, his heart float, and his body crave.
With a shake of his head, Beckett pushed himself up slowly, trying not to wake her. He looked around the room—really looked—for the first time. And it was even worse than at first, lust-hazed glance.
This wasn’t a room; it was a cell.
The basement had cinder-block walls, with two small windows on the back of the town house and two half windows on the front—all of them covered in bars. Exposed plumbing pipes crisscrossed along the ceiling, and utility carpet covered an uneven cement floor. The only furniture was the bed they were on, a wooden nightstand, a metal desk and chair, and one bookcase. And every piece was ancient.
Eden had obviously done what she could to dress it up. Despite the dim, depressing overall feel of the space, it was clean and neat and it smelled nice, filled with a relaxing, breezy floral scent. The walls were painted a pale yellow, adding a little spark. All her books were lined up neatly. Everything on the desk had a place except one textbook, open in the center. There was no kitchen, just a hotplate, a microwave, and a mini fridge.
A strange unease filtered into his post-sex high. He pushed to his feet and turned toward the only other door, which he assumed had to be a bathroom. Pushing the partially open door wide, he clicked on a light. Yep, bathroom. But…man, really nothing more than a toilet, a tiny stand-up shower she could probably barely turn around in, and a single sink basin, its pipes exposed beneath.
A heavy feeling settled in the pit of Beckett’s stomach.
He closed the door to try not to wake her and started the cleanup process, hoping to learn more about her from the surroundings. Folded towels sat on the back of the toilet, along with a shower caddy holding her toiletries, because there was obviously no other place to put them.
When he turned on the water, it came out brown, and he let it run until the old pipes cleared. As he cleaned up, he was both confused and…awed. Meeting her, he never would have guessed this was her living situation. She came off as intelligent and well-read and so totally together. He doubted just anyone got into Johns Hopkins’ paramedic program. And, frankly, he’d also assumed she’d come from money. Maybe because she hadn’t made a big deal out of his apartment or his car. Maybe because she never brought up his contracts or how much he made. Maybe because she’d never asked for or expected anything from him.
He dried his hands and patted his body dry. After only a moment of hesitation, he pulled open her medicine cabinet. Toothpaste, toothbrush, lip balm, Tylenol, Advil, and vitamins. On the bottom shelf there was one tube of mascara, a little bottle of foundation, and a pad of blush.
That was it? Seriously? The women he knew carried more than the entire contents of her bathroom around with them everywhere.
He turned off the light and quietly pulled the door open. Eden hadn’t moved. She was still curled on her side, her naked body smooth and sleek and beautiful. Her hair was a tousled mess spilling over the solid yellow comforter that matched the walls.
Beckett glanced at the time, bent over her, and brushed her hair off her forehead. When she didn’t stir, he smiled. She could have so easily turned him down outside her work. Or could have told him to take her home when he’d turned into the Y. She could also have interrupted his socializing and asked to leave. But she’d done none of that. And, looking around him, he was beginning to realize that Eden was struggling as much as those she’d helped raise funds for today. But she’d stayed on her feet for hours to cook after a long night shift.
And she never asked for anything. Never even hinted that she needed anything. Never got that greedy glint in her eye he’d come to expect in women.
The feeling inside intensified. Man, he admired the hell out of this woman. At least what he knew of her. He couldn’t believe how strongly he felt about her after such a short amount of time. But after so many wrong women, it wouldn’t take a genius to realize when the right one had wandered into his path, which was good, because a genius he was not.
Beckett pulled on his boxer briefs and wandered to her bookcase to read the titles. Her textbooks lined the top shelf. Topics included anatomy, physiology, advanced first aid, CPR, medical ter
minology, emergency care in the streets, advanced cardiac support, pediatric advanced life support, pharmacology and drug guides, trauma management, emergency obstetrics, psychiatric emergencies.
“Jesus,” he whispered. He got a headache just reading the titles. He’d definitely gotten the intelligent part right.
He crouched and looked at the second shelf. Brain, Mind, and Body: Healing from Trauma. The next book in line: The Power to Break Free.
