by Elise Faber
And just like before, he knew he’d never be the same.
But unlike before, this time he didn’t run.
He slept like a baby, holding the woman he loved in his arms, knowing that everything in his life would finally work out.
Only when he woke in the morning, it was to find that he might not have run.
But Heidi had.
Twenty
Heidi
She’d closed her car door and rolled her shoulders, her brain absolute mush, but her heart completely full.
A night in Brad’s arms.
A delicious orgasm, followed by a pair when he’d woken her in the middle of the night with fingers between her thighs and an urgent whisper of, “Please, tell me you have another condom.”
In fact, she’d had another.
And the results had been . . . explosive.
So, when she’d gotten the call from Stef, asking if she might possibly have time to bring her computer to the hospital, she’d gone to her friend’s apartment, gathered anything and everything Stef might need, including the laptop. She’d also inquired about Fred, the misbehaving pooch—who it turned out was safe in the care of Stef’s dog sitter—and tried unsuccessfully to avoid the topic of Brad.
Not because she wanted to hide things.
Quite the opposite, actually. She was practically bubbling with joy and excitement and affection for the man.
But she wanted Brad to be just hers for a little while longer.
Then she’d do the adult thing and share.
Luckily, Stef’s doctor had come in before the interrogation had gotten too intense, but Heidi knew it wouldn’t be long before she got the fifth degree from multiple angles. Hell, Stef would probably join forces with Cora, Kate, and Kelsey and then it would be four against one.
And if she were being completely truthful, she couldn’t wait to share her happiness with her friends.
She’d hoped to go back to Brad’s afterward, to knock on his door—since he hadn’t had a set of hooks in his apartment with a labeled spare for her to pilfer, like she had at her place—but then she’d gotten pulled into the lab to double-check the calibrations so the assistant staff could be confident running everything.
That was supposed to have been a short visit—her goal of getting back to Brad still within reach.
But after she’d checked the equipment, made sure everything was ready to roll without her, she had run into the head of operations.
And then she’d become mean boss.
Or mean underling, she supposed, since she didn’t outrank him, though her lab was run outside of the normal management channels. Either way, she’d read him the riot act—professionally, of course—and by then the CEO had gotten word of what had nearly happened, and she ended up on a call with those two and the heads of the Health and Human Services and Occupational Health . . . and well, she didn’t want to get the cleaning staff in trouble, per se. They worked hard, but the team needed to find out if it was a lack of training that had caused the crew to be where they shouldn’t, or if it was because they were disregarding the protocols.
The details of how they sorted that out weren’t important—and not part of her job, suffice to say—but Heidi was very confident there wouldn’t be another issue.
Especially because as she’d left, she’d seen the keypad lock being installed on the door.
It would go into operation tomorrow, and she would be setting the codes.
Not quite a lock and key, but she’d take this version.
But now it was late in the afternoon, and she was back at her place after having stopped by to make sure Stef was good, but Heidi hadn’t stayed long at the hospital. She was tired from her early morning and from lack of sleep the night before—though she couldn’t complain about the cause of the latter—and all she wanted to do was change into some jammies and then call Brad.
Maybe she could convince him to bring pizza again.
“You just going to stand there all day?”
She jumped, whirled around, her elbow colliding with the car window, making her wince and rub the abused joint.
“Stop doing that,” she hissed at Brad, who was closing the distance between them with a decidedly stormy expression, one that tempered the burst of excitement she’d felt at hearing his voice, at seeing him.
“At least you weren’t near a hill you could fall down this time.”
He stopped in front of her, crossed his arms.
“What?” she asked.
He just lifted a brow.
“What?” she asked again.
“You pulled a runner?” he asked. “Really?” He shifted closer, placing his hands on either side of her, boxing her in against her car, the spicy maleness of him wafting over her, the hard, hot lines of his body pressed to hers, causing her to need a minute to process his words. Which is probably why he continued talking. “You can run, Heidi. You can run from us, from me. You can put that armor back on, but I’m not letting you go. I’m not giving you up—not when what we have is so fucking—”
She was confused and tired, and her feet hurt from being on them for most of the day.
She wanted those jammies and that pizza . . . and this man.
Which was why she placed her fingers over his mouth and asked, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Of course, then she didn’t give him a chance to answer, not when the first part of his words processed, and she’d finally comprehended what he’d said. “What the hell do you mean, I pulled a runner?” she snapped. “I came here and put on adult clothes, visited Stef in the hospital, was pulled into work, and then went back to see Stef, and now I came home to shower.” She glared. “After which I was going to put on pajamas and see if I could convince you to bring me pizza!” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “How is that pulling a runner? How is that—”
“You left,” he said, eyes hot with anger, body still pressed to hers, a growing situation against her abdomen, making her lose the threads on her outburst. “And you didn’t pick up your phone.” His fingers tangled in her hair. “And you weren’t here. Weren’t on the trail. I even called Jaime to see if Kate had heard from you because . . .”
