by Zoe Chant
"This is amazing!" she said.
The sat at the kitchen table side by side, drinking their cocoa. Helen's eyelids were beginning to droop.
"Let's get you to bed," Tom said, taking the empty mug from her slackening fingers before she could drop it.
Helen startled, blinking her eyes open. "Whoa. I think I just almost fell asleep sitting up."
"You're exhausted," Tom said. "Come on, it's just one more flight of steps…"
He took her to his own bedroom. Only one of the guest bedrooms was made up and ready, the one his friend Alan usually slept in when he stayed over. Tom's bear rumbled unhappily at the thought of Helen sleeping in a room that probably still smelled like another bear shifter. Thank God the cleaning service had been in this morning, so his own bed was made up with freshly-laundered sheets.
Helen slid between the silk sheets with a sigh of pleasure.
"Sleep well," Tom said, giving in to the impulse to tug the covers up a little further, covering the naked skin of her shoulder where the oversized shirt slid down too far. Helen caught him by the wrist.
"Stay with me," she said.
Tom hesitated, torn between how very badly he wanted exactly that and what a bad idea he knew it would be.
Helen tugged him down by the wrist, pulling him closer, leaning up to meet him… and then her lips were touching his. The world slowed, crystallizing in a single moment of pure pleasure.
Pulling away was the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"Helen… I can't," he said. "As much as I'd love to…"
He winced. Helen had quickly turned her face away, but not before he'd seen the hurt in her eyes at his rejection. Tom caught her hand.
"Believe me," he said. "There's nothing else in the world I want more. But you've been through something horrible tonight. You almost died. You're exhausted, you're not thinking clearly. I'd feel like the worst person in the world if I took advantage of you by accident. Sleep for a few hours, and if you still want this tomorrow..."
"All right," Helen said quietly. He could see she still didn't quite believe him. But that was okay. He'd prove the truth to her after she'd gotten some rest.
"Good night, then," she said. She still hadn't let go of his wrist.
Tom turned his hand over, tangling his fingers with hers. Helen held on tightly. "I'm scared," she admitted in a small voice. "Stay? Please? Just to sleep," she added quickly.
"All right," Tom said. "Hand me one of those pillows, will you?" He tossed it down on the soft throw rug in front of the bed. There was a spare blanket in the closet somewhere…
"What are you doing? You can't sleep on the floor! This bed is huge, we can share, you don't have to worry that I would…" Helen broke off, blushing.
"It's not you I'm worried about," Tom muttered under his breath. His cock had been rock hard since she'd touched him, pressing painfully against his fly. He looked down without meaning to; Helen followed his gaze down. Her eyes went wide.
"Oh," she said.
Tom felt his face heating.
"You could still…" Helen started, and then had to cover her mouth on an enormous yawn, exhaustion taking over. She blushed.
Tom smiled. "Ask me again tomorrow, and you won't hear a no," he repeated. He stretched out on the rug. "Anyway, I'm perfectly comfortable here."
He wasn't lying about that. His time with the SEALs had taught him to go to sleep anywhere, anytime. He'd slept in more ditches, fields, and trenches than he wanted to remember. A smooth floor, with a nice soft rug beneath him, wasn't going to be a problem at all. He could hear the steady sounds of his mate's breathing, smell her sweet scent mingling with his own, feel her presence beside him… Tom was still smiling when he fell asleep.
***
When Tom woke up, afternoon sunlight was slanting in through the blinds. Tom squinted at his watch: 2 pm. So he'd gotten almost seven hours of sleep. Helen was still sleeping, curled up peacefully on her side, her face soft and vulnerable in sleep. Tom felt a wave of tenderness so strong he could hardly breathe for a moment. He'd let her sleep for a while longer, get breakfast prepared before he woke her up.
The kitchen was pretty barren. These days Tom usually had his meals delivered instead of cooking for himself. He winced when he realized how deeply he'd let himself fall into the habit of living like a rich bachelor. His Mom would have slapped him upside the head and called him a lazy bum. He'd used to be a pretty good cook once, but there just wasn't any joy in cooking for just one person.
