Open Life (Open Skies #5) (7 page)

“Oh, you
know
it, darlin’,” he said. “It’s all under control.”

“I knew I could count on you.” Julie nodded at Maria. “No holding back, Maria, OK? If she’s behaving badly and treating you like shit, then it’s perfectly fine to point that out to her in no uncertain terms.”

“Rudeness for rudeness?” Maria asked.

“Yeah. Always be polite and diplomatic at first and try to solve things. But there
is
a point where it’s fine to call someone a pain in the ass. And we’re there. Aren’t we?”

“Yes.” Maria felt her stomach tense at the thought of telling Bethany that she was fired, but she was determined that she was going to do it anyway. “Yes, we are.”

“OK, then.” Her boss winked at her. “Take her down a few pegs, Maria. Who knows… you may even enjoy it a little bit.”

Finally, Maria grinned back. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

Dillon gazed at her, liking her flashing, dark eyes and the flush in her cheeks. She looked reckless and wild and carefree, and he thought that he’d never wanted to kiss her as much as he did at that
exact
second.

**

“Eric?”

Eric glanced up from his book at Annabeth. “Yeah?”

She was standing there in the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. She looked frozen and frightened and right away, he got to his feet, alarmed.

“Baby? You OK?”

“Yes. I was just thinking about something.”

“What is it?”

Now she looked like she had no idea how to say what was on her mind. Eric stared at her hard and close, trying to gauge her body language, her facial expressions.

He’d been a pretty good cop once upon a time – before he got shot in the chest and had a heart transplant and started his own landscaping and florist business – and that was largely because he was so damn good at reading people. Annabeth wasn’t upset, he knew, but she was struggling to articulate something. Pushing her would do no good and neither would getting in to her personal space, so he just stood well back and waited.

Annabeth stared over at Eric, taking in his calm. For such a big guy, he always came across as non-threatening and tender, and she appreciated his patience immensely at moments like this. He made her feel like she could tell him anything at all and he’d consider it and be fair and open. It was a kind of safety, being able to talk to him like this.

“I was thinking…” She hesitated. “Could I – listen to your heartbeat? Feel it?”

His heart quite literally jumped in his broad chest. “Yeah. Of course. You sure, though?”

She nodded. The last time she’d heard Cam’s heart beating in Eric’s chest had been before his revelations, back when they shared a bed and she fell asleep and awoke to that steady, strong rhythm under her cheek. The last time she’d felt his heart was the day that he’d told her the truth: Annabeth had reached out with trembling fingers and felt the beat of her dead husband’s heart right through Eric’s shirt. It had been too much, too intense, and she’d almost fainted.

But instead of quietly passing out, you slapped him across the face.

Shaking off these thoughts, she smiled at him. It was shaky and strained, but it was something.

“I
need
to feel it,” she said to him. “I can’t – I can’t hug you properly until I do this. I sure as hell can’t relax against your body or fall asleep next to you… and I
want
to, Eric. So much.”

“I want that, too.” His voice was hoarse with the need to have her touch him. “I want to keep you close and tight. I want to
keep
you, angel.”

“I know.” She moved a bit closer. “Can we try?”

“Yeah.” He stood very still, waiting for her some more. God, he’d wait for this woman forever, if that was what she needed from him. All that he cared about was her being OK with being with him – and he was holding out a hell of a lot of hope that she’d get there. Wanting to do this was a huge step, but he wasn’t fooling himself: she may be freaked out and hurt by doing it. Maybe even scared.

Slow, man. Slow and easy, now. Her pace, her comfort level – it’s all about her
.
Fuck, if you did things
your
way, you’d have tossed her in the car when you first saw her four days ago and driven back to Houston like a bat out of hell. Which is not the best approach here, huh?

Worst of all, though? Eric was terrified – like completely fucking
terrified
– that after she felt his heartbeat, she’d realize that she couldn’t do this. Not
any
of it. Not let him hold her, not make love with him, certainly not come back to Houston with him. He was suddenly scared that all of this had just been borrowed time – and the clock was now ticking down to the last few seconds. He stood as still as a statue and watched the woman that he loved approach, possibly about to break his heart and leave forever.

God. It may all be over as soon as she touches me. Get ready, man, ‘cause this may be it.

