Being Emerald (9 page)

She was a second away from lying back and losing consciousness between the luxurious white covers when he returned with a wide-toothed comb in his hand. “If you lie down, you won’t be able to get back up again, and you need to eat.”

He’d read her thoughts exactly. Unsettled, she swiveled her head to look over her shoulder as he sat at her side and hitched a leg up on the mattress behind her.

“It wasn’t that hard. I’ve told you already you wear your thoughts and emotions like a headline running across your forehead. Keep working on it.”

Raking his fingers through the wavy strands, he got out the large tangles, and then combed it out.

She reveled in the feeling of his hands sliding over her long, damp hair.

The back of his hand grazed her neck. The pad of his finger brushed across the shell of her ear. The incidental touches were intimate and made her acutely aware they were sitting on the bed together. What would it feel like to have a man like him want her? He was the embodiment of authority, power and sex all wrapped up into an impossible-to-resist package. Her insides fluttered just considering the possibilities, because when he made love to a woman, she was sure it was as thoroughly as he did everything else.

He finished combing and squeezed the ends of her hair with a towel to absorb the excess water, showing her he’d definitely done this before, too. A fact that added to the torment of her day.

Apparently finished with his task, Rock walked the towel and comb back into the bathroom. On his return, he took her hand, pulled her up from the edge of the bed, and led her down the flight of stairs to the first floor.

“What about you? Don’t you want to take a shower?”

His soft eyes smiled at her. “Don’t worry about me.”

In the kitchen, he sat her on the stool she’d found him in that first night. He opened up the refrigerator. “Spaghetti and salad okay?”

“Yes. Maybe more salad than spaghetti?”

“No. You need protein and carbs, too.”

“Why ask me, when you’ve made up your mind already?”

His head swiveled in her direction. “I’m being polite.”

She got lost in her thoughts as she absently watched him prepare the meal, trying to figure out the man. He was intimidating and scary to the rest of the world, yet so tender with her. She considered that he had multiple personalities, but knew that wasn’t it. He let her see the real him, not some made-up, public version of himself.

She was content. It was an uncommon feeling. Was this what she’d missed by never being placed in Circle City? This utter devotion and complete sense of safety? Despite the torture he’d put her through that day, the understanding that this was what she’d missed out on by earning a Sapphire designation left her with doubts, on the brink of regret.

Rock turned the burner on under a large pot of water and pivoted. He glanced at her and stopped in his tracks.

Again, she hadn’t concealed the emotional expression on her face, and he’d caught it. With just a split second glance, he’d seen it all. And if she’d doubted that fact, his next words confirmed she’d been right.

“What’s happening?” That was all he said. He didn’t need to elaborate. She knew what he was referring to.

“Rock, I’m sorry I’m so grouchy,” she rasped. “It was kind of you to take such care with me. Thank you.” He smiled. God, he was beautiful when he smiled at her. Just a heartbeat’s worth was all he gave her before he went back to cooking dinner.

Maybe he was an empath too. “How did you know something was happening, you know, just now…with me.”

“I’ve been training myself to read you since the first time we met.”

“Read me?”

“Yeah. You know, body language, expression. It’s part of my training for this mission. We’ll get into the details later. Right now, dinner is served.” He held a plate under his nose, and inhaled. Then, he held it under hers so she could do the same.

“Why do you smell everything?”

He set the plate in front of her. “Why not?”

They sat side-by-side, eating the large portions of food. The man could cook, and Laila couldn’t keep herself from groaning with pleasure while she ate.

By the time she finished the last bite, she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. It was early. The sun was just beginning its descent toward the horizon. “What time is it?”

“Eight twenty and your bedtime.”

Even though she wanted to tell him she could determine her own bedtime, she wasn’t going to argue because bed was the only place she wanted to be. Laila slipped off her stool, groaned at her yelping muscles, and took her plate to the sink.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of the kitchen later,” he said from directly behind her. He took her hand and led her slowly up the stairs. With the bed spread out before her, she sluggishly crawled in.

