Sizzle (St. Martin Family Saga): Emergency Responders Read online

  With her head lowered, she shyly looked up at him through her lashes. And his cock went instantly hard.

  “I don’t want you to leave. Stay here with me, sleep in my bed with me, if you still want to and if you can forgive me for being an asshole.”

  She was smiling happily again. “Okay, and I’m sorry about the condom. You were right—I should have been on that. You were out of it and couldn’t have been expected to think about condoms. Rest assured, I won’t get pregnant. I take that once-per-month pill.”

  He kissed her lips to quiet her. For some reason he wasn’t relieved to hear that she faithfully took the pill. He led them back into the kitchen, waiting for her to make the move that would allow him to start fixing this. She went straight to the table and started to clear the plates.

  “Eve,” he placed his hand between her shoulders. Dammit, she trembled. He delicately traced the skin at her neck, under her hair, and with a soft voice said, “I’d like to start over, with the breakfast you prepared. Can we heat it up?”

  Eve twisted her hands nervously. “I’ll just get rid of it. I didn’t know about breakfast at the station.”

  She’d made a plate for herself too. And he wasn’t about to let her eat it alone.

  “Still, I’d love if we could have breakfast together.”

  Eve shrugged and regarded him with large eyes. “Okay.”

  They ate and he oohed and awed over her simple little breakfast and she blushed for him.

  After breakfast he helped her clean the kitchen. He opened the front door to leave, but turning back to her, he pulled her into his arms.

  “How about if I stop in for lunch if I’m not on a call?” She nodded. “Or dessert at the very least. I’d like some pie.” Standing in the threshold, he kissed her passionately. He let go of her and turned to see Jack standing on the stoop, watching their exchange.

  Clay wondered how long he’d been there.

  “Mornin’. Looks like it’s a good one,” Jack said. “I’d like dessert too, please. I came for another slice of pie.”

  Eve smiled large and wide, and her eyes sparkled at his words. Why couldn’t he behave more like Jack?

  Jack walked in, no invitation needed. Eve led them to the kitchen and cut Jack a slice of pie. His pie. Clay watched it all unfold, her easy manner with Jack. He wanted that for himself.

  She caught his gaze and gestured with the knife. He smiled and said, “I’d love a slice.”

  Watching her, he wondered how anyone could have hurt her with her delicate beauty and tender spirit. She was gentle and graceful and quiet. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He couldn’t get her to open up about it, yet he’d need to know. Hell, he was becoming obsessed with the girl. He needed to learn her triggers. Like his temper, for instance. He’d have to hold that in check. Or she’d need to learn to push right back, to get in his face and call him on his shit. He laughed—he’d like to see that, her sweet little body and mouth taking him on.

  He wondered if they could be successful in a relationship together.

  Shit, what was he even thinking? He didn’t do relationships with women. Certainly not long-term. And if it wasn’t long-term, it couldn’t be a relationship.

  And how was it that he could enjoy a woman in a capacity other than in a position of dominance over her? Or without bondage? He’d never been able to climax without one or the other or without imagining such a scenario while he fucked, but last night he’d come twice.

  He instantly decided that there was no way he’d let this girl go without a fight. The realization that she’d been abused had broken him enough earlier that he’d put aside his petty macho posturing to care for her.

  The thought of her becoming pregnant had made his stomach flutter. The image of her swollen with his offspring sent sparks flying in his head. When she’d said it wasn’t possible, he’d actually been disappointed. He liked the thought of her in his home, waiting for him to return from work.

  Loved the thought of it, actually.

  Shit, what the hell was wrong with him?

  He might be messed up, but her being there didn’t feel wrong. It felt exactly right. And he felt exactly right with it.

  Clay and Jack ate pie and started talking about work and how their families were faring.

  Eve cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but is it still okay if I use the computer?”

  Clay stood, and she inhaled sharply through parted lips. Shit, he’d made her nervous again. In that moment he wished he wasn’t so large and so intense. A simple yes would have sufficed.

  “Of course. I just needed to do this.” He stepped to her side and kissed her. “For the pie; it’s scrumptious.”

