Chapter 15 - Lena

"What's he got there?" Rosie asks as we watch Roscoe scurrying across the yard.

"Cyrus's sunglasses," I comment with a laugh as we sit on the porch, wrapping up our dinner.

"He's going to be so mad!"

"At least he'll stop looking like such a schmuck."

"Ew, Mom. Who says schmuck anymore? What are you, eighty?"

"Oh, only in special moments when I know it will bring you the very most embarrassment, Sweetheart."

She pulls a face at me and giggles as I make a similarly silly face back. It's nice to have this moment of relative solitude while Kaius and Evander are checking out something in the car. At least we had a moment that felt like it was to ourselves.

"How are you doing with all this, Kid? Are you alright over there in teenager land?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's weird, but I get it. It's also kind of exciting. Did you know Milo has been on, like, over fifty missions? It's crazy. He has been all over the world. It's so freaking cool."

"Not that cool," I deadpan in irritation at the infatuated tone that's caused her voice to go up a register at the mere mention of Milo.

"It's not like that, Mom. He's just… he's different. I've never met anyone who was so well-traveled and worldly. I think that's the word, right? For someone who's seen a lot of the world?"

"Pretty good use of the word, yes. It can also be used for someone who's experienced or sophisticated. Or if you're using it in a religious context, it would be related to earthly concerns. Nice try changing the subject with SAT prep. A for effort. Now, why do you think he's so worldly?"

"He speaks like six languages. He's read so many books, more than me. And you know that says a lot. I just…" she sighs with a dreamy look crossing her face, "I didn't know how cool it could be to have a conversation with someone who already knows what I'm talking about. I don't have to explain it all to him."

"Just remember, Kid. He's older, and he's here on a mission. I just want you to be careful about getting attached to anyone."

"You mean Cy too, don't you? Do you really think he would leave us again? You're married this time."

A pang of hurt cuts through me at the thought. I am already in so deep that I don't think I'll be able to handle it if he does. I haven't even let myself fully give in to him and I already can't stand the thought. I'm in just as deep as I ever was.

"I don't know. This was all part of the cover. So, I am assuming that it has an expiration date."

"I hope not," Rosie mumbles quietly with a nod toward the yard as the guys in question come striding in from the edge of the woods. "I kind of like all of them, to be honest. They're funny."

I watch as Kaius breaks out laughing over something Milo tells him, and I can't help but smile. Kaius's laugh and smile are infectious up to a range of twenty feet, it seems.

"I know what you mean."

Rosie pushes up out of her chair and walks to the railing, leaning against it as she shouts, "Hey guys, dinner's ready if you're hungry. You have to share what's so funny, though, if you want a burger."

Milo waves and flashes her a bright, lopsided smile from behind the curtain of his silver and black waves. He's a dangerous one. I bet he could charm the pants off the best of them with that little smile of his.

Milo jogs the last few feet, bounding up the porch and sliding into the chair next to me with a wide grin.

"Want to know what we traded Merl for access to the mine?" He's barely containing his laughter as he asks.

"I mean, you could have probably offered him a cheap one-dollar draft beer tonight at the bar and he'd have been fine. He's easy as long as you ask first. He's dead serious about his waivers after Peyton had to bail him out last year when he was sued."

"Dang, I'll have to tell Rufus," Milo laughs, "He could have got off way cheaper. He offered him an open tab of whatever he wants for the next two weeks."

"Oh Lord," I laugh at the idea of Merl on top-shelf whiskey for the next two weeks, "That's not going to make Sarah happy at all."

"Would it help lessen the blow if she were to also find out that a certain tall, blond, possessive, muscular man that Merl may or may not have called Goldilocks also has to dance with Merl at his bidding for the next two weeks, too?"

"Cyrus?"

Milo bites his lips as another wave of laughter takes over.

"Oh, that's money there. We're going to need to video this," I laugh as Cyrus strides up the porch steps to join us.

"It's not happening," Cyrus grumbles as he settles in on my other side, leaning down and brushing a kiss against my cheek as he sits. It sends a little tremor of warmth through my body.