Annabeth stood right in front of him now and he inhaled her. She loved a gentle perfume of roses and citrus and the fresh, sultry scent was almost his undoing. He closed his eyes as she raised a trembling hand, hesitated, then laid it down on his chest gently. She was barely touching him, but Eric felt her fingers as strong and sure as if they were tipped with fire.

“Eric?” Her voice was shaking.

He forced his eyes open now and stared down at her. “Yeah, baby?”

“Can you –” She cleared her throat. “Can you take your shirt off?”

He almost groaned aloud. Christ, he’d do anything at all to strip off all his clothes, strip off hers, carry her to the bedroom and keep her there for days. The thought that she was about to touch his bare flesh was almost too much.

“You sure?” he ground out. “Totally sure?”

“Yes.”

He stepped back a bit and yanked his t-shirt off. Right away, her blue eyes darkened with lust and he rejoiced to see her visceral reaction to his body. He was helpless in the face of his desire for her, and he was relieved to see that she felt the same way. But physical, animal attraction was one thing – and emotions were something else. It was no good pretending otherwise.

Annabeth took a step forward, raised her hand again. It was steady now and she set it on his chest with more confidence. Carefully, slowly, she traced the long scar from the heart transplant; up and down her fingers ran and he found himself relaxing under the strokes. Then she laid her palm flat on him, just over his pounding heart, and Eric tensed again, watching her beautiful face.

She stood and felt her husband’s heart beat against her hand. Strong, steady, sure. Funny how Cam’s gift had brought Eric in to her life; stranger still how in some ways, Eric himself felt like a gift from Cam to her. Like Cam was telling her that he didn’t want her to be alone or lonely, that it was OK for her to love another man. That she could be happy again… that she
should
be happy again.

Cam, do you
want
me to be happy with Eric? Do you want me to love and be loved? You do, don’t you? You were the most giving, generous, amazing man I’d ever known and you’d be furious if I hid myself away from happiness… wouldn’t you?

Eric’s chest came in to view now and she focused on it properly. He was large and chiseled and she loved the dark hair that peppered his muscles. As a teenager and college student, she’d always thought that he preferred her men to not have hair… and then she met Cam. The blond hair on his pecs had reduced her to jelly the first time that she’d seen it, and she’d had the same reaction to Eric’s rampant, unapologetic masculinity.

She ran her fingers over the groove of muscle now, tracing every curve, every ridge. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes and she smiled. Her gentle touch was having one hell of an effect – she saw it in his jeans and heard it in his breathing. She teased him a bit, moved closer, let her breasts rub against his bare skin. He groaned and his dark eyes fluttered open again.

Slowly, her hand made its way back to his heart. She stopped now, pressed hard, really
feeling
it beating as she met his worried gaze. She probed her own feelings, asked herself what she was experiencing right now. A wave of emotions came all at once: sadness and grief for Cam, of course, but also a sense of joy and gratitude. Joy that Eric had been saved and had come to her; joy that he was here with her. Gratitude that he was here under her hand, warm and strong; gratitude that he was healthy and whole.

I’m happy to be with him
.

This simple realization hit her like a ton of bricks and she felt tears stinging her eyes. He saw them and his face contorted. He moved away swiftly and suddenly and she felt the shock at that loss of contact, at the chill after the warmth of his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he began but she cut him off.

“Come here,” she said. “Hold me, Eric.”

He faltered. “But…”

“I’m not crying because I’m hurt or sad,” she said quietly. “I’m crying because I’ve just fully realized that I love you.”

He stared at her, stunned. “You do?”

“Yes. I do.” She wiped at her tears. “So would you please hold me now?”

“I will.” He took her in his strong arms, cradling her tenderly. “And I’m not going to let you go.”

“Please don’t.” Her voice was muffled against his chest as she lowered her forehead. “Not ever.”

“Not ever,” he agreed.

They stood for a long time. Annabeth’s eyes were closed as she felt the heart beat under her cheek pounding and she loved it. The steady sound soothed her and comforted her in ways that she hadn’t even known that she craved. Eric stroked her long hair over and over again, still trying to understand that she loved him too. He was almost drunk with happiness and a part of him was completely sure that it was all a dream. He didn’t say one word, just in case he woke up and found himself back in his bed in Houston, alone and aching for her.

She pressed a small kiss against his chest. “You taking good care of your heart, Eric?” she asked and he heard the double meaning clearly.

“I am.” Carefully, he ran his fingers over the nape of her neck. “And far more importantly, I’m taking even better care of yours.”

