by JC Harroway
‘Please come home with me, or let me stay,’ said Sam.
Eden swallowed, her throat tight. ‘I’m fine.’ She lifted her heavily bandaged hand, wincing slightly as a jolt of pain lanced her palm. ‘It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. Besides,’ she touched Sam’s arm with her good hand, ‘You have work tomorrow. You’ve already missed one day on my account. And you need all the sleep you can get with your class of hoodlums.’
Far from defending her ‘little darlings’ as she called them, Sam blinked a flutter of rapid blinks and glanced away. The silence in the car stretched and prickles of unease peppered Eden’s neck.
‘You don’t have to do it, you know?’ Sam’s voice was small, sending Eden’s heart rate surging through the roof.
‘Do what?’
‘Push everyone away.’ She turned back, her eyes glassy. ‘Don’t you want things? A partner? A family? Contentment?’
Eden looked sideways, her stare fixed on the peeling paint of her front door. Her shoulders slumped, exhaustion sucking her into the car’s upholstery until she felt woven into the fabric. If she kept her face averted, would Sam see the yearning inside her for the gaping hole it was? Of course she wanted those things. Someday.
‘He’s in love with you, you know? He was gutted you’d kept today from him.’
Eden swallowed, her chest joining her throat in the vice constricting her air.
Sam continued to torture her. Death by home truths. ‘I went for a coffee with him after you left. Why didn’t you tell me about him? He’s a great guy.’ Sam’s sigh filled the car interior. ‘Have we drifted so far apart that you no longer confide in me?’ Hurt dripped from Sam’s words, like poison.
Eden stared at the car door, the urge to run strong. ‘I’m sorry.’ A hoarse whisper. ‘You’re the best friend anyone could have. I don’t deserve you.’
Rather than placated, Sam’s voice grew. Harsher. Shriller. ‘That’s the point, Eden. You do deserve it. You deserve everything good in life. But you’re not going to get it, because you’re holding yourself back.’ Sam fired the engine with an angry turn of the key. Conversation over.
Eden snapped her head back to stare at her friend, who focused resolutely ahead.
That’s when she saw Dan. He must have been parked down the road, waiting for their return. Because he loitered on the pavement opposite her house, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets and his expression grim but defiant.
Eden looked back to Sam, who still refused to make eye contact and had now switched on the car’s indicator. Time to vacate.
‘I love you,’ she whispered, her voice catching, before she twisted in the seat and pushed open the passenger door, gingerly protecting her sore hand. Dan had crossed the road and was there, on the other side of the door, silently assisting with a steadying hand. He retrieved her bag from the footwell and nodded to Sam, who pulled away from the kerb the moment the passenger door closed.
Eden shuffled to her front door, her feet ten times heavier than when she’d left home that morning. Silently begging Dan to follow but to place no more demands on her.
Within minutes, he’d escorted her indoors, left her to change into her pyjamas and returned with a mug of tea, a glass of water and two painkillers. She bit the side of her tongue as her eyes burned.
The after-effects of the anaesthetic must have left her more emotional than usual. Or perhaps it was the fight with Sam. She took the tablets from Dan’s outstretched palm, neither of them mentioning the slight tremble in her fingers. His skin was warm against her fingertips and he smelled comforting—shower gel and Dan. She swallowed the pills quickly, more to have something to do with her mouth than anything else.
When he turned for the door, a knot of panic tightened her chest. ‘Stay with me?’ It was a plea. She patted the bed beside her, so he was in not doubt.
He hovered near the bedroom door, his sad eyes holding no censure. Only his trademark compassion and understanding. Would he say no? Or simply leave? Eden held her breath, lungs protesting. Please.
After what felt like a year, he said, ‘I’ll just go and switch off the lights downstairs.’
She settled under the covers, warmth and fatigue cocooning her, dragging her deeper into the mattress.
Her last conscious thought was of Sam’s words. As Dan’s strong arms bracketed her waist, dragging her back into the spoon of his front, she sighed, letting go. Was Sam right? Was Dan in love with her? She finally acknowledged the convenience if such a statement were true. Because since the night she’d stood in his studio, she’d admitted, albeit to herself, she was one hundred per cent in love with him.
