Chapter Fifteen

R uger dried the last plate and put it in the cabinet. Outside, the sun had set. After leaving the table almost an hour ago, Rachel was still in the bathroom.

She had to understand he was only a man. He could only take so much teasing.

He would've ridden away to clear his head, but with daylight waning, he would've left her alone in the cottage after dark, which caused her anxiety.

He shouldn't care about her. She needed to learn how to live on her own. But he couldn't leave her alone. Not yet. Not when she still dreamed of the beatings.

That was his problem.

Since when had he worried about what anyone else thought of him? The only person he cared about was Katrina.

Maybe he'd lost his damn mind. Jagger was responsible for Katrina now. Katrina had started her own family. She no longer needed him.

He threw the towel on the counter. Rachel was young enough to be his kid. But he'd put a bullet in anyone's head who accused him of substituting Rachel for Katrina. He wasn't looking for a daughter to raise.

How he felt about Rachel wasn't fatherly. She needed someone to help her, and he understood what she'd been through.

He looked around the cottage, straining to hear what was going on behind the bathroom door. It was nice to have Rachel around—most of the time. She made the days go faster and gave him something else to think about than how he'd fucked up his life and now had nothing to show for all the years he spent in prison.

He walked to the bathroom door and listened. There was no noise coming from inside the room. It wasn't the first time she'd disappeared inside and locked him out since moving into the cottage. She always came out smelling like soap and with wet hair.

Assuming she'd come out smelling good again, he thought of doing something different tonight. Maybe it'd make up for how he'd scared her earlier at the table when she wouldn't stop staring at him as if she was on the verge of having an orgasm.

She needed to learn he was a man with sexual needs. He wanted to protect her, not hurt her.

He returned to the kitchen and pulled one of the pouches with popcorn inside it out of the cabinet. He'd never seen such a thing since getting out of prison. Rachel had him buy a box of microwave popcorn at the store. He asked one of the cashiers where to find such a thing, believing he sounded like an idiot.

It was another thing he'd missed out on while in prison

He followed the directions on the bag, knowing he had to stand in the kitchen and stop the microwave after the popping stopped the way Rachel would every time she made popcorn

After a couple of minutes, a distinct buttery aroma filled the cottage. Despite eating his fill of pancakes, the smell tempted him to eat again. Rachel had barely touched her food before leaving, so she had to be hungry.

He pushed the button on the microwave, stopping it early. Taking out the inflated bag, he left it on the counter and walked to the one bedroom in the cottage. There was only a sheet and comforter for the bed, but he had a sleeping bag that he used if he had to go on a ride and spend the night out.

Grabbing the bag, he carried it to the kitchen. He looked out the window and tilted his head, trying to see the sky when the bathroom door opened.

Rachel hurried out, wearing one of his t-shirts, which fell to her knees. He gave her a few seconds to get into the bedroom and then walked to the doorway. Not looking inside, he called her name.

"Yes?" she answered.

He glanced inside. It was safe to look. She sat on the bed with her legs crossed, fingers combing the wet strands of her hair.

"Come outside with me." He motioned his chin. "In the yard."

"Now?" She looked toward the window. "It's dark."

"The stars are out." He leaned against the doorframe. "I made popcorn."

She frowned. Used to staying inside where it was safe once the sun went down, she only got the courage to walk outside during the daytime by herself today. Maybe he was pushing her too fast.

"You're going outside, too?" she whispered.

He dipped his chin, unable to take his gaze off her. All he wanted to do was get close enough to enjoy the smell of her fresh out of the bath. That's all. Just enjoy having her nearby. And being outside, she wouldn't tempt him as much as sitting across from him with her eyes telling him to fuck her.

"Okay." She scooted off the bed.

The t-shirt rode over her bare hip. His ball sac constricted. He groaned.

She stilled. "What?"

He shook his head and limped down the hallway. His cock had jumped to attention at the knowledge that she wore no panties under his shirt.

Gathering everything he needed, he opened the front door and walked out onto the grass. He picked a level spot with a clear view of the sky and spread out the sleeping bag. Leaving the bag of popcorn sealed, he dropped it to the ground. Then, he returned to the house, grabbed a can of Pepsi for Rachel, and mixed him a whiskey and water. He needed something stronger than beer to get through tonight.

Rachel walked into the room wearing a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt. He handed her the pop and led the way outside.

When she sat on the sleeping bag, she said, "What are we doing?"

"Watching the stars."

"Why?"

"You talk too much." He patted the ground. "Stretch out and look up."

He leaned back on his elbow, propped up enough to drink without it spilling. Rachel lay beside him on her back. She blinked up at the sky.

Then, the scent hit him. That cleanness. That warmth. The scent of a woman.

He inhaled deeply. He'd lived in the rankest place in the state for eighteen years. The odors of desperate men, fear, and bodily functions hung heavily in the air. In prison, you couldn't escape the smells.