He frowned. Those didn’t sound like they fit the program. He pulled the book out and looked at the cover, read the subtitle: For Victims and Survivors of Domestic Violence.
The way she’d flinched that night in the bar flashed in Beckett’s mind, and his stomach went cold. The skin over the back of his neck prickled, and the hair on his arms stood up. A wickedly intense protective streak burned a path through him. He’d known her flinching and startling pointed to something unpleasant in her past, but seeing that vague thought put into the cold, harsh words domestic violence made it far more real, far uglier, far more infuriating.
He clenched his teeth and read the other titles in the row. Domestic Violence Survival Workbook. It’s My Life Now, Starting Over After Domestic Violence. Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome.
From there, the titles transitioned into a new topic. Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations. Angel Catcher, a Journal of Loss and Remembrance. Beyond Tears: Finding Light After Loss.
Beckett’s stomach churned, his body flashed hot, then cold, then hot again. His mind tried to make sense of the books. Eden didn’t strike him as the kind of woman to regret walking away from an abuser. He couldn’t envision Eden mourning the loss of someone who’d hurt her. But maybe the loss of her family when she left California had been harder to overcome than she let on.
He straightened the books and let his fingers float over the bindings, grateful they’d helped her in some way become the strong woman she was today. The woman who now pulled at him in ten different ways.
The covers rustled, then her sluggish voice murmured, “Shit. What time is it?”
Beckett stood. “Only one fifteen. Relax. I won’t let you oversleep.”
She pulled her hair off her face. “Sorry. I haven’t crashed like that in a long time.”
The fact that she trusted him enough to relax gave him more of a thrill than it probably should have. “I’m sure you need it.”
Sitting next to her, he gathered her into his arms, lay back against a couple of pillows, and pulled her to rest on top of him. She sighed, pressed her face to his neck, and kissed him, then leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Rest until you have to go.” He stroked his hands down her back. “Are you cold?”
“Not now.” She sounded sleepy and happy. “You’re like a furnace.”
He chuckled and wrapped her tighter, wishing he could take away all the ugliness in her past. The same way he wished he could wipe away the fears he still saw resurface in Lily’s eyes every now and then.
He was thinking about that similarity between Lily and Eden when she said, “Beckett?”
As soon as he refocused on the present, he felt the tension in the air. “Hmm?”
“Is this a…thing?” she said, voice soft and unsure. “Or…not a thing?”
He grinned, but his stomach still flipped and twisted. “Well, this is definitely something. So, yeah, I think this is a thing. At least, I’m hoping it’s a thing, because I’m already wondering when I can see you again.”
She remained quiet for a long stretch, and Beckett let her have the time to sort that out. He had a lot of his own sorting to do. Like when to tell her about Lily. Like how long he wanted to wait before he introduced her to Lily. Like how to figure out how he and Eden could see each other with these insane schedules.
Like why she was living in this hole.
But first things first. “Do you want this to be a thing?”
She smiled, a cute, almost sly smile that made her look so young, but there were still shadows behind her eyes. “Man,” she said barely above a whisper. “I…”
When she shook her head, he lifted a hand to her chin, then turned her head until her eyes met his. “Say what you feel, Eden. I’m not going to pounce or argue or try to sway you one way or another. I really want to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. I see a whole lot of thought-badminton going on in your eyes.”
She inhaled a shaky little breath. “It…scares me.”
His heart pulled so hard, he felt the ache all through his body. “I know. I wish I could make it easier.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know that too.”
Her eyes dropped away, ashamed, and she nodded.
Man, what was it about her injured soul that made him want to hold tighter? Moments like this made him realize how fundamentally Lily had changed him. A year ago, even the hint of drama sent him sprinting the other direction.
Her eyes slid closed in a look of intense longing. “I really, really want this to be a thing.”
As if a bunch of rubber bands had been holding his heart closed, they all released at the same time, spreading his heart wide open. He grinned and kissed her, and when he pulled back, her eyes were shining instead of dark.