“You’d thought I’d left,” she finished.
He nodded, brows drawn together.
Any irritation she’d been feeling from his demeanor faded. Because she knew what that felt like, and further that, she knew what he’d revealed last night might not have seemed like a giant bombshell to her, but that it had been big to him, something that had eaten at him for a while.
Then to wake up and find her not there.
“Did you not see the note I left you?”
She’d tacked it right to the center of his mirror, thinking he wouldn’t miss it, would stumble upon it first thing when he got up and . . . well, used the facilities.
His lips parted on an exhale.
“You didn’t,” she confirmed.
He shook his head, his expression drawn, his eyes downcast.
“Oh honey,” she murmured, pushing lightly at his chest, coaxing him back a step, heart squeezing. “I told you last night, I’m not going anywhere.” She took his hand, straightened her purse on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go inside.” Once they’d made it through the door, she asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”
He turned and shut the wooden panel, flipping the lock. “I told you earlier,” he said, though his tone was without rancor. “I did, but you didn’t pick up.”
Frowning, she slipped off her shoes, tucked them neatly on the rack, then hung her purse on its hook, reaching inside for her phone. “Oh.” She winced. She’d turned it off when she went into the lab . . .
And hadn’t turned it on.
Warm fingers covered hers, snagging her cell, and then Brad glanced down at the screen.
His eyes rose to hers, hazel irises darkened with frustration. “Seriously?”
She winced again. “It’s not like I try to forget . . .”
A sigh lifted h
is shoulders, sending them south on the exhale, his chin tipping back, gaze going up to the ceiling.
“Plus, no one besides my mom ever really calls me. They always text, and then when I get a moment to check, I catch up.” Her own shoulders were inching up toward her ears, defensiveness and guilt warring within her. It really was a bad habit—not to have it off at work—but to be unavailable because she’d forgotten to turn her cell on at other times. This wasn’t even the first time that she’d heard this same complaint.
But her friends got it, and she normally wasn’t sad to miss a call from her mother, listing all of her inadequacies when it came to being a proper woman who could provide her grandchildren.
Plus, her friends all had the direct line to her lab, so they could get her that way if it was an emergency. Or sometimes they emailed, reminding her to check her messages. But Brad hadn’t had any of those options . . . because she hadn’t given them to him.
Shit.
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning and taking the phone from him—which he’d powered up—and setting it on the cradle she had on the table to charge. Already the screen was filling with missed calls, voicemails, and text banners. Yet another wince. “Really, I’ll get better, and . . .”
She gave him her other info—her work email and number, even the information for the front desk, in case it was an emergency and he couldn’t get her the other ways.
Dutifully, he typed in the numbers and saved her email to his contacts.
But though the edginess in his expression had eased . . . he still wasn’t his normal smiling self, and another bolt of guilt shot through her. She’d dampened the comfortable rapport they’d built, made him worry while she’d spent the day in peaceful happiness.
And now her normally sweet, teasing, lovely man was . . . diminished, shadows beneath his eyes, lines edging his lush, kissable mouth.
“I really am sorry,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly. “It’s not—” He shook his head. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. I just . . . it—”
She did what she would have wanted.
She stepped into his arms and hugged him tightly.
He wrapped his arms around her in return, burying his face in her hair and breathed in deeply, just holding her for a long, long time. Eventually, he loosened his hold, stepping back and cupping her cheek. “I’m okay now,” he murmured. “Sorry, I freaked out.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s—”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, taking a page out of her book, smiling down at her.
“Did we just have our first real fight?” she asked.
“No,” he said, cupping her jaw. “That was when you told me I wasn’t washing the dishes correctly.”
She frowned, felt her brows draw together. “When was that?”
“One night, last week.”
“Which night?”
Now she caught a glimmer of humor in his eyes, felt that last little bit of guilt settle and drift away.
“Not telling you, if you don’t remember.” A smirk that made her want to kiss him.
Well, she could do that.
So she did, lifting up on tiptoe and pressing her mouth to his. His lips parted immediately, and she dipped inside, loving that she could hold and touch and kiss this man. That he’d somehow become hers, that she’d likewise become his.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” she asked when they pulled apart for air.
“I’m something,” he said, wrapping his hands around her hips and tugging her against him, against his hard cock, his lips finding hers.
“Did you buy condoms?” she asked, tearing her lips from his to suck in air.
He gave her that slow, wicked smirk. “What do you think?”
“I think that you’re a man who’s always prepared.”
Hoisting her up, his mouth dropping to her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the sensitive spot, he spoke against her skin. “That’s the correct answer.”
She laughed, tugged his head back up, and stole his lips in a searing kiss that left her heart pounding, her lungs burning for air. Then she nodded toward the bedroom. “Turns out I’m a little tired,” she said. “Maybe you can show me the proper way to use my mattress?”
