by JC Harroway
She nodded, adrenaline-depleted-shakes threatening to wobble her lips. Dutifully, she pushed her arms inside Dan’s sweater, absorbing his body heat and scent from the fabric. ‘Don’t you need this?’ She rolled up one arm, freeing her hand from the too-long sleeve.
‘No. Don’t be silly. I should take you home. But … I’m sorry.’ He glanced at the ambulance and the two paramedics inside who worked to connect the elderly patient to heart monitors and oxygen.
‘Now who’s being silly? Go. I’ll drive your car.’ Once the trembling stops.
‘Are you sure you’re okay to drive?’ He slid his hand down her arm and clasped her freezing fingers. ‘I could ask one of the traffic police to take you home.’
She braved a small smile, sucking in the cooling evening air to settle her ongoing jitters. ‘I’m fine. You go.’
He sighed, pressed a brief kiss to her forehead and strode towards the idling ambulance. The rear doors closed, swallowing him inside, and the tail-lights diminished as the vehicle pulled off, lights flashing.
She stood for long minutes, until the cold and the trembling forced her inside Dan’s car, where she started the engine and cranked up the heater.
She located ‘home’ on the GPS and, slowly and carefully, drove to Dan’s address.
Chapter 8
The door snicked softly closed behind him, and he heeled off his boots. His Land Rover sat parked in the drive, his keys on the hall table. Eden had left the lamp on, its warm glow so welcome, he almost sagged against the wall with relief.
Had she waited a long time for him? Made it home safely? Perhaps she’d called a taxi as soon as she’d dropped off his car?
With leaden limbs, he dropped his bag onto the floor and shuffled into his lounge, not bothering to turn on any more lights. A glass of water and bed.
He froze. Sprawled facedown on his sofa, her hair a tangle around her head, Eden slept.
He glanced around his home, a typical bachelor pad, assessing the damage. No dirty plates on the floor and no underpants drying on the radiator. His lungs released the pent-up air on a slow, measured exhale. The only splash of sophistication in the room came from the colourful framed photos on the wall—the last exhibition Megan had worked on before she became too sick to lift a cup, let alone her beloved camera.
His fatigued stare lingered on the woman asleep on his sofa, sucking comfort from the vision. She’d been so brave, the fear etched into her features a palpable aura. What had it cost her to help out at the scene of today’s accident? He’d met the passenger she’d consoled, at the hospital, and the woman had asked him to pass on her heartfelt thanks to Eden. She’d touched at least one life today, despite what it cost her personal resilience.
And she’d waited for him. Apart from family, this house had been devoid of women for two years. Instead of gut-churning panic, a surge of relief flooded his exhausted body, until he wanted to drop to the floor beside the sofa and succumb to sleep. Alongside her.
He didn’t move, but she stirred, drawing in a gasp and pushing herself up into a sitting position. She raised a groggy hand, sliding back the hair covering her bewildered eyes.
‘Hi,’ he whispered, scared to break the spell in case she disappeared. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’ Don’t run.
Eyes round in the gloom, she stared. With each second that passed, his heart fought its way out of his chest until the pounding lump choked him. He’d returned home to an empty house hundreds of times. No one to share a difficult day with. No one to simply be with.
And now she was here. An angel with a broken wing.
His blood pounded with renewed vigour, rendering his fatigue redundant. She’d stayed. She’d wanted to spend the evening with him, to prolong their date and then, when the unexpected derailed their movie plans, she’d delivered his car and fallen asleep in his home.
Despite his weariness of moments ago, his muscles tensed, primed for action, rousing him fully awake as if he’d stepped under an icy shower. Tension coiled in his gut. ‘You can sleep in the spare room, if you want. I’d offer to take you home, but I don’t think I’m safe to drive at the moment, and I need to be back at the hospital in three hours.’ They seemed destined to never catch a break.
She stood, still wearing his sweater, which was at least five sizes too big. In two shaky strides she reached him, her hand scooping the back of his neck and her soft mouth pressing to his in welcome exploration.