"Oh, good luck with that one, Goldilocks," I laugh, "Merl may be the town drunk, but that man will hold you to your word."

"You told her that, too? Man, you really want me to kick your ass sparring later, don't you?"

"Don't do that," Rosie laughs, "How will I explain that at school?"

"Not to worry, Rose," Cyrus laughs, "Milo will be pretty as a picture come Monday. He just might still be walking with a limp."

"Ha, ha," Milo offers dryly, "You're hilarious. He likes to talk a big game, but I am faster than him."

"Speaking of school, did you still need help with that algebra assignment?" Cyrus asks Rosie around a bit of the burger he helps himself to from my plate. He wrinkles his face at the burger and opens it to see onion on it.

I shrug innocently. I know he hates onions. I know he's also incapable of getting his own plate most of the time, so I put them on my burger as a preemptive strike. I win again.

"My burger, my choices. Get your own," I remark as I snatch my burger back and he frowns and reaches for his own plate.

"I do, I hate Math. Milo said he wasn't any good at it when he was in school, either. And Mom, well… you remember."

"There's not enough coffee in this hemisphere to get her to do math," Cyrus laughs and nods, "Go get your book. I can help now before I have to go do training with the guys."

I watch their exchange with a guarded silence. They have fallen right back into their old routines. Even us fighting over my burger feels comfortable and familiar. That rational side of my mind knows that I should be on my guard, but every part of my soul wants to settle into the safety that I feel with him here.

Milo pulls together a couple more burgers and carries them over to the car where Evander and Kaius are still working. Something in my brakes isn't working and the guys told me they were sure they could get it fixed, but that was hours ago. I'm not sure I trust their mechanical abilities now.

"Do they actually know anything about cars?"

"They are about as good with cars as you are with math."

My face falls, and I turn to Cyrus with a pained expression.

"Are they going to screw up my car? I don't have the money to replace it right now."

"They won't do that. They'll just look for a long time, solve nothing, and then ask Rufus to look later. He's the real expert. But I promise they won't leave you without a working car, even if the boneheads happened to break it."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure the military pays so well that you guys are just rolling in enough cash to drop on a brand-new car whenever."

Cyrus is a bit quiet and cocks his head to the side.

"I mean, we aren't rolling in it. But I am pretty sure there's not a single member of my team who doesn't have at least a couple hundred thousand put away. We're… hoarders when it comes to our finances. We like to save a lot."

I honestly don't even know how to process that. I bust my ass day in and day out in my shop, and I just break even. Rosie and I live comfortably, but he's talking about absurd money. They really do come from such a different world. I can't even imagine.

"That's crazy."

"We don't have a lot of expenses in our lives right now."

"What about the Miller place? Isn't the rent astronomical?"

"I mean, it is, but that's covered by our ops budget. The same goes for spending on food, drinks, all that."

"Wait a minute."

He goes silent, looking at me like he's explaining the most normal thing in the world.

"You mean to tell me that I have been putting up with all six of you in and out of my house since this went down, drinking all my coffee, eating me out of house and home like six walking, talking, bottomless pits. And you have money to cover your food and drink on this mission?"

He looks a little confused still, and I smack his arm hard with my left hand, regretting it as it collides with his bicep.

"Um, yes?"

I smack him again out of some sort of weird, misplaced rage and throw an onion at him.

"Stop that. You're hurting your good hand, and that's gross. Why are you mad? You want me to cover the groceries? I tried to offer before, but you pretty much snapped my head off about how you can handle it. But I will happily cover all the groceries, utilities, whatever you'll let me help with. Want me to get Rose a car? I'll have one here tomorrow. Just name it."

"Ugh, you jerk. You just—ugh!" I can't even string words together. I don't know why I'm so mad at him. Apparently, it's my own addled brain that is so stubbornly independent that I am not willing to listen.

Rosie bounds back out on the porch with her algebra notes in tow, and I have had my fill. I can't handle math on top of this nonsense.

