East of Redemption (Love on the Edge #2) (11 page)

The bear had sniffed and snorted its hot breath, close enough to blow Rain’s blond hair from her shoulders. She’d held its gaze, and the damn bear had appeared hypnotized, sucked in to the calm Rain radiated. It nudged her shoulder with its black nose, sniffing faster. I’d frozen to the spot, imagining how I could kill the thing with my bare hands if it showed its teeth, and staring awestruck at the girl who didn’t flinch at the bear’s touch.

After a couple more nudges, it had turned on its giant paws, thudding heavily to the river and down the water’s side until it was out of sight. Rain had spun to face me, her eyes electric. “Damn! I wish I would’ve had my camera!” I’d kissed her until her lips swelled, the fear of losing her due to her complete lack of fear in the face of such an animal shaking my entire fucking core.

She’d given the damn thing a name by the time we’d returned to the cabin, and had me out at the crack of dawn the next day, cameras in hand. We hadn’t found him again until the last day of our trip. Rain had captured Brownie in all his natural beauty as he caught a salmon from the river with one clawed paw. It was the first picture she’d ever sold, and I believe it was the first time she realized what she wanted to do with her life.

I looked at her now, the lids of her eyes growing heavy, and I couldn’t be prouder that she’d followed that passion—and I couldn’t deny the regret that I hadn’t been with her all this time to witness it.

“I’d like to go back there sometime,” she said, breaking the silence I’d let fall over us as I thought back to simpler times. “I’ve meant to . . . but something always comes up when I start planning the trip.”

“Me as well.” Though nothing had come between my plans. I’d bought that cabin. It was my home base when I wasn’t traveling the globe. “I’ll take you, if you want,” I offered, hating the excitement that only lived a moment in her eyes before raw pain quashed it. I jabbed the fire with a stick. Billows of smoke rolled above us, the unique smell mixing with the cool, greenery-scented breeze that blew through the mountains.

“Maybe.”

The word was the sweetest, softest whisper I’d ever heard. I brought my gaze back to her, and again was shocked at how much she still owned me. I’d been a fool, thinking I’d successfully buried her enough to be able to work alongside her and not
feel
it. And with that one word, she’d brought to life all the fantasies I’d suppressed over the years, reigniting the dangerous hope I was trying desperately to ignore.

Rain

I LAY IN
the yellow tent, the darkness inside it and the warmth from the enclosure offering all the necessities for sleep, especially with how exhausted I was, but my mind wouldn’t allow it.

Easton had climbed into his shelter right before I’d zipped myself into the tent. I’d slowly and silently sipped from one of the water bottles in my pack, nibbling on a tuna and cracker MRE. I’d felt guilty as hell doing it. Despite Easton’s assurance he was fine, and that this was the only way his show worked—with him
actually
surviving and not taking a single piece of help, whether that be food or supplies, from anyone in his crew—I still couldn’t bring myself to let it go.

Him starving, and thirsty, and most surely cold, while I was eating and drinking in the comfort of the tent, was wrong on a number of levels. And although I’d never admit to him that I watched his show, I’d always thought that he
had
to get help off camera. Who would put themselves through such torture for a show?

Easton would, apparently. I should’ve known better. There was something raw in his determination to survive under the extreme strains he placed upon himself. Something deeper than the desire to put on a good show, to be authentic. The way he pushed himself,
tortured
himself, it seemed more like an atonement than a duty. I had no idea what plagued him to the point of breaking himself on camera while conducting larger-than-life expeditions, but I was smart enough to know it wasn’t about leaving me. That pain was crystal clear, and I could see it in his eyes every time we turned the cameras off and spoke like we used to. Without walls, defenses, or acid from the hurt.

This pain, whatever pushed him to the edge of survival each show, each dig, each mission . . . it was stronger than what we had been. And knowing that terrified me. Because if it was more powerful than the intense love we’d shared, then it was something wicked, dark, and twisted, and I had no idea how to help him.

But I
wanted
to.

I had the profound need to soothe the pain that had become ingrained in his life, to strip him of it and leave him fresh and renewed, closer to the Easton I had loved all those years ago. It had taken me a year to break through the walls he’d created growing up on the streets of Oregon. He had been hardened to compassion and friendship, but after I’d made him realize I wasn’t going anywhere, and gained his trust, he had finally let me in. I was fully prepared to do it all over again.

The challenge of starting over, coupled with everything that had happened between us, was daunting. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever really let me back in. Not enough to help lift the burden that weighed him down so much he nearly killed himself on every single show he recorded.

My body struggled with exhaustion, and I finally allowed my eyes to close. Somewhere between remembering Easton’s soothing voice as he’d read to me on the porch swing of our home base in Oregon, and dreaming about the way he could touch me, skin to soul, barely making connection with his fingers, I woke up with a start.

Easton was moaning . . . no,
wailing
. I rubbed my palms into my eyes, forcing the heavy blanket of sleep to free my mind. I craned my head, making sure I hadn’t mistaken the wind for his voice.

“No, no . . .” he cried softly, his voice almost lost in the air whipping between my tent and where he rested outside.

I unzipped the tent as fast as I could, my hands fumbling with sleep and trembling with adrenaline as it coursed through my veins. Flashes of a wild animal sinking its teeth into Easton’s neck, or a poisonous snake coiling around his flesh, spurred my panic.

