by Vivi Andrews
An old-fashioned potbellied stove heated the living room and buckets of water—drawn from some nearby well?—circled it like a moat. Heat and hot water without a generator—it was a tidy setup. Sustainable. Eden had learned to appreciate that word.
Connor showed them to a room that had likely once been a guestroom-slash-office. Jam-packed bookcases lined the walls, but Eden barely looked beyond the neatly made double bed. Hannah Rose was heavy in her arms, already boneless with sleep, and Lucas slumped at her side, three-quarters of the way to dreamland himself.
Their host slipped silently out of the room, but Precious stayed behind, taking up a post at the foot of the bed. It was amazing how safe one dog could make her feel. She trusted the wolfhound’s senses so much more than her own. Just as she trusted Connor’s ease with his gun.
Trust.
She’d known this man a matter of hours and already she felt safer with him than she ever had at the commune. Maybe it was the honor he wore like a second coat. Maybe it was the steady, comforting way he’d helped her and the kids along the uneven trail or the way he was so calmly accepting of her space, her privacy. He let her come to him—both physically and conversationally—and after months of men who didn’t know how to stop pushing at her, his distance drew her in like nothing else could have.
Eden tugged off Hannah Rose’s boots and peeled off her winter jacket before sliding the girl, still clothed, beneath the covers. Hannah Rose melted onto the mattress with a soft sigh, her small fingers twitching until Eden tucked her battered plush bunny into her arms.
“Mom?” Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, slumped tiredly, but his eyes were still wary. Ever cautious, her Lucas.
“Yeah, kiddo?” She reached around him to lift the pack from his shoulders and set it next to her own at the foot of the bed. Precious sniffed at both packs then made a snuffling noise and flopped onto her belly on the floor.
Lucas toed off his sneakers, but his weary arms tangled in his sleeves when he tried to shrug out of his jacket without unzipping it all the way. Eden caught the zipper and straightened him out. Lucas crawled up to wriggle in beside Hannah Rose, his eyes already closed when his head hit the pillow.
Figuring whatever Lucas had been about to say had been lost in sleep now, Eden flicked off the battery-powered lantern sitting on the bedside table and padded through the dark toward the door. A whisper from the bed stopped her with her hand on the knob.
“Are you scared, Aunt Eden?”
The question was a sucker punch hitting her in the gut. Was she scared? Always. Blind terror was part of being a parent even when you weren’t struggling for survival, clinging to a world that didn’t exist anymore and running from religious zealots who wanted to build a nation around you.
But tonight…
The last few nights they’d slept with shoes and coats on, but the fence, the lights and the dog added layers of security. And then there was Connor.
Tonight, for once, Lucas could sleep easy. She had another wingman. Tonight her stepsister’s middle son could be a child again, dreaming Willy Wonka dreams. “I’m not scared, honey, and you shouldn’t be either.” She crossed to the bed and pressed a kiss onto his forehead, as if she could banish all his fears with the touch. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”
“G’night, Mom,” he mumbled blurrily.
She slipped out of the room, leaving Precious watching over the twin focal points of all her fears and hopes.
When she came out of the bedroom, Connor was standing over the sink, scrubbing the camouflage paint from his face and hands with a damp washcloth. Eden froze on the threshold, hypnotized by a single drop of water that worked its way over the hard line of his jaw and down the corded column of his throat. He’d removed his outer gear, leaving threadbare jeans and a grey long-sleeved T-shirt that clung to his muscular physique and looked like it would be as soft as velvet beneath her fingers.
His body was trim, but so strong. He lived well out here on his own.
Eden blinked, startled out of her teen-idol trance by the realization that this wasn’t just a cabin he’d tripped across. This was his place. His home. The few photo frames in the house lay facedown, but she knew if she tipped them up for a peek, she would see his face. And likely that of another woman. His comfort level gave it away, as did the fact that he’d stopped them for dinner before they got here. It had been a short walk from the campsite to his front door. Short enough that they hadn’t really needed to stop before coming here.
