A deep voice spoke steadily, but Mitch only heard pieces.
“ . . . Police say . . . between eleven and one o’clock . . . violent attack . . . Static . . . if you have any information, please call—”
“Yeah, right.” He clicked the television off and tossed the remote onto the couch. It hadn’t been Leanne. Hallelujah. Not that he enjoyed the idea of someone being murdered, regardless of their life choices. But the body he’d seen not being Leanne, not creating another connection back to him or back to Eden? Let me hear you say, Amen. One problem gone. How many did that leave? One. One huge problem in a gorgeous, little package.
He’d get rid of her after cooling off a bit. Right. The next time he saw her, he’d . . .
Fuck. What was he thinking?
CHAPTER XV
Within the safety of Mitch’s house, Eden let herself take full breaths again. She’d been walking around with a pain in her belly and head for weeks, as if something was trying to claw its way out of her. It’s not me. I didn’t kill anyone. What was happening to her couldn’t be happening.
It was like a horror movie where a demon possessed the heroine’s body. If that someone else had killed the woman in the alley, what the heck was Eden supposed to do about it? If this was a movie, a hero would come and rescue her, ripping the evil out of her with Voodoo or spells or something.
She seriously doubted that Mitch knew any magic. Or that he’d want to be her hero. At least she still had Carter, good, reliable, honest, non-magical Carter. She should call him. But what would she say?
Mitch left her alone for most of the afternoon, just checking on her from time to time. Probably to make sure her head hadn’t done a 360 on her neck. She searched the house for her bloody clothes, but he’d put them someplace she couldn’t find. Wandering through each room, she decided that he must have put them into the only room upstairs that was locked.
What a surprise. Mitch has secrets. Then she went to look for him.
She found him outside, in a large pool that looked like it was cut straight out of Home and Gardens Magazine. Rocks jutted out of a waterfall at the far end. A small cabana with glass doors stood on the opposite side. She sat down on a lounge chair and waited for him to surface.
When he did, his hair stuck to his forehead, down into his eyes until he pushed it back. As he climbed out of the pool, she saw water pour off his strong chest, droplets clinging to it and his abs.
Holy goodness, he was exquisite. Even dipped in chocolate, he couldn’t look more delectable. She had an instant desire to sink her teeth into him.
“See anything you like?” he muttered, his voice taking on a tinge of gruffness.
Jumping off the chair, she blinked herself out of her daydream, and brought her gaze higher.
What am I thinking? “Yeah. It’s a beautiful pool,” she said, her cheeks burning.
He grabbed the towel off the chair she’d been sitting on, reaching around her to get it. “Not what I was talking about.”
She scooted out of reach. “I’m . . . um . . . I’m going to head back inside.”
He caught her wrist and spun her back around. “It’s okay not to be good all the time, Eden.”
“I know that,” she sputtered, trying very hard not to look at his chest or lips, or— Dang it, there was no safe place to look. Nowhere that would stop the heat creeping through her body. “And, obviously, I’m not good all the—”
He pulled her into his chest.
“Stop!” She threw her other hand out, feeling his abs tighten under her palm. “Stop!”
His breath was warm on her cheek. “Please excuse my rudeness.”
She swallowed, but didn’t pull away. “You’re excused.”
They stayed there, stuck together, his wetness soaking through her clothes, bringing the heat of his body along with it.
Wanting to be close to him, to any man, was new to her. With everyone else, she’d always kept a bubble of personal space around her—one that was large and somewhat unwieldy. But not now. Why not now? Why not with Mitch?
“Carter . . .” If she could only get rid of the breathiness of her voice. “He . . .”
“He what, Eden?” The grip on her wrist turned into a caress, moving up her arm, over her shoulder to her neck.
“He . . . He’s a good guy.”
Mitch stepped back, leaving her cold and wet. “And I’m not. Right. Wise decision.” He nodded once and walked back to the house. “Good luck to you both.”
Not sure why she wanted to explain anything to him, she followed. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
He spun around as she closed the French-door behind her. “No? You don’t think you hurt him every time he’s around you? Every time he sees what he can’t have? You don’t think that hurts?” he spat out.
“Carter understands.”
He looked around as if he was searching for a way to escape. “No man understands that.” He moved forward so quickly, she stumbled back into the door. His breath came faster, matching hers. Inches away from her. “No man . . .” he whispered, his eyes focused on her mouth.
“He understands I’m not ready for that kind of relationship. Carter has never made me feel guilty for choosing to stay a virgin.”
Mitch clenched his jaw and then inhaled sharply. “A virgin? I beg to differ. Or didn’t we go over that?”
