Ravaged River (Men of Mercy #6) (11 page)

H
ayden stumbled out of bed
, grabbed her alarm clock and stared at the blinking green light with puffy, swollen eyes. Three p.m. Holy crap. She’d napped the whole day.

The last she remembered, the Mississippi sun had painted her fluffy white bedspread and the entire box of extra-soft Kleenexes that were scrunched up on it a bright orange. The fresh sting of tears pricked her eyes.

No. Do not think about the professor.
She had to get herself under some semblance of control and go apologize to her dad and Maxine. Her behavior earlier had been reprehensible. She was happy for her dad and the look of hurt on Hank's face was seared into her memory.

Followed immediately by the last time she'd seen the professor. He'd hugged her and she'd imprinted his smell of old spice.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Hayden flung the empty Kleenex box into the small flower-painted waste basket by her bed and marched to the antique matching white dresser against the opposite wall. She pulled out a pair of yoga pants and a matching loose tank and slipped into the bathroom.

A little while later, she emerged from an extra-hot shower. She compiled a to-do list in her head as she combed out her hair in front of the mirror.

Apologize to Hank and Maxi.

Track down Malik.

Find out where and when the professor was going to be buried.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Hayden gave the comb a ruthless tug, ripping through a tangle. Pain pierced her scalp and she hissed in a breath.

She had to slow down. Take a deep breath. Remember what she'd learned in clinicals.

Hayden carefully returned the comb to the top drawer on the left of her sink and picked up her make-up brush. Slow and easy, she counted each move, focusing on each minute task.

Apply her base. Then powder. Blush and eye shadow followed. Everything precise and perfect. By the time she got to the mascara, she was almost sure she could apply it without ruining it the very next second with more tears.

Hayden unscrewed the top off her Maybelline long-wear and lifted the brush to her face. Her hand shook. She gritted her teeth and kept going, determined to use routine to regain control of herself. After finishing her left eyelashes, she moved on to the right.

She started at her lash line and swept up. She found herself thinking about the Dior make-up blog she sometimes read. The artist had said to pick out your make up for the day depending on your mood, like you would your clothes.

She was supposed to consider different things: Like was she getting ready for work? An interview? A hot date?

Like with Hoyt?

Her hand slipped and she painted a thick black scar from the corner of her eye down past her cheek. Crap. Now she just looked like a sick clown with a bright red nose no amount of make-up could cover. No man would come close to her like this.

Her eyes locked onto her reflection. Was this what Hoyt saw when he looked in the mirror? A huge ugly scar and nothing else?

She knew he’d broken it off because he was ashamed of his looks, but she’d never
really
looked at that part of him.
And that’s all he focused on.

Hayden dropped the mascara wand and it clattered into the sink.

Hayden thought hard, trying to remember every word she'd said to him during his recovery, when he was still covered in bandages and drugged up on pain pills. She'd held his fingers, just his fingers, because even the backs of his hands had giant X's carved into them.

She’d cried and cried and told him how much he meant to her. He'd been half out of it most of the time.

Hayden reached up and smeared the line of mascara down to her chin, drawing an ugly black wound on her face. She'd seen him do that. Trace his scar when he was distracted.

And then he'd jerk his hand away. Like he was disgusted with himself.

Her heart took off, beating so fast she couldn't distinguish one beat from the next. Hayden grabbed the edge of the counter as a wave of dizziness hit her.

She'd stuck with him all the way, but buckled the first time he’d pushed her away. All she'd been able to see was the hurt inside of herself, instead of the hurt inside of Hoyt.

Hayden snatched the wash rag from the counter and started scrubbing. She had a new list of items for today.

Right after she finished groveling to her dad, she was going to confront Hoyt Crowe.

A
bout thirty minutes later
, Hayden rushed through the kitchen and into the living room. "Thank God you're still here, Dad-" she started, letting out a sigh of relief.

But the man sitting on the couch wasn't her father.

Just like that, her blood started to boil. Hoyt Crowe stood up, clothed in a tight-fitting dark gray shirt that v-ed into his standard black pants. The tattoos he'd gotten a few months ago seemed to pulse and swell up his arms, snaking into the sleeves that pulled obscenely tight over his ripped biceps.

