Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4) (23 page)

She instantly tried to clamber away at the same time as he withdrew himself, but Eden held her tight to him, his eyes locking on hers.

She’d expected the confusion from him, but it was the concern that startled her.

Without further hesitation, he flipped her over onto her front, her retaliation restricted by her still bound hands. He yanked her dress as far down over her shoulders and back as the fabric would allow in order for him to assess what he had felt.

Her stomach curdled, heat flushing every sinew of her body. She squeezed her eyes shut against her tears.

Knowing it was too late, she slumped.

E
den overpowered
her struggles without remorse because the fear in her eyes wasn’t of him; it was of what he had found.

He yanked down the back of her dress to see first-hand why his discovery had evoked so much horror in her eyes.

He brushed her hair aside and stared down at her now bare back.

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The splintering of raised bumps that spanned her back resembled the sparks of an electrical storm, branching out into thinner veins before eventually disappearing. Whatever had been used on her, it would have been excruciatingly painful, betrayed by the irreparable scars that it had left behind on her otherwise delicate, smooth skin – scars that surely should have healed.

Tension consumed his body as she stilled beneath him, as if defeated at yet another in a long line of discoveries.

‘What is this?’ he asked.

Met with her silence, he leaned over her.

She looked anywhere but at him, her distant gaze glossy with tears; tears that made both his stomach and heart wrench – a reaction that was another giant step over the mark.

‘Pummel?’ he asked, fury scorching his chest.

‘No,’ she said firmly.

‘Then who?’

‘Let me go.’

‘No. Not until you talk to me.’

‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘
Who
did this to you?’

‘No one,’ she snapped. ‘No one did it to me.’

He looked back at the scar tissue. He could see the flush of embarrassment coating her skin, the heat of shame as if he’d discovered something monstrously ugly.

There was no way he could let her think like that.

Lips parted, he stared at the stunning female beneath him – realised then just
how
much of a personal risk she had taken getting that close to him. As a consequence, she now lay there exposed and subsequently consumed with humiliation.

His heart pounded, the weight of the importance of what he said next pressing down on him. But the words that fell out were nowhere near contrived. It had been his first thought. ‘Do you think this makes you any less beautiful, Jessie?’

‘I don’t care what you think of me.’ Her jaw clenched, her frown deepened. Her defensiveness was back. He was losing her again.

Only now this
definitely
wasn’t about the job. This was about how he felt about
her
.

‘Doesn’t look like it,’ he said.

‘This was a mistake. Get off me.’

To salvage what he could of her self-perceived loss of dignity, he pulled her dress back up over her shoulders before reluctantly easing off her.

Jessie all but leapt off the bed, before turning to face him. ‘I
told
you not to unzip me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She fought to free her wrists from the boundary of his belt, shaking her hands in fury, in frustration. ‘Get this the fuck off me,’ she hissed, her glossy eyes meeting his again.

Her desperation was palpable, painful. But with that much anger exuding from her, he wasn’t sure he could risk complying.

‘Sit back down,’ he said.

She glared at him, spun on her heels towards the door.

He got there quicker, snatching the key from the lock.

She turned to face him again, her eyes lethal in their distress. ‘I
will
raise my voice.’

‘And have everyone come running? Watch me being beaten to death on this floor?’

‘Your choice. I’m the one with the get-out clause,’ she said, holding up her wrists. ‘The state of that bed and this restraint gives you fuck all to the contrary if anyone walks in here.’

‘Those scars – are they a part of what you are too?’

‘Eden, don’t make me do this.’

‘Jess– ’

‘Don’t call me that! Don’t act like we have some kind of understanding here!’

‘But we do. And I am not letting you walk away like this. Not after that.’

‘After what? We both know what
that
was. The same as what you had with Tatum last night, what you probably had when you were out today; will probably have with another two or three tonight unless Tatum finds you first. Don’t make it out to be more than it was because it sure as hell wasn’t anything to me.’

If her lie, her futile attempt at self-defence, hadn’t been so transparent, he would have felt insulted. But he knew exactly what had gone on between them – and so did she.

He folded his arms at the sharp contradiction between her words and the look in her eyes. He nearly took a step towards her when he heard footsteps.

A knock on the door.

Jessie’s attention snapped to the door the same time as his did.

The masculine knock was followed by a masculine voice – fortunately with a light-hearted tone. ‘Hey, Eden, I know you’re in there. I heard voices.’

Chemist.

She stared wide-eyed at him as she plastered her back to the wall.

‘Hey,’ Chemist said again, banging the door. ‘Don’t be shy, open up; let’s take a look. I know you’ve got a woman in there.’ He turned the handle from the other side. ‘I heard her.’

