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Home.
It wasn’t so much a word as it was a feeling that engulfed Emma before she was fully conscious. It was the scent of spicy aftershave and generic shampoo, a combination so intensely familiar that her life flashed in a series of hazy, dream-like scenes. Eli spinning her in a circle at the homecoming dance. Eli grabbing her waist, hauling her back when she leaned too far over the safety bar on the Ferris wheel. Eli crawling into bed with her the night her mother died, holding her while a never-ending stream of tears soaked her pillow. Eli, Eli, Eli. His name was a drumbeat matching the rhythm of her heart.
She opened her eyes.
It took a moment of fumbling in the dark for her alarm to realize that she was not in her own house. Something warm brushed against her cheek and the incessant beeping stopped. The mattress shifted as he stood, and then there was the soft sound of bare feet padding across the wood floor. A second later the hall light turned on, the light muted enough that it didn’t hurt. She watched him return to her and ached a little at how beautiful he was. He looked like something Michelangelo had sculpted, but instead of cold marble, he was warm flesh and muscle.
“Hey.” He sat next to her, making her roll toward him slightly when the mattress dipped from his weight. “Are you awake?”
“Yes. What time is it?” She rubbed her eyes.
“Quarter to five.”
She sat up. Perfect. That would give her time to get home, shower, and meet Cesar. “Early day for you?”
He shook his head. “My shift doesn’t start until nine. You said you needed to be up by five.”
She paused in the act of pulling her shirt on over her head and looked at him. “You set your alarm for me?”
“You fell asleep hard and fast after”—he made a vague hand gesture—“so I didn’t want to wake you. I figured it would be better to let you sleep.”
She had told him what time she had to be up? She didn’t remember that, but she wasn’t surprised that he did. Typical Eli. He could always be depended on to do the right thing. Set the alarm so she would be up when she needed to be up. Run for mayor when no one else was interested in the job. It wasn’t anything new with him; he had always been that way, from the day they had met in kindergarten, when she had forgotten her lunch so he had given her half his sandwich and a cookie. Sturdy. Dependable.
Galling.
How could the traits that drew her to him in the first place be the exact same traits that caused their irreparable rift? How had she not known that he would arrest her dad? How—
Well. She hadn’t known. That was all there was to it. She had been distraught when she went to Eli with what she had discovered. Not thinking straight. Shock did that to a person.
She hadn’t known.
She shimmied into her pants, pushing the thoughts down into the dark hole of her mind where they belonged. She wasn’t going to replay it over and over again. What good would that do?
“Thanks,” she said. “For setting the alarm, I mean.”
He regarded her quizzically. “Right. Because that’s what we were talking about. What else would you mean?”
Thank God he wasn’t privy to her inner thoughts. “I don’t know. For the mind-blowing sex, maybe?”
Eli collapsed backward onto the bed, grabbing his chest like the shock had given him a heart attack. “Did you really just say that?”
“Are you saying you didn’t think it was mind-blowing?”
She didn’t think her pride could take that. It wasn’t as though she had never had good sex before. She had. Really good sex, even. But this...this was different. It had been so much more than she was used to. More heat. More intensity. More orgasms. Three, to be precise, which was two more than usual for her.
It had been more than mind-blowing. It had been soul-shattering.
She hadn’t realized that sex could be so...so intimate. That it could be more than two sweaty bodies seeking to give and receive physical pleasure. Well, she had known. She understood, in a very mechanical sort of way, that sex was, by definition, an intimate act. But she had never felt it in that way before. Had never experienced that kind of intimacy for herself. Until Eli had called her name.
That was the moment when sex had crossed over from being simply more to being too much. Her chest had felt like it might crack in two, and tears had slipped from her eyes before she could stop them. Fortunately, Eli hadn’t seemed to notice.
It had been so raw. So terrifying.
She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts away. Better not to think about the soul-shattering parts. She would focus on the mind-blowing aspect. The orgasms. The things that felt good. Ignore the scary feelings that had tagged along for the ride.
He still hadn’t answered her question, which was unforgivable. “Well?” she demanded.
“Yes, the sex was mind-blowing.” Eli traced a seam on the white duvet. It was one of those down comforters meant to have a washable cover, but he had left it bare. It was a strange dichotomy, because the sheets were actually very nice. The softest she had ever slept on, in fact. Emma wondered about that, about the decadent sparseness of his entire house. Everything was for the comfort and enjoyment of exactly one person. There wasn’t room for anyone else here.
“We should do it again sometime,” he said.
“Okay.”
They stared at each other.
“All right,” he said slowly. Then he cleared his throat. “Sorry, but what is it, exactly, we’re agreeing to?”
She let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding in a startled laugh. “You’re the one who propositioned me, Eli. So I guess the question is, what, exactly, are you propositioning?”
