Beyond Innocence

by Kit Rocha

  Lili wished desperately she shared his confidence. But this door belonged to Jared.

  "Should be upstairs." The lower level of the building looked like a warehouse—except for the wide hallway encasing a polished wood staircase. Jasper climbed the stairs two at a time, barely pausing to knock as he shouldered through the door at the top. "Anybody home?"

  No one answered, but the crash of wood crashing against wood grew louder as Lili stepped into an entryway so elegant, it felt like stepping into another world. Everything gleamed, clean and glossy and so, so expensive...

  Then Jasper shifted out of her way, and her breath caught.

  Cruz and Jared were fighting, though the word seemed insufficient to describe what was happening. They were dancing, flowing gracefully through attack and defense at such a terrifying speed that one misstep would cause devastation.

  Her heart beat faster, the same way it did when her fingers flew over the keys when memory and instinct overtook thought. But these stakes were dizzyingly high—a mistake here meant broken bones, not a few discordant notes.

  Which made the thrill shivering through her just as wrong as the way her gaze couldn't stop sliding over Jared's bare, flexing torso.

  They stopped, all at once, and relief and disappointment vied for control of Lili's emotions. Then Jared smiled and flipped the weapon he held up onto his shoulder in one smooth motion. "Hello."

  Her hands ached from clutching the basket she'd brought, but she couldn't seem to relax her fingers or reclaim the ease with which she'd chatted with him over dinner. This wasn't a safe man or a mere friend. Her skin felt too tight, and she was sure they could all hear it in her voice. "I hope I'm not intruding."

  Little droplets of sweat dripped from his hair onto his bare shoulders as he shook his head. "No, we were just finishing up."

  Cruz was watching her closely, a faint smile curving his lips. Lili stiffened her spine and reached for her icy composure—but even that melted a little as that droplet skated down Jared's chest, daring her gaze to follow.

  She focused stubbornly on his face. "I brought some food. I can leave it, if you'd like…"

  Jasper rubbed at his jaw. "Cruz, if you have time, I could use your help. We've got a property dispute just over the line in Three, and I'm mediating. Dallas figures the more muscle I bring with me, the less likely they'll be to argue with my decision."

  Lili couldn't imagine anyone arguing with Jasper, but Cruz only nodded, set his staff against the wall, and retrieved his shirt. "You'll escort Lili home when she's ready, Jared?"

  "I can find my own way—"

  Cruz cut her off with a shake of his head. "You're Rachel's friend," he rumbled. "Jared can explain what that means."

  "On the walk home," Jared promised.

  Cruz patted her shoulder as he eased past. In another moment, he and Jasper were both gone, leaving her standing awkwardly in Jared's immaculate entryway, trying not to stare at his immaculate body.

  "I didn't know they were going to drop me on you," she said apologetically.

  "You did me a favor." He swept up his own shirt and pulled it over his head. The thin white fabric dampened and clung to his body as he gathered the staffs and stowed them in a tall cabinet at the back of the room. "But you didn't have to bring anything."

  "There were leftovers," she said, unable to stop staring at his back and shoulders. The shirt almost made it worse—it should be safe to look at him now, but one meager layer of cotton couldn't hide his strength.

  He turned back to her, and she lifted the basket to cover the fact that she'd been staring. "Squash ravioli with goat cheese. Lex challenged me to turn the squash into something Dallas would eat."

  "And did he?"

  Lili found herself smiling. "Three servings."

  "Congratulations." He lifted the basket, his fingers sliding over hers, and the tightness in her body expanded into a low ache. "Would you like a drink?"

  One drink might help steady her nerves without compromising her judgment. "Yes, thank you."

  He carried the basket into the kitchen, but unpacked its contents into the refrigerator instead of laying them out. Then he pulled a sleek black bottle from a shelf under the cabinet. "Wine?"

  She hadn't seen a bottle of wine since she'd arrived in Sector Four, but nothing about this situation reminded her of her past life. Numbness was a distant memory. She was alive, so sensitive that the slightest shift of her dress over her skin made her shiver with each indrawn breath.