"I'm going to go to the garden. Enjoy your math," I grumble as I stalk off the porch steps. Why am I so mad at him?

My crazy sure is sitting closer to the surface than usual. Okay, so he has money. He offered to reimburse me for everything. But somewhere, still, I don't want him to have to. I want to be able to do it all by myself. I don't need him to rescue me—not even financially, not even if he's basically saying he's loaded.

Stupid tall, rich man.

I lose myself in the task of trying to remedy my garden from the aftermath of the attack on my house. Maintaining my garden is as much part of my job as the shop. I grow all the herbs and flowers I use in the shop as much as I can.

Tending them is as much my version of therapy as anything else. I drop to my knees to the side of my lavender and start trying to refill a deep gash in the ground that tilts one of the plants on its side. Sadly, it's not doing much to temper my anger. If anything, the longer I fight one-armed with the dirt and roots, the more irritable I get.

It's easy enough to lose myself in the task that the sun is starting to set before I really recognize what's happened. I look up at the sun dropping behind the ridge and know that it'll be time for me to head in soon before the animals start stirring for the night.

I stand up and brush the dirt off my hand against my leg. I'm frustrated I haven't fixed anything with the plant or suppressed this irritable pit in my stomach. I am so ready to get out of this damn sling and shower. I can't wait for my arm to really be healed enough that I can take it off for good. That would be at least a few more weeks away.

I make my way toward the house and am surprised to see the car gone. No one is anywhere to be seen other than the all-too-familiar form of Cyrus propped up, sitting on the porch rail, watching me. His eyes on me cause my irritation to flare again.

"Get down from there. That railing is original. If you break it, I'm going to break your thick skull," I snap as I get within reasonable talking distance, "Where is everyone anyway?"

"They all went to the Miller place. Rose went along with them. She said she'd never seen the inside before."

Shit. There goes my plan for a shower.

"Dang it."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just needed her help with this stupid shoulder. Now, get off the banister. You weigh like a billion pounds of muscle. It's old wood."

"First, you're mad at me because I offered to pay you for our expenses. Then you're mad at me when I respect your wish for me not to pay for them. Now you're calling me fat? Guess the honeymoon phase is over, huh?"

"What honeymoon?" I snap at him, stomping the distance up the deck steps and crossing to the door, intending fully to lock him out on the porch again.

I turn to shut the door, but he's already got a boot in the door jamb, wearing a smug look on his face.

"Oh no, not this time. I'm not sleeping on the damn porch with Roscoe again."

"Serves you right, Jerk."

"What are you talking about? What did I do to you last night that warranted sleeping in freezing temps with nothing but a torn dress and Roscoe for warmth? Tell you I miss you?"

My brain stalls out trying to think of a reason for why I was so mad at him at that moment the night before.

He actually hadn't been that bad. He'd been rather good to me in my drunken state. I just couldn't handle the combination of reopening any door to physical connection with him without the emotional one bursting wide open at the same time, and his "I miss you" was far too close to that.

The rational side of my brain isn't driving tonight. She's clearly taking a back seat to this chaos train I'm on.

"You were just your normal self. Why I was mad is beside the point. You're always just so… presumptuous."

"Presumptuous?"

"Yeah, and pushy. And jealous, too."

"It's well matched since you're painfully stubborn, willfully reckless, and refuse to let anything ever be anything other than what YOU have decided. You just can't let anyone else be in control, ever. Can you?"

Our voices are raised and we're a few inches from each other. Each of us is breathing a little more shallowly than normal. The effect has my eyes caught on the rise and fall of his chest in the tight shirt he's got on. My gaze dips to the loose, thin sweats he pulled on somewhere during the middle of the day. They hang off his hips in just the most wonderful way, catching my attention.

We crash together in a kiss. I groan as my shoulder hits his chest, but it's replaced by a moan as his hand slides firmly up under my shirt across my back.

The kiss is rough and full of all the irritation that I've stored up for him in the past months, hell, even years. I pull hard at his hair as I turn to run a trail of kisses and nips down the side of his neck as he pulls me closer. His hands are pulling my shirt off over my head, and he slows down, trying to be careful with my arm. I yank firmly at the sling and shirt to get it out of the way, wincing as my shoulder aches in protest.