Her lips, warm and increasingly insistent, quickly coaxed his mouth open, their tongues duelling in a dance that quickly turned from sensual to demanding. Lust sucker-punched him, a kick in the chest, but he held his footing, his hands slipping under her arms to lift her feet from the floor. She clung to him, her right arm a death grip around his neck so strong, he feared she’d cut off his air supply. Her legs scrambled to grip his waist and he shifted one hand beneath her gyrating hips to prevent her from sliding down his body.
Instantly hard, he groaned as she used her teeth on his bottom lip and then sucked on it, tiny, needy whimpers bubbling from her throat.
Need. It pounded through him, dark and urgent. Vibrantly alive.
Wildly, she tugged the hair at his nape, tipping his head back so she could drag her mouth over his stubble-covered jaw to the sensitive, hair-free skin of his neck. His legs almost buckled as his head swam, long-forgotten lust potently drugging him. He’d have to put her down before they both fell to the floor.
He spun her, backing her up against an obliging wall where he held her captive with the grind of his hips and his hands under her thighs. His erection surged, grateful for the friction, despite the pinch of being confined behind denim. He wanted her. The urge to rip aside her panties and lose himself so strong, he bit back a curse.
‘Dan …’ her breath gusted out his name while her lips continued to pepper his face and throat. Desperate kisses, urging him to rush. But he’d waited too long, their recent near miss fresh in his mind. He’d savour every second, worship her with the reverence she deserved, even if he had to work his shift on no sleep at all. It wouldn’t be the first time. And Eden was worth the sacrifice. That she’d come to him at all was humbling.
Dan spread his legs, holding her up with his hips and one arm while he tugged at the hem of his sweater at her waist. He’d wanted her almost from the first time he’d seen her, a miracle after his libido had lain dormant for so long while his heart grieved.
She helped him to remove his too-big-for-her sweater, lifting the garment over her head before tossing it. She unclasped her ankles from behind his back and stood, pushing at his chest so she could reach between them to cup him through his jeans.
Fire raged through him, awakening every nerve ending from the long sleep. If she didn’t stop rubbing at him like that, this was going to be over embarrassingly quickly. As it was, he wasn’t sure his stamina would be worth much after over two years of abstinence. But he’d die trying to be the man she deserved in this moment, especially after he’d bungled it last time.
Before he knew it, she had his belt undone and his jeans pushed over his hips.
He tore his mouth from hers, his own body protesting at the loss. ‘Slow down.’ He couldn’t mess this up again. She was too—
‘No.’ She popped the front button on her denim skirt and shimmied until the garment puddled at her feet. Her chest seesawed with rapid pants, a blush stained her neck and cheeks, and her lips were swollen from the rasp of his facial hair and the punishing demands of his mouth.
Dan swore under his breath at her sensual beauty, falling on her in rush. He slammed his mouth back over hers, his hand finding her taut nipple through the fabric of her shirt as his fingers worked the nub to peak. He groaned; the need to taste her so strong, his mouth pooled with saliva.
Slow. Worship her. Banish her doubts.
Her hand returned to his boxers, gripping and stroking him until his eyes rolled back and his good intentions crumbled. ‘Eden, if you don’t stop that, I’m going to fuck you aga
inst this wall like some randy teenager.’
She hissed, her teeth sinking into her plush lower lip. ‘Yes … Hurry.’ With one hand, she wriggled free of her panties, tossing them on top of the skirt, and then set about freeing him, just enough.
‘Fuck …’ Reality doused his raging libido with ice. He dropped his forehead to hers, his eyes scrunched closed, and his chest working hard.
‘What?’
‘I don’t have any condoms.’ He pulled back to look at her, his shoulders heavy.
‘I do.’ She dodged to the side, reaching down to her bag at the end of the sofa. After a quick rummage, she turned, triumph bursting from her dazzling smile. ‘Ta-da.’ She held up a foil package.
His chest squeezed, threatening vital organs. She was breathtaking. Despite the frantic, life-affirming session against the wall, something unfurled in his gut. Something even longer forgotten. Something that softened his limbs and settled his raging heart rate to a steady thrum reverberating in his gut.
