6. Eden
Eden
Beautiful men make your brain fuzzy.
Thinking is important.
Abort !
W hen I wake, it’s slow and reluctant. I’m surrounded by clouds, white and fluffy and warm. I blink and let myself adjust. A bed. I’m in a real, actual bed. As I shift to look for my glasses, the sheets slip silkily over my skin.
My bare skin.
I freeze, then throw back the covers. I’m still in my long button-down blouse, but my filthy pants are missing. My cheeks heat.
Crap . Which of them undressed me?
Feeling around, I find my glasses on the bedside table and put them back on. The room is large, surprisingly so. It makes me nervous. A big room means a big house, and a big house—one that looks like it’s in active use, anyway—is always a target.
In my sleep-muddled mind, though, I remember them telling me that their home is hidden from drones. How did they manage that? Some of my anxiety eases with the memory.
The room is all dark wood and deep, luxurious colors. There’s a bookcase and desk in the far corner of the room, and a small sitting area has been splendidly arranged on a lower section by a crackling fireplace.
God . This is stunning. The luxury feels almost profane after years of cave living.
Midnight blue blackout curtains run from the ceiling to the floor and sit half-open across the large windows. The bright light tells me it’s past midday. I must have slept for nearly twenty-four hours.
There’s a door to my left and, closing my eyes in a brief, hopeful prayer, I slide out of bed toward it. I moan in delight at the extravagant bathroom I find, complete with heated tiles, a shower big enough for a small elephant, and a standalone porcelain tub that begs me to soak.
After relieving myself—the toilet works — I wash my hands, though I keep my head down out of habit.
The mirror is large and demands my attention, but I don’t even want to know what I look like.
Not yet. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen myself as more than a blurry reflection in the lake, and I want to be clean before I reacquaint myself.
I’ve been living rough, with very little food, for too long.
I’ve never been a beauty, but I still dread seeing the damage this life has wreaked.
I notice a man’s large button-down shirt is draped on a hanger beside the sink and grimace.
Wearing their clothes feels odd, but it’s better than my own filthy, blood-stained outfit.
With a longing glance at the tub, I leave my glasses on the sink and limp to the shower.
I don’t know how long I slept, but I want to be out of the bathroom and dressed before they come looking for me.
I strip off quickly and turn the shower on, grinning at the heavy burst of water. Not having anything to replace my bandages with, I leave them on. Hopefully Beau will help me replace them later.
Stepping into the slick steam, I gasp as sizzling hot water splashes my skin, then laugh, the sound rusty and unfamiliar.
It takes several minutes to calm my excitement enough to investigate the amenities.
Perfumed shampoo and conditioner, luxurious body soaps, a brand-new razor, exfoliants. .. I sigh in pleasure.
The familiar hunger gnawing at my insides finally drives me from the steamy bliss.
I wonder if they have more cheese. Maybe even other food.
Real food. None of the men had exactly looked peaky.
All three were hard and strong and clearly healthy.
It takes a lot to maintain that kind of muscle mass.
I’ve been living off the fruit and vegetables I’d been able to grow in my garden, and the occasional fish or rabbit I managed to trap.
My attempts were getting better, but meat had nevertheless been scarce.
After towel drying my hair, I pull on the white silk shirt.
It’s long on me but still barely brushes mid-thigh.
There’s no fresh bra or underwear to be found, but I’m not about to put my soiled undergarments back on after finally getting clean.
It would probably be better to burn them.
I worry my lip between my teeth, feeling exposed.
Wonderful .
It’s hardly their fault, though , I reason nervously. They hadn’t been expecting company.
I pick my glasses up from the sink and, after a moment’s hesitation, rub the cloudy mist from the mirror.
Long dark-brown hair wetly snarls around a face so pale it’s almost translucent. The damp ends are doing obscene things to my white shirt, so I quickly twine the length up into a messy bun and secure it with my last hair tie, ruing the lack of a brush or comb to tame the mass.
The angles of my cheekbones and jaw stick out sharply, and I wince.
I’ve lost a lot of weight over the last few years—too much to be healthy.
My too-wide mouth now seems ridiculous to me.
I sigh. I’ve always prided myself on being neat and tidy, at least, but between my hair and clothes, I can’t even manage that.