That's one way to handle it. Idiot.

It's worth it when his hands go back to roaming my body. I use my better hand to pull eagerly at the waist of his pants. He tries to stop me, grabbing my wrist in his hand, and I protest, trying to squirm toward him again.

"Slow down."

It's a command, pure and simple. Sexy as it may be, I don't really want to. I'm still frustrated with him and irritated at his compulsive need to force me to bend to him. I pull my hand free and start walking him backward toward the couch as I pull him into another kiss, my hand tangled in his blond waves. This all started because he was yet again trying to take away my ability to make my own decisions.

No. Not this time.

I back him up to the couch and push him down to a seated position.

"Shut up already," I sigh as I straddle his legs and resume the kiss that I had broken off. His hands are everywhere, gripping at my ass, sliding up and unhooking my bra. He stops kissing me this time and stops dead, staring at my chest. His pupils have dilated, and he's looking at them like they're some long-lost treasure.

He leans forward and catches one nipple in his mouth, teasing the other with his hand. My head falls back as I lose myself to the feeling. My anger is still fueling the need for release just as much as how desperately I've missed him. I rock my hips forward, enjoying the reaction I get from him as my body and the fabric between us moves together.

Cyrus pulls me into another rough kiss, lifting me up and spinning to lay me back on the couch. There's no room for teasing right now; there's just the frustration and years of hurt we're both trying to deal with. So much want and need are poured into this kiss that it just makes everything feel heightened. I pull roughly at his hair as he tries to break the kiss, and my fingers dig deep into his arm with my other hand.

He reaches between us pulling irritably at my jeans and panties, getting them over the curve of my ass but then having to break the kiss off to get them the rest of the way off. He pauses, staring down at me, and I squirm uncomfortably. I don't want him looking at me like he's missed me. I just need his hands on me and for him to fuck me hard and get some of this pent-up frustration out.

"Lose the shirt."

A low, sexy chuckle accompanies his hand pulling his shirt over his head, and he tosses it to the floor before leaning back over me. I pull him hard into another kiss before letting my hand wander over the smooth, hard muscles of his chest and back. I had definitely missed that, along with the way he just seems to overwhelm me physically. I'm not a small woman, but he never made me feel like anything else, throwing me around with so much ease.

I trail my hand lower, dipping below the edge of his pants and searching for what had been missing from our prior encounter on the porch. My fingers wrap around his firm, thick cock, and I can't help the need to have it deep inside me.

"Cyrus," I sigh as he goes still at the feeling of my hand stroking the long, smooth length of him and I lock my eyes on his, "I don't want you to love me. I need you to fuck me, hard."

He doesn't need to be told twice. In a breath, he's got his hand pinning my good hand up and over my head, and his other is pulling himself out of his pants, finally removing that last barrier between us. He plunges into me deep, stretching me and hitting the very end of me with that first thrust.

He collapses forward against me, my name escaping from his lips like a prayer. He isn't moving, and I am not having it. I grind my hips up and against him as a reminder of what I asked for.

"Harder."

With a moan, he hooks my leg up and over his shoulder to adjust the angle and starts pounding into me in frustration, getting me closer to what I want. I need release, and it's building more and more as I meet him thrust for thrust. This feeling of him filling me, stretching my body to its absolute brink before crashing back, is everything I crave at this moment.

My body lights up with the overwhelming feeling of him inside of and on top of me, and with a final tilt of my hips, I clench around him. I shudder with the shock of my orgasm as his name falls from my lips, hanging on to him as he thrusts two more times before spilling into me in a rush of heat. He falls forward on me, not moving other than the small twitches of his cock inside me as I continue to have little spasms of pleasure in the aftershocks.

My breath is coming in shallow pants, his matching. I wrap my arm lazily around him, entwining it in his hair. I have missed this. I have missed him. I have no idea what to do about it, but I do know that I'm in serious trouble.