He shifted, pulling the duvet over his lap. She watched him with avid interest. He was still naked, and until this very moment, he had seemed entirely comfortable with his nakedness.
“You know,” he said vaguely.
Her words from the night before came back to her with acute clarity. Her words...and his response. You know what I want, she had said. If he had, he wouldn’t admit it. I don’t think I do, he had replied. Why don’t you tell me?
Now it appeared their roles were reversed. He was the one with the dark desire that he loathed to give words to, and she was the one who was going to gleefully pull it out of him. Oh, yes, she was. She nearly rubbed her hands together and chortled like an old-timey villain in a black-and-white movie.
It wasn’t hard to guess what he wanted, and why it bothered him so much to admit it. This was straight-and-narrow Eli, after all. The man who followed the law to the letter, even if that meant arresting his best friend’s dad. The man who always buttoned his shirt to the very top, even if it choked him. He had probably never had sex without the requisite three dates first. It must chap his hide to realize he wanted meaningless, commitment-free sex, and with her of all people. To realize he was just as human as everyone else. Just as fallible. Just as needy.
What a goddamn delightful turn of events this was.
“I don’t think I do know what you want, Eli,” she said, enjoying throwing his words back in his face. “Why don’t you tell me?”
He scowled. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.” She beamed.
The muscle in his jaw twitched, but he remained stubbornly silent.
“Come on,” she said. “If we’re going to do this, we need all our cards on the table. There is too much history between us. Too much bad history. Let’s not set ourselves up for an unnecessary misunderstanding.”
“It wasn’t all bad.”
She blinked, remembering how she had felt waking up in his bed, in his arms. It wasn’t that she had forgotten the bad things. But in that brief, hazy moment, the bad things had been outweighed by all the good that had come before.
“No,” she said softly. “It wasn’t all bad.”
“But you’re right. We’re already set up as opponents in the mayoral race. A misunderstanding involving sex might cause World War III. Cards on the table, then.”
She waited. When he didn’t follow that statement up with putting his cards on the table, she raised her eyebrows. “Use your words, Eli,” she coaxed. “It’s easy. All you have to say is, Emma, I want no-strings-attached, meaningless sex until one or both of us decides we’re done with it. See? Easy.”
“Right. That’s what I’m asking for.” He made a sound of disgust. “Because that’s what this is, and there’s no sense in pretending it’s something else.”
The anger in his voice took her aback. Was it the meaningless sex that he found distasteful, or the meaningless sex with her? “We don’t have to do this. If you don’t want to. If you have, I don’t know, moral qualms about sleeping with someone you’re not technically even dating.”
“Oh, we’re doing this, all right.”
“Eli—”
He hauled her against him, cutting off her words with a hard, brief kiss. “We’re doing this.”
Her lips tingled. She liked that. It made other parts of her tingle, too. “All right.”
“But I do have strings.”
Of course he did. “All right. Let’s hear it.”
“First, while this is happening with us, we don’t see other people. We’re not dating, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t a relationship, even if it is kind of twisted. I don’t juggle, and I don’t share.”
She blew out a sigh. That was a relief, actually. And not only because the thought of him with someone else made her insides feel like someone had taken a rusty chainsaw to her stomach. She didn’t want to see anyone else, either. Who had time for that?
“We’re on the same page, there. What else?”
“We have an end date: the election. It makes sense, because after that, we won’t have to see each other anymore. If you want out before that...” He paused, looking away. “When you’re done, you tell me. To my face. None of this texting shit. I’ll make it easy on you, don’t worry about that. Just...don’t disappear on me.”
Like everyone else had. The unspoken words hung in the air. Her chest tightened. It would be easier if they didn’t know each other so well. If she hadn’t known where all his scars were, and where to stick the knife to cause the most pain.
She took his chin between her index finger and thumb, turning his face toward hers. “Look at me, Eli. I will never leave without telling you. Okay?”
He swallowed, the lines of his throat moving. “Okay.” He pushed her hand away and glanced at the clock. “You should get going. It’s past five.”
She let out a little yelp. She was going to be late. Hastily, she shoved her feet into her sneakers, not bothering to tie them. “So, we have a deal? We’re doing this?”
He grinned. “Hell yeah. We’re doing this.”
***
Eli collapsed backward on the bed. His heart was pounding, his hands shaking with adrenaline, as though he had wrestled one of the black bears that populated the mountains surrounding Hart’s Ridge instead of simply telling Emma Andrews that yes, he wanted some sort of twisted enemies-with-benefits relationship with her. He was fucked. He was so fucked, but at least he was also going to get fucked, which eased some of the sting a little.
And now she was gone. She had let herself out, telling him to go back to sleep since he didn’t have to be at work for another three hours or so. As if sleep was even possible, after that.