She raised her face to his and smiled now, a perfect smile that almost brought him to his knees. He stared at her pink lips, longing to kiss them until she opened to him, invited his tongue inside. But he didn’t do it, didn’t even try. It felt too… fast, somehow. Considering that this woman had come screaming on his tongue the summer before and more than once, his reluctance to give her even a chaste kiss now seemed odd.

He thought about why that was and he realized that despite their one night of mad, passionate lovemaking and the fact that they’d shared a bed for weeks after – in their pyjamas and not doing more than cuddling – they were now starting all over again. In so many ways, this felt like a brand new relationship, like things were just
really
beginning between them, and Eric was determined not to rush it or ruin any of it.

So instead of kissing her, he gently tucked her head under his chin and exhaled hard. She snuggled close and he realized that
this
was all he needed; he had every single thing he’d ever wanted in this moment. Annabeth in his arms, in a sunny room.

This is it. This is my happiness
.

Chapter Six

Dillon sat in the restaurant with a cup of coffee and looked at Maria. She was across the table from him and holding her cell phone like it was a bomb about to go off and maybe, in some ways, it kind of was.

“You calling Bethany now?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Maria took a deep breath. “I’m gonna fire her ass.”

He laughed at the tough guy growl she used. “Who was that supposed to be?”

She grinned. “I was channeling Marlon Brando in ‘The Godfather’.”

He laughed again, delighted and charmed. “Impressive.”

“Not bad?”

“Not bad at all,” he agreed. “So go for it, baby.”

“I will.” But she sat and fiddled with the phone. “I mean, I will soon.”

“What are you so scared of?” he asked her softly. “Julie said it was OK, so you ain’t going to get fired. You scared of confrontation?”

“Maybe a bit.” She looked down, away from those probing green eyes. “I don’t like when people are mad at me, even when I have the right to be mad at them.”

Dillon contemplated that. As a man who never gave much thought to whether or not someone was pissed at him, he tried to look at it from Maria’s perspective. He utterly failed. Further information was required.

“Why do you worry about that?” he said, genuinely interested.

“I don’t really know.” Maria thought about it for a few seconds. “I guess – I guess as a kid, I just never felt like I had the right to be angry about anything. Or no, wait… maybe that’s not right. Maybe I felt like getting angry wouldn’t
change
anything, so I just didn’t see the point of it.”

“You mean in foster care?” This was the first time that he’d given her any hint that Gabi had filled him in about Maria’s childhood and she was silent for a little while, acknowledging that he knew about her past. Finally she sighed.

“Yeah,” she said. “Like – no matter how I felt about any of it, it just didn’t matter, in the end. I had no control over where I ended up or with who or for how long. Getting attached or angry or hurt was pointless, really, so I think I just stopped feeling
any
of those things. Maybe it was some complicated form of self-protection.”

“So you used logic to stop yourself from being angry or upset about shitty situations?”

“I – I guess I did.” She blinked. “I never really thought about it, to be honest.”

“Well, think about it now,” he said roughly. “Because sometimes it’s OK to be angry and hurt. Sometimes those are the healthiest and best responses and if you don’t let yourself go there, you’re just lying to yourself.”

She studied him. “That’s a big thing with you, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Not lying.”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I got no use
or
time for lies.”

“Why?” She paused. “I mean, most people despise lies, of course, but you really seem to feel strongly about them, so much so that you get personally offended at the mere word. Where does that come from? Have you been lied to?”

“We all have, haven’t we?” He was being evasive and he knew it.

“Sure we have.”

Dillon peered at her, saw that she truly wanted an answer to her question. Dammit, he wanted her to trust him completely and right at this moment, that meant opening up a bit.

OK, what the fuck. Here we go.

“When I was six, my Mom died,” he said in his usual abrupt way. “She drowned while she was swimming at a public pool with my aunt.”

“Oh,” she said, startled at the sudden burst of personal information. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. Anyway, after she died, everybody thought that I was too young to really understand what was happening, so nobody told me about her.”

“Who was ‘everybody’?” she asked.

“My Dad. My four older brothers. My grandparents and aunts and uncles. The neighbors, the teachers.” He shrugged. “
Nobody
told me the truth, Maria. Dad said that Mom had left us and everyone just went along with it.”

“Wait… they wanted you to believe that your mother had just – just
abandoned
you all? And they thought that was
better
than telling you she’d died?”

“Yep.”

She stared at him. “But that’s monstrous.”

