Chapter 6

6

Juno

We let the cake—and Caleb—cool off before we leave the house.

Although I’m not sure if this man is ever calm and collected. Or if he just lets me think he is. The copious muscles of his shoulders are bunched, his jaw in a permanent flex as I pass him on my way out the back door. And I have to stop myself from rubbing up against him, purring like a kitten. My skin is fevered under his rapt attention. It feels like I’m caught in a web.

A physical one.

An emotional one, too.

There’s a connection between us and it vibrates like a tuning fork, making me aware of every twitch of his fingers. If he exhales a touch too roughly, every hair follicle on my neck stands at attention. What has Caleb woken up inside of me?

Last night, I swung wildly between outraged and cossetted.

He manhandled me and cradled me like a baby.

I should be confused or terrified of all the extremes, but I’m not. Instead they excite me. How will he be incited next? What is he thinking? What would it take to soothe the pacing beast inside of him? Surrender? Making me surrender?

A shiver races up my arms and Caleb glances at me sharply.

I don’t realize until we’ve taken a few steps into the trees that I’m exposed outside. In the house, I’m safe from the people who tried to chase me down. At the very least, there is a wall separating us. Out here, I’m a sitting duck.

My steps falter and Caleb’s chest meets my back, his breath stirring the hair at my temple. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

A beat passes. “You’re worried about animals.” Before I can correct him, he circles around front of me and lifts his shirt, letting me see the gun tucked into his waistband. “Nothing and no one touches you, princess. Or else.”

He’d kill for me.

That ever-present madness in his eyes is making that clear. Just like last night when he vowed to kill Doctor Taylor, a thrill snakes through me, rattling its tail. Between my legs, the strip of my thong grows damp, my pulse thickening like warm syrup. Muscles sore from the previous night clamp down, seeking him inside me, and I have to swallow a gasp.

“Understand?” he prompts me.

“Yes,” I breathe.

What if he knew the truth about me, though?

What if he knew where I came from and where I’ve been living for the last two years?

Would he believe my story or punish me for betraying him?

I worry silently as we continue walking, but my fears scatter when we reach the stream. Crystal-clear water babbles over mossy rocks, birds chirp happily in the towering trees. The tree cover prevents much sunshine from breaking through, so the light is muted and cozy, even in the middle of the day. Caleb spreads out a blanket and I have to giggle over this jacked military dude with sniper’s eyes setting up a picnic by a stream.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I set down the basket holding the cake. “You look a little out of your element. That’s all.”

“I am.” He gives me a lopsided smile and my breath catches. “I’ve never been on a picnic before. You might have to coach me through it.”

“I’ve never been on one, either,” I admit.

“Really?” That seems to please him. He runs his gaze down the front of my pink dress, tucking a tongue into the corner of his mouth. “You definitely don’t look out of your element. Just a young girl all dressed up for her first date.” His eyes take on a glint. “Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to go into the woods with men?”

My breasts turn achy, my nipples in stiff, little points.

He watches them harden knowingly. With dirty satisfaction.

You like it rough?

Until he asked me that back at the house, I wondered if there was something wrong with me. That while last night moved too fast, I found completion. I liked how hard he rode me. The rude manner in which he spoke to me. I want to do it again. But I need to find my footing the next time. Need time to discover this unexpected part of myself.

“Let’s eat some cake,” he says when I fail to answer him, gesturing for me to sit down.

Caleb slips the gun out of his waistband and sets it within reaching distance. Then we sit across from each other on the blanket and take out the container holding a chunk of the cake, digging into it with forks. I moan around my first bite, a rush of chocolate-induced endorphins rushing to my brain. “Oh my god, that’s so good.”

He’s stopping chewing to watch me. “I’ll get frosting next time,” he says gruffly. “Okay?”

“Okay.” I look around. “How long have you lived out here?”

“Less than a year. My final tour ended and…” He clears his throat. “The damn doctors wouldn’t approve me for another one. I tried living in an apartment down in Detroit for a while, but there was too much noise, too many people.”

I try not to show too much sympathy. I remember from one of our first conversations that he doesn’t like it. “What about your parents?”

“They live with my sister in Minnesota.” He opens his mouth, closes it. “I went for a visit once and left early. I was making everyone tense and nervous. And I couldn’t figure out why or how to change it. Maybe it’s just how I’m built.” He blows out a breath. “So here I am.”

It doesn’t feel right keeping every part about myself from Caleb anymore.

He’s told me the plot of his book.

About his PTSD.

Now about his insecurities regarding his family.

What have I given him? Cake?

Swallowing, I put my fork back in the basket and set aside the cake container. I walk toward him on my knees and feel awareness flow through his rugged body. His nostrils flare the closer I come, his eyes watching me from beneath heavy lids. He’s a powder keg, but I climb on anyway, using his broad shoulders for balance and straddling his lap, snuggling down on his erection, savoring his hiss of breath.

His mouth finds mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. Just bares his teeth against it. Says, “What are you doing, girl?”

“Getting personal,” I whisper.

Cautious hope transforms his harshly masculine face. “Yeah?”

“Just a little. For now.”

“I’ll take it.”

I order my stomach to stop jumping. “I make everyone tense and nervous, too.”

“No.” He frowns, shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe that.”

“My mother used to…” I stop for a breath, the truth exerting me. I’ve told so few people my secrets and none of them have ever believed me. It’s a blind leap across a canyon. “Have you heard of a medical condition where a mother makes her child sick on purpose? For sympathy?”

His shoulder muscles tense under my hands. “Yes.”

“M-my mother had that condition, though she was never officially diagnosed. She used to tell people I was, um…severely mentally ill. Teachers, friends. My father.” I squeeze my eyes closed and wait. Wait for him to get weird, like everyone else does when presented with someone who might just need a little medication to feel okay. To deal with the world. During my life, my mother has put me in a lot of situations where I’ve met people with mental illness and the judgment they face is almost as much of an obstacle as the actual illness. “I’m not ill in that way,” I say, for clarity’s sake. “There have been times I thought I needed help, but that was because she’s very good at making people, even me, believe her. She’s a manipulator.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, stroking the sides of my face. “God, princess, I’m so sorry she lied like that about you.”

I roll our foreheads together. “You’re not the only one who has nightmares.”

He makes an anguished sound, kisses my mouth hard. “No. I won’t let you have them.”

That makes me giggle. “Are you going to climb inside my head and stop them?”

“Yeah.” He lowers me down onto my back, settling his weight on top of me. “I’m going to put so many good thoughts in your head, the bad ones have to find a new home. And if that doesn’t work…” Sitting back on his heels, he reaches up beneath my dress and drags the thong down my thighs, over my knees and past my ankles. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll just exhaust the hell out of you. Make you too tired to dream.” He kisses each of my knees. “Give me the green light, girl, and I’ll start tiring you out right now.”