Hayden's mouth watered.

She loved his tattoos. So dark and hard. Just like the man wearing them.

She hadn't gotten to see them on his chest or back yet, but she'd imagined them. And right now, her imagination was running across a wild fire of desire.

Hayden stuffed her emotions down, counting it a success when she didn’t relent to desire and launch herself across the room at him.

"Are you okay?" Hoyt cleared his throat and shuffled from his left foot to his right.

The psychology student inside her latched onto that movement. He was nervous. His face may look impassive, but he was as nervous as she was.

Hayden took a tentative step into the room. Hoyt countered, sliding a step away.

But this time his distance didn't hurt so much. She took another step and another, until she'd backed him up to a wall about five feet away. This close she could see his pupils dilate until his blue irises almost disappeared into the black.

"I'm not okay. But I will be."

Hoyt swallowed and she watched, fascinated, as his throat worked up and down. The veins on his neck bulging. He'd lost weight, there was no doubt, but his shoulders still rippled with muscle. Hayden took another step.

"What...what are your plans today?"

Another step. Three feet remained between them.

"I have a list of things I need to do."

His nostrils flared and Hayden's tummy tightened in response. Hope sparked inside her and she took another step, watching as Hoyt palmed the wall behind him. A move that only made his pecs pop hard against the material of his shirt.

She almost licked her lips.

Another step. Only a foot between them now. She was so close she could feel him breathing, hard and fast.

He was afraid.

Hayden reached for him and he tensed, as rigid as a statue. Those tight lines around his mouth turned white. Uncertainty hit her and she pulled back. "I need to find my dad. Do you know where he is?"

And she needed more time to plan her attack. Not a full frontal, so to speak, but a sneak attack from behind. She'd take him unaware, so he didn't have time to be hesitant or afraid.

Hoyt cleared his throat and spoke, his rough voice a sensual caress to her reawakened spirit. "He took Maxi to work. She had to open the bar. Had me stay here, with you."

"Why?"

He cleared his throat again. "Hayden, we should talk."

She wanted to reach for him, but she stayed put, her confidence edged out by nerves. "About what?"

Hoyt sidestepped and headed to the couch, reclaiming his spot in the middle. Hayden followed and sat down right beside him, feeling every inch of his thigh pressed against hers. Hayden sent up a silent thank you that she'd had enough wits to dress in yoga pants. His heat radiated through the thin material. "Talk about what?" she repeated.

Hoyt scooted over, putting cold space between them. "About yesterday."

"What about yesterday?" She closed the gap, focused on finding his warmth again.

Hoyt reacted by scooting away again.

God, she felt like a cat chasing a mouse. How could she have been so blind before? He wasn't pushing her away, he was running from her.

Inspiration struck and Hayden leaned over and put her hand on his thigh. Hoyt erupted up from the cushion like she'd burned him.

Hayden kept her face straight, but inside she jumped for joy. A man who didn't feel anything for her wouldn't react that way. He wouldn't care at all.

And the man pacing her living room like a caged tiger was anything but the cold monster he made himself out to be.

"Hoyt, are we still friends?"

He paused and craned his head her direction. "Why?"

"We were friends before."
Don't remind him of the past.
"I've always felt like I could talk to you."

"You can talk to me about anything." His gruff response sent a chill down her spine and straight to her core.

"Then why do you keep running from me? Do I stink or something?" Knowing good and well she'd put on his favorite perfume. Two sprays instead of one, just in case.

"I'm not running."

"Then come sit beside me. Your pacing is making me nervous."

He stared at her as if she had horns.

Hayden sighed. This was going to be hard. "I've missed you," she paused and then added, "as a friend."

"Hayden, I'll always be here. As a friend."

The infuriating man had turned her own words on her. "Good. I've been struggling with something lately and I don't have anyone to talk to about it.

"You can talk to me." God his voice was so gravelly. So sexy.

"I know you want me to move on. I've been thinking about it. A lot."

