The Bad Boys of Eden (58 page)

Burke. Not Harris.
Burke.

He glanced over his shoulder. Maybe she’d woken up. But even in the moonlight, he could see she was still curled in his bed on her side. Her arm was tight around his pillow, and the covers were twisted around her, one long, bare leg exposed.

The sight kicked him right in the gut. How many times had he imagined having her in his bed, seeing her tangled up in his sheets, hearing his name on her lips? It was a cruel thing to have his fantasy presented to him but to know it was only an illusion—a trick.

He gave himself one last, indulgent look then shut the door behind him. But as he lay on the couch, trying to fall asleep, a more dangerous thought settled over him.

If Gretchen was dreaming about him, did that mean that somewhere underneath all those protective layers she wanted him as much as he wanted her? If he could take away her worries about ruining their friendship and remove the risk of it being too serious, would she allow herself to give into that temptation?

The invitation he’d tossed on his desk loomed large in his mind.

Maybe if he and Gretchen couldn’t cross those lines in real life, they could blur them in a fantasy world. A week away where they could be two other people, leave the baggage and the grief and the tragedy behind them, and just escape…

The island knows what you need.

He climbed off the couch, giving up on sleep, and grabbed his laptop.

The island may not know what they needed. But he certainly did.

Chapter 5

~ Gretchen ~

My first clue that something was wrong was the smell—Gain laundry detergent and chopped firewood. Clean sheets and man. No. Not man, a particular man—Burke, who always smelled like he’d just left the side of a campfire.

I kept my eyes closed and inhaled deeply again to make sure. Had the sheets smelled like this last night? I think I would’ve remembered. But maybe when Burke had sat in my bed and told me the story, he’d left his scent behind. I might’ve been able to talk myself into that theory if not for the other distressing clues. My body was hot all over, my panties were suspiciously damp, and right at the edge of my consciousness was this vague feeling that I’d had sex. Though, if I had, I hadn’t gotten enough of it because unmet need still pumped through me like a heavy heartbeat.

Okay. Probably a dream. A really hot dream. I opened my eyes. A completely unfamiliar room greeted me.

“Oh, shit.” I sat up, holding the sheet to my chest. I was alone at least. And clothed. But I was in Burke’s bed.
God
. Had I walked in my sleep again? Had I done more?

The thought made my stomach roll. I’d done enough research on sleep disorders to know that it was possible. People did all kinds of things in their sleep, including sex. And I’d been pretty good at complex tasks when I walked in my sleep as a kid.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to clear my mind. Threads of what I thought was a dream teased at my memory. My hand coasting over Burke’s chest, his body pressing against mine… “Shit, shit, shit.”

I shoved the covers away and hopped out of the bed like it was on fire. I might’ve had sex with Burke in my sleep. Right here, in this big, rumpled bed. This was bad. So very bad. And mortifying. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Find Burke and ask him,
Hey, eggs or pancakes for breakfast?
And, by the way, did we happen to have sex last night while I was asleep?

“Kill me now.” I dragged my hands through my hair. This was getting out of control. First, waking up on his porch. Now in his bed. My mind had developed some weird GPS system that had dropped a homing pin on Burke.
Ding!
You have arrived at your destination.

I needed to get my head together before I faced him. I hurried into his bathroom to take care of the necessities and to game plan for what would be one hell of an awkward conversation. But even after an internal pep talk, I found myself lingering in his bathroom longer than I should have, taking in all the little details of Burke’s private space.

The room was nicely appointed with dark wood cabinets, a big glassed-in shower, and a Jacuzzi tub. What I would expect in an upscale condo. But that wasn’t what held my attention.

Instead, it was the mundane things. His razor and shaving cream, his electric toothbrush, the soft green hand towels that weren’t quite folded evenly. For some reason, seeing all of Burke’s personal things spread on the counter felt unbearably intimate. I could picture him there in the morning, guiding the razor along his stubbled jaw, those blue eyes watching each careful swipe. A sharp pang went through me.

I pressed my fingers to the center of my chest, trying to stave off that familiar pain—loss twined with longing. Sometimes, I missed those humdrum routines of life more than anything else. Seeing your lover get ready in the morning. Chatting about nothing. The easy rhythm of it all.

