Chapter 6
I wake up feeling like crap.
Rolling over, I tug the covers over my head and pretend for just a second that I can stay hidden here forever. Funny how Cayden supposedly brought me here so I could be safe and get some rest, but I couldn't sleep to save my life.
After the little show I may or may not have given them last night, touching myself to the fantasy of getting fucked by each of them in turn, I hid out for the longest time, scarcely daring to breathe.
The voices of all those men were muffled but audible.
They must have been able to hear. They must have.
Eventually, I'd tucked my tail between my legs and wandered out to wash up for bed.
I hadn't run into any of them, thank God, but I'd felt paranoid about the possibility all the same.
Exhausted as I was, I'd tucked myself in and then proceeded to stare at the ceiling for half the night, worrying and fretting.
I must have drifted off at some point, because it's arguably morning now.
With a sigh, I roll out of bed and pad over to the window. Early pre-dawn light seeps over the horizon. The rain has eased up, reduced to a misting drizzle—or maybe a light snow? It's always colder up here on the mountain, but seriously? Snow?
I shake my head and let the shades fall back into place.
I had a good dinner last night, but my stomach growls, and I'm in desperate need of coffee.
I bite my lip. Maybe if I sneak downstairs now, at this ungodly hour, I'll be able to help myself to something without running into any of the guys.
Unless I want to walk a mile uphill in the spitting, freezing rain, I'll need one of them to drive me back to my grandmother's house.
But that's a debate that can wait until after I get some caffeine.
Just in case I do run into anyone, I make myself at least sort of decent, pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a fleece. I poke my head through the door and find no one there, so I risk it.
The house is eerily quiet as I make my way to the kitchen, especially after all the warmth and activity that filled it last night. For a second, I think I've made it through scott free, that I can avoid looking any of them in the eye for a few more hours.
Except then, as I round the corner toward the kitchen, I hear it. Quiet humming and the clink of metal on ceramic.
Oh, no.
Adam is standing there at the counter, a big green bowl tucked in the crook of his arm and a whisk in his hand. He's dressed in a white T-shirt that shows off his toned arms. His reddish hair is damp, presumably from a shower, and unlike the other bearded wonders who live here, he's clean shaven.
And I really, really don't want to face him right now.
I shift my weight, but before I can turn around and go back, a floorboard squeaks beneath my feet, and I wince. Sure enough, Adam snaps his head up. Bracing myself, I try to turn my wince into a smile.
I'm not exactly sure what I'm expecting, if he actually did hear me last night—teasing? Mockery? For him to call me a slut and offer me the chance to suck his cock right there by the island if I really want it so bad.
But there's none of that. He lights up. "Haley. Good morning! I didn't expect to see you up so early."
I'm turned around by his totally normal greeting, but I shake it off. Still wary, I tuck my hair behind my ear and shrug. "Couldn't sleep."
"Sorry. Was it the room—were we too loud?"
Pretty sure I was the one who was too loud. But I shake my head. "No, just—strange place, and a lot on my mind, you know?"
His smile twists, but his frown is soft and sympathetic. "Yeah." He sets down the bowl. "Hold up one second, okay?"
I nod. He gives the bowl one more stir, then sets it aside and covers it with a towel—bread he's allowing to rise, maybe? With that done, he dusts himself off and turns to the cupboard. Two coffee mugs seem to materialize out of thin air. He holds one up in question.
"Yes, please."
He fills it and passes it over, directing me to the cream and sugar while he pours his own. Then he grabs a basket and gestures with his head toward the other end of the room.
I follow him to the back of the house and a four season room.
It's chilly as hell, but the bank of floor to ceiling windows lining two walls makes it worth it.
He indicates a spot on a sofa that's turned to face the windows, and I sit, clutching my coffee close.
I take a sip, and it's like I can actually feel the life-giving caffeine seeping into my bloodstream.
"Here." He tosses one end of a heavy blanket at me.
I start to drape it over my lap, but before I can get very far with that, he sits beside me and repositions it, wrapping it over our shoulders.