"And?" He all but growled.

"There is this guy, but I don't know if I can trust him."

"Why?"

"I don't know him. Not really. I mean I thought I did. But I don't." Hayden stood and went to him, knowing she would have to be the one to mend their broken relationship. And she wouldn’t necessarily play fair.

H
is heart bounced
from side to side in his chest like it couldn't make up its mind which way to go. And then her soft hand cupped his cheek and his heart stopped beating altogether. His entire being was focused on Hayden.

Every minute detail about her. Her heart-shaped face, her rosy lips that formed a slight bow, her turquoise eyes. And after spending all of this time of trying to forget about her, he couldn't remember why.

And now she wanted to talk to him about another man? He could handle being a martyr, but he wasn't a damn saint. "So you’re not still friends with this guy?"

Who was she talking about? The frat boy? Malik? It had to be one of them. Surely she wasn't crushing on someone else altogether.

"I thought we were, but something changed. Last night."

His world imploded around him. Last night? She'd been with those two last night, so she had to be talking about one of them. He should be happy if it was frat boy. Elated. But he felt hollow and empty instead. "What changed?"

Jesus Christ, was that his voice? It sounded like he'd swallowed a tin can of rusty nails.

"Him. He did something I wasn't expecting and I didn't know how to handle it."

Like picking her up and twirling her around in a circle. Or kissing the back of her hand. Just the thought, let alone the image, of Malik's mouth on her hand made him nauseous. If the man truly was a member of a sleeper cell, she had been so close to danger...

"He called to check on me, and I didn't know how to take it. But I do now." Hayden took his hand. "You remember how we used to make out on the couch?" His mind went blank.

She drew him back to the worn leather sofa, and he was helpless to do anything but follow her.

He sank into the cushions and she pushed him back, kind of falling on top of him. He was surrounded by her scent, a mixture of a bright spring day and vanilla. Hoyt knew he shouldn't, but he inhaled deep, taking in everything he could.

"I do,” she continued. “I remember how hot it was. And how much I wanted you." She paused and Hoyt closed his eyes, her nearness overwhelming his senses. "How much I still want you."

Hoyt remembered, he remembered that look of pure adoration she used to give him. He opened his eyes. That same look was on her face.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Hoyt realized she was straddling him and somehow he was palming her ass. Her perfect, beautiful ass. And then her lips were touching his, whisper soft, and his brain short-circuited. He couldn't close his eyes and he couldn't move, so he held real still and let her take control.

Up close, he noticed the gentle arch in her blonde eyebrows and how they seem to match every other gentle curve in her body.

And then she leaned back, her smile full of self- satisfaction. "There, that wasn't so bad now was it?"

He knew she was holding him with kid gloves. He should be angry, or at the very least offended. He was, after all, a special forces operative. But all he felt was hot and achy.

Hayden sighed and sat down, leaving him to bear her full weight on his thighs. Hell, his rucksack weighed more than her.

"You're not in a talkative mood today, huh?" Her big blue eyes studied him intently. She lifted her hand from his shoulder, and he sucked in a breath, knowing what she was going to do before she even touched him.

Hoyt squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth together. Waiting for the pain...and for a sound of disgust from the back of her throat. But all he felt was the soft pad of her finger on his cheek, tracing the smooth line down to his jaw. His chest felt tight, like his lungs couldn't decide whether or not to let him breath. His hands shook and he balled them into tight fists beside his legs.

She was breathing just as hard as he was, but unlike Hoyt, Hayden wasn't locked down tighter than fucking Fort Knox. She was loose and languid as she continued to trace his jaw. His chin. Down his throat.

He flushed hot. Too hot. The air grew thick and heavy around him.

Hayden continued her journey, edging back up and across his shoulders, his muscles bunching everywhere she touched.

Hoyt kept his eyes screwed shut and concentrated on his breathing. He could do this. The woman he wanted more than anyone was in the process of trying to seduce him. He should be ecstatic.

Then he felt her soft palms cup his jaw, trapping his face between her hands, and his chest locked down.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She thumbed his scar, the big ugly one running down his left cheek. Hot acid lit up his skin.