Fuck, please don’t be a snake.

Practically falling out of the tent and onto the hard ground, I scrambled to find my footing and stumbled the short distance to him. The fire still burned, casting a warm glow between our two shelters. A breath of air escaped from my lungs as I fell to my knees beside him.

No snakes. No wild animals. Just Easton, dreaming.

He lay huddled on his side, his arms and knees drawn in to protect his body from the cold. His eyes were clenched shut, an expression of agony contorting the beautiful lines of his face. He was clearly in the throes of a vivid nightmare.

“No! Please, God!” His body jerked slightly, his hands remaining locked underneath his armpits, making him look like a person trapped in a straitjacket.

I reached out to him, my hand hovering over his face, debating if I should wake him or not. Hadn’t I read something where it was worse to wake someone in the middle of a nightmare?

“Harrison!” The plea on his lips rang clear. My father’s name. What the hell was going on inside his head?

Finally deciding whatever he saw wasn’t worth working through in his sleep, I gripped his shoulder, the angle and reach I had to do in order to not knock over his stick wall completely awkward. “Easton,” I said gently, hoping to calm him without fully waking him.

He shook back and forth, the strain in the lines of his forehead severe. “I can’t! I won’t!”

“Easton!” I shouted, unable to take the desperation in his voice, the terrible tang of fear coating his words. I’d slept with him too many times to count—before and after we’d become an item—and he’d never once had this kind of nightmare. The adrenaline hit an all-time high when I couldn’t wake him, and the more he thrashed, the more a warning bell rang in my head. A vicious alarm that made me feel useless to help whatever demon held him hostage in his mind.

Angling myself farther inside his too-tiny shelter, I hovered above him, supporting myself with one hand near his back, pressing against the rocky ground, and the other grabbing his cheek. “Easton,” I said, only an inch or so from his ear.

He jerked underneath me, his eyes popping open. He snapped his head to the side, finally locking onto my face, and he flipped to his back, causing my supporting arm to drop me fully on top of him. The breath whooshed out of my lungs as I crashed onto his hard chest, and he instantly encased me in his strong arms, squeezing me so hard I struggled to get the lost breath back.

I could feel his racing heart pounding against his chest, and he trembled beneath me, his entire body shaking. He buried his face in my shoulder, inhaling deeply, like he could drink my scent.

“Easton,” I whispered, frozen in his embrace and too terrified to move.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His tone still held the desperate edge it had moments ago, and I questioned if he was fully awake or not.

“It’s all right, Compass. I’m here. You’re fine. It was just a nightmare.”

He shook his head against my shoulder, his breath hitching.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, this time barely audible.

I shifted against him, wrenching a hand free and forcing him to look at me. Panic coated his beautiful brown eyes, which were only slightly illuminated from the glow of the fire slipping between the cracks of the sticks that covered the top half of our bodies. Warmth settled in my core, pulsing in the breath of space that separated our faces.

“It’s all right.” I pushed his hair off his forehead. “You’re okay.” I watched as the sharp tinge of fear transformed into something fiercer but still desperate.

He closed the tiny gap between us, bringing his lips to mine. I closed my eyes automatically, the sensation of his kiss something I’d only allowed myself to fantasize about on particularly cold nights. My heart begged me to jerk away, to run, to shield it from the weapon that had shattered it so many years ago, but my body . . . oh my body went soft and pliant against the hard planes of him.

I opened my mouth, letting him in and forgetting myself in his kiss. He cupped my face in his hands, angling me to get deeper, his tongue grazing the edges of my teeth, setting my nerves on fire. I sighed between his lips and fisted a handful of his hair, the ache in my core pulsing with a ravenous need.

He moved one hand down my back, the touch hot enough to burn through the thermal I wore, and he grabbed the back of my knee and tugged. The move shifted me until I straddled him, giving me the perfect position to feel just how hard he was. I couldn’t believe he wanted me that much, that quickly, and I shamelessly ground against him, the motion sending trembles along my skin.

Easton growled and gripped my ass, taking over and moving me up and down against him. “Rain,” he said my name against our lips and thrust against me.

The move made me gasp, the hunger for him inside me so familiar and yet completely new at the same time. I broke our kiss and arched up to catch my breath, forgetting entirely where we were. I rose too quickly, too high, and the top of my head hit the stick wall of his shelter, knocking it on its side and exposing us to the harsh, night winds of the mountains.

The cold air was enough to shock us, and it cleared my mind of the hot, lusty haze that had fallen over it. It gave my heart enough time to scream louder, pleading its case with a heavy dose of the pain it had lived with for nearly a decade. The sharp contrast in emotions had me reeling, so I backed off, standing slowly.

Easton sighed and raked his hands through his hair as I reached for the wall. I hefted the thing up, heavier than it looked, and tried to get it at the same angle he had originally placed it. He shifted and stood, helping me re-secure the thing in silence.

A wicked awkward silence.

“Did I ruin it?” I finally asked as he repositioned the brush he’d used as insulation.

“No.” His voice was soft and ragged.

A flush raked across my skin, the heat still pulsing hot and needy in my blood.

“Did I?” He cut his eyes to me, his shoulders dropping.

I tilted my head and pressed my lips together as I reached for his hand. “What did you dream?”