Sinful Ever After (Romance Collection)

by Vivian Wood

  “Great.” He claps me on the shoulder. Someone across the camp calls his name and he heads that way, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I have time to kill. I have so much going on inside my head that it feels almost heavy. That’s never any good.

  So I grab my heavy work gloves and my axe, heading through the woods for the place I was when Aiden found me a few days ago. It doesn’t have a name, it is just high up across from Mount Carrie. Verdant and quiet, it offers me a kind of solace that I only get in the mountains.

  I like this spot, enough to come back to it time and again. Anytime I need a break from whatever is happening at Whiskey Bend base camp, I come up here to dig post holes or chop wood. And right now is a perfect example of why I need this place.

  All the crazy mixed emotions I’ve been feeling for the last few days, all the thoughts about what could’ve been and the wishes that I had done it all differently…

  I pour all those feelings into chopping wood. I take down a big, old tree that I had my eye on before. It is dying, causing a fire hazard. Not to mention the fact that the tree is in danger of falling, threatening any unsuspecting hikers that happen by this place.

  Thwack. Heave.

  Thwack. Heave.

  Thwack. Heave.

  I’m soon out of breath and sweating. I pause and peel my cotton t-shirt off, taking a second for a little water from my canteen. Then I go at it again, venting my rage and regret and my heartfelt sadness, watching it wash away as I continue to sweat.

  Thwack. Heave.

  Thwack. Heave.

  Thwack. Heave.

  By midday, I am all but boneless, both mentally and physically exhausted. I throw my shirt over my shoulder and head back down to the base camp. It’s hard to think, which is just the way I like it.

  I am rounding one of the last bends before I get into camp when I run smack into Rachel. I hit her hard, sending her sprawling across the ground. She looks up at me and her breathing hitches. Her eyes wander down to my chest, which is still bare from my exertions and damp from perspiration.

  For the barest second, a note of desire rises in the air between us, unbidden. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around anybody that looked at me that way. Mostly I keep to myself up here, that’s what’s so wonderful about this job.

  But for a moment, I remember what it used to be like. Being wanted by women. Being ogled by them. Being the object of a woman’s desire.

  Of Rachel’s desire.

  I forgot how amazing that could be.

  God, until this moment I don’t think I realized how much I long for those days when Rachel was mine.

  Fucking, fucking bastard son of a bitch IED. It ruined my fucking life!

  With the next breath she ruins it, though. Her expression turns sour as she picks herself up off of the ground. “You should really be more careful where you’re going.”

  Just like that, the brief moment is over, the bubble popped. I roll my eyes.

  “It’s not my fault. You ran into me,” I point out. “And then you bounced off me and fell, because you are a tiny person.”

  Her jaw tightens. “I am a normal size for a woman.”

  Rachel is pissed now and I can’t help but goad her. “Yeah. A tiny woman.”

  When she dusts herself off and crosses her arms, I get a little pleasure out of knowing I’ve really annoyed her. “You are impossible. You didn’t used to be so… so…”

  She makes a strangled noise deep in her throat. My eyes narrow.

  “Did you want something or were you just going to fling accusations about how I used to be at me?”

  She pulls a face. “You’re supposed to go through wilderness first aid with me. It’s the last class I have.”

  I check my watch, trying not to roll my eyes again. “Alright. How about you meet me at the same little cabin as we were at yesterday in fifteen minutes?”

  “Okay.” She shrugs.

  “Fine.”

  I leave her there and hustle through cleaning myself up. As I do, I wonder what it is exactly that I want from Rachel.

  Acceptance?

  A roll in the hay?

  For her to just tell me that everything is going to be okay?

  I chuckle to myself, because there’s no way in fuck that any of those things are going to happen. Not without some serious explaining on my part, and I honestly don’t even know where I would start with all of that.

  Smelling my t-shirts to find the least sweated-on of the bunch, I make a note to do another load of laundry before I head out on the trail with Rachel.