But this time, that longing came with a heaping dose of guilt because the man I was picturing wasn’t shaving blond fuzz off his face; he was shaving dark stubble. Burke was invading my mind and pushing out my memories. Memories I wasn’t ready to let go of.

And it was entirely possible that I’d already gone further than that and had sex with him. In my sleep.

Hello, nervous breakdown. Nice to see you again.

A knock on the door startled me out of my ping-ponging thoughts.

“You okay in there,
cher
?”

I splayed a hand against the door, my heart pounding. “Fine.”

So
not fine.

“I scrambled eggs if you want some.”

“Okay.” I wanted to stay behind the locked door and never come out. Maybe if I didn’t face him, I wouldn’t have to ask the question. I could shimmy out the narrow window above the vanity. I could survive a four-story jump, right? Or scale the wall like Spiderman?

“Gretch?”

Dammit. I yanked open the door.

Burke filled the doorway, wearing a knowing smile and bedhead. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

My belly dipped. Part of me had gotten used to how incredibly beautiful he was since I’d known him so long. But seeing him right out of bed did things to me it shouldn’t. And the way he was smiling—like he had a secret—had me fighting off a blush. “Hey.”

“You wouldn’t be hiding in my bathroom and freaking out, would you?”

“What? No,” I said, my voice too high and tight.

His smile tilted into a smirk. “So you’re totally cool with everything that happened last night, then?”

Oh,
fuck
. I tried to swallow past the fist-sized lump in my throat. “Uh-huh.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you remember crawling into my bed and coming onto me.”

I couldn’t keep the strangled sound from escaping, like a mouse being choked. My face burned hot.

His expression softened, and he reached out and took my chin in his hand. “Breathe,
cher
. I can see in your face that you don’t remember a thing and that you’re painting all kinds of conclusions. You really think I’m the type of guy who’d take advantage of you when you’re sleepwalking?”

All of my breath sagged out of me, replaced with an incoming rush of relief. “No. But you might’ve not known.”

“I would know, Gretch.” He tilted my face up, those blue eyes not leaving mine as he moved closer. “You wouldn’t be able to sleep through what I’d do to you.”

My entire body flushed at that, and I wet my lips. No words came.

He smiled and planted a kiss on the top of my head before stepping back again. “You wandered into my room in the middle of the night and got into bed. I think you were dreaming and I didn’t want to wake you, so I left and slept on the couch.”

I had a feeling he wasn’t telling me everything. I had done more than that. I could see it in the way he eyed me, like he was remembering. But I had no doubt that he stopped whatever it was before it could go too far. Burke would flirt with any woman from age eight to eighty, but he wouldn’t take advantage of one.

I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice again. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you to lock your door just in case.”

“Yes,” he said, schooling his expression into a grave one. “I should remember that it’s hard for any woman to resist me. I must lock my doors to protect my virtue.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. Your virtue. You lost that a long time ago in Abby Melancon’s pool house from what I heard.”

“No,”—he raised his finger in a correcting motion—“I lost an erection, not my virginity. Her dad caught us before anything happened, and he chased me out with a rake while I was yanking up my pants. Not my finest moment.”

I laughed. “Oh my God. She told people you two did the deed.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to deny that rumor. She wanted to make her ex-boyfriend jealous, and it was a better story than me getting run off with my pants around my ankles and my junk in my hand.”

I stepped out of the bathroom and patted his arm as I passed. “Oh, no, that’s a
way
better story.”

He followed me out the bedroom. “Now it is. Back then, it would’ve ruined my carefully honed rep.”

The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and sizzled peppers.
Mmm
. It’d been ages since I’d eaten a hot breakfast. Usually cereal was about as creative as I got. I slid onto one of the barstools. “So who did you end up losing your virginity to?”

He walked around the counter and grabbed a plate. “Bree Dawson, junior prom. And I guarantee I rocked her world. For the whole spectacular seventeen seconds.”

I grinned as he set a dish of eggs mixed with chopped onions and bell peppers in front of me. “That long, huh?”