  His Eve smiled and sagged in relief.

  She was typing at his computer in the bedroom when he found her ten minutes later. As he walked toward her, her eyes followed him until she stopped typing and stood. “I’m sorry.”

  She stood so close to the wall, it was as if she wanted it to swallow her. Her eyes closed when he drew near. He placed his palm on her cheek, and she cringed.

  He whispered, “No, baby, you don’t ever need to be sorry with me.”

  She held her eyes shut tight. He kissed each eyelid delicately, hoping to ease her worries and maybe tease her into wanting more.

  Softly he said, “Eve, open your eyes. Look at me.” When she did, he saw years of pain and sorrow in them. “I won’t ever hurt you, and I’ll kill anybody that even looks at you wrong. No one will ever hurt you again, I swear.” He pulled her away from the wall and walked her to the computer. “I was going to ask you if the light would help.” He pulled the chain on a lamp that hung over the desk from its position atop the chest of drawers.

  She swallowed hard, the sound making a hollow thud in her throat. “Thank you.”

  “We’re going to head out. I’ll be back later. Will you sleep in my bed tonight?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.” He bent and kissed her on the nose.

  *

  As Jack and Clay walked to the station, Clay could sense Jack’s eyes on him. “Fuck off, Jack.”

  Jack threw his head back and howled. “Damn, I never thought I’d see the day little Clayton James was hooked by a woman.”

  Clay shot him a look of disdain and grumbled under his breath, which led to deeper laughter from Jack.

  “Wow, she’s really gotten under your skin. So have you tied her up yet?”

  “I said fuck off, Jack,” Clay bellowed at his long-time friend. “Talk about Eve like that again and I’ll snap your neck.”

  Jack stopped walking. “She really has you tied up in knots.”

  Clay stopped too and felt his face go stiff.

  “I mean, she has you twisted—” Jack stepped away from Clay. “I meant… Well, bad analogies. Sorry, dude.” Jack raised his brow. “So you really like this girl.”

  Clay gave his words some thought. He rubbed his index finger and thumb across his chin and stared blindly at a couple of fallen trees behind Jack. “I don’t know. My every thought is consumed by Eve’s face, Eve’s voice, Eve’s smell. Her body, the way she moves, the way she laughs, the way she mewls.”

  “Mewls?”

  Clay cleared his throat. “Never mind.” He shook his head to empty it of her nakedness. It was no use. “I’ve never had that problem before, thinking about a woman all the time. Shit, when we were out yesterday, she was all I thought about. What does it mean?” He shrugged.

  Jack wrapped his arm around him and said, “What it means, brother, is that you’re in love with Eve.”

  10

  It had been four days since the storm, and the town was still a mess. Clay had left for work, leaving Eve to prowl around the house. About midday she went out to feed and water the chickens and noticed a limb had fallen from the tree and was scraping the roof of the coop. She could move the coop, but it really was the perfect spot—near the house and in the shade. She rummaged through the garage searching for something she co
uld use to cut the limb, excited when she found a hacksaw. The saw was rusty, and when she tried to cut the limb, it swayed and landed heavily on the coop. That put pressure on the plywood, pushing it down, and she worried about the chickens. She returned to the garage and searched until she found an electric saw. She doubted she’d be able to start the darn thing, but it was worth a shot.

  She gathered the cord, plugged it into the generator circuit, and hauled it out to the limb. To her surprise, the saw was extremely easy to start. She barely pulled the cord and it was buzzing and vibrating away in her hands. She leaned over the coop and raised the saw as high as she could. When it made contact with the limb, the vibration of the saw caused the limb to fall from the tree and she was thrown forward, with the saw jerking like mad. She lost control, and the whizzing blade headed right at her face. She screamed at the same time a large warm arm wrapped around her stomach. The body leaned completely over her, covering her. She heard a masculine oomph and the buzzing saw went quiet.

  Clay forcefully peeled her from his body by pushing her shoulders. He ran his hands over her face, neck, chest, and arms.

  Feeling the tremors in his hands, she murmured, “It’s okay, I’m all right,” again and again.