Rock pulled the lightweight cover over her and kissed her on the forehead.

Sleep came fast and hard.

While Laila slept, Rock sat on the back steps of his home. The sound of crickets filled the humid air. The nearly full moon lit up the night sky. He scanned the shadows of the tall pines in his back yard, while his mind wandered to places it hadn’t gone in a long time. So long, it shook him up.

Not once in the last year had he even looked twice at a woman. He had shut that part of himself down. He thought he was done having that vulnerability and would never again give the Gov the power to completely annihilate him by hurting the woman he loved.

Today, that mindset had fallen by the wayside. He couldn’t deny the connection between them, the strong physical pull. They had chemistry. Rock had regained some part of himself that had been lost, but with that, he’d opened the floodgates retaining his emotions. He had allowed himself to feel, and discovered he wasn’t as angry or hurt as had been the status quo for almost a year.

His guilt over his sexual thoughts about Laila was front and center now. His body didn’t give a shit about any vows he’d made. It reacted to Laila on a molecular level. His heartbeat raced, and lust ran thick in his blood whenever she was near. He’d suffered from yo-yo dick all day. It was maddening…and normal, for him, at least until he’d been made Emerald.

From the age of fifteen, until the night he’d lost everything, he’d gotten laid at least a few times a week. Since he’d been in Emerald, he just hadn’t had the urge. He’d even had moments when he thanked God he didn’t, because if his dick had been raging during the past year, he would have suffered. There was no fucking way he could have been with anyone else. It would have ripped him apart. A year without touch had made him hard and cold and helped him live through everything that had been thrown at him. He’d been a bomb ready to explode with a desperate, devastating fury for what the Gov had forced his life to become.

He didn’t need to live like that anymore. Laila was there, upstairs, right now, in his bed. She wasn’t a trick or a trap, just a beautiful woman. She touched him, literally. Inconsequential brushes, hugs, a hand on his shoulder for support. It reminded him that he existed, that he had feelings and needs.

Yes, today he’d definitely regained some part of himself that had been missing.

In the last few days, Laila had gone from barely registering on his radar to being the only thing on it. Today, he’d spent hours watching the tilt of her head, the slope of her neck, the drop of a lilting curl tickling her cheek, and the focus of her big brown eyes as she set her sights on the almost impossible tasks he’d assigned her.

He felt good in her presence. He shook his head, amazed. He actually felt good. Her free spirit sparked optimism in him. An optimism that had him thinking it was possible to love again.

Maybe love was already starting to take root in his soul.

The relationship he and Emily had was more than intimate. The years of her giving herself to him in every way, of experiencing everything together, of being so close communication didn’t need to involve words had forged something incredible. They were two halves of a whole, enmeshed psychologically, mentally and the line differentiating between them blurred. Emily had delighted in the experiences of life along with him, up to the jagged edge of acceptability and beyond. It was fucking amazing—and scary—for her. He knew from their conversations and the split second glimpses of emotion that crossed her expression from time to time. He knew because she wouldn’t agree to marry him. It was the only part she ever held back, never giving him that one last piece of herself.

Could Laila give him what he required? Just thinking about his growing need and the excitement he experienced when she was near reignited something inside. His drive to form an intimate relationship with her was overpowering.

She had a mind of her own, and he loved that she was smart and strong willed. She was definitely not the shrinking violet type, like Journey had been. No, Laila was more like his wild child, Emily. And, like Emily, training her would be a challenge, but the result would be a satisfying accomplishment earned through respect, trust and consistency.

Sitting there in the twilight in his back yard, Rock understood he couldn’t be what he needed to be with Laila while he still maintained a death grip on his grief.

His dad was right. It was time to move on.

A lump the size of a fist blocked his throat, and his eyes filled with tears. He looked up at the sky and hoped if there was any part of Emily that remained, she’d hear him now.

