After I Fall: A FALLING NOVEL Read online

  She looks up when I haven't spoken. I realize I'm staring.

  "What?" she asks.

  "Why hasn’t this executive program accepted you already? You’re too damn smart for them not to grab you up.”

  Her lips form a small bow. I’ve discovered this is her thinking expression. It’s fucking adorable. "Maybe I'm trying to see if they’re smart enough to want me."

  “Touché.” I suck in a hard breath at the erotic innuendo in those simple words. "Why not just ask your father to help you out? Isn’t he well-connected?"

  She flushes then and looks down at her hands. A little too quickly. "I don't want to talk about it, if it's all the same to you."

  I reach for her then, unable to resist what is right in front of me.

  I'm not exactly certain of my plan until I've tugged her into my lap and am looking up into her eyes. "No," I whisper, dragging my thumb across her bottom lip. "It's not all the same to me. Not this time."

  Because I can do nothing less, I draw her closer, lifting her knees until they slide around my hips in the narrow office chair. Her skin is soft and warm beneath my fingertips. Her throat barely contains her racing pulse. My thumb slides over the edge of her jaw near her ear, then down her arm. The bruises are fading. "You can't keep hiding from whatever you're running from."

  "Telling you about it doesn't help."

  "You'd be surprised." I slide my thumb over her skin again. A gentle caress.

  "Why do you need to know so much about me?" There is fear in that simple question.

  I tug her mouth down to mine then, brushing my lips over hers. "Because I don't sleep with people I can't trust."

  Chapter 14

  Parker

  * * *

  I close my eyes the moment his lips slip over mine. I can't get used to the softness of his beard against my skin, no matter how often it brushes gently against my cheek. I love the taste of this man. The feel of being surrounded, consumed. He nudges me, urging me to open.

  It's a simple request. One I'm all too happy to grant.

  It was a gamble, moving so close to him. Daring him to deny what has been burning between us since that first night.

  Daring him to turn me away, and hoping, praying that he wouldn't do it again.

  I need him in this moment. I need to forget about my father and the rest of this afternoon and the rest of my life.

  I need to lose myself in this kiss. This touch. This breathless moment that sweeps me up and tears me apart.

  Because if I lose myself in this kiss, in this moment, maybe he'll forget the question he just asked. Maybe, if we're both distracted enough, we can forget about the outside world for a little while. And just be together like two normal people. Ones without screwed-up baggage and messed-up families that have to be perfect in every way.

  Oh, wait. That's just my family.

  He leans back, then, nibbling on my bottom lip a moment before creating space between us. "What?"

  I lower my forehead to his, his beard soft beneath my palm. "You're too good to be true," I whisper. Because that is the single, most honest thing I've ever said to him.

  "Everything has a catch," he says softly. There is darkness in those words, cloaked in mystery. I can't figure him out. This man who said no to me the first time I asked him to do dark and dirty things to me in a dark and dirty place.

  His palm is warm on my cheek, comforting and sexy. Maybe now, maybe this time, he will finally touch me where I want him to touch me. Where I need him to touch me.

  Maybe once, just once, he will slide his fingers over my skin, whispering words that make no sense, filling me with sensation that blocks out the things I need to forget.

  "What's the catch with you?"

  He shakes his head. "We're not talking about my secrets right now. We're talking about yours."

  I smile thinly. "The only secret is what I want you to do to me."

  He laughs. Not exactly the reaction I was going for. "That's no secret." His voice is low and deep. He's watching. Waiting. “I’m waiting.” He brushes his lips over mine. “Trust me enough to talk to me.”

  A feral thing pretending to be civilized.

  I want. I want to dig my fingers into those broad shoulders. I want to feel his powerful hips between my thighs. I want to pretend for one damn moment that I'm a normal person who gets to pick who she sleeps with and when and how often.

  I'm denied even that.

  I don’t have the words to tell him about Davis. About my father. I can’t push them from the place inside me that’s lined with shame and give them life in the world.

  Just like that, something cold washes over my skin, erasing the warmth from his touch. It's always about what other people want. Always about their needs. Their feelings. Their fucking campaigns and their reputations.

  My lungs close off with sudden, frustrated anger.

  "Never mind."

  I'm on my feet and out the door before I think he knows what hit him.

  Part of me hopes he'll follow me. Part of me hopes that he'll be that fantasy that stops my flight and begs me to stay.

  I am disappointed. Yet again.

  It's an odd feeling to be angry and disappointed and unbearably aroused.

  Money. People kill for it. And yet in this moment, the only thing I want, money can't buy.

  I'm not sure where I'm going. Just away.

  Down the gentrified streets of Durham where the New South is pretending the sins of the Old South are long forgiven. Past the gluten-free bakeries and the trendy tea and coffee shops.

  It's all bullshit. All of it. You can’t erase the sins of the past by covering it up with a coat of paint. The memory of the blood in these streets is still there, captured in the stone.

  "How long are you going to walk for?"

  I keep walking, despite the tiny skip of my heart at the sound of his voice.

  "Until I'm not angry anymore."

