8. Ava
8
AVA
E lijah walks away without looking back.
But more importantly, I hate how that makes me feel. Alone. The worry slams back tenfold.
This crippling fear I’ve been swallowing down—fighting back—unleashes as memories flood my senses. They’re hitting me full force in the chest, and I have to grip the railing tightly to keep myself upright because his facial expression said it all: confirmed that this new reality isn’t changing anytime soon.
There are two things I’m also certain of:
Jason’s coming for me.
Something’s happened since we left Texas.
A bitter truth to swallow because…
I can’t look at Elijah as anything other than the man ordered to protect me. I can’t focus on his hypnotic hazel eyes or the way my heart thumps rapidly when they settle on mine. Or how his over six-foot, muscular frame makes me feel delicate and safe. How my fingers itch to run through his thick, wavy black hair and pull on the ends to see if he groans.
The horrible timing of my attraction to him isn’t lost on me, either. Any sane or normal person wouldn’t be thinking this way; they’d be afraid of their own shadow, but those few minutes when our fingers intertwined soothed the frantic emotions swirling inside of me. We can never be, but that doesn’t stop me from taking him in and reveling in the warmth his honeyed eyes provide.
Maybe if this was another place and time…
I can’t let the butterflies inside my stomach, the ones that dance and make me hyper-aware of his every move, lower my guard. Taking in how handsome he is isn’t conducive to staying alive. It’s the opposite; Elijah could be put at risk if I get too close.
“No one around me is safe. It’s all my fault.” That causes a small sob to catch in my throat as my vision becomes glassy. I’m the reason for a madman’s cruelty, and I cannot handle another death on my hands. “My life will never be the same.”
Nor is it fair, but I have to get ahold of myself.
Even thinking about getting close to the detective—or any man—is a mistake and isn’t healthy in my state of mind. I’m not okay. Recognize it.
But more so, because Jason won’t let me go.
He told me as much…
You’ll pay for this, and only after I’ve lubed my cock with your blood will I forgive you.
A harsh shudder runs down my spine, and I grit my teeth. Breathe in and out as conflicting thoughts wage a war inside my head. I’m safe for now. I’m angry at myself, the latter of which for being stupid enough to ignore his advances.
Why didn’t I acknowledge how creeped out he made me feel instead of pushing it aside, pretending that Jason was just another pushy male? The kind that thinks persistence will get them the attention of a woman who doesn’t see him in the same light?
No one owes it to anyone to appease their ego.
No matter the gender. A person’s sexuality. Or religious belief.
No means fucking no. Period.
I still failed, though, because I didn’t speak up. What if he knows I’m here and…
“You’re safe. No one can get in,” I whisper on shaky legs, my chest rapidly rising with every harsh intake of air. Standing is becoming too difficult, and I slide down to the floor. Turning with my back to the veranda, I lower my body with my knees bent up and take in a few deep gulps of air, limbs shaking.
The world around me is a muddle of sounds.
I’m scared, and time seems to move around me while I’m stuck inside my head. And yet, when a pair of arms pick me up and hold me close, everything comes back to me.
The noises. His sandalwood masculine scent. A warmth that settles deep into my bones and calms my panic.
“Elijah.” It leaves me on a breathless whimper, and his arms tighten around me. My head is nestled against his chest, and I’m matching my breathing to the sound of his heart beneath my ear. It helps me focus.
“I have you, Ava. Just breathe for me.” The chill of his A/C hits my skin, and I shiver, burrowing deeper. Eli walks a few steps further into his living room and stops, turning with me in his hold, and sits. I’m astride his lap, clutching his shirt while his hand, the skin a bit rough, runs up and down my back in slow motion. I should feel fear, especially after Jason, but I don’t. There’s no discomfort, either. Instead, the warmth coming from his body seeps into mine. “That’s it. Slow and deep…match mine.”
Up and down, the touch is gentle as his chest expands, and I mimic the move. For a while, we just sit there, in the quiet of the late afternoon, breathing. He doesn’t rush me, and I don’t want to move from his embrace.
Rather, I soak up his attention. Enjoy what I can’t allow myself to want.
“Better?” he asks a few minutes later. His lips are on the crown of my head, just lightly pressing there.
“Yeah.” My voice is a bit hoarse, and my throat is dry. I’m thirsty, and he picks up on this.
Elijah’s quick to pick me up and set me down on the couch beside his now empty spot. “Be right back,” he calls out over his shoulder, entering another room that connects to this one.