  Just from looking at him. If he touched her again, she'd probably break apart. No one could survive so much heat after a lifetime of ice.

  "Lili?" His voice had gone low, and it shivered up her spine.

  "Wine," she said, too breathlessly. "Wine would be nice, thank you."

  He uncorked the bottle with smooth, practiced movements and retrieved two glasses. "So. Is this a social call, or another demonstration of gratitude?"

  It was a mistake, that's what it was. She'd been so flushed with success, giddy at the realization that the cost of her continued safety would never be more than a few hours a day in the kitchen. A feeling of dread she'd been living with so long it had become a part of her had vanished…

  And she'd wanted to tell him. She still did, and the intensity of that need terrified her. "I am grateful, but not for the piano. You made me believe my skills might be worth something."

  A slow smile curved his lips as he poured the deep red wine. "Good."

  Her focus narrowed to his mouth. His lips. And, for the first time in over five years, she wondered what it would be like to kiss someone.

  Bliss, wasn't that what Nessa had said? It seemed like childish fantasy to imagine that simple contact could produce such intense feelings—or it would have, if his smile alone couldn't make her flush all over.

  She was staring at him. Gawking. She lifted her gaze back to his eyes, but his expression hadn't changed at all, as if he hadn't noticed her lapse. "I'm sorry," she said anyway, wrapping her arms around her body. "Some days are more overwhelming than others."

  "That's understandable." He rounded the counter and offered her a glass. This time, his fingers didn't touch hers, which should have triggered relief, not a stab of frustration. "But they're normal, the things you feel."

  "Are they?" She kept one arm wrapped around her middle, bracing the other to keep her glass steady. Without the counter between them, she wasn't sure what she wanted more—the safety of distance, or the indulgence of pressing close and letting him hold her steady.

  "Very. Sex is one of the strongest drives we possess."

  She sipped her wine to buy time, and was unsurprised to find it exceptional. Everything about this place catered to the tastes of the women who paid him to sate that particular drive. Strong, indeed.

  It helped. Oh, it didn't banish the flutters, but she managed a shaky smile. "You're probably right. I suppose the O'Kane compound is a bit like being thrown into the deep end."

  He didn't say anything, just watched her for so long that the intensity would have terrified her if being the focus of his attention wasn't thrilling in a different way. Finally, he sighed. "I don't know what to do with you, Lili Fleming."

  Her heart lurched, and the words that spilled out were reckless—the most unguarded of her life. "What do you want to do with me?"

  Again, the hesitation. "There are ways I could help you," he admitted, rubbing his thumb over the bowl of his glass. "Ordinarily, I would have already offered. But somehow it seems complicated now."

  She watched his thumb make another slow sweep and couldn't not imagine it smoothing over her skin. That was what he was talking about—he had to be. Touching her. Showing her the things her body wanted, even as her mind shrank away.

  "That's not why—" Her voice cracked, and she took a long sip of wine and wished it was whiskey. "I'm not asking you for that. I don't know if I—if I could…" God, she couldn't even say it, her tongue tangling around the mildest of euphemisms.

 
"I know you're not asking." He shrugged. "I guess that's what makes it complicated."

  Because trades were simple. They never left you vulnerable. And he hadn't really answered her question—he was so deft that she hadn't noticed. "What do you want to do?" she repeated softly.

  Jared held her riveted, so completely that she barely noticed when he moved. She couldn't look away, even when he took the glass from her hand. Even when he laid his hands on her face, his fingers curled around her neck to hold her, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  She'd imagined kissing. Mouths touching, lips brushing.

  She'd imagined wrong, because Jared's tongue was the first thing she felt, hot and shocking, as if he knew it would make her gasp. Because when she did, he went deeper, his tongue finding hers.

  It was too much. Too fast, too intoxicating. Her entire body throbbed along with her racing pulse, and her knees felt unsteady. She clutched for the only steady thing she could find, grasping his upper arms to keep from melting through the floor.