His stomach growled, reminding him that he had skipped dinner last night. First, because she had stormed into his house demanding sex. And secondly, because after receiving the requested sex, she had rolled onto her side, trapping his arm underneath her, and promptly fallen asleep. He could have woken her up, but if he had done that, she would have left. He hadn’t wanted her to leave. He hadn’t wanted to be alone with his thoughts and What It All Meant.
Hell no.
So he had stayed still, mostly awake, hungry for food and hungry for her. He had lied to himself last night, telling himself that once was enough. It had to be enough, because it was all he could have. But he had wanted her for too long to be satisfied with just once. Too long, and too quietly. He hadn’t let himself be truly aware of the longing since the moment eight years ago when she told him she never wanted to see him again. He had buried it deep. Until last night.
It hadn’t been enough. It was like giving a man a single potato chip after years of starving in a desert. All it had done was make him hungrier. The hunger was so much a part of him now that he didn’t think he could ever be satiated.
But it would be a hell of a lot of fun trying.
If it didn’t kill him.
It could go either way.
He would think about that later. Or, better yet, never. Right now he needed breakfast.
Breakfast, fortunately, was something Eli excelled at. He might not have the energy or the capacity to take care of himself after a long shift, but he always started the day off right. Back when feeding himself had been a simple matter of self-preservation, after his mom had finally left for the last time and his dad was either too hung over or too drunk, depending on the time of day, breakfast had consisted of cold cereal or frozen waffles. As a seven-year-old, he hadn’t known how to crack an egg, much less operate a stove.
But that had changed after his dad died. That was when it really hit home that Eli was on his own. No one was ever going to take care of him again, but then, it had been such a long time since anyone had that it didn’t really matter. He could take care of himself, and dammit, he would do it well.
After last night’s activities, he was craving something hearty. Quiche, with a side of fruit, and maybe some bacon, too. Quiche was usually something he reserved for days off, since between the prep work and baking, it was a time-consuming endeavor. There were perks to waking up before dawn to make sure Emma got where she needed to go. Today, he had the time.
He briefly considered ham and spinach before settling on bacon, white cheddar, and scallion, which meant that he was doubling up on bacon, but dammit, he didn’t care. Last night he had slept with Emma. Been inside her. Let her rip out a piece of his soul to take with her as she went on her merry way. A little comfort food was in order. For Eli, there was nothing more comforting than bacon.
Eli grabbed the pre-made piecrust and package of shredded cheese from the fridge. He fed himself well, but he wasn’t above cutting corners. For breakfast quiche, anyway. When it came time for the Fourth of July Pie Baking Contest, he would be making a lard-and-butter crust from scratch guaranteed to melt in even the coldest mouth.
The crust was blind baking, the scallions chopped, and the bacon sizzling in his cast-iron pan when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and sighed. He didn’t recognize the number other than noting the local area code, but as the only full-time officer assigned to Hart’s Ridge, he didn’t have the luxury of screening calls. Half the town called his personal number rather than the police number, anyway.
Still, calling his personal cell about police business before working hours wasn’t something he wanted to encourage, either. He hit accept and then speaker. “Yeah?”
“Officer Carter, this is Jacob Bronson.” When Eli didn’t respond, because he thought it more pertinent to tend to the bacon, he continued dryly, “You remember, the man financing your campaign for mayor?”
Eli rolled his eyes, grateful that Bronson hadn’t made this a video call. “Right. What can I do for you?”
“We need to rethink our strategy. This election might not be as easy to win as we thought.”
We. The word made his skin crawl. He didn’t want to be part of any we that involved Jacob Bronson. The man was slime.
“Emma is doing a better job as acting mayor than I expected. She was running all over town yesterday, buttering up the business owners, making promises. I’m thinking we’re going to need to change tactics a bit.”
As far as Eli was concerned, his only tactic was to lose. He’d be damned if he let Bronson get in the way of that. “What did you have in mind?”
“New posters, to start with. A catchy slogan that reminds the good people of Hart’s Ridge what you stand for. The rest...well, doing a bit more hand-shaking wouldn’t hurt.”
“Posters. Yeah, okay.” He cracked four eggs into a large bowl and whisked them into a golden yellow froth, then added milk, cheese, scallions, and spices. All the posters in the world wouldn’t change the fact that Emma was damn good at her new job. “What’s the slogan?”
“Still working that out,” Bronson said vaguely.
“Okay, well, you let me know.” Then, not for any real reason other than a desperate need to end the phone call, he added, “Hate to cut this short, but duty calls.”
“Right,” Bronson said. “We’ll talk later.”
Eli hung up the phone and squinted at it questioningly. Those last words sounded like a threat, but maybe that was because the thought of spending even five minutes in Bronson’s company was unpleasant. He shrugged and tossed the phone aside.
Last night he had had amazing sex, this morning he was going to have amazing quiche, and he wasn’t going to let Bronson ruin any of that. It didn’t matter, anyway.
Not even Jacob Bronson could stop Emma from winning this election.