Immediately, I miss his warmth. How good he felt against me. How safe.
Christ, I need help. Something can’t be right if…
I hear a cabinet door and then the fridge open right before a crash. The loud sound makes me jump in my seat, and I find myself rushing toward him on still-weak legs. I’m feeling the aftereffects of my anxiety, a bit lethargic now, but I can’t stop myself. “You okay in there?”
“Yes.” There’s a muffled curse, and another item falls. Glass this time, and it shatters. “Just peachy.” He sounds grumpy, and maybe even a little bit cute, as he tries to hide whatever’s happening. However, nothing could prepare me for what I encountered upon entering his kitchen.
It’s comical, to say the least.
“How the hell?” A giggle slips through my lips, and his head snaps in my direction. The expression on his face is one of annoyance, but it quickly softens as I take in the hot mess he’s created. “Again, Eli. How?”
A large Tupperware container full of spaghetti and meatballs is spread about everywhere, splashed on the walls, cabinet doors, and the floor. On top of that, there’s broken glass and what I think is lemonade from a pitcher.
I take another step inside the kitchen, but he holds a hand up, stopping me. “Watch your feet,” he grunts, his tone a bit harsh a second before glass crunches beneath my sandals. Bits spread out further, one or two jumping on my toe. Eli sees this and lets out another low fuck before marching over and picking me up.
His hands on my hips pull a gasp from me, and goosebumps spread across my sensitive skin.
I shiver. Clench. Almost whimper.
Why does he affect me this way? Like no man has before.
For years, I lived and breathed for my shop. No dates, much less time for a relationship. Time and time again, I would say “no” to Jason—and anyone who asked me out—choosing instead to fixate on the new sales promotion and flavors for each month.
I focused solely on what I could create inside my kitchen to entice my clientele.
Besides, while I’ve never slept with a man or woman, I’ve owned a few vibrators over the years. My suction cup dildo does the job of taking care of my needs, although technically, some might still consider me a virgin even if I am stretched to accommodate my eight-inch toys.
No fumbling or nerves. Just me at my own pace without any outside pressure.
I’ve been more than content to fully take care of myself. To be alone.
I’m not a prude. I’ve just never been interested enough to try. My toys are faithful, always give me orgasms, and I don’t have to worry about somebody’s schedule or job.
Something tells me he’d be worth the ride…
“Where did you go, beautiful?” Elijah says, bringing me back to the present. I’m sitting in the middle of his island now, legs slightly spread, with him standing almost between them. And I say almost because even though his upper body is leaning toward me, his hips stay a few inches from my knees. Close enough that I feel his heat, but not touching. Even his hands stay away from my flesh.
He keeps one on each side of me on the counter, palms face down.
“Nowhere?” It comes out as a question, and he raises a brow. “I just spaced out.”
“Don’t lie.” My face heats up, and he smirks a bit. “Share with the class.”
“Just thinking about the mess you made. How dirty you are?” Something flashes in his eyes; they darken a bit at my words, and my blush deepens. “I meant your shirt. You have stains...not that you’re dirty, as in… sexually .”
He chuckles. I’m becoming flustered, and he knows it. “You don’t say.”
“ Christ ...” I throw my hands up, almost knocking him in the chin. “I’m talking about the room. Not you. It’s filthy in here.”
“Quit while you’re ahead.” His voice is a bit huskier. Almost smooth like chocolate.
“I’m done now.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back, avoiding his stare. Once more, I take in the grimy surfaces while ignoring his presence—how easily he distracts me from my earlier panic—and it’s while I look around the room that a few things stand out…
My luggage and my military escorts are missing.
“Your bags are near the entrance. Jaime and Adam had to go…something about one of their wives.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“Not that hard when you whisper those thoughts out loud.” Eli is a bit smug, and I do something that’s completely out of my norm. I flick his forehead, and hard. Hard enough that he jumps back a bit and narrows his eyes at me.
There’s a split second between my hit and Elijah wanting to retaliate, but before he can, I jump down from the countertop and walk around him. The space between us is something I need.
To think. To clear the fog he creates.
To continue ignoring just how easily he makes me forget my troubles—my fear.
“Where are your cleaning supplies and mop?” I ask while surveying the room once more. More glass crunches beneath my feet as I walk around him and toward his fridge. It’s even worse over here, and the food is drying, becoming gunky against the stainless steel of the appliances.
“I’ll clean up after you leave the kitchen.”