“Em.” He wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck and squeezed the rigid muscles there. His throat constricted and his soul screamed as he closed his eyes and imagined Emily's cheek flush against his, felt her curls sift through his fingers. His heart broke.

“I’m weak and lonely without you. I don’t think I can stop myself.” Silent tears rolled down his cheeks.

He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Em. So sorry.”

Rock sat for hours in the sultry night air while he built up the courage to let go of grief-filled promises to his dead love.

He let go of sleeping on the couch to avoid the emptiness of his bed.

He let go of the daily little punishments he gave himself because he’d failed to protect her.

He sat there until his guilt and grief were exhausted. Maybe, just maybe, he could wake the next morning and begin in earnest, taming this new woman assigned to him. He’d mourned the wife and the life he’d never had. Now it was time to take the path that lay before him.

He walked up the stairs to their room and slid into bed. Sighing, he wrapped himself around her. She was like a little peanut, cradled within his frame. Feeling at peace, he slid into sleep.

* * * *

It seemed only minutes later when an anguished groan woke him.

Laila’s eyes were open, but she looked stricken.

“What’s wrong, peanut?”

A tear slid from the corner of her eye and soaked into her pillow.

His grogginess fled and he sat quickly. “What?”

“I can’t move. Everything hurts.”

He let go of the breath he’d been holding and smiled down at her. “You’ll feel better once you start moving around.”

“Did you not hear me?” she snapped. “I can’t move.”

He left her lying there. Sometimes the most difficult part of training was turning away when all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms. He stopped at his medicine cabinet to get the bottle of Peppermint oil, which would loosen her up and give them a good start to their training today. “Come on, let me help you sit up and take the T-shirt off.”

Her gaze fell on the tiny bottle in his hand. Instead of following directions, she asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s peppermint oil. I was going to give you a rub down to loosen your muscles and then help with some stretches. But, since you chose to ask me a question instead of following directions, you lost the privilege. Lesson one, follow directions without hesitation or question.”

He set the oil on the stand next to the bed then glanced at the clock. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get downstairs for breakfast.” He forced himself to walk out and to the kitchen. God, he hated this part, acting as if he didn’t care. But he’d been lenient with Emily, many times unable to discipline her properly when she defiantly did whatever she wanted, disregarding their understanding. It had gotten her killed.

Rock felt lighter today, almost hopeful, as he cooked breakfast. The eggs and potatoes were near crispy, and Laila still hadn’t come down. He packed peanut butter sandwiches for their lunches, and was deliberating his next move when she hobbled through the great room and into the kitchen. Still wearing the T-shirt she’d worn to bed, she sat stiffly at the island.

He wondered what she’d been doing up there for the last half hour until he smelled the peppermint.

“I don’t understand why we need to go through all this,” she grumbled. “I mean, when are we going to have to jog or fight? The chances I’m ever going to need these skills are so slim, it’s not worth the pain.”

“You think? The Gov has been exiling about a hundred criminals a year to the Onyx Zone. Multiply that by twenty-five years, then add the offspring from the exiled people and you have at least three thousand people living within a fifty-mile radius of New Atlanta. Three thousand people who would do anything to take what we’ve collected out there. Besides, it doesn’t matter how miniscule the possibility. You train because the possibility exists. I don’t feel like dying on this mission, and you have to realize that not only am I covering your back, you may have to cover mine. So, I’m going to teach you every skill I can, and you’re going to take the training seriously and try your best.”

By the time he finished his breakfast, Laila had slowed to picking sporadically at egg remnants.

“Done?”

She nodded.

He collected the dirty dishes and pulled her off the stool.

She groaned.

He hunched down in her line of vision. “Go home. Get dressed.”

She stood in an unnatural way, her head tilted slightly to one side, her shoulders bunched. He caressed her cheek. “It will be better soon. Promise.” He swatted her rump. “Now go on. You’ve got ten minutes,” he called before she closed the door. No slam this time. He smiled.