14 Leo No One Does It Better—You Me At Six
Leo
No One Does It Better—You Me At Six
Hiking back from work should give me the chance to clear my thoughts, but I’m still flying at half mast when the cottage’s smoking chimney comes into view. All I’ve thought about while planning this year’s event schedule is Eden with her head thrown back in ecstasy the other night.
“Shit,” I groan, almost tripping on a tree root.
Discovering one of my closest friends with his tongue in her mouth should provoke a different reaction. Perhaps if it were anyone else, it would. But when it comes to Fletcher and Sterling, lines are a little more blurred.
I want my guys to be happy. Seeing Fletcher like that was a shock, but not an unwelcome one. I’m used to waking up to the sound of him smashing shit or fighting an invisible enemy tangled up in his duvet.
Plus . . . Eden’s rock-hard nipples, straining against the T-shirt I added to her pile of borrowed clothing?
Yeah. That’s good enough for me.
As much as I would’ve enjoyed being the one to make her feel like that, I’m satisfied by the knowledge she was enjoying herself. Fletch too. It doesn’t change my feelings or my intentions, but for now . . . well, Hawkthorpe hides many a secret. Including those damn blurred lines.
Fuck, the way she looked in my shirt . . .
Somewhere along the way, my curiosity and concern for Eden have morphed into something else. I knew the minute I captured her mouth that one taste will never be enough. Not with her.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a desire to take something for myself, but with her, I want everything and more. Thoughts I haven’t dared to entertain for the last few years are suddenly at the forefront of my mind, and I’m determined to do whatever it takes to keep her in our home.
“Hey!” I loudly stomp inside, shucking off my gilet. “Anyone here?”
Loud rock music blasts from the kitchen, creating a tinny echo. Shoes toed off, I enter to find Fletcher tinkering with some hinges at the table, surrounded by scattered tools and dried paint scrapings.
“You know it’s possible to replace doors, right?”
His lip curls in disgust. Hm, wrong thing to say.
“Alright, alright. I know you’re Mr. Restoration and all that. Just saying in case you were bored of soaking ancient paint off old hunks of metal.”
The look he pauses his task to fire at me is acidic.
“Or not,” I deadpan.
Hands spread, I duck around him before the asshole can thump me in the face. He’s been no different since I walked in on his little morning delight, so I think it’s safe to say we’re on the same page. Or he just doesn’t care.
“Eden still clearing those files?”
Nodding, Fletcher points towards the narrow corridor that leads to the back of the cottage where Eden’s box room is tucked away. I salute him with the middle finger, then escape the headache-inducing music he listens to while in project mode.
Approaching her room, dread pools in my gut. Cassidy called a few hours ago. Hearing that Andy has been released pending further investigation after police failed to tie him to the arson was a bitter pill to swallow.
I sent Sterling there to take over damage control and started plotting how to break the news to Eden. The investigation is ongoing, but I’m sure this news will reignite wounds that have barely scabbed over since the fire.
“Eden? You in?” I tap on her closed door.
Nothing.
“Hello?”
Knocking again, I bounce on the balls of my feet like an anxious teenager. Shit, I shouldn’t be so nervous to see her. Some days, she’s the only thing that makes me smile. I spend my hours praying for the clock to move faster so I can track her down and make her laugh.
“Hey, Eden?”
“Crap!” Her distant voice echoes. “Sorry, sorry. I’m here.”
“Um, is this a bad time?”
“Come in! Just be careful!”
Inching the door open, I almost walk face first into a wobbly stack of cardboard boxes. Somewhere behind it, Eden curses again, a hand appearing to steady the top box from falling off.
“If you don’t want to be crushed by three years’ worth of paperwork, move slowly to the left,” she instructs.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Trying to get a handle on the disaster Sterling has given me to sort out.”
“Right. It’s going well, I take it.”
“Yeah,” she drawls. “Amazing.”
Clicking the door shut, I carefully creep around the Leaning Tower of Pisa that’s taken up residence in her room. To be honest, this is a raw deal. Sure, she has a place to stay. But Sterling’s notoriously disorganised and hasn’t kept clean books since the day he set up shop.
“Do you need a hand?” I search the room, unable to even see her bed. “This place is a mess.”
“I thought it would be easier to empty everything and start from the beginning,” her disembodied voice replies.
“Huh. Interesting tactic.”
“Doesn’t that man know how to use a computer? There’s literal software that would handle all this for him. We’re not living in the nineties anymore.”
“Evidently, Sterling is.” I snort in amusement.
“I don’t know how he manages a full-time business.”
“On a wing and a prayer?”
