Waking Eden (The Eden Series Book 3) (6 page)

R
amsay zipped
into a parking spot outside what looked like a dive bar. White stucco walls stretched to form a simple square building with a flat roof and blue trim. Above the matching blue door hung a cheesy blue and pink neon sign in the form of a martini glass with
Louie’s
in cursive beneath it. “This is a pizza joint?”

Trinity fidgeted with the leather tassel on her purse. If she was impressed with the Spyder’s swank interior or the price tag that went with it, she sure wasn’t showing it. Not at all the kind of reaction he normally got from women. “Martini bar, actually, but they’re known more for their pizza.”

She opened her door as soon as he got it in park.

He hurried around to her side, barely making it before she shut the door. “Makin’ it hard for me to show good manners.”

“Oh.” Trinity’s gaze back-and-forthed between him and the car. “Sorry. I guess I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a lot of work into studying her sexy as hell black pumps. Her matching skirt hit just above her knees and her prim blue sweater set rounded off the whole hot librarian vibe. “Dates usually mean touching, so I don’t do it much.”

Not many dates. Which meant not much in the way of kissing. Or anything else.

Untouched.

The idea detonated inside him. He
could
touch her. Give her what no one else could. Explore and teach her all kinds of wicked things.

Fuck. He had zero business entertaining anything along those lines. Not with this woman. He needed answers. Not sweaty sex with a probable virgin.

“Well, then, you’re due for some much needed practice.” With a light touch on her arm, he steered her toward the entrance, avoiding skin-to-skin contact.

Inside, the bar was packed. Not at all the kind of place he’d expected his buttoned-up librarian to pick. One side was older, dark with remnants of heavy smoke from days before the ban on indoor smoking, and small, black-top tables that had probably been around since the fifties. Not a single chair matched. The other side was newer, an add-on with exposed brick walls, party-sized booths, and a whole lot more light.

Ramsay gave the hostess his name while Trinity plastered herself to a wall in the shadowed entry, arms crossed and tucked in tight. Damn, but that must make her life miserable. Forget about sex. How’d she get through growing up without so much as a hug? Surely she didn’t have this issue with her parents.

The hostess motioned for them to follow and trotted toward the newer side.

Trinity hesitated, gaze darting between the loitering bodies as though plotting out a safe path.

“Come on, Sunshine.” He pulled her against him and navigated the crowd. “If you’re big enough to let a guy grovel over dinner, the least I can do is run interference.”

The hostess showed them to a booth and offered Trinity a menu.

Trinity accepted it at the furthest corners.

“How long have you fought the whole touch thing?” Not exactly a subtle conversation starter, but dancing around the topic seemed silly at this point. Besides, her condition might somehow feed into the rest of the information he wanted.

Trinity made a big show of perusing the menu, tapping the corner with her index finger. Unfortunately, her eyes never lingered on any item long enough to make the act convincing. “Since I was six. It took about a year, but the doctors finally diagnosed me with haphephobia.”

“Fear of touch.”

Trinity’s head popped up, her mouth slightly ajar. The non-stop tapping stopped.

“What?” He winked at her and set his menu aside. “You think a guy like me doesn’t know big words?” A guy like him had all kinds of time to learn multi-syllable words. One of the benefits of being one hundred and fifty-two years young.

She coughed and fisted her hands in her lap. “Sorry. That was rude of me.”

“Hardly. More rude for me to tease you about it. Though it’s kinda cute the way your ears turn pink when you’re embarrassed.”

One hand shot up to the side of her head. “They do not.”

“Do too. It’s cute.”

She traced the shell of her ear, lingering for a second or two.

“It must have been hard on your parents,” he said.

Her shoulders dropped and her sweet smile vanished. She shut the menu and set it away. “Harder after my dad died. He meant everything to Mom, and when she lost him…” She frowned at the table. “She stuck by me, but she was never the same again.”

A waitress with deep maroon hair and cobalt blue streaks sauntered up and broke the tension. She was a tiny thing, four-foot-ten at best, but her demeanor screamed of good-natured rebellion. Kind of a renegade faery minus the wings. “You two know what you want?”

Ramsay motioned to the menu and grinned at Trinity. “You pick. I’ll eat ten of whatever you’re having.”