  Because heaven forbid she might know that I stink sometimes. I roll my eyes at myself. Still, I put on another coat of deodorant just for good measure.

  Not for Rachel. Just for everyone’s sake. At least that’s what I tell myself.

  When I finally walk down to the little cabin, pine needles crunching beneath my feet, she is already inside. Ducking in the too-small cabin, I start to feel a prickling sense of unease as soon as I’m inside the cabin. The walls are so close, giving me the sensation of being squeezed. At least that is how my lungs feel.

  I look at how little space I’ve been given in this little room and my throat starts to close.

  “Are you okay?” Rachel asks, her brow furrowing.

  I nod even though the answer is clearly no. “I just…” I pause and suck in a breath. “We should study outside.”

  Grabbing two of the Red Cross handbooks and Whiskey Bend’s additional addendums, I am out of the door before she even has a chance to respond. Rachel trails after me as I stalk over to the nearby picnic tables.

  Clearing a table of the ever-present pine needles, I motion for her to sit. She does, although she looks wary of me. Like I’m a ticking time bomb and she’s trying not to set me off sooner than planned, I guess.

  Out here though at least I can breathe a lot better. Because the picnic tables weren’t designed for someone of my stature, I sit on the actual table and hand her a copy of each handbook.

  “Okay.” I open the first aid handbook to the first chapter. “Here we go. Systematic Approach to Assessing, Recognizing and Caring for Adults.”

  Her eyes are on me, watching. But I try to focus on the material. Letting my attention drift to her means I would wonder about her.

  Whether she still has that cluster of freckles on her lower back that looks just like the Lyra constellation. Whether she still gets that intense look of concentration when she’s about to come, a breathless expression of pure want.

  Those thoughts could lead to naming all the things I regret in this life. And selfishly, I just can’t afford that today.

  But deep in the back of my mind, those thoughts still swirl around and around. And Rachel is finally done, when she’s taken the test and qualified for official park purposes, the thoughts are still there.

  “You passed the test.” I glance at her from where I’m sitting, my guard up all the way.

  Her lips lift in the ghost of a smile. She obviously wasn’t worried about not passing.

  “I guess that means we are going on this trip, then.”

  My heart thuds a little too loudly. I swallow and clear my throat. “Yep.”

  For a second, her gaze locks with mine and it’s like she can see right through me. Before her beautiful brown eyes, I am without pretense or preamble, naked and bare for her inspection. Her lips quirk as if she is going to say something.

  Then at the last second she shakes her head instead. Pushing up from the picnic table, she turns away, calling over her shoulder.

  “See you, Gray.”

  Gray.

  I feel the word is an arrow, going straight into my heart.

  It’s been five years since anyone has called me that.

  I stare at her walking away, swinging that pert ass of hers.

  I am so, so very fucked if she keeps calling me that.

  Chapter Ten

  Grayson

  I dream of Rachel that night. Of wh
at our lives were like five and a half years ago, of what I hoped they would be forever. It’s a refreshing change from dreams of IED explosions and crawling on my belly through the hot desert sand, so I can’t say that I mind.

  Rachel is standing in my old loft apartment, the one I lived in from age fifteen on. I live in East Orange, just thirty minutes from downtown Manhattan. And yet my neighborhood is so poor that a young kid can afford the rent on this massive one-bedroom.

  Okay, it’s less of a one bedroom and more of an abandoned warehouse with one corner cordoned off with bedsheets for walls. But still. It’s cheap as sin and I can afford it, even though I came from nothing. It’s a hell of a lot better than the one bedroom house I had to share with my mother, my two little sisters, and whatever man my mom is bringing around these days.

  I look at Rachel, who is standing on my bed. I’m at her feet, laying comfortably with my arms behind my head. I’m naked except for a pair of white cotton boxer briefs. Rachel isn’t wearing anything but a dark blue bedsheet yet she stands like a fucking queen.