"Hoyt?"

He could feel the knife slicing into his flesh over and over and over again in never ending agony. His tormentors’ shrill laughter as they sliced and diced him.

"Hoyt, what's wrong?"

He forced his eyes open, forced himself to look at Hayden and not his captor, but she seemed so far away. He felt himself falling. Falling back into that shack in the woods.

Oh God, he couldn't breathe. He had to get up, get outside, but Hayden was holding him down.

She set her palm against his cheek. He reacted out of primal instinct, slapping a hand on her wrist and forcing her away from him.

She cried out but he couldn't make his fingers slacken. "Don't touch me,” he snapped.

Her beautiful blue eyes now wide with fright, she nodded fast. Holding onto the last thread of control he possessed, he sat her away from him. Then he rocketed off the couch and ran out the back door. The warm sun on his face, he clenched his fists by his sides, threw his head back, and roared.

And then his hands were on his knees and he was gasping for air, grasping at the frayed straws of his control. How could he have done that to her? How could he grab her like that? He didn’t deserve anything but a one-way ticket to hell.

"Hoyt! Are you okay?" Hayden touched his arm.

He jerked. "Hayden, don't touch me. You can't be around me. I can't...I can't...I just can't."

"You don't have to do anything. I shouldn't have done that." Her voice was hesitant, wavering.

Hoyt drew in another breath, using all his concentration to get his body back under control.
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand.

Her feet appeared before him. "Do you remember that day last August, when the temperature hit like a thousand degrees and you took me down to the river to swim?"

Hoyt nodded.
Three one-thousand. Four one-thousand.
Fuck, his lungs felt like they were filled with tar instead of air. The ice in his hands and feet spread up his limbs like tentacles through his body, filling it with darkness and death.

Cold. He was so cold.

"Remember how we laid out on the sandbar? You could dig your fingers and toes down deep and still feel the heat. And the sun was big and bright and straight overhead. It was pure heaven. Just me and you."

Hayden's melodic voice eased into his awareness and he took a deep breath.

"Think about that, think about how soft the sand was sifting through your fingers. How we dug our toes into it. You got so hot, sweat was pouring off your chest. Finally, you ran and jumped in the river, remember?"

He did remember. He’d told her that he’d be fine laying out in the sun with her just so they could be next to each other, when in truth he'd been pouring buckets of sweat from the insane August heat. But he'd refused to move for the longest time.

And he remembered how her soft fingers had threaded through his and gently traced the lines creasing his palm. She'd exclaimed over the calluses from his gun.

"We brought our fishing poles, and you’re the one who set everything up. But I was the one who caught the biggest catfish. And even though it was ridiculous, you took the fish off the hook for me because I thought it was too slimy and gross."

Hoyt closed his eyes, feeling the warmth from that summer day wrap around him. After all of Hayden’s joking about being such a tough country girl, he'd been shocked and secretly delighted when she refused to take the fish off the hook. It had made him feel needed, even if it was in a ridiculously small and silly way. She'd always make him feel needed and wanted.

"When I dumped that load of sand down your shorts, you threw me off the bluff into the river and I stayed underwater for so long you dove in after me."

Hoyt opened his eyes and straightened. "You scared me to death. I was starting to think you couldn't swim."

Hayden inched forward, the smile on her lips as warm as it had been that day. "You should've guessed that with Hunter and Ranger as my older brothers I've learned a few tricks."

He'd dove in after her in a panic, swimming and swimming, only to have her sneak up behind him and wrap her arms around him.

"Don't you ever do that to me again." His voice was stern, but that wasn’t how he felt on the inside. And he could breathe again without his chest burning.

Hayden shook her head. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

W
hen Hoyt smiled
she nearly shattered. It had worked. The visualization technique she’d learned about in her clinical classes had really worked.

It had broken her heart to recall that happy memory, but she was the one who’d put Hoyt into this tailspin of panic. And it was taking every ounce of her control right now not to break down in tears and throw herself into his arms. Her man was broken and beautiful, and she could kick herself for having given up on him so fast.