Not that it matters, though, right? An internal voice taunts me. You’re here and you have the right parts, checklist done.
The thought twists my stomach.
On the bright side, I’m no longer lumpy and unfit. I can see the ad campaign now. Starve yourself skinny: the Apocalypse Diet .
Tossing a last, irritated look at my reflection, I stalk back to the bedroom—and right into a tall, warm wall of man. Strong arms steady me, and though I don’t recognize him, his scent—books, ink, and parchment—settles me instantly.
“ Easy .”
His voice is soft and controlled. I try to step back, but his grip, though gentle, is uncompromising.
After a moment, he murmurs, “ Look at me. I want to see your face.”
With a shiver, I look. In the flickering light of the fireplace, I make out a sulky, almost femininely curved mouth.
The second thing I realize is that this man is starkly, utterly beautiful.
His angular face has an underlying masculine strength to it that belies the thick eyelashes and sweet softness of his lips.
His eyes are darkly shadowed and fiercely intelligent as they study me. Small lines fan from the corners. Older than the other three, in his early forties perhaps, his steady maturity is both unnerving and comforting.
This is not a man to be trifled with—but his quiet authority is all the more vital and interesting to me because he doesn’t radiate raw strength. It’s in his obvious self-assurance. In how he radiates this inexplicable dual sense of threat and safety.
What I can’t explain is why that sends slow, heavy tendrils of heat licking through me.
His eyes gleam in the firelight as he takes in the damp, clinging shirt, lingering on my breasts.
He’s clad in an elegant pair of trousers and a similar silk button-down, and I wonder if the one I’m now wearing belongs to him.
Suddenly , the fact that I’m wearing someone else’s clothes doesn’t feel odd. I like it.
I like it a lot.
After a long moment, he nods, seeming to decide something.
A hand trails from my upper arm to my chin, and he brushes a thumb over my lips, tracing the sharp indent at the top.
The movement shivers through me, and I jerk my head back, feeling abruptly vulnerable and overwarm.
He lets me retreat, though something predatory moves in his gaze as I do.
A faint smile curves his lips, as though I did something interesting.
It isn’t like Lucky’s delighted grin, or Beau’s slow warmth. It’s restrained. Bitingly amused.
Uncomfortably flushed and unsure of what that gaze means, I look away.
“ I am Jasper Douglas . A pleasure to meet you, Eden ,” he says, soft and cultured. “ Please come with me. We have drinks ready in the gaming room, and I understand you are yet to meet Jaykob . I’d be pleased to introduce you.”
My stomach jolts. Just what I need, more men.
Jasper escorts me through the house, built entirely in rich dark wood and stone, with warm golden lighting.
I would have called it a log cabin had it not been so massive.
It drips luxury, decorated with artifacts and carpets and paintings so clearly expensive that the owner might as well have glued money up on the walls and have done with it.
I wonder if the Asian influences are Jasper’s doing.
Something about it calls to me. There’s a care and a warmth infused into the design that softens the obscene wealth.
Jasper leads me to an interior balcony at the end of the hall, which overlooks the sprawling lower level. Glowing lights dangle through the middle of the house from the high ceiling. An imperial staircase curls its grand, matching flights down to the first floor.
As we descend the left flight of stairs, I pause by an exquisite artwork.
It features three silhouettes under a vibrant cherry blossom tree, with some artful calligraphic characters in the corner that I think might be hangul.
I’m caught by the way the female silhouette is reaching for the young boy playing just out of her grasp.
The way the man has his hand tangled in the strands of her hair as he watches them both.
There’s something deeply warm and cozy in the silhouettes that makes my chest ache.
Jasper steps in behind me, and his breath stirs the small hairs on the back of my neck. “ It says ‘family is always in reach.’ Or near enough.”
A tiny chill accompanies the ache in my chest, and I turn away from the artwork.
“ A pretty thought,” I say with forced levity.
“ My mother was a sentimental woman.”
There’s a fondness in his tone that makes me glance up—and that may have been a mistake. Jasper is drinking me in, absorbing me with his gaze until I’m dizzy and floating inside it. I’m not sure there’s air, here in the ether of his eyes. If there is, I can’t find it right this moment.
His expression grows soft. “ Family is who you choose to make it, Eden .”