Desire Unmatched: 4 (Coded for Love) (9 page)

Both he and Emma stared at the closed door for a long
second.

He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to do this. I can
wash myself.”

“Don’t be a fool.” Emma dipped the cloth in the soapy water,
then slapped it down on his bare shoulder. “How are you going to wash your
back?”

“I’d manage,” he said, but it was halfhearted at best, for
she’d started to rub the cloth in small circles over his skin. After weeks of
sleeping on a basement floor with zero bathing facilities, the hot water felt
amazing. He closed his eyes, hoping to block the tantalizing image of sweet
Emma bathing his naked body.

It was no good. With his eyes closed, the images only became
more debauched and dirty. He was still naked, but now fantasy Emma was too,
wearing only high heels and a smile.

“Stop. I’ll take care of washing.” He sat up and hunched
over a bit, hoping to hide his erection, but it was too late.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said firmly and threw back the
sheet, exposing him totally. She pushed him gently back against the pillow and
dipped the cloth into the water. When she brought it down on his dick, he
thought he’d come right then. “Don’t be silly, Xander. If your dad and Doctor
Wise hadn’t walked in when they did, we would’ve done a lot more than this.”

“No, we wouldn’t have,” he said in a strangled voice. He
clutched at the sheets and willed his ass to stay flat on the mattress and not
thrust into the air.

“Why not?” The cloth squeezed around him and moved from base
to tip. “I want you, and you obviously want me.”

“I—” He paused to groan. “Jesus, Emma that feels good.”

She smiled and moved her hand faster, harder. He couldn’t
speak, could barely breathe. Every brain cell was focused on watching and
feeling Emma’s hand moving up and down on his cock. He was going to come, and
right now he didn’t even care. He’d wanted her too badly for too long to have
the will power to stop her.

They didn’t speak. The only sound in the room was the rising
hiss of their combined inhalations and the
shush
of the wet cloth on his
shaft. Suddenly Emma released the cloth, letting it fall to his belly. Her bare
hand replaced the cloth. Instantly he came. His semen jerked out of him with an
intensity bordering on pain.

Emma said nothing and simply picked up the wet cloth and
mopped up the mess he’d made all over his stomach. When he was clean, she
tossed the rag in the sink and went hunting for another.

He watched her wash his thighs and shins, silently waiting
for her to speak. Finally, she glanced up at him. Her eyes were shadowed and
mysterious. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She could be turned-on at
jerking him off, or maybe disgusted. He had no idea, and little experience to
draw on. Well, no experience other than the hours of pornography he watched on
his laptop, and he wasn’t dumb enough to assume the actresses in those films
represented how his match might be feeling at this moment.

Her question caught him off-guard. “Are you opposed to
matching because it’s something to do with me? Or is it something else that has
you fighting it?” she asked.

He heard the vulnerability in her words. He couldn’t stand
that this gorgeous woman didn’t see herself as a prize. She was beautiful,
smart, funny and strong as hell. She had to be to have survived three months as
Paulson’s prisoner. No way could he let her devalue herself, or think he didn’t
value her.

“It’s not you.” His voice sounded hoarse, as if it hadn’t
been used in a while, and he realized he had spoken less than a handful of
words in all the weeks he was kidnapped. “Emma, you’re amazing. Do I wish you
were slightly older? Yes. I feel slightly perverted for wanting you as much as
I do.”

“You’re only six years older,” she pointed out.

“It’s a big six years. I was legally drinking beer before
you started high school. I want you to finish college, get a job, have a chance
to get your heart broken.”

“Why?”

“So when I found you, I’d know you’d be ready for me.” He
swallowed under the intense scrutiny of her stare. “But, the truth is,
I’m
not ready for
you
.” He’d never been this forthcoming with his emotions
before. Did she understand the concession he was giving her?

“But why? I want to understand. You seem to want me
physically, but you keep pushing me away emotionally.” She stood at the foot of
the bed, the wet cloth growing cold on his ankle.

They held each other’s gazes as he debated internally how
much to tell her. Maybe it was his relief at being home, or maybe he was more
feverish than Doctor Wise had let on, for he found himself telling her shit
he’d never said out loud in his life.

