CHAPTER FOUR
CADANCE
E lijah barely fit in my cramped rental apartment, the last one in the packed town that seemed all but closed to new arrivals.
Oh, sure, the people were welcoming—to an extent.
Super friendly, right up until I asked for the best place to set up shop and stay.
Then those smiles became fixed, and frayed at the edges.
I recognized those fragile expressions. I’d worn them more often than not in a previous life. Not the one that I existed in now. At least, not until tonight.
I’d thought I could hide for a while longer. Pretend that the life I had lived wouldn’t catch me quite so fast. But apparently six months, three weeks and four days was the limit of my reprieve, if I counted today.
And somehow, I didn't think I should.
“How long have you been running?” Elijah didn’t beat around the bush. Large, scarred hands that bore tiny cracks across his knuckles held his coffee mug still. He hadn’t taken cream or sugar, and I wanted desperately to rub moisturizer into the backs of his hands.
But I folded my fingers around my own mug and tried to channel some of his unfathomable stillness instead. “I don’t know your last name,” I blurted, like that was the critical piece of information between us that was missing.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Your research didn’t tell you that much?” his head tipped to one side as he watched me, but I kept my mouth shut. Finally, he sighed. “It’s Campise.” He made that last sound like another ‘ i ’.
“I checked on all my neighbors,” I mumbled into my mug, turning it in circles. There was no point trying to sit still like him. It just wasn’t in me to do. Thankfully, Elijah didn’t put his hands over mine and try to make me sit still like…someone else used to.
He huffed out a breath. “That must have made you popular. This town likes its secrets.”
I managed a watery smile, the pressure of the night and the invasion of reality on my little pretend bubble finally cracking through my fake smile facade that I’d held up for six solid months and change. “Just as much as they liked the idea of me moving in here, I guess.”
Rough fingers brushed my curls back from my face. The frizz that must have been a messy mass, similar to the unruly halo I woke up with most days, bounced right back where it was, earning me another huff of a laugh.
“I can imagine,” he murmured, coiling one frizzed out curl around his finger, then unwinding it again. His eyes unfocused with the motion, like it mesmerized him. Heat emanated from his hand, and I swallowed back the need to lean into his touch, but held back, stealing the moment to study his face.
Before, when we’d been outside his shop, fear and adrenaline prevented me from soaking in anything beyond survivalism.
Now, in the relative safety of my new, albeit smaller space of a home, I had the luxury of tracing the lines around his mouth with my eyes, how the green in his eyes warred with shards of yellow in a kaleidoscope of autumnal colors.
Reds and dark browns shimmered in his hair, and a tan line where his hat sat low on his brow during the day kept his skin glowing.
But shadows flickered across his expression as he returned my study, and I knew I wasn't the only one who crowded my tiny kitchen table that had sustained damage.
And suddenly, that tan line, the cracked knuckles and the scars on the backs of his hands, fine but there all the same made sense in a different sort of light.
“You were military. Weren’t you?”
His winding fingers stilled, but he didn’t let my hair go. “Does that mantle ever really fall away, even if you haven’t worn the uniform for a while?” he murmured.
The question seemed aimed inwards, rather than at me, so I didn't try to answer it for him. I wondered if he had ever tried to answer it for himself.
“How long have you been here?” I asked instead, since he seemed to be in question mode, and hoped he’d answer.
“A few years here, more out there.” He tugged on my hair, drawing me closer. “I tried to stop, even managed for a while. But nothing seemed to really stick. Then I came here. Met Declan. The baker next door,” he said when I frowned, exposing the truth of my lie.
Oops .
“Okay, so maybe I only asked about one neighbor?” I offered.
Breath brushed my lips when I didn't pull away from him. “How long did you watch me tonight, glitter bomb?”
I blinked. “I– I have no idea.”
“Even with someone around who wanted to damage your things? Hurt you?” His hand dropped to cradle my jaw. The action was undeniably intimate, removing all playfulness from the interaction. I struggled to breathe this close to him. “You stood with your back to the street for how long, Cadance?”
The use of my name jolted me back to reality.
I jerked away from his hold, but he didn’t let me, closing his fingers across my nape in a firm but unbreakable grip. “Let go,” I whispered, but my protest wavered with each word.
“Tell me,” he countered, his eyes flashing a warning at me.
I shook my head, restless in his hold even though I fought myself more than him. “A prison is still a prison, even if you’ve bribed me with secrets and pretty stories,” I managed, knowing this wouldn’t stop because he’d only let me go if I said so.
We both knew I wouldn't.
“How long?” he murmured, angling his mouth over mine.
“I don’t know.”
“Better,” he breathed at my confession.
At least one of us can breathe. That was my last coherent thought before his mouth descended over mine. Then I couldn't think at all.
Only feel.
Rough hands tangled through my curls with infinite care as he leaned into me. His kisses weren’t hesitant or too rough, but firm, telling me what he knew I needed. What my body ached for, what I craved.
Who I craved.
Someone to hold me in arms that didn’t band too tight, but held me firmly as he lifted me onto his hips, let me straddle him as his hands I'd observed earlier grazed over the curves of my ass. The way his mouth moved against mine, firm but coaxing, gentle but demanding, matched my own need.
I opened for him as he cupped my hips, helping me find the rhythm that stole my breath before his tongue invaded my mouth and my world shrank to a slow awareness of only sensation and singular breath when he allowed it.
My choked moan, a muted sound as I found the hard ridge of him between my legs, left me in a frenzy of need. He didn’t stop me as I rubbed harder against him, but he didn’t rush our kisses, either, slowing the place until I sighed against him, letting my weight rest against his chest.
When I came, a hot gush of liquid that coated my panties and thighs inside my jeans that I wished was on his hand instead, he held me close to his chest. Elijah’s kisses turned languid as I panted against his mouth, letting me rock out the last waves of my pleasure against his body.
His lips grazed my cheek as he pulled back once my breaths evened out. I gazed up at him through dozy eyes, seeing only a man who stared down at me with eyes full of need and possession. A second dose of lust spiked through me as he traced my tingling, swollen lips.
“Fuck, that was beautiful, glitter bomb.” He tugged me closer. “You gonna go to sleep on my lap?”
I mewled against him, straining for more of those addictive kisses, knowing he wanted more, just like I did. “I have a bed,” I rasped helpfully, unable to find my voice. I held a yawn behind my hand.
He laughed softly. “And if we crawl into your bed, I’ll fuck you until the sun rises, Cadance.”
“That doesn’t sound like so bad an option.”
“Except that dawn isn’t that far away. Rest, glitter girl. I’ll wake you before I gotta leave, okay?”
When I know you’re safe.
He didn't need to say it. We both heard his words. I nodded tiredly, nestling my cheek into his shoulder.
I’m not the only one who needs a little TLC.
A few hours ago, or maybe half a dozen of them, this man held a knife to my throat.
He held his own history of scars and damage that would take plenty of time to sift through, if he was even willing to share beyond the surface of what we'd touched tonight in the smallest hours when everyone else in Forest Grove were in their beds.
But Elijah Campise gave me his name. He trusted me that far, that easy.
Maybe I should return the favor. So I did what he wanted, and let the world fade away in the arms of the cowboy that I still wasn’t sure if I should trust or not.
With hands the ones that cradled me like it was the most precious art work he’d ever carved, who was I to argue?