The waitress laughed, a full belly rumble that made the two tables beside them turn to take notice. “Damn, girl.” She sidestepped to get a better angle on Ramsay and winked at Trinity. Her eyebrow piercing glimmered in the overhead fluorescents. “Lookin’ like that and giving you carte blanche? Sounds like you’re in for a fun night.”

Trinity’s cheeks pinkened to match her ears, but she kept eye contact. “A merlot for me, and we’ll have a large, thin crust with chicken, jalapenos, onions, and feta.”

Wild child scribbled on her note pad. “Large thin crust, chicken, jalapenos,
no
onions, feta. Got it.”

“No, we want onions.”

The waitress dipped her chin and peered down her nose at Trinity. “You’re missing me here. You’ve got a good-looking guy offering whatever you want on a date. You do
not
want onions. Get me?”

Ramsay couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. Under different circumstances, Wild Child would be a hell of a lot of fun to hang with for a few hours. Come to think of it, she seemed a little familiar.

No. He’d have remembered the hair. “She’s right, you know. I’ll give you whatever you want…with or without onions.”

“Daaamn….” Wild Child fanned herself.

Trinity’s whole face turned beet red a split second before she ducked her chin and rubbed her palms on her thighs.

“Make that two larges,” Ramsay said. “And a beer for me.”

“On it!” The waitress spun away and hurried to the kitchen.

Praise The Great One, Trinity was sweet. The kind of innocent sexy a man wanted to horde all for himself. “Trinity.”

No response, not so much as a twitch in his direction.

“Give me your eyes, Trinity. I want to see the way they look when I say something that makes you blush.”

Her head snapped up, nothing short of raw and inexperienced hunger on her face. God, everything about her was pure goodness. Expressive and honest.

He laid his hand on the table palm up. “Take my hand.”

She stared at it and worried her lower lip.

“It’s just a touch. Two people holding hands while they get to know each other. You’re safe with me.” His conscience flinched. He’d never willfully hurt a woman, but he had a funny feeling he could seriously injure Trinity if he didn’t tone things down.

She slid her hand in his.

The hesitant contact sizzled through him, more erotic than a practiced courtesan playing nice with far more intimate body parts.

He tightened his grip and the muscles in his biceps flexed with the impulse to pull her across the table and onto his lap. He had work to do, damn it. Information to get and puzzles to solve. What he needed was a safer line of conversation. “Why a librarian?”

Her answering smile nearly flattened him, so bright and happy it warmed him from the inside out. “Because I love books. The things I learn, the places they take me…” She giggled and rested her chin on her free hand. “I swear I even love the smell. That makes me kind of weird, huh?”

Weird? Unlike most of the women he talked to, she was genuine. Candid and unpretentious. “Men like the smell of gasoline and motor oil. I’m not gonna give you a hard time over books.”

She laughed, tugged her hand free, and reclined into the back of the booth as the waitress delivered their drinks.

The conversation flowed easily. Likes and dislikes. Wine versus beer. Sports and Trinity’s appalling lack of knowledge thereof. As promised, the pizza surpassed Trinity’s claims, not one onion located on either one. Languid with food and drinks, they strolled toward his car.

Ramsay recaptured her hand in his and stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb. So soft. A tiny flutter at her pulse point.

Her breathy voice floated around him. “So, what do you do?”

Tricky. Too much information and she could search for him. Not enough and he’d look evasive. “My brother has a geological research company in Tulsa. I work for him.”

Not a lie as far as actual corporations went. In truth, he wasn’t sure he could find the office without a little assistance from Google. “Have you always lived in Dallas?”

Her shoulders sagged, as though some of the happiness she’d built up through their light conversation eked out before she could catch it. “Ever since my parents adopted me.”

Ramsay stopped. The rumble of the bar crowd inside barely registered above the random street traffic, and a dirty streetlight buzzed three cars over.

Adopted.

Like Lexi.

“So, it’s just you and your mom?” he asked. “No other relatives?”

She shook her head. “But you have a brother, right?”

“A twin, actually. And a sister.” The Great One help him if Galena ever learned how he was going about getting info out of Trinity. She’d string him up by his nuts for sure. Maybe a touch of directness wouldn’t hurt. “Why do you think I can touch you?”

Trinity huffed out a laugh and traced the lower ledge of the passenger door window. “I have no idea.”

“But you said others could, right?”

She nodded, still distracted.

“Who?”