It's big enough that the ends cover our laps.
It's warm and cocoon-like, and the best—and worst part—is that sharing it with him like this means sitting snugged up together.
His side presses to mine. Our thighs touch.
And I'm not as desperately horny as I was last night, but he smells delicious.
His heat and his leanly muscled frame feel heavenly against me.
My head swims to feel him so close. I sway, wanting to lean even further into him, but I manage to keep myself under control.
Gripping my coffee mug tighter, I take another sip, holding onto the ceramic as if it were a lifeline.
Adam reaches over to the basket he set down on the table and flips aside the cloth that had been covering it. It's filled with fresh muffins—blueberry, if I'm not mistaken. He grabs one and holds another one out to me to take.
"Thanks." I have to set my coffee down to tear into the muffin, but it's worth it. The thing is still warm. A blueberry pops in my mouth, and my eyes flutter shut. "Mmm. This is really good."
"Glad you like it."
"You made these?"
"Yup. Secret recipe."
"I might have to try to weasel it out of you."
A sly smile twists his lips. "Good luck trying."
I wonder what it would take. If he trades baked goods for sexual favors, for example…
I mentally shake my head at myself and pop another bite into my mouth. "So is that what you do around here? Cook?"
"Among other things. I'm kind of the house elf. Cooking, cleaning. I keep the books, too, and manage the website. I mean, I do some stuff out in the mill, but only in a pinch."
That makes sense. He looks strong and plenty capable, but he doesn't quite have the same ruggedness to him that the other guys do. His hands last night were soft.
I get lost looking at them for a moment as they peel the paper back from his breakfast treat.
His fingers are long and unscarred. They look like piano player hands.
Like the kinds of hands that could play me , if they wanted to.
Hands design to pinch and pluck at tight nipples or thrust deep into a hungry pussy.
Fingers that would know their way right to a woman's clit, that would know all the right places to hit.
I shiver, a trembling warmth spreading from that achy, damp place between my legs.
He misinterprets it, though. "Cold?"
"No, I'm fine—" But before I can really protest, he's wrapping the blanket around us tighter, and that makes it so much better and so much worse. "Oh."
"You'll warm up in a second."
Believe me, I'm feeling plenty warm, now.
We sit there in companionable silence for a few minutes, snacking on muffins and sipping perfectly brewed coffee. Through the pane glass, the sun is rising over the valley below. The clouds part, and a ray of light shines through, casting the landscape in brilliant shades of gold.
"Wow."
Adam chuckles fondly. "Makes the chill worth it, huh? This is my favorite place to have breakfast every morning. I'm usually up before the rest of the guys, so I get stuff cooking, then come out here with my coffee and maybe something to eat and just watch the sun come up alone."
"It's beautiful."
"Yeah. It is."
There's something in his voice. I shift, turning to find him looking less out the window and more at me.
Oh. Electricity crackles in the space between us. I'm pretty sure he just called me beautiful. I feel like a nightmare, dressed in workout clothes, my hair swept up in a messy ponytail, no make-up or anything. I wasn't expecting to run into anyone.
After my charged evening with Cayden, I sure as hell wasn't expecting this .
But it feels right. Comfortable. Kind of like when Deandre told me what to do last night, there's no burden of expectation here. Adam doesn't really know me, and our lack of history makes it easy to just sit here together, sharing coffee and a gorgeous view and a moment of connection.
And if there's heat in his gaze and a sticky-slow buzz of arousal in my body, well…
He drops his gaze. His pale, long lashes sweep across his cheeks, casting shadows there, and he's so beautiful I could paint him. Maybe, someday, I will.
Then he stares into my eyes again, and it's incredibly intimate. Soft, hushed, he says, "I really am sorry, Haley. About your grandmother."
Oh. That's…not where I expected this to be going. But somehow, the way he brings it up doesn't rip open the hole of grief in my heart. Real sympathy shines in his eyes.
"Thank you," I manage. Normally, I would spit out some platitude about how she's at peace now. She's not in pain anymore. I'm okay. But none of those come to my lips now. He's still gazing at me so intently. I have to look away.