With her eyes watchful and wary on his, Eden raised his eyebrows. ‘Go on then,’ he whispered. ‘Now’s your chance. Scream. I dare you.’

With one more glower, she dropped her gaze to the floor.

He stepped back over to the bed, slipped the protection off his waning erection and discarded it in the bin. As Chemist knocked again, Eden yanked on his shorts and jeans and fastened the bottom couple of buttons to hold them up. He picked up her underwear and her sweater and dropped them on the floor near her.

As he stepped up to the door and pulled away the chair, her gaze snapped to his.

She shook her head, mouthing, ‘No.’

Eden opened the door anyway, bracing his arm across it.

Chemist glanced past him at the ruffled sheets, at his half-naked state. He smirked. ‘I take it that’s not Tatum you’ve got in there?’

‘What do you want, Chemist?’

‘Pummel wants to talk to you. He’s got a job lined up for us. Finish off and get yourself sorted to go out, yeah?’ he said, stepping away. ‘Don’t be long. We’ll be waiting downstairs.’

As Chemist sauntered off, Eden closed the door.

Jessie was leaning against the wall for support, her bound wrists at her stomach, too much cleavage still showing for his throbbing erection. But the shock of the unexpected arrival seemed to have calmed her a little. The anger in her eyes, even in those few seconds, had seemingly appeased enough for him to at least attempt to talk to her.

He stepped in front of her again, zipped the front of her dress back up.

She tensed, but there was no retaliation, no slapping his hand away with both of hers.

He placed his hand beside her head, looked back into her eyes, as deep into her entrancing eyes as he could allow himself. ‘You might want to lie for your own self-preservation, but I call what just happened an unexpected game changer.’ He unfastened the belt around her wrists. ‘We had an agreement, so if you choose to stick around, I’ll teach you what you want to know. As for what’s on your back, as long as no one did it to you, I don’t give a fuck. You need to start trusting what I say, Jessie. You need to accept why you really came to me tonight.’

Needing just a moment to breathe, before he let everything he really wanted to tell her spill out, he shoved the chair back under the door handle and marched into the en suite.

H
e was only
the fourth one to have seen it – as far back as she could remember anyway.

The moment Eden had looked into her eyes, he had reminded her of Toby. It was the same look of horror, of incomprehension. Toby had assumed the same thing: that she had suffered abuse at the hands of someone.

With Toby it had been under very different circumstances though – a friendship that had become a companionship. That when he had been keen to know more about her, she had shown him, to help her explain. She hadn’t felt embarrassment, despite knowing, even if she couldn’t fully recollect, that the scars hadn’t always been there. Back then it had been with no sense of vanity – like nothing more than a child showing another child a graze or a scar.

Pummel had been the one to instil that sense of shame.

He had first seen it after invading her bedroom one night, catching her exiting the bath. His initial reaction was morbid fascination, pinning her face first against the wall so he could take a closer look. Then had come the utterings of disgust, before the laughter. He had laughed with admiration for whoever’s handiwork it had been.

She had done nothing to explain to the contrary.

Adding to her humiliation, he had called Homer up to her room to take a look. With her back to them, he had made her drop her towel as he and Homer had passed derisive commentary, and not just about her scars, whilst she was forced to stand like a piece of mocked art.

What had once evoked compassion instead provoked disgust and ridicule. And it had stayed with her – deep beneath the scar tissue itself.

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but having Eden look at her the way he did, touch her the way he did, had let some of that evaporate – until he too had discovered what lay beneath the attractive clothing she’d worn to tempt him.

Only, just like Toby had, he’d chosen to focus on
her
, not the scars.

But Eden wasn’t Toby. Toby wasn’t a con. Toby wasn’t a master manipulator. Toby had no selfish intentions for her. She had never shared Toby’s bed.

She couldn’t deny that same strength of connection though. A connection she couldn’t afford to feel again – not having witnessed what Pummel had done to her only friend. She was never going to allow anyone close enough to revisit the pain she’d felt back then.

That’s why she should have forgotten about the padlocks. That’s why she should have minded her own business. That’s why she should have pushed the fate of the potentially imaginary children in the cellar out of her mind.

But she couldn’t.

And too big a part of her didn’t want to leave the room, didn’t want it to end like that. A part of her that knew there was nothing beyond that door that compared with how she felt being in there, close to him. Because out there suddenly felt lonelier than ever. In there, ironic though it was, as much as she hated to admit it, she felt safe – even with what Eden had discovered. Because clearly, just like when Pummel had found it, he had no clue what she was.

More so, despite her aggression, he
still
seemed intent on keeping to his side of the bargain.