She shook off whatever thoughts held her and moved so he could open the door. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Bad memories?”

“No, just private.” She motioned for him to open the door. “I’ve gotta get home. I moved last week, I’ve got boxes to unpack, and I was up early this morning.”

Ramsay leaned a hip into the door and crossed his arms. “You know, strong men are especially handy to have around when it comes to moving.”

She mirrored his move, though it looked a whole lot sexier on her. Especially the way her crossed arms lifted her killer rack up for exaltation. Even more impressive, she didn’t have a clue what the pose did for her. “I’ve already moved.”

“Yes, but are all the boxes emptied? Or are there more to move around and unpack?”

She hung her head so her hair obscured her face. The moonlight shone bright against the platinum color and her shoulders shook on a silent laugh.

Damn but he hated it when she hid her eyes, and she did it a lot. A nervous habit he wanted to help break.

He lifted her chin.

Her chuckles ceased as she met his gaze, and a tiny smile lingered on her lips. One and a half centuries on this earth and he’d never met anyone like her. Standing next to her was like having his soul plugged into a power outlet, a high voltage one at that. “Call your friends if you want. Have them come over. I understand you need to be safe. I just want a little more time with you.”

Her gaze roamed his face.

The space between them sparked with untamed energy. Heady. More punch than any top shelf booze and twice as addictive.

She rubbed a spot beneath the neckline of her sweater. The exact place her pendant would be. “I’ll call my friends and ask them to check on me in a few hours.”

T
rinity opened
her front door and fumbled for the light switch, the jingle of her car keys practically broadcasting her jitters to Ramsay close behind her.

The kitchen light overhead flickered to life on their left. Packing boxes were stacked in haphazard patterns along the ivory quartz countertops, and cleaning supplies littered what little space was left. Her ancient hardwoods could use a Swiffer, but she hadn’t exactly planned on company when she’d left this morning.

“There’s not much in the fridge.” She motioned Ramsay toward the tiny knockoff stainless steel refrigerator and strode toward the living room.
Please, please, please, don’t let me have left anything embarrassing out.
“Margo might have left a six-pack from moving day. I know there’s milk and bread. I think I put glasses in the cabinet to the left of the stove.”

A squeak sounded behind her followed by the
schleep
of the refrigerator door.

She snatched yesterday’s shoes off the floor and tucked last month’s well-worn
Cosmo
in the end table drawer.

The bedroom. What if they ended up in the bedroom?

She hurried to the larger of her two bedrooms. Talk about rash moves. She never brought home strangers. Bed made, closet closed up tight, bathroom…yep, toilet flushed. All good.

“You’ve got a half-empty bottle of merlot and two beers,” Ramsay called from the kitchen. “You want something?”

The guy sounded way too comfortable in this situation. Waaaay more comfortable than her. Of course, he also appeared to have a social life. More than a social life, actually. He lived. His whole demeanor practically screamed
bonsai
!

“You drink the beers,” she called and checked her makeup in the mirror. Not too bad. Hair a little flat and eyeliner on its last leg, but otherwise okay. “I’ll stick with the merlot.”

She paused at the bedroom door, hand bolstered on the jam. Surely this wasn’t a mistake. Her body buzzed, the mere idea of a man touching her, even if it turned out to be nothing more than a kiss, whipped her insides into a three-ring circus.

He sure liked to ask questions though. But that was a good thing, right? Last week Naomi had ranted about a date where the guy only talked about himself. Ramsay had been the opposite.

“Sorry, I rushed out this morning without a mind to company coming.” She rounded the corner and jerked to a stop.

Ramsay sat on her gray chenille sofa, elbows planted on wide knees while he flipped through a photo album splayed across her coffee table. An album from her much younger days.

“Where did you find that?”

He motioned to a box on the floor. “It was open. I’m a sucker for embarrassing teenage pictures.” He grinned and turned the page, but the way he held himself didn’t match his joking tone. Or maybe it wasn’t his posture so much as his focus.

He closed the album and stood, scanning the few boxes that remained in the living room. “Where do you want to start?”

Her mind plastered an insta-picture of the two of them naked and sweaty on her bed, a much less tidy bed than the real life version she’d left behind.

He picked up a full wine glass off the table and offered it. God, he had sexy hands. Long, strong fingers. Manly. What would they feel like between her legs, stroking her to a slow, yet powerful orgasm?