She wondered where he would have taken them for the night if the conversation at the campfire had gone differently. Pleasure unfurled in her chest at the knowledge that she’d earned this trust from him.
She saw his hands hesitate for a moment and knew he had sensed her watching him. “Thank you,” she said to his shoulder when he didn’t turn to face her. For bringing her here. For trusting her. For protecting them. It was either two words or a thousand, so she went for brevity.
He nodded. Just that. It was how they seemed to communicate with one another. Her thank you, his nod, and a silence that spoke volumes. But did they really need more than that? She had no urge to fill the silence with unnecessary words. It would only clog the space between them, and she wanted that space empty, easy to move through. Easier to touch him without wordy thickness in the air.
She felt herself relaxing, the semi-constant panic of the last few days finally ebbing away. As her shoulders unknotted, her thinking cleared and she began to feel like herself again. A planner. A thinker. Someone who was calm and thought ahead, not someone who reacted with abrupt desperation.
She didn’t know how long this respite would last.
They’d wound through the forest, not following any trail she could make out, crossing roads but never following them until they were within a hundred yards of this place. Ben and whatever reinforcements he brought wouldn’t have an easy time finding them—provided he’d only put one tracker in her bag.
For tonight, they were safe, but who knew what tomorrow would bring. Maybe they would get to this St. Maries place, find a car and be halfway to Utah by nightfall—with Connor nothing but a memory in their rearview mirror.
The thought was surprisingly disheartening.
The washcloth rose again, swiping off another streak of paint but leaving a smudge of green like a sideburn in front of his ear. She could see his features now. Handsome. Strong. Classic. His lips were thinner than she’d expected, his jaw harder. Her original assessment of Rambo was off a bit. He was more a young Bruce Willis than Sylvester Stallone—but there was still a lot of action hero in this man.
Eden leaned a hip against the counter as she watched him, feeling safer than she had in months. As long as he was with them, he wouldn’t let anyone touch them. She knew that instinctively. Deeply. If Ben did come for them tonight, he would have the fight of his life on his hands.
The knowledge that Connor would fight for her kindled a yearning ache deep inside her. Was there anything sexier than a man who knew how to protect a woman?
Especially one who looked like that.
She hadn’t wanted a man in a long time. Survival, protecting and caring for the children—her own desires had fallen away by necessity. But now her long-dormant libido was coming out of hibernation with a vengeance. Her skin felt tight and hot, her body heavy and wanting.
The washcloth rubbed across his face again—and again missed the sideburn stripe.
“Here,” Eden murmured, her voice husky and dark. “Let me.”
She crossed the feet separating them and took the cloth from his unresisting hands. “You missed a spot,” she said softly. Not quite brave enough to meet his eyes, she looked instead at the patches of paint left on his face. Eden gently stroked the washcloth beneath his ear then over the stubbled hollow of his opposite cheek where another smudge lingered. Her breathing was a bit too heavy and her hands more caressing than businesslike, but she couldn’t feel ashamed of her reaction to him.
Sex, like so m
any other things, had changed meanings in the last year. All the morality tied up in the virtue of waiting seemed ridiculous now. Contraception was barely worth a thought when no one had yet gotten pregnant. STDs lost their fright factor when another wave of the disease could come at any time and take them all out. Carpe diem was the deity of the day. Jonah may have twisted that with his new religion, but he wasn’t entirely wrong. The opportunity to feel lust at all was a gift now. Pleasure, the ultimate affirmation of life—sex had lost its shame, and Eden had lost hers.
Connor’s face was spotless, but she kept touching him, stroking softly with only the worn cloth between her fingers and his skin. She was standing close to him, too close for etiquette but not nearly close enough for the drumbeat of need sounding in her pulse.
He caught her wrist, stilling her hand. His eyes were shuttered, his jaw tense. “You don’t have to.”