* * *
Eden rolled over coming fully awake. A distant voice. Male. Downstairs.
Dan. Still here?
His words, muffled through the wooden floors of her home, seemed to form a one-sided conversation. On the phone?
She clambered from the bed, noting the time. Midday. Wow—she’d slept for twelve solid, blissfully dreamless hours.
Returning to bed with freshly cleaned teeth, she plumped the pillows with her good hand and settled back in bed.
He came in moments later carrying a tray and wearing yesterday’s clothes. ‘I heard you were up. Do you want to try some toast?’ He placed the tray on the bedside table and her stomach twisted. Not because she wasn’t ravenous, but because he’d made tea to accompany the toast and a single bloom from her garden rested beside it on the tray.
Throat tight, she managed, ‘Thank you, Dan.’
He shrugged, about to turn away.
‘Wait. Do you have to leave?’ She gripped his hand, her fingers squeezing. Begging.
He paused, tension she hadn’t known was there draining away from his slightly rigid posture. ‘I swapped shifts.’
Shuffling sideways on the bed, she drew back the covers and patted the bed next to her. He sat, his jean-clad thigh brushing hers. ‘How are you feeling?’
Confused. Bewildered. Like a bitch. She laced her right hand with his left, her fingers interlacing, flexing, clinging. Her left hand felt good. No pain. She gave the tips of her fingers an experimental twitch. All good. ‘I’m fine. I … I’m sorry. About yesterday. About treating you so shabbily.’ Really? That’s the best you can do?
He shrugged, his features neutral. ‘I just want to help.’ He rushed on. ‘Not because you can’t do things for yourself, but because that’s what you do for people you care about. Even if you don’t have a medical degree.’
Eden nodded.
Dan raised a hand to the side of her face, pushing back her hair to gaze into her eyes, his own stare steady.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her whisper escaped, insubstantial to relay the depth of her regret. ‘I’ve spent so long caring for myself, gritting my teeth and getting on with it—I’ve never felt more helpless since my accident.’
His thumb brushed her lips, silencing her with the understanding in his eyes. ‘Sam might need a phone call though.’
She nodded, turning her face towards his palm and placing a kiss in the centre. His skin smelled of soap. Her soap.
‘You should eat something. Don’t you want toast?’ His eyes flicked to the tray.
She shook her head, enjoying the sensual glide of his calloused skin across her lips. ‘No. I want you.’
Dan’s eyes shuttered, his brows drawn down. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ He softened his rebuke with a chaste kiss. Minty, soft and Dan-flavoured. Had he used her toothbrush or brought one of his own?
‘We’ll be careful.’ She shouldn’t feel horny so soon after surgery. But Dan was here, warm and vital. And he’d taken the day off work to look after her. She needed to connect with him. To show him what she couldn’t say. To feel desired and valued and normal. She dropped his hand, lifting hers to graze the buttons at the neck of his polo shirt.
‘Eden …’
‘Dan.’ She mimicked his tone, and he smiled. ‘Get naked, Dan. Help me get naked. I’ll promise to be a g
ood patient afterwards and eat my toast.’ His expression reflected the war between good doctor and good lover. Please let him fall on the right side of that dilemma.
‘Fuck you’re infuriating.’ He slammed his mouth to hers, swallowing her victory cry, but his hands were gentle, drawing her close. Protective. With agonising slowness, Dan removed her clothing. She let him, for once enjoying the luxury of being cared for. Every inch of skin he exposed, he kissed, his mouth soft, tender and painstakingly thorough. He even kissed her scars, one by one. No hesitation. No seeking permission. No apology. When he reached her toes, he stood, removing his own clothing and flinging it on the chair.
Eden opened the bedside drawer and retrieved a condom, placing it on the bed next to her. Still he stood at the foot of the bed, his stare eating her up, scorching a fiery path from her toes and finishing on her eyes.