  She’s so fucking regal, I can’t stand it. Born to it, judging from her house and the little red Mercedes that she drives down to East Orange every time she misses me.

  Rachel adjusts the bedsheet, pulling it over her shoulders so it’s more robe-like. She lifts her head just so, her honey-colored hair spilling down her back. She holds her hands upward, curling them around the ends of a hairbrush. I forget to breathe for a second. She looks for all the world like an old-world painting.

  Not to get all sappy and shit, but if I could paint, I would splay her out across my canvas and capture every single detail of Rachel with my brush. The shallow arch of her forehead. The tumble of her hair, sweetly amber. The subtle glow of her pink-stained cheeks. The proud line of her nose. The curve of her jawline and how it leads gently into her throat. Her collarbone…

  God, I could spend countless hours on just that.

  I realize that I’m getting hard just thinking about her collarbone, which should be weird. But it’s not. With Rachel, it makes sense. Or at least, I am comfortable with it.

  “Okay, I think I’ve got it,” she says. She glances at me and sees that I’m daydreaming. Giving me a fiendish look, she tries to tickle me with her toes. Then she straightens, resuming her pose. “Pay attention. Do I look like that painting of Lady Macbeth we saw at the Met?”

  She lifts her head again. It makes me smile.

  “Lady Macbeth had a fancier dress on.” I squint. “And she held a crown up, not a hairbrush…”

  Rachel rolls her eyes. “Use your imagination, please.”

  I give her a devilish smile. “If I let my imagination run wild, there wouldn’t be any posing. In fact…”

  I reach out and grab her calves, pulling her down onto the bed with me. Quick as a flash, I am on top of her, driving my hands into that amber mane of hers. She reacts exactly how I want her to. How I need her to. Her breath catches in her throat, her eyes widen.

  Desire flares between us, rising high like a flame that’s just touched a stack of kindling. Her lush lips part, drawing me closer. I press my lips to hers, drawing in a lungful of her scent. She is so sweet and so willing, it practically kills me that I’m not already inside of her.

  I push away the bedsheet that separates us. Then I can touch her soft skin, cup her bouncy tits, snake my hand down between her legs, and find her wet and ready for me.

  Then I am lost in her, breathing her in, capturing her whimpers of pleasure with my tongue.

  A forgotten child, an abused youth, a young man who enlisted in the damn Navy just to escape his life. For this moment, I am none of those things.

  I’m no longer a street rat and she is no longer royalty. Here alone, in this bed, we are equals.

  Rachel groans into my shoulder and wraps her legs around my back as I stroke her again and again and again. And I taste the salty-sweet skin of her lips, her neck, her collarbone.

  Yes, I think.

  I need her.

  I love her.

  She’s my everything.

  My eyes fly open on that thought. Sweating and disoriented, it takes me a minute to get my bearings. The starry night sky is the only one to greet me.

  Rachel is fading away, making me reach out in the dark in a desperate attempt to hold her tight to me. I feel so alone, so bereft just at this moment.

  I’m at base camp in the Olympic National Park. I’m not in that bed with Rachel, no matter how badly I want to be.

  That moment passed a long, long time ago.

  Fuck. I tense my whole body and recite my mantra to myself quietly, regret sinking deep down in my bones.

  “It is the year 2018.” I whisper it to the stars, my only companions. “It is the fifth month, the month of May. It is the seventh day of the month, a Monday. I’m currently in the Olympic National Park. My name is Grayson James Sellwood and I am okay.”

  “It is the year 2018. It is the fifth month, the month of May. It is the second day of the month, a Tuesday. My name is Grayson James Sellwood and I am okay.”

  My voice breaks on the last word, my eyes misting over.

  I’m not okay. Far from it. But if I just keep telling myself that I am, maybe one day it will be true.

  The stars don’t have any reply. They just look on, silent and brilliantly clear.