  Then his hands tightened, tilting her head back, urging her mouth open. His tongue swept over hers again, rough and rasping, and every tiny shiver of sensation built into an ache that settled between her legs. Not just an ache, a need, and she whimpered into his mouth.

  Jared broke the kiss with a shudder and smoothed his thumb over her tingling lower lip. "See?" he whispered. "Complicated."

  She closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. "Not sure that helped," she said, an attempt to turn it into a joke. It had to be, or fear and longing would crash together and vaporize her. "I'm feeling all sorts of things now."

  "It doesn't have to stop." His hands trembled on her face. "But that's your choice to make."

  An impossible choice—need or fear, pleasure or peace. And all of it shrouded in mystery, because she couldn't reconcile the O'Kanes' wild glee with her mother's whispered warnings to lie still so it would be over faster.

  "I don't know." She forced herself to look at him, to meet his patient, waiting eyes. "I don't know anything. How can I make a choice when I don't understand what you're offering?"

  "You're right." He smiled again and brushed her hair back from her forehead with a careful, gentle touch. "It's not exactly fair, is it?"

  She was still clinging to him. Slowly, shyly, she eased her grip until she was touching, instead. His arms were solid, muscle flexing as she rubbed her thumb against his sleeve and wondered if he felt the same spark of sensation. "When I was on the drugs, everything seemed so clear. I thought they were all pretending. I didn't believe in pleasure."

  "And now?"

  Now it would be like not believing in water while she was standing outside in the rain. This wasn't some gentle mist, either. She was caught up in a storm, and she'd seen what heavy rain could do to the desert. The clay couldn't absorb the water, and the riverbeds couldn't contain it.

  She wasn't made for pleasure. Too much would sweep her away. "Now I'm scared."

  Instead of being surprised or offended, he nodded. "I'd never intentionally do anything to hurt you, but that's all I can promise. You should probably think about that."

  It was honesty, and he deserved the same in return. "I don't know if I'll stop being scared. Logan—my husband—" She squeezed her eyes shut and forced out the words that still felt like lies sometimes, because Logan had been quick to remind her that most women suffered so much worse. "He hurt me."

  Jared's arms went rigid beneath her hands.

  "Not in big ways," she clarified, the tightness in her chest making the confession come fast and unfiltered. "He didn't try to—he didn't want me like that. But he could be cruel. And I—I'm sorry. You don't want to hear this."

  His only answer was to draw her into an embrace—slow, light, so easy that she could break away if she wanted.

  Part of her wanted. But more of her wanted him.

  Being this close to him was terrifying—and perfect. The lingering echoes of Logan vanished in the first moment, because he'd never touched her like this. Patient, gentle, offering strength without reminding her that strength was a threat.

  Her heels made her tall enough to lay her cheek on his shoulder. She wasn't quite brave enough to bury her face against his neck, but she wrapped her arms around his back, digging her fingers into those beautiful muscles she'd been staring at earlier.

  He was holding her, their bodies pressed together. Arousal hummed beneath her skin, and the world continued to spin.

  "Lili." Just her name, two tiny syllables, but they rumbled out of his chest and ricocheted through her.

  She kept her eyes closed. "I don't want you to help me out of pity. I don't want you to touch me out of pity."

  "I'm not. I wouldn't. But I need—" He bit off the words.

  "What?" Somehow, she found the courage to lift her head and open her eyes. "What do you need?"

  He stared down at her. "To be honest with you. This is a bad time to get involved with me. I can't tell you why, but I need to know you believe it."

  It could have felt like a brush-off, but it didn't. They were both too accustomed to navigating the expectations of others to be anything but up front about their boundaries and complications.

  She couldn't give him easy. He couldn't promise her forever.

  She reached up to touch his face, echoing his earlier gesture by pressing her thumb lightly to his lower lip. "I'm not looking for another keeper. Just…a friend. One who understands this world."

  His eyes were dark. Burning. "I can give you that."