“I hear a ‘but’ in there,” he said, “but I’m going to pretend I don’t. That way I can ask if you’d consider coming to see a game? Maybe bring Gabe or another friend who knows hockey? That way they could explain things while they’re happening.”
Her gaze turned curious and a little guarded. “You really don’t mind if I bring a guy?”
Beckett was learning to identify the hot buttons beneath Eden’s competent exterior. For a second, he considered cracking the egg and asking Eden directly what happened to her, what she was really afraid of. But he also got the distinct impression that if he pressured her in the wrong way, she’d shut down and they’d lose all the closeness they’d developed.
And he really didn’t want to lose this.
“Guys usually know more about hockey than girls. But if it means getting you to a game to actually watch me play, all you have to do is tell me how many tickets you want, and I’ll have them waiting for you at the door. You can bring the whole damn ambulance company if you want.”
A slow smile softened her eyes. “That would be a little overwhelming. I already lock myself in my bedroom when they throw on ESPN.”
“ESPN? Why aren’t they watching the NHL network?”
She laughed. “Oh, they do. Gabe’s the instigator.”
“Knew I liked that guy.”
She lifted a hand to his face. “And I know I like this guy.” Leaning in, she kissed him again, and the sweetness of it made him ache. But when she pulled back, she said, “Can I think about it?”
Her reaction was as foreign to Beckett as 90 percent of the topics she studied. And a split second of are we too different to make this work? passed through his mind before he said, “Absolutely.” Then he changed the subject. “Tell me about this place. You’ve got to admit this is pretty unusual, especially for a woman in this neighborhood. I especially don’t like the idea of you walking these streets from Metro.”
“It’s all I can afford right now.” She didn’t sound upset or angry about it, just matter-of-fact. “I’m careful. I carry the most powerful stun gun you can buy. And I’ve got a year of defense and fighting classes behind me. I’ve also gone out of my way to get to know the people who live between here and the Metro station. We sort of watch out for each other. I have no doubt I’ll be getting grilled about the guy with the Porsche before the end of the week.”
Somehow that didn’t set his mind completely at ease. “You know stun guns are illegal in the District of Columbia?”
She grinned, and a little rebel shone through. “I’d rather pay the fine and stay safe than the alternative.”
He sighed. “I suppose me offering a little help to find a safer place for you to live—”
“Would make your family’s re
sistance look like a toddler’s tantrum.”
He laughed and stroked her face, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love that tough streak. I just wish it wasn’t over a safety issue. Have you always had it?”
“Born that way. Unfortunately, most of the people in my past life didn’t even like it, let alone love it.”
“Is that why your family’s not helping you now? Or can’t they afford it?”
She snorted a laugh. “Oh, they could afford it. But what they spent their money on always held an element of self-benefit. My father would have paid for a business degree. Nothing but a business degree. I got into a handful of top schools out of high school, including his alma mater, Columbia. The funny part is that I wasn’t the one who applied. He did. And when I refused to go for business, well…”
She shrugged and sighed. “Doesn’t matter now. One of the most important things this job has taught me is how incredibly fragile life is. And how short. How you can be alive one moment and dead the next. Just…gone. No second chances, no coming back. That’s it.”
Her voice held a deeply emotional note Beckett couldn’t quite place. There was a sort of realistic sadness there, but something else too. Something painful.
“So I’m glad I didn’t cave,” she went on. “But even though I have a tough streak, I have an even wider pleaser streak, and I did spend too many years trying to find ways to make up for that huge failure in my father’s eyes. And that turned out way worse.”
So he’d been right about her coming from money too. That wasn’t making him feel good about the other hunches he’d developed. “Is that why you don’t talk to them now?”
“One of many reasons. After two and a half decades of their control, disapproval, and impossible standards, I cut ties. Came here. Started over.”
That might be part of the story, but Beckett heard a huge gap between the impossible standards and cutting ties. He was sure what she was telling him now was the tip of the iceberg.
“And you’re doing everything yourself?” he asked. “Paying for school, expenses, on your own? With the money you make at the ambulance company?”