Chapter 8
The path meanderedthrough ancient oak and ash. Past tall trunks, reaching leaves, and sunlight dappling along the sandy path. But even as the massive trees stretched for the blue sky and sunshine, Ellie was caught in the dim green shadows at their feet.
She could hardly remember the end of the conversation with her father. All she knew was her desperate need for Steven to leave and go to whatever important meeting he had planned for that day. To just go away and let Ellie process the loss of her fantasy alone.
She had seen the moment Jon realized Steven couldn’t see him. Watched as his expression turned from irate and protective to grim and bleak, and finally settled on blankly stoic. And then she’d watched him walk away. A few minutes later, she’d seen him through the window as he stalked across the deck and leaned against the railing, looking out at the garden and the wood beyond. All while her father continued talking without noticing him at all. Without seeing him. At all.
The end of the conversation was a blur. She had no idea what Steven had said, other than how annoyed he was that Ellie wasn’t listening. But Ellie didn’t care; she wanted Steven to leave, and thank God he finally muttered something about the time and did.
Ellie had closed the door on her father and then stalled. The empty mirror in the hallway glared back at her, taunting her while the house closed in on her. It was too uncomfortable. Too airless. Or perhaps that was her lungs, because the familiar rooms were too big and empty without Jon. She’d had to get out.
She left him brooding on the deck. She had no idea what to say to him, and before she even tried to find the right words, she needed to get her spinning emotions under control.
She pulled on a pair of boots, let herself out her back door, and strode through her vegetable garden and across her lawn to the wrought iron gate, half hidden in the overgrown hedge. From there the forest spread out in front of her, offering a choice of paths to escape down.
It had seemed like the respite she needed. But now, hours later, walking in a slow spiral back toward her cottage, she was alone with her thoughts. And she didn’t like any of them.
For as long as she could remember, she’d solved her problems by working harder. Practicing and perfecting until she was certain of success. Always doing more. Giving more. Making sure everyone around her had everything they needed before she could rest.
But now she was starting to wonder if her rest would ever come. All her hard work hadn’t saved her from getting hurt. And the one thing she wanted for herself wasn’t even real.
“Ellie.” Jon’s gruff voice called from behind her, breaking into her thoughts, and she stopped walking. She hung her head, refusing to look at him. Refusing to take part in this… whatever this was.
“Ellie!” He was right behind her now, but she still didn’t look.
“I know you can hear me.”
If his words had been angry or threatening she could have walked away. But he sounded tired and a little unsure.
And she wanted to see him.
She turned, lifting her head, and he was there. He looked like he sounded: wary. With dark rings under his eyes, his beard even more scruffy over his clenched jaw. But he also looked… perfect. Like the man who’d stood up to challenge her father for her. Who’d sat at the foot of her bed and listened to her dreams. Whose eyes sought hers again and again. Whose heavy arms and tantalizing ink she’d longed to run her fingers over. Who she honestly knew nothing about.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.
“Like what?”
“Like you can’t decide whether to walk away.”
“I should walk away.” A loose lock of hair blew into her face, and she swiped it out of her eyes.
He stalked closer. “You shouldn’t walk Ellie, you should run.” He gestured roughly toward himself. “I might disappear at any moment to who the fuck knows where. What can I offer you except grief?”
A tendril of rage unfurled and she crossed her arms, glaring up at him. “Is that a threat?”
He leaned over her. All heavy muscles and frustration. “It can’t be a threat if I’m not real, can it?”
She barked out an incredulous laugh. “You’re insulted? Because I’m questioning my sanity? That’s”—she stabbed toward his chest with one finger, not quite letting it land—“gah. I don’t even know what that is.”
He let out a long, agitated breath. “I’m real. I told you already.”
“Of course you told me,” Ellie snapped. “I invented you. You’re in my head.”
Jon growled. “I told you. Me.”
She shook her head but didn’t speak the denial. The bleak look of misery he’d quickly suppressed earlier was too painful to risk. She couldn’t bear to be the one who brought it back. Who was she to refute his very existence?
He leaned closer. Close enough for her to see the ticking muscles in his jaw. The flecks of azure in the ocean blue of his eyes. “I. Am. Real.”
She tilted her chin up, looking him in the eye. “Then prove it to me. Show me that you’re not just a creation of my own short-circuiting brain. Because God knows, you’re exactly what I would have imagined.”
He grunted, pausing to watch her. “I’m what you would have imagined?”
She wasn’t backing down now. “Clearly. Since—” She waved her hand in the narrow space between them, showing that his very presence proved her point.
“And you need proof?” he asked, resuming his approach.
“Yes.”
“Fine.” He dropped his hands to her hips and crowded her backward, guiding her over the rutted path until her back hit a tree and she gasped.
She was caught. Trapped. Adrenaline and anger swirled through her. And maybe she would have pushed him away, but as his face came toward hers, a new riot of emotions crowded through his eyes. Want, need, and heat rose with every ragged breath he took. And an answering desire spiraled through her.
His mouth was almost on hers, the air between them shared and hot. But he held himself just millimeters away, his eyes locked on hers.
He held himself still for so long that she thought he might back down. Or—worse—fade away. And suddenly she couldn’t bear the thought that he could slip so easily from her grasp.
She lifted her chin and rose onto her toes, closing the gap, pressing her mouth against his. And her movement unlocked him.
He took her lips. Slowly at first, just sips. As if he was tasting her. As if he needed proof that she was real.
She slid her hands up, over his broad shoulders, to his nape, pulling him closer. He grunted, taking more, and their kiss grew hotter. His grip on her hips grew tighter. He grew hotter. The cool touch of his skin warmed against hers.
God. He felt real. He felt hard and heavy. His lips were firm and insistent against hers. His hair was soft where she threaded her fingers through it. He smelled of the earthy pines and sun-warmed leaves that surrounded them, with a salty, male base note that was entirely his.
She pushed even closer, needing to be pressed tight against him, giving in to the overwhelming desire to climb up his body and hold him bound against her. He dropped his hands to her outer thighs and hoisted her up higher, pressing her into the tree, pinning her with his weight. Her curves fitted into his body as if he had been made to hold her there, his thick bulk between her legs.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him even closer. Ignoring the ache in her ribs. The rest of her ached more.
She could feel his length even through their jeans as their kiss grew more desperate. More ferocious. Full of nipping teeth and sliding tongues and wet heat. Her hands were in his hair, his fingers gripped her thighs, tilting her to just the right angle as he rocked against her, driving her higher as she squirmed against him, needing more. Needing skin. “Jon,” she whispered, “God. I need?—”
“It’s Josh,” he muttered.
They both froze, their rough breathing too loud in her ears. She pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. “What did you say?”
“It’s Josh.” He let out a slow breath. And then his eyes crinkled slowly as he almost—but not quite—smiled. “I remembered.”