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Chapter14
Eden
Idon’t really doze off so much as lose myself in the quiet ebb and flow of the aftermath of Maddox’s lovemaking. And that’s most definitely what it was: lovemaking. He’s tender and possessive—even as he made me scream his name and beg for more.
He turns pleasure into something else entirely—something addictive. He makes me both want and need in ways I didn’t think I could. He makes all those TV and book romances make sense.
It’s a little terrifying because I know I have to give it up soon—I have to givehimup soon—and I’m not sure I can. Being with him makes me feel like I can take a full breath for the first time in years. I just hadn’t realized I was oxygen deprived all this time.
Rolling over, I watch him sit on the edge of the bed, making plates of food for us. He’s naked—the wide stretch of his back showing smooth skin mottled with scars from his time in the military and probably more than once falling off a horse in the middle of the forest.
I want to reach out and touch him, but he’s too far, and I’m way too comfortable to actually move. And it’s not a hardship, lying here watching him. His muscles ripple with even the slightest movements, and I know he’s strong enough to hold me up and fuck me against the wall if I asked him to.
Hell, I just might. It’s not like we have forever, and I want to take as many memories back with me to comfort me during those impossible nights when I’m far too aware of how alone I am.
I don’t let those dark thoughts intrude though. I shove them away, and by the time Maddox looks back at me, I know I’m smiling. His eyes soften, and he drops the plates next to me before bracing one hand against the bed and kissing me softly.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, you are,” I shoot back.
He snorts, then nuzzles his nose against mine. “You think you’re cute?”
I shrug, but I’m still smiling, and he nips at my lower lip before pulling away and grabbing my hand to urge me up. The room is warm, so it doesn’t bother me that I’m still naked, and his eyes graze over my body but not in a way that makes me feel like he’s only seeing tits and ass.
When he shuffles next to me and pulls the blankets up to our waist, I sink into him, and he noses along my hair before grabbing the food and settling it over our laps.
“René is really annoyed that he has to keep feeding you all this cold shit,” Maddox says as I grab one of the little mini sandwiches. It’s on a croissant, and I’m pretty sure it’s chicken salad—though it’s better than any chicken salad I’ve ever tasted.
I laugh through my bite, swallowing before I try speaking again because I want to keep some of the magic and mystery alive. “I’m not exactly choking this down. I hope he knows that.”
Maddox grins sweetly. “He’s a perfectionist, and he only makes picnic food when he has to. Or when his nieces are visiting.”
I get a sudden image of little kids running around and Miguel, René, and Maddox all having a blast with them. It kind of gets me right in the ovaries—not that I’m eager to have kids or anything, but I didn’t grow up with people who were affectionate with children. My parents loved me—they still love me in their own way—but they were never close with me or very kind.
I feel a touch skimming my jaw, and I look up to find Maddox watching me. “What’s on your mind, darlin’?”
I flush a little at the sweet name, and I shrug. “It’s just… so nice here. You know? Like a little family. My life’s nothing like that.”
“You grew up in the city?” he asks, then takes one of the mini sandwiches down in a single bite. That should not be sexy, right? Eating isn’t supposed to be hot.
God.
I shake myself out of my thoughts. “Yeah. My grandparents lived in the suburbs, and it was nice, but they didn’t like me very much.”
He frowns. “Why not? Rebel?”
“Black sheep,” I tell him with a crooked smile.
It used to bother me—the way they’d look at me like I was some item on display instead of a person. Now, I don’t really care. I stopped waiting for that Disney moment when everyone suddenly wakes up and realizes we were family all along.
“I think they were hoping my parents would adopt a kid they could pass off as theirs. Biologically,” I add before he can give me that annoying argument that adoption doesn’t make me any less theirs. I grew up hearing that shit, and it’s old.
His brow furrows. “That’s fucked.”
I can’t help but laugh. He sounds annoyed on my behalf but not like he pities me. “It is. They’re not the nicest people. They have this whole… I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, struggling with the right words for it. I recall something my grandmother told me once when I was a kid shopping for school clothes. “They believed that as long as you looked upper-class and wealthy, people would assume you belonged in that world, and that was just as good.”
“Fake it ’til you make it?” he offers.