“Give or take a second.” He spooned eggs onto his plate and then grabbed a bottle of Crystal hot sauce from the counter to tilt over his food. “Now, I’ve worked my way up to at least thirty—forty, if the weather’s right.”

I smirked and stole the hot sauce from him. “A veritable marathon.”

“You know it.”

No, I didn’t actually—I didn’t know at all. But I’d thought about what he’d be like in bed more than was healthy. Based on the stories he’d told me about his adventures, I had a feeling Burke was far from a wham-bam lover. This was a guy who would take his time exploring, unearthing every secret spot a woman had.

He set a cup of coffee in front of me. “You’re blushing, Gretch.”

“Thank you for pointing that out. I so appreciate it.”

His grin was unrepentant as he sat on the counter opposite me and sipped his coffee. “Thinking about what those forty seconds would be like? It’s okay, you can be honest.”

“You’re shameless.”

“Mmm,” he said with a nod from behind his mug. “Truth.”

“And don’t flatter yourself. I was thinking about the sleepwalking thing. It’s embarrassing knowing you can do things in your sleep with no awareness at all.”

“And scary,” he said, the humor draining from his tone. “I’m glad you stayed here last night. You may have ended up on the road again.”

“I know. I need to suck it up and just take the pills.” I stabbed at my eggs, hating the idea of medication but knowing I couldn’t go on like this. “Because beyond the sleepwalking, even though I got some rest last night, I don’t feel like I did. It’s like my mind refuses to shut down at night.”

“Yeah, that’s no good.” He set his cup on the counter, and we ate a few bites of our breakfast in silence, but I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head as he watched me.

I put my fork down, finally too self-conscious to keep eating while he stared. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sorry, I was going over something in my head, trying to figure out if you’ll think I’m crazy or not.”

“Well, the ship has sailed on me knowing you’re crazy, so feel free to share with the class.”

A little wrinkle appeared between his brows as he apparently weighed his options, but finally he asked, “What if I told you I have a better idea than pills?”

“Pot?”

He laughed, some of the tension leaving his expression. “Funny. No, I’m talking about giving yourself a break. Taking a vacation and getting away from everything for a while.”

I sighed. It was something I had thought about and shot down more times than I could count. The temptation to leave it all behind remained, but I’d already run away from New York. Running didn’t work. Demons followed. “I don’t have the time or the funds to justify that right now. I need to be painting.”

Especially since the last piece I’d had in the gallery in New York had sold three months ago. After Harris’s suicide, there’d been no insurance money since we hadn’t been married yet, and what we had in our joint savings had been way less than I’d thought. So if I didn’t start producing sellable work soon, I’d be left living off the earnings from my gran’s store, which wasn’t much after covering all the expenses.

“Funds don’t need to be an issue. Newsflash: you know a guy.”

I lifted a brow. “I knew it. You’re in the mob.”

“All I’m saying is that people throw free trips at me every week. And I happen to have an invite for two to a private island in the Atlantic—all expenses paid, seven days, no crazy daredevil shit. You could come along.”

I straightened at that. “You want us to go on a trip
together
?”

He shrugged. “I want to check the place out and you need a vacation. Plus, I could keep an eye on you with the sleepwalking. It makes sense.”

“Burke—”

“I’ve seen some photos. The place looks like paradise. Endless ocean, white beaches, no daily reminders of normal life. Imagine waking up with a whole new view for a few days. It might kick-start your muse.”

A surprising eagerness had leaked into his tone, and I got a little swept up with him as I imagined the scenery he painted. No daily reminders? No dark corners lurking in my bedroom? Maybe no more blank canvases? Temptation gnawed at me. “But you never do relaxing vacations.”

He set his plate aside and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe I could use a change up, too. I pushed myself to my limits on the last trip. I could stand for a little R&R. And it’d be nice not to go alone this time.”

I frowned. “You’re never alone on your trips.”

An odd expression crossed his face and he glanced away. “Gretch, those are clients. It’s not the same. You can be alone in a crowd.”

Something about his tone made me hold back any snarky comments about the Miss Georgias of his stories. If there was anything I knew for sure, it was loneliness. And in that moment, I sensed that Burke wasn’t as unfamiliar with that particular feeling as I’d thought.