Chapter 5
I blink for a solid minute, practically blinded by the sudden onslaught against my eyes. Finally, they adjust.
But the damage has been done. I feel like I've been under some kind of spell this whole time, cast by the sexual tension simmering in this room and the dim, romantic, flickering light. As a harsh set of overhead bulbs come on, though, everything is thrown into stark relief.
Jesus, these guys looked good under candle light, but now that I can see better, they're practically perfect. Adam's eyes are greener, Sergio's hair more gleaming and his scars more pronounced. Tendons and veins stand out on Deandre's forearms.
And then there's Jax, to whom the years have been good. He's unfairly chiseled as he stands on the opposite side of the room, literally as far away from me as he can get while still being part of this meal. And that feels symbolic to me.
I am interrupting something here. I'm upsetting a dynamic.
And I no longer have any reason to stay.
I glance at my watch and wince. "Wow, it got late." In response to the murmurs of agreement from around me, I look up. I don't want to say this, but I have to. "Sorry. I should be going. The power's probably back at my place, too, and—"
"Like hell," Jax of all people says.
I snap my head up. "Excuse me—"
"Stay," Cayden says, smoothing over Jax's edges the way he's always done.
"But…"
Cayden shakes his head. "Don't try to argue. I don't care if the power's back on. I don't like you being there all alone."
"I'll be fine."
"But you'll be more fine here." He reaches out a hand and places it over mine. Heat flares up my arm. "Please. I'll drive you back if you want, but you should stay."
"You're welcome as long as you like," Deandre insists. "We got plenty. Plenty of food. Plenty of space."
"Oh."
Heads all around the room nod in agreement. Sergio is silent, but his gaze speaks volumes.
Adam chimes in with, "You don't want to miss my homemade muffins in the morning, do you?"
"You really don't," Cayden supplies.
Still, I hem and haw. "I don't want to put you out."
Cayden squeezes my hand. "You wouldn't be. Promise."
"Stay," Jax says. And then just because he can't say anything nice without saying something dickish, he adds, "Otherwise this asshole"—he points his spoon at Cayden—"is just going to be moaning about how worried he is all night, and none of us wants to put up with that shit."
Cayden groans, and Sergio throws a wadded up napkin at him, but I laugh. A couple of hours ago, Cayden was mostly a fond memory, a boy I used to know. The idea that he'd be fretting about me warms something in my chest.
And apparently he wouldn't be the only one.
"Don't make us worry about you, girlie," Deandre says, and it's an echo of what Cayden said earlier tonight as he was coaxing me to come with them. It's a guilt trip, is what it is.
And damn them all, it's working.
Really, it's not as if I want to go back to my grandmother's old, creaky, drafty mountain home.
Especially not when it's so warm and inviting here.
And if there are fringe benefits—like the eye candy and the casual touches from beautiful, unobtainable men, well…
You can't really fault a girl for taking advantage of something like that, can you?
As if the universe itself is trying to tell me something, at just that moment, I yawn. I can't quite stifle it, either.
"See?" Cayden strokes his thumb over my knuckles. "You're dead on your feet. Stay the night, at least."
At least? What is he trying to imply?
I'm too tired to argue any more, though. We can continue this discussion in the morning. "Fine, fine."
"Good." Cayden glances at my empty bowl. "You done?"
I nod.
"Let me show you to your room, then."
Setting the blanket aside, I let him haul me to my feet. He scoops up my bag, and I'm grateful all over again that I left my vibrator at home, because the flap falls open. An assortment of things falls out. I packed hastily, so it's a mishmash of stuff—shampoo and sweatpants.
Skimpy lace panties and a matching, barely-there bra.
My face heats. I duck down to reach for them, but Cayden beats me.
The sheer fabric looks even flimsier when it's gripped in his big, work-worn hands.
He's gentle with them, though. The image of him peeling the panties off my body assaults me.
Would he be that delicate then? Or would he tear the lace in his rush to get at hungry flesh?
Blushing hotter, I take the stupid things from him and shove them back into my bag.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"Don't be." His voice stops me in my tracks. It practically drips with heat, and I feel a wash of it hum through my body. I meet his gaze, and my breasts ache with wanting. I clench down inside, only it does nothing to ease the need.
"Come on." I drop my gaze, hoping he'll just lead me from this room.
My fog of desire is even worse than it was back in the truck, sandwiched between Cayden and Jax's big, muscular frames. I'm not thinking straight. I have to get myself behind a locked door and get myself off before my lust-addled brain really lands me in hot water.