‘You’re so beautiful.’ He strode to the bed, his breath coming in shallow pants, and he lowered himself gingerly to the mattress. ‘If it hurts, we stop. Okay?’ His gaze slid sideways at her bandaged hand resting beside her head on the pillow.
She nodded. ‘I promise.’
He lowered his mouth to hers, the gentle slide and glide of his lips sending the air shuddering from her. His fingers found her nipple, tweaking it gently erect as he kissed her deeply, pausing between kisses to stare at her, as if in wonder. With the patience of a man in no hurry, Dan kissed her that way for what felt like an age. He kissed her until her lips buzzed, until her tongue tired from duelling with his, until she thought he was going to welch on the deal and leave her floundering and frustrated.
But she should have known better. The rustle of the foil packet gave him away as he felt blindly for the condom. Pulling back for just enough time to tear it open and cover himself, he returned his drugging kisses as his body repositioned over hers.
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he whispered, nudging her thighs apart with his knees.
‘You won’t.’ Eden gripped one of his arms, keeping her bandaged hand well out of the way above her head. The position thrust her breasts towards him and he groaned, dropping his mouth to her taut flesh and sucking hard with hollowed-out cheeks.
She arched, crying out when he abandoned her right breast and repeated the caress on what remained of the left. The scars dulled some of the sensation there, but as Dan’s eyelashes fluttered closed on the lust burning in his eyes, the sensations sizzled a path of fire to her core. Eden surprised them both with her loud, broken wail. No one had touched her there in that way since before the accident. And the two halves of her body, the damaged and the whole, reformed as if an invisible divide had separated them until this perfect moment under Dan’s mouth.
He pulled back, ignoring her disappointed cry, his stare holding hers captive as he pushed his way slowly inside her. The connection zapped between them—an arc of static-like electricity that stole Eden’s breath.
With his shrewd, watchful stare capturing her every move and reaction, Dan pushed her knees back to her chest and slid his body over hers in a rocking motion. She lifted her hand to his face, cupping his jaw. The scrape of his stubble sent jolts down her arm. He grazed her palm with his lips, his mouth forming a pucker to leave a single kiss there. No words were necessary and none spoken. His unfaltering eye contact, his gentle and thorough lovemaking and the truth shining from his hazel eyes spilled over her, flooding her with the knowledge she’d been too stubborn or stupid to see.
They came together, their gazes locked. Eden’s soul lay bared and the words hovered on her lips but she bit them back. Yes she loved Dan. But Sam must be mistaken, because Dan loved Megan.
Chapter 14
Two days later Eden sat in the walled garden of Dan’s sister’s property, a rambling seventeenth-century farm in the Peak District. Amelia had invited her and Dan for lunch—a small intimate gathering of friends and family. Dan had seemed his usual laid-back self on the short drive here, but as soon as they arrived, he changed. He was attentive enough, never leaving Eden’s side, his hand frequently finding the small of her back, her elbow, her hand. But his smiles came a little more reluctantly than she’d grown accustomed to and he’d asked her six times in the last half an hour if she wanted a drink refill. Something was off with him. She didn’t want to ruin the party vibe by probing. But a sudden flurry of insecurity assaulted her. Perhaps this was the first time Dan had brought a date to meet his family since Megan. Perhaps he regretted it. Perhaps he saw her emotions in her eyes and feared she’d voice them and ruin what they had.
She bit back the impulse to pry. They could talk later. Or tomorrow, on the drive to London. Scale were holding a press conference in two days time for the Ruby Challenge, and the whole team would be reunited for promotional photos, an interview and the end of challenge social event. Eden dreaded the publicity part, but she looked forward to catching up with the guys and Emily.
Dan’s nephew approached, bouncing a football on his knee. ‘Uncle Dan. Wanna kick about?’
Eden sensed Dan’s hesitation, but she nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, encouraging him to accept. ‘I’ll see if Amelia needs help finishing lunch.’ He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she shooed him away, crossing the lawn and the terrace to enter the cool of the farmhouse through the open French windows. The interior was as charmingly elegant as the gardens—Dan had informed her on the drive here that Amelia and her husband, Richard, had taken two years to renovate and extend the derelict farm buildings into this warm and rambling family home.
