by Diana Gardin
I don’t want to lose her the way I did Elle. She’s under my skin, and the thought of anything happening to her feels like a knife in the chest. But I don’t want to be at the mercy of these growing feelings either, knotting me up inside and twisting my actions in a way I don’t recognize.
So, it seems, either way…when it comes to Olive Alexander, I’m fucked.
13
Olive
That night, I lie awake in Ronin’s guest room, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. I can’t believe I saw M.J. again tonight. He’s a part of my past I thought I’d put behind me.
Seeing him brought up all the feelings, the way I used to be back then. I was lost, searching, and hiding. Lost because a piece of me died every single time my uncle put his hands on me, or made me put my hands on him. Searching for someone who’d love me unconditionally, who would see the real me because I wasn’t the beautiful girl I used to be. And hiding from the filth that I was sure lay inside of me because of what I’d endured.
And all those years ago, I was so certain that M.J.—Mick—filled that void.
He hadn’t been all bad. Not at first. At the beginning, I’d fallen in love with him. He’d been sweet and charming. He called me his “perfect match.” He’d told me he liked that I was smart and driven, yet not someone who sought attention. It made me feel like he saw me. Especially when I was so far from looking like the beauty queen I used to be. When we’d fallen in love, he’d always told me he’d never let me go, now that he’d found me.
I should have taken that to heart, because clearly he’d meant it.
I think that in the end his feelings for me had turned into an obsession. It became more about keeping me, because he’d been so used to having me dependent on him emotionally. He’d had me all to himself, and when I started to heal I realized that I needed more from life than just him.
I sigh. My thoughts turn to the man lying in his own bed, just across the hall. Ronin is everything Mick never was…strong, good to his core, and protective. There’s really no comparison. Not that Ronin has shown any interest in anything other than making sure I’m still in one piece when his best friend returns to town.
For some reasons, the burning sensation of forming tears blurs my vision. And in the cold darkness of the bedroom, I realize that the churning, oily feeling in my stomach is fear.
I’m afraid of Mick Oakes.
I don’t know what his intentions are where I’m concerned. I never paid him back for the tuition money, because at the time, I couldn’t. Is that what he wants from me?
But in the bar, I saw how his eyes scraped across the length of my form, like this body still belongs to him. Back then, I gave myself over to Mick because, in my desperation, he was the only hope I could cling to. But I’m not that little girl anymore, running away from the things that hurt her.
I’m a woman, a strong, capable woman, and I will never let myself be taken in by anyone every again.
But no one told that to Mick. He could very well think that he’s going to walk right back into my life.
I flop over onto my side, pulling the covers up to my chin and trying to control the quaking in my bones. It doesn’t take long until discomfort forces me to flip over to my other side, my eyes searching the darkness of the room.
When I can’t take lying there anymore because it feels like the walls and the ceiling are closing in on me, I climb out of bed and, clad in my silky pajama pants and matching long-sleeved shirt, pad down the hall and into the living room. A lamp burns on one of the side tables, and I walk into the kitchen to make something hot and comforting to drink.
Finding milk and cocoa mix, I pull down a mug and make quick work of fixing the drink. I take my cocoa to the couch and sink down into the cushions and flip on the TV. My thumb flicks through the channels idly while I sip until I find one of my most favorite, mind-numbing shows. I settle in and my eyes devour the scene in front of me.
I’m so zeroed in that I don’t notice Ronin’s entered the room until he’s standing in front of the TV, and a small squeak of surprise escapes me at the sight of his huge form.
“Holy shit.” I breathe. “You scared me.”
My pulse races, but I’m not sure how much of that has to do with the small scare, and how much has to do with the gloriously shirtless man standing in front of me.
God in heaven. Does he do crunches while he sleeps?
Ronin’s clad in low-slung black pajama pants, pooling around his bare feet. His torso is bare and ridiculously muscular, ripples of abs going on for days. My eyes trace the lines of the tattoos swirling around his entire upper right arm, the desire to read and understand each picture there strong and intense. When I find his face, he’s staring right back at me with an expression I can’t begin to read.
“Red.”
It’s not just an acknowledgment, it’s a caress, and I can feel it wrapping around my body like a blanket.
Ronin kneels down in front of me, his eyes searching my face. “Are you okay?”
Pulling the mug to my lips, and also attempting to hide from the intensity of his gaze, I nod. “I’m fine.”
But my voice doesn’t convey that I’m fine. It’s thin and high, and doesn’t sound like me at all. My hands start to tremble and I grip the mug tighter, willing them to stop.
I’m strong. I’m strong. I’m strong.
I repeat the mantra to myself, over and over again, until the mug is gently taken from my vise-grip.
Ronin puts the mug down on the end table, and then takes my hands hostage in his much larger ones. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
The green of his eyes swirls, and I’m lulled by them, the shaking in my hands quelled by the strength of his. “I don’t want him to think about me. I don’t even want to be in his orbit again. I’m not the same person I was back then.”
Ronin’s mouth thins as it sets in a grim line. “Then you won’t be. Not sure if you’ve noticed, Red, but you’re pretty damn strong.”