She hated him—his constant belittling, cruelty, desire to humiliate her. “You slept with her, not with me.”
“She is you.”
“No, she's not.”
“I see. So virginity is a mind-set then, is it? Fine. But it’s gotta be confusing for you.”
Dragging her stare away from his chiseled body didn’t help. Her eyes were brought to his mouth. She leaned forward, unable to control the desire to run her finger, and then her tongue, across his lips.
“Perhaps you'd like me to help you remedy that quandary?” he asked, his voice a gravelly whisper.
“Yes,” she begged, shocked at her own words.
He jolted backwards. “What did you say?”
She wasn’t sure which of them was the most surprised. But neither did she care. “I said yes. Should I have added ‘please’? Yes, please, Mitch.” As if she wasn’t in control of her own hands, she grabbed the only thing she could—the waistband of his swim shorts. She yanked him toward her, challenging him. Taking back the power he so easily brushed away from her. “Rock my world, Mitch. Give it to me just like you gave it to her.”
He put his hand over hers, trying to pry her fingers off. “Enough. Go home, little girl.”
No, that wasn’t good enough. Not anymore. Not ever, but now she was just desperate enough to ignore the lines she’d always drawn for herself.
Take, Eden. Don’t think. Don’t judge. Take. As if some part of herself had finally woken up and was telling her what to do.
“According to you, we've already been there,” she said. “Except I can't remember, so show me.” The words coming out of her mouth were foreign, like someone had reached into her mind and plucked out thoughts she had but would never have owned-up to. “Show me so I can stop wondering.”
“You can't be serious.”
“I am serious! Ever since I woke up in your bed, I’ve wondered. So show me!”
“No. You don't want me.”
“I don't lie.” It was true—she wasn’t lying. She wished she was. She wished she could control her own voice. “And I know what I want.”
“But you don't know what you'll get.”
“Treat me like you did her.”
He shook his head. “You're not her. You'll never be her.”
She felt her brow furrow and tears form. “Oh, that's it then,” she whimpered. In a competition with myself and I still lose. That hurts. “Then close your eyes and imagine her if it helps. Close your eyes, and I'm her.”
“I don't want her.” Their lips collided, knocking her back against the door. He was so warm, so safe. She’d take all he gave. His tongue d
anced on her lower lip until she opened up wide, bringing him further in.
CHAPTER XVI
He was lost inside her. Christ, she was everything. How could she not know that? He poured his frustration into the kiss, feeling her grasp his shoulders and pull him closer. Her hand touched the scars on his back, flinching, and then traced them with a fingertip as if accepting them as part of him. Reminders of who he was. And who she wasn’t.
He’d never treat her like Chastity because she wasn’t Chastity. She was simply and perfectly Eden this time. Someone who should be adored and loved and . . . who he wasn’t good enough for. It hit him like an anvil, throwing him back from her.
He broke the kiss, righting her with one hand on her shoulder as he backed away. What am I doing bringing her into my life? Punishing her? For what? Wanting someone like me. Who the fuck am I to be punishing anyone?
“What’s wrong?” Her voice was low, guttural, incredibly sexy. “Is it the scars?”
“This is a mistake.” He shook his head and forced himself to take a few steps away from her. “This can’t happen.”
“Why?”
“I can't be with you. You need someone better.”
“Hey, I’m the one with the issues, remember?” Her chest heaved, nipples hard through the wet tank top she wore. “How could you possibly top what I have going on?”
“You don't know what kind of a man I am. What I've been through. What I’ve done.”
“I went through four foster homes and two group homes. I know a lot more than you think I do.”
“About what, Eden? What do you know?” His gut tightened seeing the confusion and rejection on her face.
“I’ve seen evil. I’ve seen people do horrible things. I didn’t have a chance to just be young, to direct my own life. Now I do. Now I can be whoever I want to be. What's wrong with that?”
Push her away before it’s too late and you can’t let go. He was so good at that. Years of experience. Do it! “Right, your life was so hard. You don't know what hard is. What evil is.”
“Oh, my life was peaches and cream because I wasn't beaten? Other things are just as bad.”
His anger flared—that she’d seen into him, that he couldn’t help being what he was. He lunged toward her, pressing her against the door again.
“Trust me, Eden, you do not want to play 'Whose Childhood Sucked More’ with me. You won’t win.”
“Are you sure about that?” Her eyes widened, the look in them intensified.
And then he saw them change.
§ § §
“Oh God, no,” he said, his voice crumbling. He took three hurried steps backwards, his eyes showing more white than pigment. “What color are your eyes?”