  The words moved his lips, soft and teasing. Shivering, she rubbed her thumb slowly back and forth. "What can I give you?"

  His breath blew across her skin, hot and faster now. He slipped his hand into her hair and gently tilted her head back, baring her throat.

  "Jared?"

  "Shh." He had leaned in, and the quiet exhalation skated over her throat—raising goose bumps on her arms, tightening her nipples to hard, aching points. Then his mouth, hot and open, grazed the base of her neck where it met her shoulder.

  She dragged in a sharp breath and sank her fingers into his hair. It was soft and silky as she urged him closer, holding his lips to her skin even though it was already too much.

  "No one's ever touched you like this," he said quietly. "With care. To bring pleasure, not fear."

  "No one." She tilted her head back into his hand, trusting him to hold her.

  "Feel it." His teeth scraped her flesh. "That's what you can give me."

  No small request. She was already dizzy, drunk. She could knock back shot after shot of liquor without blinking, but she had no tolerance built up for this. A few glancing kisses had swept her feet out from under her. She didn't know how much more she could take.

  But maybe he did.

  She flexed her fingers on his shoulders, reassuring herself. It was okay if her knees wobbled, as long as he was there to hold her up. "All right."

  But he straightened, and she shivered at the loss of his heat. "When you're ready."

  Lili leaned back against the counter to steady herself. "I'm not sure it's possible to be ready for you."

  "Yes, it is." He smiled, just as slowly and easily as before, but there was an undeniable heat there now. "But that's quite the compliment. I'll take it."

  She wrinkled her nose, hoping it counteracted the hopeless flush in her cheeks at least a little. "Does this mean I can invite you to go somewhere with me?"

  "If you'd like." He reached around her, lifted her glass from the counter, and pressed it into her hand.

  "There's a concert in Sector Three. Six's friend is playing. I was thinking…" She shrugged and sipped her wine. "It's not the music I'm used to, but new experiences are good."

  "I'd be happy to go with you, Lili."

  She believed him, which was the most unbelievable part yet.

  Chapter Eight

  "Well, it's official." Jared wiped his dusty hands on his pants, which probably cost more than all the tattered and busted furnitur
e the previous owners had left behind. "I've bought a dump."

  Not that that was entirely news. He'd been here before, when it was still operational, and it hadn't been much cleaner then. That was part of its branding, you could say—a chance for Eden's not-so-bold residents to feel like they were taking a walk on the wild side, without ever leaving the relative safety of the city walls.

  Gia made a face and nudged a busted stool with the toe of one expensive shoe. "It needs work. Or a match and some gasoline."

  "How much work is the question." He righted a table and grimaced when it left his hands coated with another layer of grime. "Do I pander to the low-rent fantasy or take it in the opposite direction? Give it a coat of naughty gloss and glamour?"

  "Why choose?" Gia lifted her dress out of the dust as she stepped over a broken chair. "Pander, darling. Pander to all their ridiculous fantasies. Give them fake grime over luxurious gloss, and they'll pay double."

  "A bit of Sector Four, huh?" It was dangerous, a little too much like hiding in plain sight, though Gia had no way of knowing that. Of course, the sheer audacity of it had the potential to push it over the line from foolhardy to brilliant.

  After all, who would guess that the Eden bar owner pretending to be an O'Kane wasn't pretending at all?

  'You're running a speakeasy," she replied with a wicked smile. "No need to be subtle. Subtlety is wasted on the ones who will make you rich."

  "Truer words." Jared stepped into the main room. The only light shone, feeble and dim, from windows set high in the wall, windows that opened up above ground, at street level. "I need to talk to you."

  "Of course." Gia followed him, picking her way meticulously through the trash on the floor. "What's on your mind?"

  He couldn't tell her everything, but he could share enough of the truth that mattered. "Dylan thinks I'm making a mistake with this place."

  "Doc?" Gia stopped next to him and slipped her hand through his arm. "Of course he does. Eden broke him. You can see it in his eyes."