“No.”
“No?” He sounds as though he finds my response amusing.
“That’s right. I said no.” Turning around, I face him with a hand on my hip. His lips quirk up into a full grin. “What do you find so amusing, Ford?”
At the mention of his last name, Eli licks his lips, and I unconsciously do the same. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.” Sassy. A little challenging. Why am I so comfortable around him after knowing him for less than a day?
“I find that hard to believe.” He takes a step forward.
“Quit changing the subject.” Matching his actions, I take one back and then another. Eli advances, and his eyes are predatory, something that should send me running, and yet, it doesn’t. It’s thrilling. He’s taken my fear and replaced it with a feeling of euphoria that’s confusing and, even more worrisome, welcomed.
I can’t. Shouldn’t. Moreover, I want it . His attention.
“You’re not cleaning this, Ava. Go to the living room and wait for me.”
“I’ll get this tidied faster than you,” I say a bit breathlessly. Then, because life needs to remind me of just how wrong this is, I take two steps back, bumping into the counter area beside the fridge. A mistake that puts a halt to our flirtation—this moment—as a coffee cup tips over, rolling onto the floor beside my feet, where it shatters into a million pieces.
My reaction is to scream and jump. To think the worst.
Elijah is across the room and has me in his arms before I can blink. Cuddling me to his chest, his lips press against my forehead. “It’s just a cup. Nothing happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” he growls low, hugging me closer. Comforting me. “You could break everything in here, and I wouldn’t care. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get hurt?” Not that he waits for my reply; the man kneels at my feet, looking for any visible cuts.
“No, but I am more embarrassed by my reaction.” Heat blooms across my cheeks and to the tips of my ears. “Can we just drop it and clean up? Please.”
He makes a sound at the back of his throat, a mixture of a grunt and groan that forces my eyes to his. “You hungry?”
My stomach rumbles then, and the blush heats further. “A little.”
Eli raises a brow from his position, head tilted to the side. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“A real meal?”
“Yes.”
Pursing my lips, I recall our stop just outside of Dallas to pick up a late dinner and shrug. “Two days ago.”
Once again, I am lifted onto a countertop, which pulls a squeak from me. This time, though, he doesn’t linger. “Stay,” is all he says before leaving the room for a few minutes. When he’s back, there’s a mop, broom, and a bucket in his hands, along with a few rags.
Placing them near the sink, he opens the cabinet below and pulls out a few spray bottles with different-colored liquids inside.
“Can I help?”
“After I sweep up the glass.” And that’s what he does. Broom in hand, he gathers the larger pieces, picks them up, and tosses them inside the garbage bin. Then, after nothing is left besides the small bits, he begins to sweep the floor clean of spaghetti and glass.
Watching him work like this, doing something so domesticated, is... sexy .
Tempting me with what I shouldn’t want.
A house.
To share my life with someone.
To not run or constantly have to watch my back.
Elijah Ford is going to be extremely dangerous for me.
“How about now?”
He looks over and rolls his eyes with mock annoyance, sweeping the last bit into a dustpan he produced out of nowhere. Or did he bring that with him? “...dirty. Can you?”
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”
“Can you wipe down the appliances and cabinet doors that got dirty?”
“Oh, um. Yeah.” I brace my palms on the granite to help me jump down when, in the blink of an eye, he’s on me. Grabbing my hips in his strong hands, Eli picks me up and places me on the floor right in front of him. I stumble a bit and brace myself against his chest. “Thank you.”
“Just don’t want you to get hurt. These are higher than the standard because of my height.”
Our proximity is like a drug, clouding my judgment once more. And before I can chicken out—before I can rationalize just how idiotic I am—I lean forward and kiss his chin.
That quick peck on his skin nearly breaks me in two.
However, because I’m a bigger chicken than an idiot, I step back quickly and avert my eyes, focusing instead on the different bottles beside the rags. “Which one can I use for the cabinets?”
“Either of the two light pink ones is fine.” It comes out as a groan, and I ignore it. Choosing to focus on the task at hand, I fight the urge to turn around and let him see me.
How he’s affecting me.
How much I wish it’d been his lips instead.
This man is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, with the words wrong time stamped across his forehead. There’s also something completely lovely about how easily his clumsiness breaks down the last dregs of my anxiety. Because right now, as we work in tandem, I can’t help but smile and ignore the slow ache building through my limbs.
This moment is honest. Sweet. Just what I needed to feel a bit normal again.