Well, he'd be damned if he couldn't rustle up some kind of breakfast for his mate with his own two hands.
The fridge held a carton of eggs and a container of mixed vegetables he'd meant to have for a snack, so at least he had everything he'd need for a proper omelet. There was a loaf of white bread in the breadbox, too, so he could make French toast.
Helen would need some clothes, too. Officially none of the stores in the closest town delivered, but once he told them his name they were happy enough to send someone up to the house for the promise of a good tip.
Back when Tom had first moved in, the landscapers had started a herb garden in front of the house. It had been sadly neglected lately, but some of the hardier herbs stubbornly continued to grow. The mint had spread all over everything like a weed, but Tom's sensitive bear nose easily found a little patch of chives and wild onions. Once he had all his ingredients sliced and prepared, he went back into his bedroom to wake Helen up. She'd curled up tightly and pulled a pillow over her head. Tom smiled to himself.
"Good morning," he said.
No reaction.
"Helen? Helen, hey, wake up." He raised his voice a little. A muffled snore came from underneath the pillow. Tom grinned to himself. He reached out for Helen's shoulder, intending to gently shake her awake.
The second his fingers made contact, Helen startled, yelped, and sat bolt upright in the bed. She yanked the pillow off her face, her eyes wide and panicked. It was obvious she had no idea where she was. Her eyes fell on the knife lying on his bedside table. She grabbed it with a shaking hand. Tom took a quick step back.
"Hey, it's just me," he said. "Remember me? Tom? It's all right, you're safe."
At the sound of his voice, Helen's eyes snapped up to his face. Her panicked expression cleared. She dropped the knife, looking mortified.
"Tom! I'm so sorry. I—I think I had a nightmare. I didn't know where I was."
"It's fine, don't worry about it," Tom said. "You've been through a lot. Anyone would be twitchy."
"But anyone wouldn't pull a knife on their rescuer," Helen said ruefully.
"You'd be surprised," Tom said. "I was in the service, remember? I know a lot of people you shouldn't startle in their sleep." He shrugged. "Anyway, that's not how you want to hold a knife if you really want to stab someone," he added, trying to defuse the situation with humor.
"I don't want to stab anyone!" Helen said.
Tom laughed. He nodded towards the kitchen. "I'll have breakfast ready in ten minutes or so."
"Breakfast sounds fantastic," Helen said. "I'm starving."
"I've had some clothes delivered for you, too. They're in the bathroom. There's a couple choices, because I wasn't sure about the sizes."
"Oh, wow, thank you!" Helen said.
She gave him a smile. The shadows had cleared from her eyes. Tom picked up the forgotten knife from the bed. Helen eyed it curiously.
"Do you just keep that on your nightstand all the time?"
"Yes," Tom admitted. It was probably a bad habit, but… "You're not the only one who gets nightmares," he said.
"I'm sorry," Helen said quietly.
She eyed the knife curiously. "It's kind of pretty."
"It's a 19th century Chinese dagger," Tom said. He'd felt slightly less like a crazy person with an ornamental weapon on his bedside table instead of his Navy-issue KA-BAR knife, even though the blade was no less sharp.
Helen leaned a little closer to look at the elaborate etchings on th
e hilt. Tom held it out to her hilt-first. Helen turned it over in her hand, admiring the markings, and then slashed experimentally at the air. Tom winced back automatically, even though the knife had gone nowhere near him.
"Sorry," Helen said quickly. "I swear I'm not actually going to stab you!"
Tom laughed. "Well, you're still holding it wrong for that, anyway."
"So how should I be holding it?" she asked curiously.
"I'm not sure I should show you! I'm getting a bad feeling about you and knives," Tom said, grinning, but then he reached out and showed her how to reverse her grip. "Like this," he said. "You want to stab down, not up. Makes it harder to block." He watched her balance the knife in her hand, and nodded approvingly. "Now you've got it. Don't actually get in any knife fights, though. Good way to get yourself killed if you don't know what you're doing."