  He falls into step beside me. "Going to be a while, then?"

  He's not even breathing hard.

  That pisses me off even more. I'm quite possibly being irrational. And I really don't care. "Probably."

  He says nothing for about two blocks. Maybe more.

  The sky is darkening overhead. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

  "Storm coming in."

  "You can head back. So you don't get wet."

  "I've been caught in the rain before. Lots of times."

  I start down a hill, the broken cobblestones shaded by an ancient tree. I don't want him here.

  "I'm quitting when we get back to The Pint." The words are out before I really think about them. I can't do this. Not with him. Not anymore.

  "Any particular reason?"

  "Pick one."

  He stops me then. Grips my upper arm and halts my rush to nowhere. "Why don't you start with telling me what set you off back there? I’m pretty good at reading people but I’m not a fucking mind reader."

  I shake my head, the fury still a latent thing in my bloodstream. Dormant now, instead of pulsing, frustrated anger. "Why do you care? I'm just some unfuckable chick you hired out of some failed sense of obligation."

  Something flashes in his eyes. Something dark. Something wild. Like the storm overhead.

  He steps into my space. His fingers are hard on my jaw. "I don't ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again."

  My rebellion is fierce and not entirely thought out. I yank away before he finishes speaking. "You really don’t get it, do you? You're giving me orders just like everyone else in my life, and I'm so damn tired of it." I back away, hoping my voice will stay steady for a moment longer. "I'm done. I'm so done with all of this."

  My voice betrays me. Cracking as the sky above opens up and unleashes freezing hell over both of us.

  I turn away, walking into the rain and the fog and the cold.

  It's a small act.

  But at least it's my choice.

  * * *

  Eli

&n
bsp; * * *

  I'm not the smartest guy in the world but as I watch her walk away, I can suddenly see the roadmap of every way I’ve fucked up since Parker walked into my life.

  Refusing to do what she wanted. Demanding she open up when I’ve refused to do the same.

  In that instant, I know everything about her. And it is achingly clear just how badly I’ve screwed everything up.

  She needed me to be different. To let her take control. And instead, I did exactly the opposite.

  My skin is cold and wet, matching the ice that fills my lungs with every breath.

  I don't know how to fix this.

  But I can't leave her alone. I can't let her walk away into the fog and the rain and hope she makes it home okay.

  I catch up to her easily, falling into step next to her.

  She says nothing. Her head is down, her hair pushed back off her face even as her shoulders are slumped against the downpour.

  "I have this problem," I say after a moment. "I can't let people walk away mad." I swallow, not wanting to say the next words but knowing that she needs to hear them if she has a chance of ever seeing the real me. "Because I might not ever see them again."

  She swipes her hand over her cheek, sliding her index finger beneath each eye.

  "That's incredibly sad," she finally says.

  It's also the most honest thing I've ever said to her. But I don't tell her that. "You asked me once why a bar. Why here?" I rub my hands over my beard, pushing my hair out of my face. "I was alone. I missed my tribe. My soldiers. My friends." I swallow. "I lived my entire adult life for one purpose: leading soldiers. And I didn't have that anymore."

  "So you made your own tribe."

  It's amazing how easy the words are right now. In the rain and the fog and the cold. The outside matches the inside, and the words have no barriers now to stop them. "Yeah. Deacon was the first. Then Noah and Josh. Kelsey."

  "I like Kelsey."

  "She doesn't trust easily. But she trusts us more than anyone else." I hesitate, not sure how much this talk of tribes and family made by war and not blood might alienate her. "She is as much a part of my tribe as any of the guys."

  Parker keeps walking, her head down now, her movements less angry.

  "I wish I knew what that feels like," she whispers, so quietly I almost can't hear her over the rain.

  "What?"

  "That kind of trust that has you hiring complete strangers based on a shared experience and nothing more."

  I want to reach out. To pull her close and let her lean against me. To feel her body mold and shape against mine. "Most people don't."

  "That's really a shame. That you have to be willing to kill someone in order to even come close to it."

  Her words catch me off guard. She's right but that doesn't make her words any less sharp. "Si vis pacem, para bellum."

  She pauses then, looking up at me through the rain. "To secure peace, prepare for war."

  I smile faintly. "I'm mildly impressed right now."

  "Had to learn Latin in high school."

  "Hell of a high school." I have a sudden fantasy of her in one of those prep school uniforms with the short skirt and knee-high socks and sweet baby Jesus I'm going to embarrass myself. "You don't agree with the sentiment."

  "Which one? High school or war?"

  "Either?"

  She looks away then and starts walking. She hasn't been paying attention but I've been steering her back toward The Pint and relative warmth.

  "I've never encountered a situation that calls for war."

  I stop her then. Right there in the cold rain. I touch my thumb to the faint yellow around her upper arm, all but healed. "The man who did this to you is a coward." I brush the pad of my finger over her skin gently. "That's worth going to war over."

  "Be that as it may, I still have to marry him."

  Her words are an ice pick to my heart, but I keep my expression blank. This is the first time she's said anything about her life. I can't fuck it up again. "You have a choice."