  After he checked every part of her body, he jerked her into his chest with force and held her close. He rested his head on top of hers and maintained a death grip on her. His heart was racing.

  “Jesus Christ, Eve, you scared the fuck out of me. I thought that thing was going to slice you wide open.” His hold slowly eased. He cupped his hand around the back of her head, pulled her face up to his, and kissed her forehead. “Tell me you’re okay.”

  His concern for her safety was intense. She knew he wasn’t mad, just gravely alarmed, but she wouldn’t blame him if he was mad since she’d almost sawed herself in half on his property.

  “I’m okay.”

  “God, you’ve got to be more careful with yourself. I need you.”

  He needed her? For what? To do his laundry and mend his clothes? Or was there more?

  They stood under that damn tree that she now wanted to cut down to its roots and stared intently into one another’s eyes. Eve pondered his admission—he needed her. She wasn’t sure what he meant.

  What was true was that she needed him. Not to save her, though he was great at that. She did need to take more care. But when something needed doing, she saw no reason not to try to do it.

  Still, she wondered how she’d survived so long without him, without his loving late into the night, without his teasing, without his deep voice that wrapped around her with passion and care, the same way his body did.

  She had no idea why he felt he couldn’t live without her.

  “I’m sorry for alarming you.”

  “No, baby, I’m sorry. Anything like this that you need done, you get on the two-way or walk across to the station. I’ll be here in an instant if you need me.”

  She pulled back to study him. What she saw in his eyes definitely wasn’t about laundry; it was much more. His pupils churned when he looked at her, and she’d never seen them look that way for anyone else. He held her with the fierceness of a mother cub, and she trusted him when he said he’d kill anyone before they could hurt her.

  And he let her touch him the way she wanted to. That freedom to explore was probably the most meaningful gift he’d given her. One day she’d tell him how that, just that one act, filled her with strength and courage. Made her feel like a desirable woman whose fantasies were worth exploring.

  Made her feel like herself again. The way she’d been before Nicolas.

  If he needed her, she needed him double.

  He raised his hands to untangle the cord, and she flinched and recoiled. He immediately dropped the saw and pulled her into his arms and carried her inside. She wished she wasn’t such a spaz. She tried to hide that instinctive response, knowing it was habit and not a fear of Clay, but sometimes it came out before she could hold it back.

  Clay sat Eve at the dining table and pulled a whiskey bottle from beneath the counter. He took out one shot glass, filled it with the amber liquid, and pushed it toward her. He took the seat directly across from her.

  “It’ll take the edge off.”

  She picked up the glass and drank. She immediately gasped and coughed. “Ugh.”

  “You have to sip it. Have you never had a drink?”

  “Not liquor.” A dry hack escaped her throat. “Never.” She sounded like a lonely frog on a lily pad. “Do you drink a lot of whiskey?”

  He shook his head. “Hardly ever.”

  Relief rushed through Eve, relaxing her shoulders.

  He picked up one of her hands and wrapped it in his own. “Was the person who hurt you an alcoholic?”

  She tried to recoil from his hold, but he held her firm.

  “Eve, talk to me please.”

  “I wouldn’t say he’s an alcoholic, but the worst beatings came after he’d been drinking.”

  He grimaced and tightened his fingers. “Tell me about it.”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m afraid you”—she took in air on a gasp—“I’m afraid you will want me to leave after…” Oh God, she couldn’t breathe. She pushed her fist into the center of her chest.

  He moved around the table and squatted between her legs, shaking his head. “It’s not possible. There is nothing you could say that would change how I feel about having you here with me.”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. Did it again. “There was a man. He hurt me. I left him.”

  “Huh. Can I get the extended version, please?”

  Her foot tapped nervously. He was too close; he was going to see too much. He wouldn’t like it.

  “Don’t you have to go to work?”

  “I have some time. I’ve always got time for you.”