She perched back on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to emerge, the lack of steam coming from the en suite proving it was anything but a hot shower he was taking.

When he did re-emerge, the semblance of their time together washed from his skin and subsequently exacerbating the distance between them, it was a distance that was reinforced by his silence as he crossed her path to the wardrobe.

He crouched down to take a paper bag from within. He draped a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt over the open door – clearly things he had bought with Pummel’s money when he’d been out earlier. He dropped his towel and tugged on the fresh shorts he’d also pulled from the bag. Slipping on his jeans and T-shirt, he ruffled his damp hair at the door mirror.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was the shock.’

He closed the wardrobe door, but remained side-on to her, hands low on his hips as if he was about to say something she didn’t want to hear. When he finally turned to face her, his dark eyes appraised her slowly, reassuring her that their connection wasn’t entirely severed. Wandering back past her, he picked up his discarded jeans from the en suite doorway and removed something from the back pocket.

Sitting beside her on the bed, he reached for the padlock behind her.

‘You’re looking for two components,’ he said. ‘One to push back and then another to lift the latch to release the bar.’ He cupped the padlock, placed the pins inside and flicked the latch open. ‘It’s like using chopsticks – for the first few times you mess up a lot but it gets easier. This is where the release catch is,’ he said, pointing to the right of the lock, ‘so you want that facing away from you to help with the natural leverage as you lift. It’s hard to show you without diagrams, but the trick is feeling your way, pushing with one pin and lifting with the other.’ He upturned the padlock, holding it steady for her as he angled himself to face her square-on. ‘It takes a long time to learn to do it single-handed, so focus on using both for now. I’ll hold it steady for you.’

She met his gaze, albeit fleetingly, reminding her of how deeply and intimately she’d stared into those eyes. Now it all felt unreal.

Accepting the pins as he held the padlock for her, she let out a few frustrated breaths in the minutes that passed as she tried to feel around inside, looking for the cues he had mentioned. But all she could detect were lots of little chunks of metal.

‘Add small amounts of pressure to everything you find,’ he said. ‘If something gives, you’re in the right place.’

She persisted, keeping her attention on the lock despite his proximity, despite sensing that he wasn’t just watching the skill of her fingers, but that he was watching
her
.

Eventually, she found the device that moved horizontally. She searched for the latch that had to be around there somewhere. In her impatience she became more hurried, slipping a couple of times.

‘Too rough,’ he said, sliding one of his hands over hers to guide her, the feel of his wrapped over hers more reassuring than it should have been. ‘You have to take your time, feel your way as you slip inside. It’s about angling it correctly to begin with. Once in there, you have to be really gentle – it’s a very sensitive mechanism.’

As their eyes met, his glinted with familiar mischief.

Her heart skipped a beat at his attempt to ease the tension between them, to throw her a lifeline – that he had taken it upon himself to do it.

She raised her eyebrows, looked into his eyes until they switched back to focusing on guiding hers.

‘How very opportunistic a euphemism for you,’ she whispered.

Eyes still downturned, his lips curled upwards, not just easing her tension but dispelling it – not least as his gaze flitted back to hers momentarily. Then he laughed. It was the first time she had seen him laugh properly. His eyes ignited, reminding her how humans
could
be. Something inside her melted.

‘Smutty as fuck,’ he whispered, returning his attention to what he was doing. ‘That’s me.’

She couldn’t help but smile. A real smile: something that she hadn’t felt in a long time. And it snagged his attention as much as his had snagged hers.

She didn’t know which of them broke from their interlocked gazes quicker.

‘Here, let’s get those angles right,’ he said, easing behind her, spreading his thighs either side of hers.

Her heart skipped another beat as she felt the warmth of his hard body against her back, felt contained and safe as he wrapped his arms around her. It was painfully intimate despite its functionality, his breath against her neck distracting as he brushed her hair aside so he could see what he was doing.

As his thighs contained hers, as he guided her attention back to the padlock, his proximity was intoxicating. She tried to ignore the linger of disappointment that he found it so easy to resume his focus on the task, whereas it took more of her strength than it should have not to lean back into him.

‘It’s good that you’re learning in poor light. You really are better feeling your way than trying to look. No euphemism intended,’ he added with a smile that she caught a glimpse of across her shoulder. ‘You’re working into the lock so, from the way I’m holding it, it’ll be left to right for you.’ He guided her hand again – his soft and warm in its firm control – until she felt the mechanism give slightly. ‘Flick up,’ he said, and gently she did. She heard and felt his curt exhale. The curt exhale of approval. Approval that created a pang deep in her chest. ‘Attagirl,’ he whispered. ‘Told you that you could do it. Now try again.’