He didn’t want to pound her against the wall. Well, part of him didn’t. She deserved more. He wanted more.
He clutched the back of his neck, fingers gouging.
He understood her enthusiasm—the adrenaline. The accident today must have created flashbacks of her own trauma. He’d worked A&E so long, he’d learned to ignore it. But he fully understood the high. The need to celebrate being alive after witnessing near death. But he wanted more of her than to be an itch that required scratching.
He strode towards her, all thoughts of a quick fuck in his lounge relegated. He’d go slow, show her with his body how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, how she made him feel. She’d be left in no doubt as to her desirability when he left her for his shift.
He slid his hands onto her bare hips, under the hem of her shirt, and tugged her towards him. His still bare erection met the warmth and softness of her belly and he stifled a deep groan. She engulfed him, body and mind chasing away his fatigue, his demons and his reservations. He dipped his head, capturing her mouth under his as instinctively he slid his hands higher. Her scent filled his head—warm, unique and tinged with arousal—and her skin, so soft under his palms.
She gasped, pushing at his shoulders with such force, he stumbled back a pace, hindered by his own half-mast trousers and his motor skills dampened by the testosterone pounding through his blood.
She glared as if he’d slapped her, not kissed her—pale, her eyes huge and her throat working on a series of swallows.
A cold sweat formed between his shoulderblades. ‘What?’ Blood left his head with a sickening whoosh. ‘Did I hurt you?’ Was he that rusty?
Her hand clutched her mouth, and he feared she might vomit. Bloody hell, had he become so clumsy, so out of practice, he’d inadvertently hurt her, caught up in the thrill of newly awakened lust? His hand shot out, apologetic, comforting.
She spun away from him, shoulders high, and tugged her bag from the sofa.
‘Eden, wait. What is it?’ He reached out a second placating hand, but she sidestepped him, picking her discarded skirt from the floor and tugging it up her thighs with jerky movements. She fumbled single-handedly with the button, finally answering. ‘I wanted to keep my top on.’
His head spun.
She still had her top on.
‘I know that. I wasn’t going to take it off.’ Dan righted his clothing, tucking his still hard length back inside. ‘I respect your modesty.’ She kept her back to him, bending to scoop her panties from the floor and stuffing them into her bag.
His mouth formed a thin line, his hands fisting at his sides. What he done to cause such a reaction? She’d been there with him, on the same page.
‘I’m sorry. If I overstepped the mark … I …’ His brain scoured the last few minutes as the hormone-induced fog cleared. She’d triumphantly produced a condom. He’d focused on savouring every moment, going slow. ‘It was unintentional.’ He’d been kissing her, bathed in her scent, his hands exploring the silk of her skin.
The sledgehammer fell. She didn’t want him to touch her. A concrete block settled in his chest. He’d crossed a line, one he couldn’t see. One he didn’t even know was there. One that mattered not one iota to him. But clearly, to Eden, it mattered.
She couldn’t leave like this.
But she was. She wouldn’t look at him. Her hand jerked out for the door handle.
‘Eden.’ He forced himself to take slow, soft steps coming to stand before her, when every brain cell he possessed, every muscle fibre urged him to reach for her, to hold her until he convinced her of her beauty and her desirability. ‘It’s just scarring. It doesn’t bother me, and I don’t care if you keep your top on.’ How had they arrived here? He’d barely touched her; so lost in the moment, his hands had reflexively sought her pert breasts. Not that he’d made it that far. But if she didn’t want him to touch her, he wouldn’t. No brainer.
Accusation swam in her eyes, turning them into molten pools of melted chocolate. ‘It’s more than scarring to me. It bothers me.’ She looked down at the floor.
He swallowed, the trickle of cold sweat now a river. ‘Of course, I know that. I didn’t mean it like that.’ Fuck. Did she think him some insensitive prick? A Neanderthal, too desperate to get laid he didn’t respect her wishes? Her boundaries? He was a man, not an animal.
His chest ached and head was being crushed. The moment lost—dead.
Eyes sad, shoulders back, she said, ‘It’s not you, Dan.’
