Defining Moments (23 page)

I bat his hand away and can feel my face heat in embarrassment. My kids just caught me ogling the hot neighbor. Awesome.

“Well, I think it’s time for us to hit the road,” Destry tells me, helping me to stand so I can hug them all.

“I leave early tomorrow morning. Ben’s gonna take me to the airport.” He pauses just long enough to nod in Saint’s direction. “You make sure he takes good care of you. He seems like a good man, Mama,” he basically whispers. I nod, feeling a little lighter that I’m not the only one who feels that way.

The twins get up, hug me easily, and turn to Saint.

“Cord, thanks for helping out. Be good to her or we’ll cut your balls off,” Eli says with a grin from ear to ear.

“Elijah!” I screech.

Saint shakes his head and laughs, no note of anger on his face.

“I promise you boys right here and now, I’ll never hurt her intentionally. You have my word,” Saint tells them seriously. He nods toward the door, following them outside and shutting the door behind them.

What the hell was that? A conversation they don’t want me a part of? On one hand, it makes me happy he is making an effort to have a relationship with my boys, but on the other hand, I am very protective of them, and even though they are grown, they’re still mine. I will always worry.

A few minutes later, Saint returns, a smile on his face as he continues cooking.

“Oh no, sir. You don’t get to just come back in here and act like nothing just happened. Why did you go outside with my kids and shut the door? Something I can’t hear?” I ask with more sass than I’d intended.

“Actually, I just wanted to have a man-to-man conversation with them. They are concerned for your well-being, as they should be, and I wanted to put their minds at ease. They now know my intentions with you are completely honorable and they will never have to worry about anything different while we are together,” he convinces me.

I walk slowly to the kitchen, never taking my eyes off his. He doesn’t move, just watches me as I make my way to him. Stopping right in front of him, I wrap my arms around his waist gently and hug him easily. He returns the hug super gentle, barely touching my body. This man may just break me forever if I let him, but you know what? I’m willing to take that chance because, although I’m scared, I can see it in his face he is sincere. He really does believe in what he says, and he is the least selfish person I’ve ever met. He is Justin’s total opposite. Although he knows he’s good-looking, he’s not vain. He’s honest to a fault, and I can tell, when he cares about someone, he cares for them with everything he has in him.

“Thank you, Saint,” I whisper. He doesn’t say anything in response, but turns me sideways and tenderly slides his arms under my knees, lifting me and then cradling me to his chest like a baby.

“You should be resting, baby,” he retorts.

I’m surprised at the ease with which he picks me up. I mean, he’s a big man, but I’m not exactly tiny. He lays me down on the couch and kisses me sweetly before returning the kitchen and continuing to cook.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I know, Saint is softly rubbing his thumb back and forth across my cheek, while cupping my face.

“Hey, beautiful, you need to wake up and eat so you can take your pain medicine,” he asserts.

When my eyes finally open completely, I raise my arms to stretch and yelp when I realize how tender my elbow and shoulder are too.

“Shit, babe, are you okay?” he asks with worry.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to remember not to do that again,” I croak out.

Before I even realize what he’s doing, I’m up in his arms again and he’s carrying me to the kitchen bar, depositing me on a stool easily.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he blurts, smiling at me widely. It warms my heart how much he seems to enjoy taking care of me, but once again, my brain is screaming at me that I will never put myself in a position where I need a man to take care of me again.

Deep breath. Saint is different. He wants to take care of me because he cares about me, not because he wants me to be his maid and control me like Justin did.

“I’m starving, and this all smells so delicious I’m drooling,” I babble.

“Well, I made eggplant parm with a pear and gorgonzola salad and garlic bread. Sorry, no wine for you, missy. You get water, a pain killer, and an anti-inflammatory.” He smiles at me warmly.

“I don’t think I need the pain killer. I’m not in pain. Let’s just try the anti-inflammatory for now. If I’m in pain later, I’ll take a pain pill before bed,” I instruct, and he does as I ask without any question or argument. Surprising.

“I hate pain killers too. They just make me feel stupid and tired,” he jokes.

I nod, but don’t reply because I’m busy shoveling this heavenly dinner he made me in my mouth. He chuckles before digging into his own plate. I don’t know that I’ve ever had better eggplant parm in my life, and since it’s one of my favorite dishes, I’ve had it just about every place in the city that makes it. He is definitely passionate about his food.

When I take the last bite, I look beside me and see Saint is watching me with an amused look on his face.

“I take it you were hungry?” he chuckles.

“Shut up. I was starving. Hospital food sucks ass and that was amazing. Thank you for cooking for me, Saint,” I respond.

He takes a deep breath, never looking away from me. “I really like hearing my name come off your lips,” he reveals with a sadness in his tone.

I smile at him and stand to rinse my plate. I know this is a big step for him. When he told me the story about Maloree and basically, when she died was when he stopped using his real name, I knew it was because he felt like a different person after she died. He didn’t say that out loud, but I knew that’s what he’d done.

Losing Maloree had changed him, and he wanted to be a different person. It probably also gave him some anonymity since everyone knew who Saint Cordero was. Hell, even my children knew who he was.

As I’m reaching for the faucet, Saint puts his hands on my hips, turning me toward him slowly. “I got this, babe. Go lay down,” he instructs, sounding somewhat demanding, which is hot and makes my insides clench.

“I think I’ll go take a shower ‘cause I smell like the hospital and I still have dried blood in places,” I tell him as I walk toward my bathroom.

“Holler if you need help,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah, big man . . .” I trail off.