“Is that a thing?” he asked, already moving in that direction.
She dug her nails into his shoulders when he nipped at her earlobe, sending heat scorching through her body. Rotating her head, she did some nipping of her own. “If it gets you inside me sooner, then, yes, it is.”
His eyes seared into hers, and she found herself on the bed a heartbeat later.
And it turned out, he could show her the proper way to use her mattress.
Twice.
Twenty-One
Brad
He stared at the woman who’d stolen his heart and smiled.
She was too fucking cute, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, tight jeans encasing the sexy legs he’d spent a copious amount of time in between this last month. Her color was high from her exertion on the trail, but she hadn’t once complained that he’d hauled her out of bed on a Saturday morning before sunrise and had driven her out to this regional park.
That had probably been helped by the hot coffee and two huge banana chocolate chip muffins he’d used to coax her out from beneath the covers.
Luckily for him, she was a morning person, and though she’d grumbled and groaned a little bit, she’d quickly gotten into the spirit of the adventure.
Now, they’d reached the precipice of that sharp incline and could see the view he’d known would be spectacular, but that was made even more so by Heidi being next to him.
She sank down onto a bench, and he plunked down next to her, warning, “I’m all sweaty,” when she cuddled up next to him.
“Well, I am, too,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist and snuggling her head into his chest. “Two sweaties make a right.”
He laughed, but then the sun made it fully over the horizon behind them, its rays flying forward to glimmer over the ocean in front of them, making the moisture in the air sparkle like golden smoke, or maybe like some sort of otherworldly magical power. Lifting his camera, he took several shots of the gorgeous display. But then his focus—and the camera lens—drew back down, and he took pictures of Heidi.
Who, once she realized what he was doing, blushed and hid her face in his chest. “Close-up, much?” she said against his T-shirt.
He laughed but set the camera aside, cupping the side of her face and turning it up so he could kiss her. “Only way to capture those beautiful eyes of yours.”
She made a face.
He kissed her.
But eventually, they needed air and broke apart, sitting on that bench, on a precipice high above civilization, looking out at the Pacific Ocean, and watching the sky brighten as the sun rose behind them.
He’d traveled the globe, visited all seven continents, stayed in tiny villages and big cities, and never had he felt more certain that he was in the right place.
Because the right person was next to him.
Later that day, after they’d taken a much-deserved nap, they made plans to binge another of Heidi’s bad reality TV shows—and he wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but he’d actually begun to like them . . . okay, some of them. But what he really liked was her reactions to them.
The gasps of outrage.
The anger for one of the cast being wronged—which usually came in the form of a broken heart.
The occasional tear when something sweet happened.
But just as they had pulled out their phones to figure out what to order in for dinner, there was a knock at the door.
Heidi frowned.
“I’ve got it,” he told her, shifting her feet from his lap and standing up.
“It’s probably someone trying to sell me solar panels,” she grumbled.
“Well, I’ll tell them to take a hike,” he said, opening
the door.
“That hike isn’t happening, bro,” his brother said, towering over a trio of women. He laughed, probably at the confusion on Brad’s face when that trio pushed the door open, barreled past him with nary a look, and sandwiched themselves around Heidi on the couch.
“I haven’t seen this episode,” Kate said, grabbing the bowl of popcorn he’d made—and for the record, had only gotten to eat one handful of. “Start it over.”
“Come on.”
Brad blinked at Jaime’s voice, blinked again when a jacket was shoved into his chest, followed by his wallet, keys, and phone—all of which had been given a proper home on Heidi’s organization station by the door.
“Let’s go.”
“Go where?” he asked as Jaime threw his arm around his shoulders.
“Whatever you were planning with Heidi ain’t happening.” He coaxed Brad out the door. “So, let’s go grab a beer and some wings.”
“I—” He shook his head. “What?”
Jaime sighed and started hauling Brad down the porch.
“Wait—” He ducked out from beneath his brother’s arm, hopped up the stairs, and locked the door. Then turned back around to see Jaime studying him. “What?”
His brother just smiled and shook his head. “Let’s go get that beer.”
“Okay,” Jaime said when they were seated at a bar with a scarred wooden top, their stools slanted so they could watch the latest Gold Hockey game.
“Okay, what?”
“Tell me all about it.”
He took a sip of his beer. “About what?” he asked, playing dumb.
Jaime rolled his eyes. “Nice try. But we’ve been back a week, and Kate has been beside herself with curiosity. You need to give me the goods or my new wife will leave me.”
Brad snorted. “Then she’d have to find someone to take care of the cock.”
His brother froze, slowly set down his beer. “Dude.”
“Heidi would have laughed,” he muttered, glugging down his own, since Jaime had driven them to the bar.
“Heidi is actually why we’re in this mess.”