She was right; those words sucked, no matter how well intentioned.
‘I thought this could be fun. You know, just sex. But clearly neither of us is in the right place.’ She touched him then, her small hand firm on his arm. His chest cracked open with the finality of that touch.
‘It’s not that you touched my scars. It’s my reaction to you touching them.’ Her lips twitched with the saddest little smile he’ d ever seen, and she left, the hole punched in his chest and the unused condom on the floor the only evidence she’d been there at all.
Chapter 9
Tom tossed her rucksack and carry-on into the boot of his car with proficient ease before ushering her to take the passenger seat and slipping behind the wheel. They passed the first few miles to Heathrow airport in silence, Eden’s scraped-raw dread increasing the closer they travelled. Closer to Dan.
She couldn’t avoid him. Didn’t want to. But her humiliating exit from his house held such a finality, part of her couldn’t bear to see his handsome, jovial face—a reminder of the obstacles between them they’d found too big a hurdle. And she had to see him. Had to face him in order to complete the challenge. If she could fast-forward her life, she would—zip straight to the part where she took her sign-off papers from Emily and Steve and disappeared. She’d never have to face Dan again. She’d hand the paperwork over to her commanding officer and, with any luck, in a week or so she could be back at work—not full active service, of course. Not right away.
She had a surgery scheduled for the week after she returned from America. Once that was behind her, she’d have a better idea of the range of movement in her scarred hand, a factor that would determine whether she could eventually return to her role as it had been, or whether she’d be forced to accept a dreaded desk job.
Tom must have heard the sigh she hadn’t realised she’d allowed to escape. ‘Okay, Kid?’ The nickname, a hangover from childhood, jarred inside Eden’s head, creating the beginnings of a headache. Tom only used it these days when he worried about her. He’d used it a lot in recent months.
Was she okay? She’d lost perspective. Unsure of anything—what she wanted, who she was, what her future looked like? Perhaps that was a side effect of the PTSD, the depression? She’d certainly struggled with lack of interest and motivation in the past months. What did the doctors call that? Anhedonia?
Her reaction to Dan touching her had shocked the hell out of her—made her skin feel like it was peeling from her body. Not his touch itself, which had b
een warm and soft, despite her burn-damaged nerve endings that left some of her sensations distorted. But his face afterwards. He’d looked like she’d accused him of killing babies at the hospital, not merely losing himself and accidentally grazing her chest with the gentle exploratory caress of a would-be lover. A caress she’d craved, only to discover it was intolerable.
Her voice, when it came, scraped over tense vocal cords. ‘What would you do, if you couldn’t serve?’ Eden focused on the traffic ahead of them while she held her breath and waited for his answer, the outlines of the cars blurred by the persistent drizzle that fell.
Tom’s silence surprised her. She’d expected an easy and instant dismissal. Why would he have ever thought of such an inconceivable notion? Fit and healthy, her brother teetered at the peak of his career.
‘Anything.’ He shrugged, indicating and pulling out into the fast lane.
Eden scanned her brother’s profile, truly observing him for the first time in years. His dark hair, sprinkled with grey, was cut short in his usual style, and, like their father, he’d aged well. But the lines around his eyes and mouth seemed deeper today. Fatigue? Or worry?
His gaze flicked to the rear-view mirror. ‘I got the promotion.’ Flat—no inflection in his tone.
She gasped. ‘Tom, that’s fantastic.’ She clutched his arm with a squeeze of solidarity, swallowing back the surge of emotion that tasted suspiciously like envy. ‘Major Tom Archer.’ She was proud of him. Delighted for him and Jane. But his success merely highlighted the widening gap between his career trajectory and hers.
‘Jane’s pregnant.’ His voice delivered the news in another flat monotone.
Eden swallowed her unease. ‘Double congratulations! That’s brilliant news.’ The tension inside the car thickened until her scalp prickled.
Tom grinned, as if he couldn’t keep a lid on his joy. ‘Yes, yes it is.’ His features softened until he resembled his twenty-six years. He adored his girls. Eden suspected he’d love a son too.