Helen laughed. "Not much danger of that! The sharpest thing I need in my daily life is a letter opener." She handed the dagger back to him.
Tom smiled. "I'll keep you safe from knife fights," he promised. He put the knife in the drawer of the bedside table and slid it firmly shut. "I'll be in the kitchen. Come join me when you're ready."
Helen showed up with perfect timing, just as he'd finished frying the omelet and the French toast. She was wearing the clothes Tom had had delivered for her, a pair of jeans and a silk blouse that showed off her curves to perfection.
"Thanks for this," Helen said, gesturing down at the clothes. "You did a great job guessing with the sizes."
"Glad everything fits," Tom said. He'd spent enough time staring at her from the corner of his eyes, after all; the shape of her body had been branded into his brain.
"How are your feet?" he asked.
"Much better. It's just a bunch of scratches, really. Doesn't even hurt anymore. It seemed a lot worse yesterday, with everything else that was going on."
"You were exhausted," Tom agreed.
"How's your arm?"
"Just fine. It really was just a scratch." Like all bear shifters, he healed quickly.
He piled up a few golden brown slices of toast for her on a plate and split up the omelet. He sprinkled a few bright green curls of chives and spring onions on top and nodded, satisfied. Considering that he hadn't cooked anything in a long time, that hadn't come out too badly.
"That smells fantastic," Helen said.
They took their plates out on the patio, which overlooked the ocean. Helen looked down at the bright blue waves, her eyes wide.
"This place is incredible! Do you get to eat here every day? I guess there's advantages to working for a billionaire," she said.
Tom tried not to wince too obviously at the reminder that he still needed to tell her the truth. After breakfast, he decided. Serious conversations didn't go well on an empty stomach. Helen took a forkful of omelet and moaned in pleasure.
"Mmm, this is amazing," she said. "Do you cook for Mr. Glenn too?"
Tom winced again.
"I haven't cooked in awhile," he said evasively.
But even the knowledge of the confession he'd soon have to make couldn't spoil the pleasure of the moment. The sun shone warmly on the back of his neck. A crisp breeze carried the scent of the ocean, which stretched out glittering to the horizon. His mate was beside him, eating the food he'd prepared for her with obvious pleasure. The bear inside him purred contentedly, perfectly happy to relish the moment without worrying about the future.
Helen reached for the bottle of honey to put some more on the French toast and froze, staring down at the bottle in her hands.
"The bees," she said. "Who's going to take care of the farm? My God, I can't believe I haven't thought of that! Aunt Sally left me in charge of the bee farm, and I didn't even think of it once."
"You were running for your life last night, of course you didn't think of anything else," Tom said firmly.
"But what am I going to do?" Helen asked plaintively. "I don't know anyone else who knows anything about bees."
"I can ask Alan," Tom said. "He's a friend of mine—we were in the Navy together. He's got a farm himself. He rescues all kinds of animals. I wouldn't be surprised if he knows a little bit about bees. Or his Mom might, if he doesn't. She's kind of an Earth-Mother type. Alan's farm isn't too far from your aunt's place."
"If you're sure it would be okay," Helen said hesitantly. "I mean, I'm sure Alan's got a job of his own to worry about."
"Oh, he's got a lot of free time," Tom said evasively. He couldn't exactly mention the fact that his best friend was a billionaire without getting into the exact conversation he didn't want to be having right now.
They took their plates back into the kitchen when they were done, and then Tom retreated into his office to call Alan.
Alan started laughing as soon as Tom finished explaining the entire situation. "So let me get this right. You finally found your mate, and you told her you're a bodyguard. Only you, Tom."
"I panicked!" Tom said, wincing.
"You never panic."
"I've never met my mate before, either. You don't understand, Alan, she's… she's perfect. You should have seen her last night, she was so damn tough and brave. I don't know what I'm going to do if she can't deal with the billionaire thing."
Alan's voice softened. "You have to tell her, Tom."
"I know! I know. I will."
Alan sighed. "I shouldn't laugh, anyway. At least you've found your mate. I've been looking for years. I'm starting to think maybe the right woman for me doesn't even exist. No law to say there must be a mate for everyone, right?"