Hayden made a promise to herself right then and there. No matter what he said or did from here on out, she wasn't going to give up on him again.

He needed baby steps from her, not a full-fledged sensual attack. Even if it took months, she would wait, praying every step of the way he would come back to her.

Baby steps.

"How about we take a walk? You know we only have a few weeks left before it hits a hundred degrees."

More of the tension eased from his shoulders and Hoyt nodded. "How about we muck around in the back pasture?"

Perfect.

Hayden crossed the backyard. The huge rectangular pasture was carved out in perfectly straight lines from the trees flanking its sides. Here, Hank allowed the grass to grow tall and free, littered with wild flowers. When the wind blew, the grass danced in green waves, bending and swaying with the current.

Hayden liked to imagine it was a wild Irish meadow, the color was so green it was impossible to nail down the exact shade. Interspersed with the grass were bright patches of yellow Goldenrod and purple Coneflowers that grew as tall as her waist. She took a right at the perimeter, where Hank had bush hogged a wide walking path all the way around. Hoyt kept pace with her, his hands tucked behind his back, fingers locked together. They turned the first corner, which put them between the field and a wall of tall pines with trunks so big around, her arms couldn't even span half the diameter.

Hayden bent down and picked up a stray pine cone, careful to hold the sharp points gently in her hand. She used to love to come back here and hide in the tall grass to fool her brothers. This had always been a place of happiness for her. And in times of sadness, it fortified her and renewed her strength and energy.

Hayden spied a cluster of yellow near the center of the field. "Can we go out there?"

Hoyt followed the direction she was pointing. Then he scanned the forest around them, his gaze calculating, like he was searching for something. After a full minute, he replied in the affirmative.

He went to the edge of the tall grass and stopped. Hayden strode right past him, heading into the field, holding her arms waist high, palms down. The tops of the grass tickled her forearms. She was surrounded by everything home—now she just had to make Hoyt feel at home too. "I want to pick some flowers for Maxine and Dad. I need to tell them I'm sorry. About this morning."

"I told them about your professor. Neither of them are upset with you. You don't really have anything to apologize for."

In all the madness of the morning, she'd managed to forget Professor Latham. The tears threatened to surface in her eyes again, but she pushed them back. "No. There's no excuse for my behavior."

They were in the middle of the field now, right next to the flowers. Hoyt plucked one and spun it between his thumb and finger. "Still stubborn."

Hayden glanced over, and Hoyt's breathtaking blue eyes were locked right on her. Her heart stopped for a brief moment, the deep connection between them rekindling. And then he looked down at the flower in his hands and the current vanished.

Hayden wanted to reach out, yank that feeling back and hold it tight to her chest. Instead, she blinked and reached for a flower. "I suspect Hank would agree with you."

Hayden bunched the Goldenrod together and held them out to Hoyt. "Would you hold these?"

He cradled them carefully, like he was afraid to break the tiny stems.

Warmth flooded through her, but Hayden averted her face. Spotting a patch of purple cornflowers, she walked to the back edge of the pasture, careful to keep her smile hidden from him. If Hoyt Crowe were truly broken, he would've crushed the flowers in his grip. And instead of carefully setting her off his lap earlier, he would've thrown her across the room.

Somehow she had to get him to see that the old Hoyt was still in there. That he had just changed and grown.

"Hayden, I need to talk to you about something important." His voice dipped down deep and a shiver slid down her spin. Whatever he wanted to say wasn't good. Not if his tone was any indication.

Hayden waded through the waist-high pasture, unwilling to break the spell just yet. She had to figure out a way to help Hoyt mend his scars. "Let me grab some of those flowers near the edge."

The wind blew and the field whooshed all around them.
Don't get in too deep
, it seemed to say.

She agreed with the professor. You can't help someone if you get too close to them to remain objective. The problem was, Hayden James had been in too deep from the very beginning.

Hayden reached the back edge of the field and picked a flower. The tall trees looming across the path, thick and dark. Tall spikes jutting up into the sky. "You know these only grow..."