Muttering, there’s a thud of boxes being dumped, then Eden emerges from her paper prison. My heart surges into my throat. Slender, creamy legs peek out beneath the hem of a huge T-shirt that swallows her whole.
And . . . nothing else.
Lord, forgive me.
“Where are your clothes?” I bleat.
“Drying.” She shrugs, tugging the shirt lower. “It’s laundry day and I only own two outfits—both scraped together from donations.”
“Goddamn, woman. You’ve been walking around like that?”
“No one’s home.”
“Fletcher’s in the kitchen.”
Eden laughs under her breath. “Like he acknowledges anyone else’s existence when his nose is buried in a project. I asked if he wanted tea earlier and he didn’t even respond.”
“That’s . . . actually pretty accurate.”
This devious waif has us pegged already. Though she hasn’t mentioned my offer since their midnight rendezvous, Eden hasn’t run for the hills either. I believe our stowaway is more intrigued than she realises.
“Finished work?” She eyes my cargos and branded polo.
“Yep, we’re ready to open at the weekend.”
“Maybe I’ll get that tour after all.”
“By all means.” I flash a smile. “You can bagsy the first hike.”
“A private tour just for me? I’m honoured.”
“You should be. It isn’t a service I provide for everyone.”
The pink flush that graces her cheeks thrills me. She’s removed the adhesive bandage covering the deep gash on her cheek, letting the four neat, symmetrical stitches breathe.
Seeing them reminds me of the news I have to share, and I feel myself stiffen into a wooden board.
“Listen, I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Her whole demeanour tenses.
“I’m just gonna come out and say it.”
Eden visibly swallows. “Okay.”
“Andy’s been released without charge. Until they find any evidence that ties him to the crime scene, he’s a free man. He had an ironclad alibi, apparently.”
Watching that pink flush drain faster than water down a plug hole is up there with the shittiest of feelings. Her face turns almost translucent, hands wringing together.
“H-He didn’t do it?” she stammers.
“I didn’t say that, they just can’t charge him without evidence. With no DNA left or any incriminating evidence at his place, not to mention whoever is vouching for him, the time frame to hold him without charge elapsed.”
“But . . . You said! It has to be him!”
“Eden, I need you to take a breath for me. It’s going to be okay.”
“Okay?” Her voice reaches a screech. “He could’ve killed me! Or Cass . . . or anyone else left behind in the pub. How is he just allowed to walk free?”
Licking my lips, I inch around upended boxes and haphazard paperwork to comfort her. I’m sure Sterling’s having a similarly crap time at Cassidy’s place, but somehow, I reckon I drew the short straw. Seeing Eden so afraid isn’t pleasant.
“You’re with us now,” I reassure calmly. “No one is going to hurt you in this house or anywhere else for that matter.”
“What about Cass? Her family?”
“Cassidy is safe. Sterling’s gone over there to check in with her. We’re going to figure this out, alright?”
“But if it wasn’t him, then . . .”
She looks ready to keel over from the force of a powerful shiver. There it is again. The phantom that drapes itself over her when she thinks no one is looking, hinting at a whole other world hidden behind her careful act.
Eden becomes pliable in my arms when I wrap her in a hug. My chin rests atop her head, allowing the concoction of vanilla and jasmine to seep into me.
“That’s it. Deep breaths.”
“I was ready to leave town,” she admits faintly. “I ignored that scared voice and look what happened.”
“Bad shit happens everywhere, Eden.”
“But I knew it wasn’t safe to stay. I should’ve left.”
“And gone where?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere. Somewhere I can’t be found.”
Rubbing her spine, I nuzzle the side of her head. “You can’t run forever. Not from the past.”
“Leo . . .”
“No,” I cut her off. “Don’t give me that crap. All we want is for you to let us in so we can help—don’t you get that?”
“You can’t help,” she sniffles. “Not with this.”
“Tell me what you’re running from. Let me in.”
Fisting my work shirt, she presses her forehead into my chest like she can burrow inside me with enough willpower.
“If you knew . . . you’d never look at me the same way again,” Eden whispers. “I can’t want to stick around long enough to see you hate me.”
Peeling her from my torso, I stare down into her eyes so she can’t mistake my words.
“I could never hate you. Not for a second.”
“You don’t know everything, Leo.”
“I don’t need to,” I insist without hesitation. “I know how I feel about the woman standing in front of me. And I know what I want from her.”
“What if the woman in front of you isn’t real?” Her lip wobbles, barely holding back a sob that’ll surely wreck me.
Brushing chin-length locks from her face, I cup both cheeks to hold her in place, avoiding the still-fresh stitches. Her eyes shift from rich chocolate to vivid green, a hazel ocean writhing under stormy skies.
“Does this feel real to you?” My mouth teases hers.