“Brown. Why—”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He paced short lines in front of her, accentuating each repetition of the word with a head bob or hand throw, glancing briefly at her between each one. His agitation fed hers.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Go look in the mirror.”
“Why are you freaking out?”
“Hers are blue." He scrubbed his face with both hands before looking at her again. “Hers are blue.”
“Hers? What do you mean? How do you know that?”
He stopped burning tracks into the tile and turned to her with a panicked look. “I'm sure I saw them once or twice before I flipped her over. Or maybe it was while she was on top.”
Back and forth, back and forth. Would this game between them ever end? “Do you think being crude will drive me away?”
“I sure as hell hoped it would. It worked on everyone else. But you . . . now . . . Jesus! Just look in the goddamned mirror.”
He resumed his freak-out as she went into the formal dining room. A long, wooden table took up most of the room and was stacked high with paperwork and random folders. It might have been used once, possibly twice, but unless Mitch was using the thing as a recycling bucket, it had been a long time ago.
In the mirror that took up most of the long wall of the room, Eden stopped just as she saw her reflection along the side. Then she took a tentative step forward. Another. Stretching her neck out to get a better view, but not willing to get too close.
To her own reflection.
The ice-blue eyes that stared back at her were like none she’d ever seen before. Certainly not on her own face. Was she looking at herself or at her other side? The person who she could not control and didn’t know. Like she was seeing the eyes of some kind of evil twin. Except she felt no change within herself, no sense that this other . . . self was trying to come out. Nothing but the same ache in her belly she’d been feeling for weeks, accented by a new stabbing sensation she’d thought was the pain of Mitch’s rejection.
Oh God, is that part of it?
Her face looked the same, but her eyes . . . As she took another step closer, they began to muddy, darken. Her normal mocha-brown color swirled and chased the glacier blue until her true color was all that remained.
In the background, she heard Mitch still cursing to himself, mumbling and chuckling flatly.
“Damn it, I told myself you were wearing colored contacts. Fucking stupid. I’m so fucking stupid!” His voice broke. “I knew. Goddamn it, I didn’t want to know, but I knew. Christ!”
She couldn’t break the lock between her eyes and their counterparts, framed in the glass by a face she recognized as her own. A face she knew. A person she knew. “What just happened?”
“It happens every four days, right?” His voice dropped in volume and pitch as his speech turned from cussing to actual words. “The sleepwalking?”
She glanced at his reflection, then did some mental calculations. There was a pattern, not a perfect one, but definitely a pattern. But she’d just blamed it on the fact that she’d spend the first three days after an episode souped-up on caffeine and paranoia. Then, by night four, she’d been too tired to resist sleep’s temptation. And surprise, surprise, she’d wake up surrounded by different scenery. Who was stupid now?
But a four-day cycle? No, the brain didn’t work like that. People didn’t work like that. “How did you know?”
“So that makes . . .” He squinted and looked up. “Wednesday night. Great. Tell your boyfriend to expect me.”
“Where?”
“At your place. We’re gonna have us a slumber party.” His eyes flashed, and he lifted his hands up as if he was shaking imaginary pompoms. “Yay.” Then he dropped the goofy act and left the room, mumbling, “Gotta cancel that appointment with Margaret now. Shit. Call Jolie. In the daytime? Shit. I’ve never changed . . .”
After one more pause to look at herself, to see if she was still her, she followed. “Aren’t you going to tell me what just happened?” Her voice was raw. “Please?”
He took the stairs two at a time, stopping to look down at her from the landing above. “I need to check on something first. You’ve never seen your eyes like that before, right? Never napped during the daytime and woken up somewhere else, or done anything that would tell you you’ve been sleepwalking?”
She shook her head. This was impossible. The mind didn’t work like that. Every four days in a pattern? That didn’t happen. Eyes changing color like that?
“What is happening to me?” she asked, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
He stepped away from the banister, out of her view, and then popped back. “Oh. And keep Saturday night open too.”
“What’s happening—” She raised her voice so he would hear it. “What’s happening Saturday?”
“Something you need to see.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very alone at the bottom of a very big canyon. “Can I bring Carter?”
There was a long pause before he answered. He sneered down at her, a dimple appearing on his right cheek. “Like I care. Sure, bring the boy scout. But he goes at eleven.”
Mitch was leaving her without any answers. How could he do that? Aft
er a kiss that had finally made her think they’d connected.
“What for?” she asked. “So I can get a repeat of today? The kiss was great, but totally not worth the whopping dose of humiliation that came afterwards. And my eyes . . .” She blinked away the tears that ached for release.
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