  She watched him closely. He’d never been anything but genuine with her, and she knew deep down that if she shared her pain with him, he’d never use it against her. Truth was, she wanted to tell him. She knew what kind of response he’d have, and she wanted that. She wanted him to make the ultimate sacrifice for her: offer her a lifetime of safety in his large, gentle arms. She couldn’t stop thinking how wonderful it would be if she were his. He would be protective and solicitous, he would provide for her forever and she’d do the same for him. God she was delusional and she worked hard to shut down that line of thinking, no matter how much she wished it to come true.

  She wasn’t afraid of Clay, because she knew he’d hurt himself before he’d ever lay a hand on her. She did wish her body would follow her head. She hated that she cringed when he unfolded to his full size because she sensed it bothered him. But her response was strictly involuntary.

  He waited patiently for the rest of her story. She looked into his kind eyes and cupped his jaw in her hands. She loved staring at him—he was a beautiful man. But it was time he heard about her past. It was only fair that he knew; otherwise he’d worry about his every word and action. And she didn’t want him living that way, afraid of being himself around her because he was worried about how she’d react.

  Her breaths were shallow, so she took another deep breath, squared her shoulders, and dove in.

  “I was young. Nineteen. I worked at a filling station at night and attended school during the day. Nicolas was nine years older than me. He started coming around more and more to buy fuel and get coffee. He didn’t look like the boys I usually went out with. Didn’t act like them either. He looked like a businessman with his gray trench coat and fancy Italian shoes.” She paused as she recalled how he’d smelled like fancy cologne. “He’d take me out on expensive dates, and I thought he was the most perfect man I’d ever met.”

  A lone tear escaped her eye.

  Clay squeezed her hands and said, “You’re so brave. You took control of your life. You left.”

  She gasped and met his stormy blue eyes. “I d
idn’t leave, I escaped, and there’s a difference.”

  He rubbed circles into the palms of her hands, calming her, encouraging her to continue.

  “I didn’t have my parents’ support, and I was struggling a little. Nicolas recognized that and started to help me financially. At first I resisted, but he kept coming around. He knew I was taking classes, and he bought me a laptop. I didn’t want to accept it, but he left it at the store and one of the other attendants opened it and showed me the screen. It had pictures of me at the station. He’d captured me concentrating, laughing, yawning, serious, angry, and even bored. The photos would cycle through the home screen and I’d stare, wondering why the crazy man had taken candid photos. On the last image he’d written, If you’d go out with me, I could do so much more.” He was determined and wasn’t at all deterred by my indifference. It only made his pursuit stronger. At first I thought it was kind of intense and creepy but he seemed genuine and honest.” She looked down at her hands. “I’ve learned to read people a lot better since then.”

  She cleared her throat and waited for Clay’s reaction. He was so engrossed in what she was telling him, he didn’t seem to be breathing as his blue gaze bored into her.

  “We started dating. He was attentive, tender, solicitous, caring. We dated for five months. I thought it would always be that way. I guess that’s what hurts most. I have memories of that time, and I’ll always wonder if there was something I did that turned him into a monster, that turned his love for me into hate.”

  Clay stroked her head, smoothing one hand over her hair. “You didn’t do anything. Evil people use fear to control others. He probably used that strategy on other people too.”

  “He does.” Eve’s eyes became unfocused as she recalled the memories. “He proposed, I accepted, and we were married. The honeymoon was wonderful—he acted the same way he had when we were dating. Then things started to change. Only slowly at first. He wanted me to quit my job so I could be home at night. And that made sense.” Eve shrugged. “His home was very beautiful, opulent even. He liked things a certain way, and I understood that, but I wasn’t ready to be part of his world. I needed to learn how to socialize and stand by him at all the many functions people like him attend—fancy dinners, business meetings, parties, arts events. I hadn’t known about that part of his life, and we’d never done any of those things when we dated. I’d grown up in the country, we didn’t have much money, and I sure didn’t know how to be sophisticated. At the first social event I went to, he introduced me to his acquaintances and when someone made a joke about our ages, I laughed it off. I was just being myself. He squeezed my hand so hard it fractured. I didn’t realize it until the next morning when it had bruised and swelled. But later that same night, Jude, the man who had made the joke, came back and started regaling me with Nicolas’s successes. The whole talk was about Nicolas.”