  I suck in a deep breath and begin repeating my mantra again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Grayson

  Once I am awake, it’s still pitch black out. There is a patch of sky just above where I strung up my hammock. I can just make out the stars through it, glimmering brightly above. They seem to whisper something to me. But try as I might, I can’t make out what they are saying.

  My heart thuds painfully in my chest.

  “Hey.”

  I whip around awkwardly in my hammock to find Rachel approaching. She’s wearing this oversized light blue sweater and white shorts so tiny that they all but disappear underneath her top. I frown at her.

  “It’s the middle of the damned night.” I climb up out of my hammock, feeling damp and sweaty.

  She doesn’t apologize. She just shrugs and casts me a long glance, head to toe.

  I feel weighed and measured, judged by her mere presence. I’ve always felt that way about Rachel, that she is always assessing my value. Like at any moment she might calculate my worth to be too little and cast me aside.

  “I need to talk to you,” she says, her voice hushed. “I need to ask…”

  I flinch internally but struggle to keep my face neutral. This is my mask that I use to shield myself from the world, to shield the world from my angry outbursts.

  “What?” I ask. My tone is aggressive, giving away my myriad of feelings right now.

  She shivers, lifting her chin. She looks like a Greek goddess standing there in the moonlight. Like Selene, who drove her divine chariot through the night sky, wishing for her Endymion.

  “Where did you go?” she demands. “You disappeared from my life. Why?”

  Her voice breaks a little on the last word. And it absolutely breaks my heart. Still, there are things that she’s better off not knowing.

  Things about me.

  Things about her family.

  It takes a second for me to respond. “I had to leave.”

  I can see tears shining in her eyes. She makes a bitter face. “To go where?”

  That’s really not the right question, but I don't tell her that. Instead I change the subject a little.

  “It wasn’t much of a choice. Know that.”

  A tear breaks away and rolls down her cheek. She’s so vulnerable, so fragile. I am like a bull stomping around a china shop. I can’t be trusted around something so raw and I know it. My whole body aches to hold her, my fingers clench with the need to touch her.

  I’ve never missed anything so much as I miss a younger, more naïve version of Rachel. Back before I ruined everything. Back before she found someone to take my place.
>
  My mouth turns into a hard line.

  “So you won’t tell me anything, then?”

  Her aggravation and her weakness come through her voice in equal measure.

  If it were that easy to unravel the threads of what I was running from — my fury, my impotent anger, my deep depression — I would have done it for her. But I can’t even begin without thinking what if, what if…

  My despair feels like a physical thing living inside my chest, burning me alive and struggling to get out at the same time. It threatens to break free, rampaging everywhere.

  And then before I know it, I am spiraling out of control. It has happened a dozen times since I first arrived at Whiskey Bend, a broken and bitter man.

  No. I know myself. I know this pain that I live with. Confessing to Rachel will only make it worse at this point. It is better to keep it inside buried deep, where it can only harm me.

  “No.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Can you deal with that? If not, you should go back to New York.”

  Her jaw stiffens. Her eyes narrow. She hugs herself. “And give up the summer internship? That’s not likely.”

  I shrug. “Then there is nothing left to talk about. We will go to take your samples. We will camp out side by side. We will be polite to each other. And then at the end of the summer, we will go our separate ways.”

  She huffs scornfully. “It’s as easy as that, huh?”

  No, it’s a million times more complicated, like everything she touches. But I won’t give her the satisfaction. “It is,” I reply evenly.

  “You really are a piece of work.” Rachel fires that off as her parting remark, spinning and heading back the way she came from.

  I watch as she goes, feeling the wind stirring. A thundercloud beginning to gather above me in her stead.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  I feel like that thundercloud sometimes, waiting and watching for signs that Rachel is going to break down and leave the camp altogether. But there has been no sign, not yet at least.

  Frustrated, I climb back in my hammock as I feel the first few droplets begin to make their way through the canopy above.