“Emma.” He paused and sucked back some air. “Emma, you met
my dad.” He stopped. If only there were a way she could watch a movie of his
childhood so he didn’t have to tell the stories. She could see him running
miles in the snow as a scrawny seven-year-old with his father standing in the
field holding a stopwatch. Or she could witness dinnertime where his father
would serve up a plate, heaping with his mother’s home-cooked food, then take a
morsel of each item and put it on a plate for Xander. Xander, a little boy who
was never allowed to speak at the table, was never asked how his day was.

“I’ve met your dad…” Her voice held a question. She didn’t
understand.

“My dad isn’t nice.” Shit, he had to push the last word out
over a lump in his throat. It had to be his fever. Why else was he about to
cry?

Emma walked to the head of the bed and leaned over him. She
brushed a hand through the hair over his forehead. It was long enough to do
that now. He liked the way her hand felt in his hair. Maybe he wouldn’t shave
it as he’d planned to as soon as possible.

“I’m not matched to your dad. I’m yours.” She brushed her
lips over the skin on his forehead, then pulled back.

He could see she didn’t understand what he was trying to say
at all. He was going to have to dig deeper. For Emma, he could try. “My dad is
more than not nice…”

Her whole body stiffened and she stood back from the bed
with a hand fisted around a bar of the bed railing. “Did he abuse you? Did the
bastard beat you when you were a child?”

Smoke practically poured from her nostrils, and he watched
her with wide-eyed awe. “I will murder that asshole if he dares show his face
in here again.” She turned and stomped to one end of the room, then back. “It’s
never
okay for a parent to beat their child.” She stopped mid-stride and
she looked at him with an expression full of tenderness and…pity?

Oh shit, he had to stop her rampage. Make her understand.
“Emma. Stop.”

She kept stomping around, muttering to herself.

“Emma. Look at me.”

She slowed long enough to turn in his direction.

“He didn’t beat me. Shep would’ve seen that. Other people on
campus would’ve seen and stopped it.”

“Oh?” She came a beat closer. “What then?”

Xander eyed her, not sure how to say it without eliciting more
of her pity. The last thing he wanted was her feeling sorry for his lackluster
childhood. That on top of her concern over his kidnapping and he’d be
completely emasculated. “My dad is controlling.”

Her whole face scrunched as she tried to understand.

“He controls every aspect of my life and demands a hell of a
lot. As a kid, nothing I did was ever good enough. He was always making me
train. From the time I could walk, he made me run, exercise, practice my
skills. It was never good enough for him.
I
was never good enough. If I
didn’t achieve whatever impossible level he’d set that day, I’d be punished.”

He held up a hand when it looked as if she were about to
speak. “No, he wouldn’t hit me. He’d make me sleep on the floor next to my bed,
without a pillow most nights. Or polish all his hunting knives with a cotton
swab.”

“What an ass,” she said.

“He did it because he loves me. He wanted to make me strong.
And I guess I can’t argue with his methods. It worked. I had to sleep on the
floor these last few weeks and it didn’t bother me. I have him to thank for
that.”

Emma stepped to the bed and grabbed his hand, clutching it
to her chest. “Xander, don’t make excuses. Just because he made you tough and
didn’t hit you doesn’t mean you weren’t abused. Did he ever hug you? Tuck you
in after a nightmare?”

He didn’t look at her. The answer was no. His father had
been all about the demanding drill-sergeant style of parenting with none of the
warmth for balance.

“What about your mum?” Emma asked.

He looked from the bed sheet to her. “What about her?”

“Did she intervene with your father?”

He considered the question for a second. If his mother had
stood up to his father even once, life wouldn’t have been as rough, but his
mother had either been more afraid of his dad than he was or she believed in
the child-rearing philosophy. “My mother thinks my dad walks on water. She was
also a stranger to a military lifestyle. His big thing was that he was training
me to be a good soldier so I wouldn’t be killed. She didn’t know enough to
protest.”

“She thought if she interfered, she’d be hurting your
training.”