Had he heard my mantra?
My eyes fall to our hands. “Yes…I am. I know.”
He glances down the hall, and then back at me. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.”
Releasing me, he gets up and walks down the hall. I hear a door open and close and when he returns, his arms are laden with a cozy-looking gray chenille blanket. Pausing in front of me as I look up at him in confusion, he uses his leg to nudge my knee.
“Scoot over.”
Moving sideways, Ronin sits down and stretches out behind me. Then he spreads the blanket out over his legs and wraps an arm around my waist. He tugs, and I find myself settling down in front of him while he spoons me from behind. He places the blanket over both of us, and then wraps his other arm around me.
It’s like I’m trapped in the hardest, warmest, most protective, best-smelling cocoon there ever was.
At first, I’m stiff, because what?
Ronin’s scent wafts over me, and I breathe it in like a woman deprived of air for an hour. It’s partly cologne, but it’s a fresh, masculine clean scent with just the tiniest hint of spice. It’s amazing. His body, pressed up against mine in the most intimate way, is so hard that heat pools deep in my gut and my thighs clench together to try to fight the bubbling desire he’s stirring up inside me. A kind of true desire I haven’t felt in years.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. “Relax, Red.” His words raise the hairs on the back of my neck, and a delicate shiver rolls through my whole body.
Taking a deep breath, I allow myself to soften against him.
“Not comfortable being touched, are you?” Ronin’s voice in my ear is husky and deep, and it feels like he’s reaching inside me rather than just speaking to me.
I shrug. “Not usually.”
It’s true that in five dates with Ken, we’d never been more intimate than a hug and a brush of lips. And for it to go any further than that, it would have needed to be planned and I would have really had to talk mysel
f into it ahead of time. It’s why the five date rule sticks in my head. It’s how I mentally prepare myself. I’m not celibate by any means, but it takes a lot for me to throw caution to the wind and be close to a man. I have scars that don’t show on the outside, and they prevent me from being as free as other, normal women.
“Do you want to talk about why that is, Red?”
My eyes trail over his hands as his capable fingers begin to stroke unassumingly along my forearms. It’s the slightest touch. Barely a caress, really, but the way I can feel it reverberating everywhere from my neck to my toes is unsettling. I’ve never been touched on a level as deep as this, and I don’t know what to do with the way it feels.
Shrugging again, I think about how to answer that question.
“I’m just…cautious…after everything.”
There. That should satisfy his curiosity.
But Ronin doesn’t quite let it go. “There’s more to you than cautiousness. And that’s okay…I get it. I have layers, too. Ones that go so deep I don’t know if I’ll ever get to the bottom of them. And I’d never expect anyone else to, either.”
The sheer understanding in his tone floors me. He doesn’t elaborate on his own issues, and he doesn’t ask me to delve further into mine. I’ve never been around a man who doesn’t ask for something from me, usually too much, in return for spending time with him.
Tentatively, I caress the bicep that holds me so tightly. The corded muscles jump beneath my touch, and I can feel the breath that Ronin sucks in.
“Tell me about these?” I ask, caressing the giant bird tattoo in the center.
His voice low, velvety, he answers me. “Well, this is an eagle in flight. I got it when I first joined the army.”
I trace the intricate details of the tattoo, the fine lines given to each of the bird’s feathers.
“And this one,” he continues, indicating the three thick, black bands stretching around his arm nearer his shoulder. “Represent each time I had to pass a test to achieve something great. Army entrance, officer exam, Ranger training.”
Marveling, I imagine the sheer amount of strength it took for him to achieve each of these goals.
He’s silent for a moment, and I trace the bright, bold heart tattoo entwined with rope. “And this one?”
Ronin stiffens slightly. He pauses, but then when he answers, there’s a cooler quality to his voice, one that I don’t understand. “That represents my heart.”
And that’s it. That’s all he says, and it surprises me how much that hurts.
We sit in silence for a few long moments, the tension swirling between us, when I finally feel his body relax against mine once again.
I haven’t stiffened since we started talking. I haven’t felt the need to flee from his hold, to shy away from his closeness. It’s huge, at least for me. This doesn’t happen. Not unless it’s on my terms, and with men I can keep at a safe distance.
But something tells me there’s no keeping Ronin at a distance. It should terrify me…but it doesn’t. Instead, a spark of hope flickers to life inside me. Hope that this man can succeed in breaking down the walls I’ve built so carefully around my heart.
When a chuckle rumbles through his chest, I almost jump out of my skin and his grip on me tightens for just a moment to reassure me.
“What the hell is this?” he asks.
Focusing my attention on the television, a smile ghosts across my lips. “It’s ‘Behind the Scenes: Big Top.’” Reality television is an addiction for me, and the show that follows the leading players in a traveling circus behind the scenes is one of my favorites.
His laughter grows louder and I can’t help myself; I chuckle right along with him.
“Red…please tell me why we’re watching ‘Behind the Scenes: Big Top.’” The teasing lilt in his voice makes my pulse race.