He'd stretch out on his cot and try to remember the clean scent of a warm woman, and as each day and year passed, it got harder and harder to remember. After a while, he forgot. But as soon as Rachel was able to start showering after he rescued her from her kidnappers, it was like he'd never gone years without smelling a clean, warm woman.

"I can hear the ocean," she whispered.

Brought back to the present, he took a drink. There was a hum in the air that rose and fell.

"Are you warm enough?"

She turned her head toward him. "Mm-hm."

He reached behind him and handed her the bag of popcorn. She lifted her head, put it back on the ground, and then lifted it again.

"I need a pillow." She laughed softly.

He drank the rest of his drink, set the glass to the side, and went down on his back, letting her have his arm under her head. With his other arm, he propped up his head. It was a comfortable position. They slept this way most nights once Rachel fell asleep and naturally gravitated onto his side of the bed. Only when she touched him would she settle.

The rustle of paper tearing warmed him. She'd eat popcorn all day long. It was one thing she loved to eat.

"Want some?" She held the bag toward him.

He dug a handful out, spilling more than he picked up. After a few minutes, Rachel slowed down and rolled up the bag, putting it beside her.

"Can I ask you something without you getting mad?" she asked.

He grunted. He'd never hurt a woman.

"Why doesn't Katrina like me?"

"She doesn't know you."

Rachel rolled toward him without raising her head. "That wasn't an answer. I can tell when someone likes me, and she definitely does not like me."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, knowing she was right. Katrina grew up strong and opinionated within the walls of Havlin. She was tough. She had to be while he was in prison. But he also knew what Rachel was asking.

"Katrina's protective of me." He stared at the sky, uncomfortable with talking about his personal life. His family.

"She loves you. I get that," said Rachel.

No, nobody would understand. He'd done her wrong, and he couldn't undo the damage he caused. Katrina was the way she was because of him.

"I left her when she was four years old, and there will always be that fear that she'll lose me again." His chest tightened whenever he thought about what he'd done to his daughter. "I did that to her. It has nothing to do with you."

"But, it does. She views me as a threat," mumbled Rachel. "She's afraid of losing you to me."

Before he could answer, Rachel put her hand on his chest. His balls ached.

"You could tell her that her fears are for nothing and you're only helping me." Rachel pushed up onto her elbow and looked into his eyes. "Now that I know what she must be thinking, it's important that you tell her why you're helping me. Tell her the truth."

"What's the truth?"

She sat up, crossed her legs, and faced him. "You owed Shady a favor."

"That was paid off the second I got you out of that house, Rach."

She tilted her head. "But if you don't owe him. Then, why...?"

He let his head fall back, and he gazed at the sky. Hell, if he could explain why he kept looking after her. She'd be better off without him. But she had no one. At any other time, she could take care of herself. She was a strong woman. A smart woman.

What Los Li had done to her would've killed a normal woman. There were beatings every day. Threats of what they would do to her. She lived in constant fear. It was only understandable that she still worried about them coming after her.

He'd never know how Shady got mixed up with Los Li. But he knew their reputation. He'd dealt with Los Li members in prison. He'd heard the stories on the outside.

"Ruger?" She paused. "Why are you still helping me?"

He met her gaze. He'd lived more than three lifetimes. Had a history of disappointing people.

Her lips pursed. He was hurting her by not answering. He could see it in her face.

"I don't know," he muttered.

"Ruger." She leaned closer. "Tell me I'm not going crazy. That everything I see isn't something I'm imagining."

"You're not crazy." He hooked her neck, bringing her down on top of him.

He captured her mouth. Those luscious lips, naturally pouted.

Consumed with how her mouth enticed him, he somehow ended up with his hands cupping her breasts. His thumbs strummed her hardened nipples under her sweatshirt. All his senses boiled in awareness, pressuring him to do more.

She was the clean, warm woman he fantasized about and thought he'd lost. But she was here, filling every need deep inside of him.

He lifted her and pulled her on top of him, belly to belly, chest to chest. He needed to stop the insanity. It wasn't her going crazy. He was straight-up insane to think this could work without hurting her.

She was too young. Too sensitive.

He slipped his hands under her sweatshirt and palmed her back's warm, bare skin. His heart pounded against her. She had to feel him hardening, throbbing for her.

Her body was much smaller than his, and yet she never appeared fragile to him. She was emotionally strong enough to survive all she'd lived through. He didn't want to be the one who ruined her. For the first time in his life, he wished there was an inkling of softness left in him to give her.

He tore his mouth off her. "Rach—"

"Don't." She peppered his mouth with kisses. "Don't tell me lies."

"We can't do this."

She pushed against his chest and sat on him. Before he could lift her off, she pulled her sweatshirt over her head. The pale skin of her breasts glowed in the moonlight.

Fuck it.