His gorgeous mouth turned up in a twisted smile. “That’s exactly what it was.”

“So how did you find out the truth?”

“A kid at school told me.”

“Oh, my God,” she said, horrified, imagining how Dillon must have felt. “What did you do?”

“I believed him. It was the only thing that made any sense at all, and I was grateful to know the truth.” He turned his coffee cup around and around in his hands absently. “I knew that Mom would never just up and leave us. She
loved
us, she’d never have done that.”

Maria nodded.

“I went home and told Dad that I knew and from that day on, I never fully trusted him again. I didn’t trust any of them.”

“I can see why,” she said quietly. “Do you talk to your family now?”

“It’s better since I got back from Iraq,” he said. “But it was rough for a good long while there. And
this
is why I don’t like lying, not even for the sake of being kind, not even to yourself. It’s no fucking good. It’s like – like a slow-moving bacteria and I have no interest in being infected ever again. You get me?”

“Yes.”

“So. Tell me the truth now.” Those eyes were blazing at her again. “You going to let yourself feel honestly? Be honest about if you’re hurting or angry or upset? No downplaying it or talking yourself down?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “Good.”

They looked at each other, their eyes locked hard, and Maria actually felt the air between them sizzle. Her first instinct was to lower her gaze, to turn away, to deny what was happening and what she was feeling – but this time, she didn’t. This time, she held his stare and let someone see what was going on inside.

Dillon saw her dark eyes heat up with desire and he was suddenly damn near breathless. All he could think about was being inside her body while those eyes glowed up at him from his bed. He’d bury his hands in those curls, hold her head still, force her to hold his eyes while she came hard and strong. No hiding from what she was feeling or what was happening. He thought it’d be the most fucking beautiful and breath-stealing thing he’d ever seen.

Oh, fuck. I want her. She’s mine to have, and I want to be hers.

“OK,” she said now. “I’ll call Bethany.”

He nodded as she dialled the witch’s number. She had a fixed, focused look on her face and he watched as her lips tightened.

“Bethany?” she said. “Have you got a few minutes?” Pause. “Well, thirty seconds is actually more time than I need – ten should do it. Yes. Ten. Well, what I wanted to say is that you’re fired.” Pause. “Yes, fired.” Pause. “Are you actually pretending that you don’t know why? Really? Did you think that you could behave the way that you have been and for there
not
to be consequences? You broke the contract the second you reneged on the agreed-upon price.” Pause. “Oh, so
now
you can offer me the original price? How kind of you, but no thank you. You’re still fired. Goodbye.”

She disconnected and right away, her phone rang. She cocked her head. “Bethany.”

“You gonna answer?” Dillon said.

“Nope.” She turned the ringer to mute. “I have to go and talk to Eric about how he can help me now that I’ve fired the florist two days before the wedding.”

He looked at her closely. “You OK?”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding a bit surprised. “I really am.” She got to her feet. “So… let’s go see Eric. I hope he’ll have a few ideas.”

“Maria?”

She glanced at him.

“You did good, baby.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell, yeah.” He grinned as her phone started to ring again. “Bethany?”

“Yep.” She switched the phone off completely. “My shift ended thirty minutes ago, so I can turn this off now without any guilt.”

“Awesome. So we go see Eric and then what – back home?” He used the word ‘home’ easily, naturally; the truth was that he felt like he was at home when he was with Maria, and he didn’t care if she knew it.

“I want to cook tonight,” she said. “You interested?”

“I’m interested.”

She peered up at him, hearing layers and depths and folds in those two words. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

Maria pulled out every ounce of courage that she had. “So am I.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Dillon swallowed hard. “So let’s go sort out the flowers and then we’ll go home and do something about all this interest. OK?”

“Yes,” she whispered, already afraid and intrigued about what the approaching night would bring. “OK.”

**

“Do you know Gabi well?”

Dillon looked up from chopping the vegetables for the salad. “Gabi? Yeah, well enough, I guess. I mean, I’ve been working at Dangerous Curves for two years and she’s been there for three. I don’t talk to her much when I’m bouncing and she’s cleaning, but we do chat.”

“What’s she like?” Maria said.

Dillon’s brow furrowed. “You really don’t know her, do you?”

“No, not really.” Maria stirred the pasta sauce and averted her eyes. “I mean, we’ve been talking on the phone maybe once every couple of weeks, a bit more now that this has happened, but we’re still not close.”