“I like it.” Feeling the need to defend myself, my tone is indignant. “If I weren’t an interior designer, and I was just a little bit braver, I think I’d probably be a circus performer.”
Ronin’s laughter fades away as he considers my words. “What act would you do?”
I can answer that question without a second thought. “I’d be a trapeze artist. Flying high, all those dangerous catches? The freedom of it? It’d be amazing.”
Ronin’s quiet for a moment. I think he’s forgotten all about my answer when he speaks again, his words dusting across my skin once more.
“That’s a circus I’d pay big money to watch, Red. Because I think I’d really enjoy seeing you look free.”
14
Ronin
When I become aware the next morning, I smell her before I open my eyes. It’s like I’ve slept in a blanket all wrapped up in peaches, and I instinctively pull her closer just so I can have more of it. In sleep, she’s soft and warm and perfect, and I take a minute to just enjoy this unguarded, pliant Olive because I know the second she wakes up she’ll tense up and pull away.
When I’d heard her moving around last night, I was up and out of bed before I even really thought about it. All I knew was that I didn’t want her to be up alone. So I snuck out of my room, and when I saw her sitting there on my couch, all huddled up and small, something in my chest broke apart. She was scared, that much was clear, and the urge to get close to her, to comfort her, was unstoppable.
My thoughts flash to Elle, and I allow myself one minute to compare. It was a rare occurrence to wake up next to Elle, because she was such an early riser. I usually woke up to the sound of her cooking in the kitchen, or to music playing as she got an early start to cleaning up around the apartment we shared. Olive is taller, a little more slender and graceful than Elle was, so the way she fits into the curve of my own body is more compatible and I like it way more than I should. My dick, especially, responds, hardening against her ass as she sleeps.
Elle was also an open book. Every thought or feeling she ever had was written across her face, and if she was pissed it came out in a slew of Spanish curses. She was a fireball, but she melted just as readily as she sparked. Olive is so much harder to read, to understand. She’s a puzzle that I can’t seem to totally figure out.
But what if I really tried? If I opened up to the possibility of truly knowing Olive? If I tried to get to the bottom of her mysterious nature, would she let me in? She’s been dating Ken, apparently. Has he been able to penetrate her walls?
Something inside me doubts it.
It also seems, from the tone of her conversation with Ken on the phone last night, that whatever they had is over. That thought makes me smile.
A soft, sleepy moan comes from the woman in front of me, causing the erection in my pants to become painfully aware of her closeness. I can’t cover my answering groan even though I try, and the redheaded beauty goes stiff and cold in my arms.
I know she’s awake, but she doesn’t say anything and I just wait.
Finally, tentatively, she turns onto her back and I loosen my hold to let her. She glances over at me, finding my eyes open and staring back at her, before she quickly turns her head toward the ceiling.
“Good morning.” Her voice is a sexy, throaty whisper that almost makes my eyes roll back in my head. I haven’t even touched her, not really, and she’s doing things to my body that I haven’t felt in a long damn time.
“Hey.” That’s all I’ve got. Fucking brilliant.
“Ronin?” Her eyes remain glued on the ceiling, and there’s trepidation in her tone.
“Yeah?” I turn onto my back like she is, folding my hands on my chest.
“Who’s Elle?”
I freeze; every muscle in my body, including my tongue, locks up. I can’t move, speak, or think.
What the fuck?
Elle isn’t a secret. Jeremy knows because he had my back when I returned to finish my tour after her funeral. And my team at Night Eagle deserve to know, because they’re like my brothers and we all have each other’s backs every day. I don’t keep secrets from them. But there’s an un
derstanding that what happened to her is in my past. I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about it.
Until I got the call from Detective Watson.
Now I can’t stop thinking about Elle.
Olive doesn’t turn toward me, but when I don’t answer her question she barrels on. “I mean, it’s just that you said her name a few times in your sleep. One time I woke up and thought you were talking to me, but you…weren’t. And you said her name again. More than once.”
Sitting up, I push the blanket onto the floor and scrub a hand over my face. I can’t deal with this shit. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
Rising from the couch, I head toward the kitchen. “You want coffee?”
Olive doesn’t answer and I don’t wait for her response. Pulling two mugs down from the cabinet, I fill the single-cup machine with water and place a mug under the spout.
As it fills, I lean against the counter with both hands and close my eyes. Concentrating on taking deep, calming breaths, I try not to let the images of Elle bombard me, take me over.
“Ronin?” Olive’s soft voice is right behind me, and I turn to face her.
“Yeah.”
She stands with her arms folded, her figure slim and feminine in her silky pajamas. “I didn’t mean to pry. She’s someone who is important to you, that much is clear. I won’t ask again. But you don’t have to run from me.”
Realizing that Olive is going to be hanging out with me today, because there’s no way I’m going to let her go anywhere without me by her side, not with Mick running around, I meet her gaze. I don’t want her thinking that there’s a woman in my life right now who could walk in when she and I are lying close together like we did last night.
And fuck me…yes, I want that to happen again. And again.
She was honest with me about her past, even though it was painful for her. I can give her that same honesty.