With those words, Eden knew he had understood far more than she had revealed about the Seattle cult. She shouldn’t have been surprised. A man who made his living in a war zone had only to keep his eyes open to see how women were treated in times of crisis—their bodies became payment and prize. Choice became a memory. And he was giving the choice back to her—though he hadn’t needed to say it. Connor, she’d known almost instantly, wasn’t the kind of man to expect her to barter her body for safety. Which made her all the more determined to be with him while she had the chance. It wasn’t his reward. It was hers.
She stepped closer still, until her front was pressed against the firm, unyielding warmth of his. She stared up into his eyes, the black of his pupils huge in the candlelit kitchen. “You don’t have to either, but I want you, Connor Reed. So if you want me too…” The bald words begged him to take everything she was offering.
She didn’t have to tell him twice.
She saw the decision, the unmasking of his own desire a second before his mouth descended on hers, hungry and desperate. He was so rigidly contained the sudden fiery demand of his touch caught her by surprise. Zero to full-throttle lust in two point two seconds.
He took the washcloth as it fell from her fingers and flung it into the sink with a wet splat, but she barely registered the sound past the roaring in her ears. His hands went straight to her ass, lifting and pressing her hard against all that delicious muscle. She gripped his shoulders, looping her legs around his waist and wriggling closer, never close enough, held back by too many layers of clothing.
Sensation was fast and sweet. A familiar acceleration in her blood, a remembered craving in her soul for more.
One hand palming her ass as his other teased the soft skin at the small of her back, sneaking beneath her shirt, Connor carried her into the master bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them without missing a beat. His tongue stroked deeply into her mouth. Damn, the man could kiss. If he was this good with his mouth, she couldn’t wait for the main event.
They yanked at one another’s clothes. It wasn’t pretty, the clumsy fumbling and muttered half-laughing, half-swearing over stuck zippers and pants tangled around ankles, but it was dark so at least Connor didn’t have to see the distinctly unsexy yanking involved in getting out of a sports bra. She knelt on the bed in only her panties and heard something hard thunk onto the bedside table. A weapon, most likely. Even in bed Connor would never be unprepared, never get caught flat-footed in an emergency.
Then the mattress dipped under his weight and Eden stopped thinking of anything but the feel of him as he swept her beneath him. His strength surrounded her, a wall of warm muscle. He spread his palm flat on her abdomen, and Eden squirmed, suddenly more nervous than excited. She’d lost weight in the last year, losing some of her femininity with it. Stress and her focus on feeding the kids before herself had whittled her down to jutting bones. Would Connor find her unappealing?
His hand skimmed beneath the waistband of her panties. One calloused fingertip flicked lightly against her clit, and Eden forgot her insecurities. He stroked her with deft fingers until she was a puddle of want, her nerve endings singing along to any tune he cared to play.
The darkness heightened her other senses. Touch was electrified. She smelled the pine of the forest on him, the smoke of the fire and the unique scent that was his skin. His mouth found hers and she fell into the seductive taste of him.
The night closed around them, amplifying the sensation that this was a stolen hour, a moment out of time when she could forget every other care that ruled her life and just exist in his arms. He whispered wicked promises into her ear as he peeled her panties off. She cradled him between her thighs, replying with words that made no sense—sentences composed of emotion rather than logic. Then he slid high inside her in a single long stroke, and she lost all ability to speak any word other than his name.
The slick pulsing of his body into hers pushed her higher, one, two, three thrusts, higher still until she burst through the ceiling of her world and they shattered together into a thousand points of light.
Chapter Six
Eden stretched, warm and happy. Her first semiconscious thought was the knowledge that this was a very good day.
Then the events of the last year crashed in on her and she sat up with a jolt. She’d slept in. The white light of morning seeped past the half-closed curtains. Outside, fat snowflakes rushed toward the ground. For the first time in nearly a year she watched the snow fall and her gut reaction wasn’t dread. No how are we going to stay warm? No worries, just a silent admiration for nature’s beauty.