It takes me a few minutes longer than usual to get my clothes off. I’m starting to feel the fact I haven’t taken any pain medicine since this morning at the hospital, but I really don’t want to take it unless I absolutely have too. It dawns on me after I’m already completely naked that I don’t have anything to cover my brace with. Shit.

I wrap a towel around my body, open the bathroom door, and shout, “Saint, can you bring me a garbage bag?”

“Yep,” he shouts back, and seconds later, I see him coming down the hall, fidgeting with trying to get it open. I stick my hand out for him to give it to me, and he just looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Open the door, Ellie. You can’t put this on by yourself,” he advises, shaking his head and smiling.

“I don’t have any clothes on,” I whisper.

“You are wrapped in a towel, I can see it, so you’re covered,” he groans as he pushes gently on the door, making me take a step back, allowing him in.

He steps up to me, grabbing my bad arm tenderly, putting the bag over it, and securing it at the top of the brace before pulling back. I watch as his eyes take in the road rash covering my entire shoulder and arm.

“We should probably put some ointment on some of the bigger cuts and scratches so it doesn’t burn so bad when the water hits it,” he says while fumbling in the medicine bag from the hospital. I nod, allowing him to do it, but knowing full well I could probably do it myself. The idea of his hands on my body, even if in a non-sexual way, sends sparks throughout my body.

By the time he’s done, I’m saying a prayer thanking God for the fact I have thick towels or he’d be able to see just how much his presence and touch are affecting my body.

“Thank you,” I almost moan. Yeah, that sounded desperate.

He must hear the need in my voice because he spins back around just as he’s about to leave and takes the one step back into my space.

“God, Ellie, I want to make love to you so bad right now,” he groans against my lips just as his mouth crashes into mine. My body reacts like it should and I reach to pull his body against mine. He eases the kiss into something much gentler, but nips at my bottom lip before completely pulling his mouth from mine with a growl.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, bringing my hand to lips and kissing it sweetly.

“Don’t be. I feel the same way,” I tell him honestly. “I’m just scared, Saint. I know we haven’t really discussed this part, but you should probably know that Justin is the only man I’ve ever been with, and it’s been a really long time.” My voice lowers and eyes drop because it’s embarrassing to admit that at thirty-nine years old, I’ve had one lover, and it’s been almost two years since I’ve had sex.

“Don’t you dare be embarrassed about that, Ellie Harper. That makes me want you even more, if that’s even possible,” he replies sternly. He lifts my chin and brushes the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

“When we make love for the first time, I want to be able to ravage you. I want to be able to press my body against yours until we feel like one person. I want to spend hours worshiping every inch of you, showing you what you mean to me. I have no doubt, when we do come together, it will be amazing. But we will wait until you’re completely ready, because there will be no going back once you’re mine. Once my body has been inside yours, I won’t give you up. I only make love when it’s forever, Ellie,” he whispers against my lips, before pulling completely away from me, turning, and walking out the door.

Holy shit, my body is on fire thinking about all the things he just said, and if it’s possible for my heart to open anymore to him, it does.

After my shower, I dress in yoga pants and an old t-shirt and head back into the living room, where Saint is lounging on my couch with his feet up, looking like he belongs here. He smirks at me when I walk in and I can tell he’s still affected as much as I am by the conversation we had earlier. His eyes are still lust-filled and it makes me feel better about the fact my body is still keyed up.

I lay down on the couch beside him, bringing my feet up and placing them in his lap, where he starts to rub them. We watch the news and chat about him going to the restaurant in the morning, but how he will be back after he checks in on everything. He glares at me when I tell him I can take care of myself and that discussion drops. I know he’s just trying to be helpful and, truthfully, I like having him around. I just don’t want to be a burden to him.

When I yawn for the third time in ten minutes, Saint chuckles, then stands and helps me to my feet. “Come on, sleepyhead. It’s time for you to go to bed.”

“Okay, Dad,” I reply in a high-pitched, teenie-bopper voice. He shakes his head but continues to gently pull my hand to follow him to my bedroom, where I assume he’ll help me into bed and then head home.

I’m wrong.

I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and when I return, a shirtless Saint is in my bed, covers pulled up to his waist, and my side of the bed is turned down.

I clear my throat, trying to pry my eyes from his amazing chest. “Um, what are you doing?” I choke out.

“Going to bed, silly. What’s it look like?” he retorts seriously.

“You’re planning to sleep with me?” I snort. “Didn’t we just have this discussion in the bathroom?” I ask timidly.

“Ellie, I said ‘going to bed,’ which is totally different than what your dirty mind is thinking right now,” he says with a chuckle. “Not that I’m opposed to that dirty mind, but like I said earlier, we’re waiting until you’re ready. I need to be here in case you need me to help you in the middle of the night.”

I nod, climb into bed, and lay on my uninjured side, which has me facing him. He kisses me quickly and then turns off the lamp beside the bed.

“Goodnight, beautiful,” he whispers as he grabs my good hand and laces his fingers through mine.

“Goodnight, Saint.”

Just as I feel my body start to relax into sleep, I remember I didn’t call the officer who wants to talk to me. I need to do that first thing in the morning.

THE NEXT MORNING,
I wake to a note on Saint’s pillow.

Good morning, beautiful. I’m running to the restaurant and then to the grocery store. Text me if you think of anything you need. Be back soon.

Yours,

Saint

I slowly make my way down the hall and into the kitchen where Saint has put my medicine beside the coffee pot. Still doing okay in terms of pain, I once again forego the pain killer and just take the anti-inflammatory. I pour myself a cup of coffee and head into the living room to watch the news when I remember the officer’s card in my discharge paperwork, which I immediately go in search of.