I stare off into that brilliant sunrise, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder with a terribly kind stranger. I bite my lip.
"It's been really hard," I admit, and out of nowhere, my vision blurs. The crisp landscape laid out before us becomes a soft watercolor.
Because my grandmother would have loved this view.
She was an artist in her own right. She loved sketching and painting the nature on this mountain, and I suddenly regret not getting back here more often.
She talked about adding on to the old house, maybe building a porch.
If I'd been a better granddaughter to her, I could have come back some summer and built that for her—or found someone to do it, in any case.
If we'd caught the cancer earlier, she could have been here, enjoying the view right alongside me.
As if he knows the gulf of pain opening up inside me, Adam reaches out and takes my mug from my trembling hands.
He sets it aside, then intertwines our fingers, and it doesn't matter that he's the least burly guy in this house.
He has a gentle, quiet strength to him. With the power of his steady touch, he pulls me back to shore.
"Of course it's hard," he murmurs. "It's only been a week."
"I feel like I've been losing her for a year."
That's how much time we had after her diagnosis before she finally succumbed. I could have used it better. Could have, should have, would have. None of it makes a difference now.
"It'll get easier," he promises. "It just takes time. And a lot of ice cream?" He ducks his head at that, smiling into the face of my pain, and it helps. It really does.
Laughing, I tug one of my hands back and swipe the back of my wrist over my eyes. It comes away damp but not soaked. My vision is clearer already, my heart lighter.
It just felt so good to admit that I was struggling. To not have to pretend to be fine.
"Sorry," I sniffle. "Didn't mean to get all weepy on you."
"I'm honored that you did. You've got to let it out sometimes, you know?"
I nod, then rub my eyes again. I look back to him, and the golden light of the sunrise reflects off his features, making them brighter. His hair glows a coppery red. And his expression is so soft.
"How do you know the right thing to say?" I ask.
Because there's something there. Something that goes deeper than the way he clearly takes care of everyone in this house. The way he instantly, automatically inserted himself into my day and swept me away. The way he's taking care of me right now.
His sad smile is all the answer I need.
But he offers me another one anyway. "I've lost things, too. A lot of things." He gestures around himself. "We all have. I mean, there has to be something going on in your life to want to give it all up and come live in the wilderness on the top of a mountain, right?"
My grandmother said that kind of thing all the time. Maybe she was right.
I have so many questions about the guys he lives with and their arrangement here, but for the moment I stay focused. "Can I ask? What you lost?"
"Sure." He keeps hold of my hands but directs his gaze off into the distance. "Everyone. Everything. My parents first. Car accident, so I got sent to live with my grandma, only…"
Oh, hell.
"Only…?" I prompt, even though I feel like I have a pretty good idea where this is going to go.
"She got real sick. When she died, I was still in school, but I was over eighteen. There wasn't any place in the system for me. I was homeless for a while, living in shelters, trying to get my degree."
It's my turn now to crush his hands between my own.
"Adam…"
"It's okay. It's been a long while." One corner of his mouth flickers up, but it's a ghost of a smile. "Part of how I can say with confidence that time really does make it better."
"But it never goes away, does it?"
"No. No, it does not."
"What made it better for you?"
His voice, which had been wavering, solidifies.
"The army. On a whole lot of levels. Having something to fight for.
These guys, for sure. Don't know where I'd be without them.
And other things, too. Finding some purpose.
Someplace to call home." A sharper focus returns to his gaze.
He slowly turns his head, and his warm green eyes settle on mine.
"Remembering to find some beauty in this world. Taking it where I can find it."
And we're suddenly so close I can taste him.
He darts his gaze between my eyes. It flickers toward my mouth, and I can't breathe.
This man is beautiful and kind, and he's let me release some of the words that have been holding me down. He's fed me up and warmed me, and now he's looking at me as if I'm the most precious thing he's ever seen in this world.
So when he leans in, I don't resist. His eyes hold a question.
With the tiniest of nods, I say yes.