He takes mercy, thank God, leading me out.
I skirt past Deandre, who gives me a reassuring, lingering pat on the shoulder as I pass.
Sergio just nods, while Adam tries a smile.
I refuse to so much as meet Jax's gaze, but I feel him like he has his own gravity. Like he's as big and as hot as the sun.
I heave out a breath as we turn the corner. I'm trying to be subtle about my relief, but I don't do so great of a job.
Cayden shoots me a concerned look. "Sorry, I know those guys can be a little much."
"No. It's not that. They're nice." I shake my head. "Well, except Jax, he's still an asshole, but…"
Cayden laughs. "You two are still like oil and water, huh?"
"Maybe oil and kerosene…" I don't know what it is about him, but he sets me off every time. Gets under my skin—and not in a good way. At least not for the most part…
"Jax aside, though. You seemed really tense in there."
"It wasn't the guys." I shrug. "It's just…everything. You know?"
"I can imagine." With a sympathetic look, he wraps his arm around me. "You've had a rough time of it."
"You don't even know…" Out of nowhere, my eyes sting, my vision blurring.
He knows about my grandmother and my father having to go back to work. But he doesn't know the rest. The pieces of my life I'm going to have to face again eventually.
The mess with my ex, Richard, and my disenchantment with my job. My missing muse and my stagnant aspirations.
All the things I'm hiding from, up here on Lonely Peak.
"You want to tell me about it?"
For a second, I consider it, but I'm an exhausted mess, and this is Cayden Tucker holding me as he guides me down the hall of his childhood home. So many pre-teen fantasies are close enough to taste. I don't want to mess them up by crying all over him, or letting too much spill out.
I shake my head and blink until my vision clears. "Not really. Nothing personal…"
"It's okay. I mean, we haven't seen each other in years."
"Decades."
We've seen each other. But we haven't been close since we were fourteen.
We're picking right back up where we left off, though, it seems, only with a lot more touching. A lot more of him running out into a storm to rescue me and dragging me home to this old house he shares with four other guys…
Okay, so my pre-teen fantasies didn't include much of that. But I'm going with it.
I sigh and lean into him. "Maybe some other time?"
"Only if you want to." He leans in to kiss the top of my head, and I just about swoon.
Only then he's stopping. Letting go, he pushes open a door, revealing a small room with a twin bed on a metal frame.
"I know it's not much," he hedges.
I step forward and move to sit on the edge of the bed. For all that the frame isn't much to look at, the thing is sturdy. The mattress hits that sweet spot between firm and soft, and the cozy down comforter spread across it begs me to burrow.
"It's fine. A hell of a lot better than my grandma's house."
Oops. I didn't mean to let that part slip out. I'm still planning to leave tomorrow. I don't need Cayden getting any ideas that I'm not living in comfort over there.
He furrows his brow. "That place is falling down."
Ugh, maybe I'm not giving him any ideas because he already knows.
"It's not so bad…"
"It is, and you know it."
"It just needs a little work."
"More work than you can put in by yourself."
"Hey. I'm handier than I look."
He shakes his head. "More work than anyone could put in by themselves. Look—I'm not Jax. I'm not doubting your capability."
"Then what are you doubting?"
His jaw flexes, and he reaches up, running a hand through his sandy hair. Finally, he lands on, "If you really need to live like that while you're fixing it up. If you're too stubborn to accept an offer of help."
Oh. So that's where we're going with this. "You don't have to—"
"I know I don't. But I liked Miriam." His throat bobs. "I like you. I'd like to help the both of you out, if you'll let me."
His just saying my grandmother's name makes the fatigue in my bones grow. I sigh and worry the strap of my bag between my fingers. "Look. Can we talk about it tomorrow?"
To his credit, he backs off immediately. "Of course."
"I just—"
"Like I said. You don't have to explain."
It's like a weight lifting off my chest. "Thank you."
"No problem. Look. I've been talking your ear off—
"No." It hasn't felt like that at all.
"We brought you here so you'd be safe. So you could rest."
"You rescued me from a creaky, cold, dark house and fed me stew and gave me a room. You're doing a pretty great job."
"We're trying." He flashes me that same smile that used to make my heart melt back when we were in middle school. He looks around the room. "You have everything you need?"
I nod. I remember the layout of this big, rambling house well enough from our childhood. "Bathroom's still around the corner?"