Her heart tripped and a ripple filtered from her belly button to the top of her thighs.

“Trinity?”

She lurched forward and took the wine. “Are you any good with electronics? I can strain a broadband signal with the best of them, but I’m pretty clumsy setting up a network.”

“And here I thought you wanted me for my brawn.” The playful glint in his eyes sparked a pleasant heat beneath her skin. “Show me where you want everything hooked up and I’ll do my best to impress you with my limited knowledge of routers. A warning though. This means I’ll have access to your Internet browser and I’m not above scanning your browser history.”

He leaned in and all the oxygen in her lungs scattered to make room for his dark, delicious scent.

“Kinda curious what naughty sites a girl like you visits when no one’s watching.” He backed away and waggled his eyebrows, seemingly oblivious to the fact he’d taken what was left of her rational thoughts hostage. “So where am I headed?”

“Down the hall, second door on the left, dirty boy.” Impressive. More than two words put together in a complete sentence, and she’d actually managed some spunk. No small feat considering her mind was busy backtracking through her Internet sessions. How long was that kind of stuff stored in history anyway?

She trailed behind him. His loose, long hair was the sexiest snub to conformity she’d ever seen, and his overall size was, well, big. Especially compared to her. Tight, defined muscles, wide shoulders, narrow waist, and a backside that made his easy swagger downright lethal.

He turned. His white T-shirt was tucked neatly into his low-slung jeans. Yep. The total hot guy package. Hard not to imagine the impressive parcel underneath.

“Trinity?”

She blinked and tried to force her mind back online. Oh, God. Totally busted staring at his crotch.

He grinned. Not just any grin, but a genuine shit-eating, caught-you-with-your-hand-in-the-cookie-jar grin. “Your router and cables?”

She staggered to the opened packing box on her desk and rummaged inside. At least she could hide her embarrassment behind the box flap at this angle. “I’m pretty sure they’re in here, but can you check the one by the bookcase?”

Deep breaths. She couldn’t be the first woman to ogle the guy. Not that his ego needed any extra boosts.

“Got ’em.”

She peeked over the flap and found him untangling two gray cords.

“I’ll put the router on top of the bookshelf so you don’t clutter up your desk. That work for you?” Every move was smooth and efficient. Confident, like he did this every day.

She nodded and situated her computer, snapping to hand him whatever he asked for and otherwise aiming to stay out of the way.

He glanced up from behind her computer and lifted his chin toward the picture frame on her desk. “Those your parents?”

A pang knifed her heart. “Yeah. That was taken about a year before David died.” Carol looked so much different then. Happy and hopeful, even if she was still a little high-strung.

Trinity had come along and ruined life for both of them.

The clunk and rattle of hardware and cables stilled. Ramsay rested one arm on the top of her monitor. “If it makes you sad, why put it there?”

“They don’t make me sad. I just wonder if they would’ve ended up happier without me.”

Whoa. Where the heck had that come from? She never talked about her family with anyone but Kazan.

Ramsay twirled a cord between his thumb and fingers. “How could anyone be happier without you in their life?”

Trinity laughed, the sound bubbling up with a hint of resentment. “Well, you’ve only known me a total of twenty-four hours, so I’m not sure you’re a suitable judge.”

“Then educate me.” His intensity crept across the room and held her by the back of the neck, his silver eyes glinting.

No. Going there would only drudge up the sludge she’d fought to escape. Mental health meant accepting all your old junk, letting it go, and moving on. “It’s a long story best left behind.” She motioned at the cord in his hand. “Where’s that one go?”

He studied her for a few seconds and moved to the bookcase. “All right, if you’re not willing to talk, then you have to learn.” He held out the cord. “Get over here, and I’ll teach you how to do it for next time.”

The way he was situated against the wall with the bookcase in front of him, she’d be sandwiched mighty close to his big body. Too close.

Her abdominals fluttered and the muscles between her legs tightened. That’s why she’d agreed to bring him here. To see if anything else would happen. Maybe find out what real touch felt like.

She inched forward.

Ramsay straightened, the predator she’d glimpsed in him the night before rushing to the surface.

Her pulse pounded in her head, drowning all ambient sound, and her deepening breaths echoed in her ears.

With a hand at her shoulder, he guided her into the space between him and the bookshelf. “Take this.” His voice was deeper. Distracted. “Plug it into the one that says WAN.”