Connor wasn’t beside her. She heard bright young voices piping from the living room. The kids were up, and he’d let her sleep. God bless that man.
Even trusting Connor to have everything under control and knowing the kids could have woken her at any time if they felt uncomfortable, Eden’s restlessness wouldn’t let her stay abed any longer. She was out of practice at lazy mornings.
Dragging on yesterday’s clothing, she had a moment to wonder what the children thought of her sleeping in Connor’s bed. They probably remembered their parents sleeping in the same room, but Eden had been bunking down with them ever since they hit the road. Would they react to the break in routine with confusion or distress?
But when she stepped out of the bedroom, two chubby-cheeked faces beamed up at her from the kitchen table as they scraped the last oatmeal from their bowls. No sign of distress whatsoever.
“Mom!” Lucas yelped, bounding from his chair and nearly tripping over Precious’s massive bulk in his enthusiasm. “It’s snowing!”
“I saw,” Eden said mildly, crossing to the table and hugging him—she couldn’t help it. Her heart was so full at the sight of him looking so happy and young.
Connor stood at the counter, his face as impassive as ever, but his eyes were warm. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
“Sugar? Cream?”
Eden gaped. “You have cream?”
“Coffee-mate.”
“Just black.” She didn’t take cream anyway, but the mention of it was so exotic it had startled her.
Connor pressed the cup into her hands, and the smell nearly sent her into another orgasm. All this and the man can make coffee like a god. Does it get better? Then he tweaked Hannah Rose’s ponytail, making the little girl giggle, and Eden’s heart gave up all consideration of resistance.
If only they could stay…
She nodded toward the window. “How bad is it?”
“It’s coming down pretty hard. No one’s going anywhere today.”
Her relief was profound. If they couldn’t get out today, then no one could get in to find them. She was glad their respite with Connor wasn’t going to be over so soon.
He set a bowl of oatmeal in front of her before taking the fourth chair at the table, nursing his own coffee. “There’s a snowmobile in the shed with enough fuel to get us to town, but it won’t do us any good until the visibility clears. Could be later today. More likely tomorrow.”
“It’s a snow day, Mom!” Lucas exc
laimed. “Can we play outside?”
Play. Lucas, who had been a silent soldier, never comfortable enough to relax even in Seattle when things had seemed so safe on the surface, was laughing and smiling and asking to go out and play. She didn’t even consider denying him. “Of course you can.”
The children crowed and bounded off to collect their snow gear. Eden smiled after them then turned and found Connor watching her over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Sleep well?”
She couldn’t help the blush that heated her cheeks. “You know I did.”
His expression didn’t change, but smugness radiated off him. Smugness and the dark heat flaring in his green eyes.
Suddenly Eden couldn’t wait for the kids to go outside.
Resisting the urge to fan herself, she focused on her oatmeal. “Do you think the storm will stop Ben? I mean, will the kids be okay outside by themselves?”
“I can’t imagine anyone traveling in this, but I’ll send Precious out with them. She’ll be the first to know if anyone finds us.”
Eden’s gaze went to the dog sprawled lazily like the world’s largest floor rug. “Precious. I’m guessing you weren’t the one who named her.”
Connor stilled, and Eden realized belatedly how stupid it was to bring up the Big Bad Past when the present had been so pleasant, but before she could take it back, he said softly, “Madison. My wife. She named her.”
He stretched one arm behind his shoulder and plucked a picture frame off a side table without looking. He handed it to her and turned his attention back to his coffee cup.
It was an all-smiles vacation photo of the perfect couple. Connor, looking insanely gorgeous, no surprise, and the woman who must be Madison Reed, dark-haired, with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and a sweet face that was Hollywood’s version of girl next door. No surprise Connor’s wife had been a looker, but it did reawaken Eden’s sleeping insecurities. She was no Madison Reed.