He scowled, looking at the far wall but not really seeing
it. Instead, in his mind, he saw the hundreds of nights he went to bed hungry,
curled on the hard floor under a thin blanket. What kind of mother didn’t sneak
her kid an extra blanket or even a hug? His.

Emma finished with his sponge bath and pulled the blanket
over his naked body. He was grateful. With all the weight he’d lost, he felt
the cool air more acutely on his skin. She lowered the bed rail and propped her
bottom on the edge of the mattress by his knees.

He met her gaze. “I’m still not quite clear on why your
father makes you not want to match with me,” she said. Her hand lay near his,
and he found it natural to reach over and grab it. Her soft hand felt right in
his. He brushed his thumb over her palm before speaking.

“Because the bastard is still alive. If we match and have
kids, I’d be subjecting my kid to the same a—abuse I suffered.” It was the
first time he’d ever said the word
abuse
aloud in reference to his own
childhood. It was scary as hell and freeing at the same time.

“No.” Emma shook her head.

“No?” He stared at her, dumbfounded. “How do you plan on
stopping him? He still works on campus.”

“But he won’t live in
our
house, will he?”

He scoffed. “You think that will stop him? He’ll knock on
our door and come in any damn time he feels like it.”

“That’s what locks are for. Xander, honey, I’m sorry you
suffered. It makes me want to beat the ever-living shite out of your dad. Your
mum too. But you’re an adult now. It’s your cohort Shep turns to, not your
father. You’ve got the power here.”

He’d never ever used the word
power
in context with
his relationship with his father. It was kind of mind-blowing, to be honest.
“He’ll still try to control our kid,” he insisted.

Emma shook her head again. “Not a chance. And if he tries, I
won’t be silent like your mother. I will raise bloody hell. I’d go to Shep and
get him banned from campus if I have to.”

He couldn’t think of a response. He could only stare at her
in shock.

“Oh, honey,” Emma said with a sad smile on her lips. “If you
could see your face.” Her eyes grew shiny and damp. “I hate that he did this to
you. I
hate
that you’ve been a victim for so long, you’re stopping
yourself from living the life you want, from going after what you want.” She
started to cry in earnest.

He sat frozen on the bed, not sure what to do, but despising
every tear that ran down her face. He’d done this to her. He and his totally
fucked-up family. She could say all she wanted about locking his father out of
their lives, but she didn’t fully know the extent of what she was taking on.
She’d spend a lot more energy and lose a lot more tears dealing with his father
if they went forward with their matching.

“I don’t want you near him,” he said in a low voice. “I want
to protect you.”

Her expression softened and she squeezed his hand. “We’d be
a team, Xander. We’d protect each other. I know that has to be a foreign
concept for you after never having someone stand up for you, but
I
would.”

He stared at her, knowing he was holding her hand too hard
but he couldn’t seem to loosen his grip or let go. Her words were in English,
but the meaning was untranslatable. He couldn’t begin to imagine forming a team
with a woman who would have his back at all times. Part of him wanted to grab
on and sign on the dotted line. In blood if need be. Another part of him was
ashamed it had come to this. Why couldn’t he have had a dad like Adam’s? One
who supported him and welcomed his match into their family like a daughter?

“I have to think about this,” he said, finally managing to
release her hand. “I’ve spent my whole life swearing to myself I’d never match,
never subject my children to my fucked-up family.”

Their eyes met as he tried to communicate his uncertainty
without words.

“Xander, what if I told you I’m not ready for kids yet? As
you pointed out, I’m only twenty-four, and I still need to finish university.
Becoming a parent is something I want, but not anytime soon,” she said. “The
only thing I want now is for us to try to be together. As a couple.” Her body
scooted closer to his on the bed.

He relaxed slightly at her statement about waiting for
children, but then another worry occurred. “What if I can’t do it? I mean, what
if I try and a few months in, it’s too hard? I don’t know how to be in a normal
relationship. What if I suck at it?”

He waited for her determination to crumble, half hoping
she’d shut down and leave the room, but mostly praying she’d stay right where
she was. The last thing he expected was her laughter.