Amelia’s head was buried in the double-door fridge.
‘Need any help?’ Please don’t refuse.
‘Oh, great.’ Amelia’s flushed, rather frazzled face appeared from behind the fridge door, her eyes lighting up. ‘Could you finish that salad?’ She pulled two large platters from inside and bumped the fridge door closed with her hip.
Eden set about washing her hands at the butler’s sink before moving to the chopping board to carefully slice tomatoes to add to the salad. The move involved exposing her injured hand. She steadied the tomatoes with the tips of her scarred fingers, her neck hot and her gaze focused on the task. She didn’t want to chop off a digit and she couldn’t bear to see pity in Amelia’s face. But it was slow progress.
‘He’s changed since he’s met you.’ Amelia’s comment was so blunt, so out of the blue, Eden almost lost a pinky.
Her brows scrunched together. ‘Has he?’ Warm goo settled in her stomach.
She nodded, her long brown ponytail bobbing with the movement. ‘I know what he’s like.’ One eyebrow lifted in challenge. ‘He’s a workaholic.’
Eden couldn’t argue. Dan’s sister had ceased her own slicing of crusty bread and was staring at her, sincerity shining from eyes so much like Dan’s. ‘Don’t give up on him.’
Flutters replaced the goo in the pit of Eden’s stomach, and she gave a tiny nod. Amelia smiled and returned to her chopping board, the brisk swipes of the breadknife giving her emotions away. She clearly cared deeply for her brother. Eden sighed, relieved that Dan had had such a supportive and caring family when he’d needed it most. But give up on him? She should walk away, before she sank any deeper in love with a man who could never love her back.
She hadn’t seen Dan since the day after her surgery—he’d worked double shifts both days to make up for the day he’d taken off to care for her. Eden shivered. His style of caring had left her deliciously sated from multiple orgasms.
Her cheeks flamed as she focused on her tomatoes. Amelia was right though. Dan worked too hard. She understood. A year ago, people would have said the same thing about her. And it was an admirable quality, right?
But where was the balance? She recalled Tom’s revelation—how he wanted to spend more time with his growing family. You only had to take one look around Amelia’s warm but cluttered kitchen to know family centred at the very heart of this home. Was Dan still running from a ghost? Eden winced.
‘He tells me he’s finishing Megan’
s calendar? Says you encouraged him?’
Eden shrugged. ‘He asked me to pose.’
‘I bet he did.’ They shared a smile, which erupted into laughter.
‘I let him take my portrait once—never again. He refused to airbrush my crow’s feet.’ Amelia tossed the last slices of bread onto a platter. ‘I’ll just take this outside and check on Richard. See if he has the BBQ going.’
‘Let me.’ Eden wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’m ruining these tomatoes anyway—thanks for not commenting by the way.’ She took the bread from Amelia with a smile for the older woman.
Eden stepped back into the darkened hallway, her sandalled footfalls scuffing the exposed original flagstoned floor as she approached the drawing room. She’d left the door ajar, a slice of sunlight spilling through the opening, guiding her. But some instinct stopped her on the threshold.
‘Why didn’t you call?’ A woman’s voice. High, accusing.
‘Judy—’ Dan’s answering plea was hushed but distinctive enough.
Judy. The woman Amelia had introduced her to as an old friend. The woman who’d looked at Eden like she was something unpleasant on the sole of her shoe. Of course, she was used to that. Had experienced the small-minded judgement of people who saw her burns as a character flaw. Was Judy Dan’s friend too? She shouldn’t eavesdrop. Her hand reached for the door handle.
‘It’s not too late to pick up where we left off. I’d still be interested, and you can’t tell me that tomboy you brought here today meets your needs, even if she is clearly besotted.’
Eden’s hands gripped the plate as acid filled her throat. She’d been called worse. But the words stung nonetheless. So she wasn’t polished—didn’t have acrylic nails and perfectly threaded eyebrows. The colonel had taught her other lessons, important lessons. Lessons like words had the power to hurt as much as bullets. And she was more than besotted, but she’d assumed she was hiding it well enough.