He clicked it shut, keeping a hold of it in one hand, resting his free hand on his thigh dangerously close to hers.

Despite that, and despite the all-consuming distraction of the heat of his hard body against her back, she attempted to focus on what she was doing. Her fingers fumbled over the lock, but she persisted. As her fingers slipped for the third time, she gritted her teeth, trying again.

Finally, it opened. A sudden sense of elation consumed her, despite her not being convinced her success hadn’t been a fluke.

But Eden snapped it shut just as quickly as it had opened. He handed it to her. ‘Try it on your own now.’

Hands free, he rested them on his thighs either side of hers, detracting her attention from her elation and back to him again.

Determined to focus, she cupped the padlock in one hand whilst she held the two small pins in the other.

‘The more times you do it, the smoother you get,’ he said, turning his hands so his fingers held the insides of his thighs, brushing the outside of hers in the process.

She tensed. She knew he had felt it too.

She could sense him smile, could hear it in his tone. ‘Lapse of concentration there, Ringlets?’ he whispered.

‘You wish.’ But she couldn’t stop her smile from escaping.

‘Why do you put up with it?’

Tension ratcheted through her body again. ‘Put up with what?’

‘What I saw down there. Why, when you could take every single one of them, do you let Pummel treat you like that?’

‘Maybe for the same reason I’m tolerating you: because I have no choice.’ She felt a snag of guilt at the resumed coldness of her remark, hated the tension she felt it evoke in his body. ‘I haven’t had a chance to thank you – for stepping in like you did.’

‘You don’t need to thank me. You were holding your own. I just wanted to level the playing field.’

His acknowledgement sparked warmth in her chest, a reassurance that it hadn’t left him with the impression of her being weak. She glanced over her shoulder, locking her gaze on his again. ‘And I appreciate what you did.’ She looked back at the lock. ‘I just want you to know that.’

‘
Has
he got something over on you too?’ He paused as he waited for her to speak. She didn’t. ‘Is he holding you here?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘I’m listening.’

Her fingers slipped as she felt her tension surge again. ‘I’m not talking.’

‘I told you: help me and I’ll help you.’

She exhaled tersely, quickly realising her reaction would reveal more than she intended. Because offer though he may, there was nothing he could do. Nothing anyone could do to help her. ‘For that I have to trust you. I don’t trust anyone after just two days. Especially not a con.’ She twisted the pins, unlocking the padlock so much easier that time. She almost felt regret that she had learned so quickly.

‘And I don’t need to help you to get what I want. It’s not dependent on that reciprocation.’

Her hands stilled. Her stomach clenched. ‘Is that a threat?’

‘No. You know what it is.’

She clamped the padlock shut again and slipped the pins back inside. ‘So, if she’s not your wife or your girlfriend – who is she?’

More than his too long a pause, the indentions in his jeans from his fingers were telling. The balance between them suddenly felt even more delicate – like they were both stood on opposite ends of a rope bridge they hadn’t yet tested.

This
was another side to Eden – an as yet untapped side of him.

She debated how much to push. ‘Obviously she means a lot to you, considering the risk you’re taking here.’

‘She does.’

It was hardly noticeable but it was definitely there. This was the first slight she’d seen in that impenetrable composure. The way his fingers pressed into his thighs was involuntary – a rare something that wasn’t under his control. Like his raw reaction to the tender kiss she’d placed on his neck, it revealed the tiniest fragment of vulnerability.

But not only did he not like having that vulnerability; he liked the thought of anyone else seeing it even less.

Whoever “she” was, not only was she real; she was a part of Eden who no one got to.

And it was
that
part, she was sure now, that made him different. It was that part that made her waver over whether she was so right to have cut off his request so coldly.

She inserted the pins, flicked the mechanism, the lock opening in her hand again.

She was right there – right on the edge of asking more. But knowing more, understanding him more, would bring them closer. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready for that deeper connection; knew her heart was too vulnerable to make it.

Because it was still there – the smallest, tiniest, nagging fragment of doubt that told her if she was wrong about him, if she was only seeking what she wanted to see, she may as well hand him a noose for her own neck by starting a conversation that could lead to her agreeing to his request.

And clearly, by his silence, by the tension in his body, he wasn’t yet convinced enough to open himself up for the same. It was a reaction that told her that, no matter how far he was willing to push to get what he wanted from her, there was most definitely more to Eden Reece.

Now she was more than curious – the urge to know more about him was rooted. But she would keep it contained.

‘She means enough to be taking these kinds of risks,’ he added. ‘Talking of which, you said if I helped you, you’d think about it.’