Tom looked down, struck by the note of regret in his friend's voice. He knew how badly Alan wanted a family.
"Don't give up yet," he said. "I'm sure there's someone out there for you, too."
"We'll see," Alan said. "Anyway, to get back to your actual question—of course I don't mind looking after her farm for a bit. Out by Mountainville, you said? That's just half an hour's drive from my place. I haven't kept bees for ages. This is gonna be fun."
Tom laughed. "Man, you have strange idea of fun," he said. In that respect, he and Alan had always been very different. Of course Tom liked being out in nature, every bear shifter did, but he'd never had the same love of animals and gardening that Alan had.
When he came back down the steps, Helen was on the phone to Isabella. Tom felt a momentary stab of panic—if she'd spent any time talking to Ryan about him, his secret would certainly be out now—but Helen only waved him closer with a distracted smile while she said her goodbyes to Isabella.
"Alan says he doesn't mind looking after the bees for a couple days," he told her, after she'd hung up.
"Oh thank God. Bella says cousin Jessy's going to come out and look after things, too, but I don't think Jessy knows anything about bees. Or gardening. Or nature. I mean, I can't even imagine her on a farm, really. I don't think I've ever seen Jess in anything but a designer suit and heels. She's a crazy successful lawyer up in New York City, works sixteen hour days—Bella says she's been having some burn-out problems, though, so maybe it'll do her good to get out into nature." Helen looked highly skeptical of the idea.
"Well, I'm sure Alan will be happy to help her out," Tom said. Although he'd be curious to know how Alan, with his easy-going temper and his deep roots in nature, would get along with a high-powered lawyer from the city…
At least Helen looked relieved, with one less thing to worry about.
And Tom was all out of excuses. He needed to tell her the truth. He took a deep breath. No more stalling, he told himself.
"Helen—" he started.
"Yes?" Helen said. She came a step closer. Close enough to touch. Her scent filled his senses. For a moment, all Tom could think of was how badly he wanted to touch her. Their eyes caught.
Helen took one more step, closing the distance between them, rose up on tiptoes, and kissed him.
The world went away. All he could feel was Helen's body against his, her soft breasts brushing his chest
, her heartbeat thundering in his ears. He opened his mouth to hers, deepening the kiss, a moan catching in his throat. All his sense were coming alive, drinking her in.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer, her body molding to his as if she'd been created for him. Helen moaned. Her scent was changing, growing heavy and warm with arousal.
Pulling back was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.
"There's something I have to tell you," Tom said, swallowing hard.
"Mm. Tell me later," Helen said, leaning in for another kiss. Tom took it greedily, drinking her in. But—
"It's important," he said.
Helen drew back quickly. "Sorry. If you don't want—" she started, and Tom felt a painful pang at the sudden wariness in her body language. She was avoiding his eyes.
"I do want," he said quickly. He couldn't let her think he was rejecting her again. He ran his hand up from her shoulder to her chin, tilting her face up gently. "I want you more than anything."
She came back into his arms willingly, eagerly, and his self control shattered into a million pieces. He kissed her hungrily, and she responded just as eagerly, pushing at his shoulders until Tom started walking them backwards towards his bedroom. They stumbled, almost fell over each other in their clumsy eagerness; Tom caught Helen with his hands at the back of her thighs and hoisted her up. Helen wrapped her legs around his hips.
Both of them groaned. Tom leaned back against the wall, holding Helen securely in his arms while they kissed and kissed until they both had to pull back to gasp for air.
"Bedroom," Helen said.
Tom carried her up the stairs, her arms around his shoulders and her thighs around his hips, every step rocking them together. His cock was rock hard. He could smell her wetness.
He laid Helen gently down on his bed and then leaned back to look at her, sprawled out on his white sheets, her golden hair spreading out in a cloud around her head. He could see her nipples through the fabric of her blouse, tiny hard peaks pressing against the silk. He bent down and kissed her breasts, mouthing at the stiff peak of her nipples until the fabric was damp and she was gasping, pushing up against his mouth.