“I thought you spent Christmas together?”

“Yeah, two days of it. Then she had to go back to work.”

“Yeah, well, she works a lot.”

“So she’s hard working?”

“Oh, man, that’s putting it mildly.” Dillon grinned. “She never stops, never takes a day off. Sometimes she pulls sixteen-hour shifts at two different places, cleaning her ass off the whole time.”

Maria nodded and took a sip of wine. “What else?”

“Uh. She’s smart, for damn sure, but she’s quiet about it. In fact, she’s quiet all the time. Keeps her personal business to herself.” Dillon hesitated. “We didn’t even know she had a half-sister until all this shit with the Fallen Angels happened and she told us she was worried about you being targeted.”

“Yeah, we agreed to not say too much about each other yet.”

“How come?”

“In case we decided we didn’t actually want a relationship in the end. It would be too awkward to have to explain to everyone why two sisters who’d just found each other didn’t want to have anything to do with each other.”

“Why would you decide that?” Dillon tossed the veggies in to a large bowl.

She was silent for a while then she sighed. “To be honest? I was the one holding back.”

Dillon looked over at her, thought about that. Gabi had given him a very rough run-down of Maria before he’d arrived here, and so he knew some basic details. He knew that Gabi’s Dad had had an affair and that Maria had been the very unwelcome result. He’d never acknowledged her; in fact, he’d never even admitted to being the father at all. It was a hugely asshole move, in Dillon’s opinion, and Gabi damn well knew it. She’d been angry when she’d told Dillon about it – she was well aware that her father had behaved badly.

It only got worse, of course. Maria’s Mom had been unable to deal with a baby on her own and had given Maria up as soon as she was born. Maria had been put in to the system and she’d never come out. She’d never been adopted, so she’d just been shuffled from foster home to foster home for years, until she was eighteen and then she was out on her own. That whole time, she’d thought of herself as an orphan.

When Gabi’s Mom and Dad were killed in a car crash the year before, Gabi had found documents about Maria in her Dad’s things. She’d been shocked and horrified at the discovery that she had a half-sister running around out there… and then she’d tracked Maria down. Dillon still wondered just how the hell that first conversation between the women had gone.

Well enough, he supposed, since Gabi had apparently come to Open Skies a few times to visit and the two women talked a couple of times a week on the phone. They seemed to be slowly, cautiously, becoming friends. He supposed that was the best place to start.

“Why were you holding back?” he asked gently. “You resent Gabi?”

She gave him a look, startled. “A bit, yeah. I mean, I know it’s unfair… but I still feel that way.” She paused. “How’d you know that?”

He shrugged. “Because she had a family and you didn’t.”

Maria bit her lip and stared down at the sauce again. Dillon’s curt and call-it-like-I-see-it approach to life was usually refreshing, but in this case, it was a bit uncomfortable. He didn’t sugar-coat much, did he?

He must have seen something on her face, because suddenly he was standing next to her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she said, still not looking up.

“For being insensitive.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I can be kind of a dickhead sometimes.”

“You aren’t a dickhead,” she said. “You’re just – blunt.”

“Yeah. In a dickheaded way.”

To his relief, she laughed now. “Maybe a bit.”

“You OK?” he said. “You want to stop talking about your childhood?”

She considered that. The truth was that she didn’t talk about that time of her life with anyone. She’d told her last boyfriend that her parents were both dead – and as far as she had known at the time, it was true. In most ways, it was easier to think that they’d died and that was why they’d never come looking for her.

“I – I – maybe not.” She tasted the sauce and turned the element off. “I mean… you know more than most anyone else.”

“I do?”

“Yes. Besides Julie, nobody here has any idea at all. And I only told her because her own childhood was so unbelievably bad.”

“Really?” Dillon thought about the gorgeous, wealthy woman that Julie was, then he thought about the toughness lurking just below that polished skin. “It was like yours?”

“Worse, in some ways, I think. I mean, the truth is that I was moved around a lot, but on the whole, my foster parents were OK. Not really loving, but kind enough. I was fed and clothed and sent to school.”

Privately, Dillon thought that sounded like the equivalent of being a traveling house plant, but he refrained from saying anything more. She hadn’t been physically or sexually abused or hurt, and that was a small miracle in itself in lots of ways. Then again, she’d never been loved and he knew that had to have hurt her in other ways – ways that don’t leave physical scars or marks on a person.