  She shakes her head. "I really don't." She turns her face to kiss the palm of my hand. "But it's nice to pretend for a while that I do."

  I open my mouth. I want to argue with her. To tell her to fight back. To prepare for the war she needs to secure her freedom. But I don't.

  Instead, I lift her face to mine, capturing her lips in a soft, warm, and wet kiss. She opens for me, her tongue touching mine in the sweetest caress. I could stand here forever, tasting her, living in the moment of just feeling her breath mingle with mine.

  Her fingers twine into my hair, her nails dig into my scalp as she pulls me closer, taking what she needs. I am content just to be needed in that moment. The fire of her touch burns away the cold and the rain and the wet, leaving only the sensation of her skin against mine, her breath filling me.

  She shivers against me, the tremble running through her body and into mine.

  But neither of us moves, caught in the moment between sensations. Unable to break the connection and return to the real world where she is trapped in her past.

  And I am trapped in mine.

  Chapter 15

  Eli

  * * *

  There is fear in every beat of her heart beneath my fingers. Fear. Anger. Disappointment.

  I saw all of those things flash before me the moment before she stalked out of my office. I've never followed a woman who walked away before.

  I have no patience for games.

  And it wasn't the fear or the anger or the disappointment that compelled me to go after her.

  It was the courage that it took for her to stand up and walk away.

  What pushed her to the breaking point? I only know I can't push her any further. Whatever she's running from, whatever she's trying to hide from, she's not ready to talk about it.

  I can wait.

  Lightning cracks overhead and I flinch, pulling her close. I half shield her with my body. "Storm’s getting closer."

  "You don't like them?" She looks up at me and I realize how well she fits against me.

  "I don't mind them. When they're not right overhead." I stroke her cheek as the rain splatters on the back of my hand. It's a stark contrast to the warmth beneath my palm. "I have a place. Above the bar."

  She makes a noise in her throat. "Of course you do."

  I brush my lips against her mouth, the want inside me an ache that burns through my veins.

  I don't remember the rush back to my loft. I remember taking her hand and guiding her through the huge splatters of rain that turned into a flat ass downpour a block from my stairwell. The thunder rolls through the sky as I close my door behind us, and then it hits me.

  She is here. Completely soaked. Completely vulnerable.

  Completely mine. Even if only for a night. An afternoon.

  I wish I knew how long she'd stay. I wish I knew what to say or do to get her to trust me.

  But she's here now.

  And I cannot screw this up.

  She shivers.

  I step to her, drawing her mouth up to mine. It is a gentle kiss, meant to warm. To comfort. To sip from her.

  I don't expect her to step into my space, to bridge the gap between us. She slips her hands beneath my shirt. Her palms burn my chilled skin.

  "God but that feels good," I whisper against her lips. She frowns, and I kiss her brow. "Can I take your clothes?"

  She smiles wryly. "That's pretty forward."

  I nod at a small closet near my kitchen. "Dryer." I kiss her again. "I'll be honest. I want to see you." Her lips open beneath mine. "Taste you." I nip her bottom lip. "Every. Inch of you."

  Her fingers curl into my sides. I cover one hand and urge her to slide it up, higher beneath my shirt, until her palm rests over my heart. "Touch me," I whisper.

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have to stand there and let her fingers trace over my skin as she pushes my shirt over my head.

  I know what she sees. Evidence of the war,
etched and cut into my skin. She traces her index finger over the scar on my shoulder. The broken, burning piece of rebar would have effectively ended my Army career if I'd still had one when I'd gotten hurt.

  She surprises me. Steps close enough to me that I can feel the heat from her body and presses her lips to the scar and the awful black ink I used to mask its terribleness.

  "What don't you want to forget?"

  I swallow hard and turn to her. "A lot of things."

  I slip my index finger into the waist of her pants. "You're wet."

  She grins. "You have no idea."

  I laugh and tug her close, slipping her wrap off her shoulders in a single movement. It lands in a plop on the floor. I'll get it in a few minutes. In this moment, I want to focus on Parker. On learning what she needs and wants and likes.

  I tug her back against me, wanting to feel the pressure of her body against mine. She's a perfect fit, everything molding into place like she was made for me. She tips her head, offering her flesh in an age-old sacrifice.

  Her skin is cold beneath my lips. She shivers as I kiss her just where her collarbone disappears into her throat. She makes a noise as I trace the line of her shoulder with my tongue, pushing her tank off her shoulders. Her body is smooth lines and warm angles. I slide my thumbs down the line of her spine, still kissing her neck, suckling her a little as she shivers again.

  I follow my thumbs with my tongue, tracing an erotic line down her back, pushing her pants down off her body. In part, I want to feel her against me, but my brain shut down the need to get her warm and dry, this need I have to protect her. To care for her.

  She steps out of her wet clothes, and she is naked in front of me. She doesn't hide or cross her arms over her body. She is perfection, all soft bronze skin, dusky nipples and pale blond hair between her thighs. The want inside me is burning away all rational thought as she steps toward me once more.