Trinity slid the blue box closer, fingers locked on the cable with a death pinch. It was either that or drop the damned thing and lose the incredible heat radiating off his body.

The connector snapped into place.

“Now this end.” He handed her the other end of the cord, simultaneously closing what remained of the distance between their bodies so every amazing inch of his front pressed against her back. His other hand curled around her hip and his lips hovered beside her ear. “Plug it into the cable modem.”

The what?

She dropped her hand. The cord dangled between her fingers, her muscles unresponsive to anything but the man behind her. “I…”

His hand at her hip slid in and splayed low across her belly, nearly hip to hip. Powerful and confident.

He pressed his hips into her back, the package she’d ogled needing absolutely no imagination now.

A low, frustrated growl rumbled from his chest. “Turn around.”

She turned on autopilot.

He braced one hand on the bookshelf and cupped her face with the other. His fingertips pressed against her scalp, the urgency of his touch prickling all the way down her spine. His breath fanned warm against her face. “Have you ever kissed a man, Trinity?”

The proximity of his lips brought a tingle to her own. Her voice sounded different. A little broken and a lot breathless. “A small one. Quick.”

He leaned closer. The side of his nose grazed hers as he splayed the hand he’d braced against the bookcase to the small of her back. “Tell me you want more.”

Huh? Why was he talking? Her entire world centered on his mouth, the plush, wet contact she’d always fantasized about the only thing worth entertaining.

“I won’t take what you don’t offer.” The arm around her back tightened. “Tell me.”

“Yes.” A million times yes, if he’d shut up and get with the program.

His mouth tilted in a wicked grin and he cupped the back of her head, hair tangled in his fingers. “I promise.” His lips skated over hers in a teasing whisper and his husky voice rattled her senses. “This won’t be small. Or quick.”

The claim crashed over her a second before his mouth captured hers.

Perfect. So full and warm, their breath mingling as he licked the seam of her lips.

She parted them, eager for more of his taste, the faint trace of beer, but something more powerful behind it.
Him.
Rich and frighteningly addictive.

He groaned into her mouth, his tongue encouraging her for more. He shifted his stance and muttered against her lips. “I was right. You taste like sunshine, too.”

Her shoulders and back met wood. The bookcase.

He tilted her head and deepened the kiss, hands at either side of her neck.

She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Couldn’t care less. Not so long as he kept kissing. Stroking those perfect lips of his back and forth, licking into her mouth to tangle his tongue with hers.

Cool air assailed her stomach and his rough, erotic stroke teased above the waistline of her skirt.

Her cardigan was gone, only the tank from her sweater set still in place. When had that happened?

Her heart tumbled and her fingers tightened in his hair. Intimacy. This was what it felt like. Explosive and languid all at once, nerve endings on high alert and laid bare for contact.

She moaned and arched into his touch, needing more. Higher. Preferably without the confines of her bra, which felt two sizes too small.

Ramsay kissed along her jaw, down her neck. “A kiss isn’t enough.” He nipped her earlobe, his thumbs teasing the undersides of her breasts through the silk covering them. “I want more.”

So did she. Hours of it. Starting right now. She fisted the hem of his T-shirt and tugged, slipping her hands underneath. Hot skin and hard muscle rippled beneath her palms. Amazing. So alive and powerful.

A hiss sounded at her ear. “I’ll take that as a yes.” In one smooth move, he peeled her sweater up and over her head, tossed it to the floor, and froze.

* * *

R
amsay stared
at the ancient black filigree pendant dangling between the swells of Trinity’s breasts, the shock of Lexi’s mark ripping his lust from underneath him.

Somewhere in the night he’d forgotten his mission. Gotten lost in Trinity’s bright, crisp scent and her warm, sweet taste, eager to see what lay beneath her prim and proper sweaters, only to crash head-on into what had brought him here in the first place.

“Did I do something wrong?” Her innocent, breathless voice lashed his conscience even as her heavy lidded eyes and flushed cheeks drew him back in. Praise The Great One, her breasts were full and lifted by lavender silk and lace like a damned offering. He’d bet everything he owned her nipples matched the pale pink of her lips. They wouldn’t stay that way long, though. They’d be a nice, rosy color after he’d licked and sucked them like a ripe fucking peach.