 
She Came With The Tide

by Viviana MacKade

She Came With the Tide

Published by Viviana MacKade at Smashwords

Copyright © 2016 Viviana MacKade

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENT

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Quote

Prolog

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilog

The Author

_Dedication_

_To Marco and Massimo._

_Always._

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Erik and Andrea's story started as part of a collection. So, first, I want to thank D'Ann and all the ladies in that collection for being an endless source of help, support, and laughter. I loved being part of it!

Thank you RM Duffy, Lisa Kumar, Melissa Keir, Krista Ames, and Nikki Lynn Barrett.

Thanks to my family, friends, and country music for just being there.

And thanks to my husband, for always pushing me to be better.

" _Just living is not enough," said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."_

Hans Christian Anderson~ The Complete Fairy Tales

PROLOG

The Children of Vision's mansion.

He will find her. His wife. His Andrea.

David closed his eyes.

A fallen angel with long brown hair and sweet eyes. An angel that had dragged him along as she tumbled down, left him with nothing else to do but search for her and give the ultimate offering to the gods.

When he'd taken her as his wife, she'd become part of him. Her sins would be his. If he'd known the risks of bonding himself with an outsider, he'd loved her nonetheless. Still did, despite the betrayal.

It hurt, the thought of ending her life, more than knowing he will soon meet his own death because of her.

He will be saved, part of something higher, purer than the heaven his father had created on this hopeless earth. As for her... No, her crime was too heinous for any hope of salvation. It was fair. Sad, and fair.

The offer of her tarnished soul added with his, though, will forgive his acquired wrongs. He was sure of that.

He dropped to his knees, bent his head, and prayed.

CHAPTER 1

Crescent Creek, South Florida, May

"Well." Erik Axelsson wiped salty water from his face. "Look what the tide dragged in."

Nestled in the dunes edging his property, the little blue tent sure hadn't been there when he'd gone out surfing earlier that morning. With his board under his arm, he walked out of the ocean toward the uninvited guest.

Erik cringed, praying it wasn't for one of those crappy TV shows like Where Did The Star Go or something. He had worked hard at building a normal life, and it had been years since the press had bothered him. But nostalgics had shown up before, willing to stand the heat for a picture of Ax.

"Knock knock," Erik called out as he reached the tent.

When nothing happened, he drove the surfboard in the hot sand with a powerful swing and a chuckle. Whoever hid inside the camping igloo was too hung-over or too stoned to wake up. Each representing a better reason to be in such crappy shelter, on a Floridian beach, on a late May morning, than poking at his past glory. Must be at least three hundred degrees inside.

He grabbed a tent pole, shook it. The old thing shuddered like a leaf in a hurricane. "Rise and shine," he sing-songed.

Someone moved. Then came the voice. "I'll be there in a minute."

"A girl?" he mouthed before shaking his head.

The rock scene waved at him from far, so far behind him. But it had been his life, and back then a drunk–or stoned–chick within the boundaries of his home, wherever that was at the moment, was the norm. Damn, but he had a good run.

Erik brushed his palm over prickling shoulders as the angry sun hit, leaving only salt where ocean drops had been a few minutes before. He revered in that roasting pleasure, in the blues of the sky and water surrounding him. Entertained by his unplanned guest, he pulled his dripping, long hair into a messy bun. A good day for surfing, waves still crashed on the shoreline. The rumble must have hidden the croaky noise of the tent's zipper because when he looked down at the entrance, he found two huge brown eyes staring at him. An echo of lifetimes ago, distant, feeble, poked at him. The feeling had dwelled into his heart after his parents had died and now lingered on her delicate features. Fear.

The girl took a breath, clenched her teeth, and crawled out. She rose on all of her five feet six or so. "Who–" she cleared her throat. "Who are you?"

Okay. He did not expect the question. The whole world knew Ax and the Hurricanes. He'd spent ten years of his life on everybody's mouth, eyes and above all, ears. Newspapers. TV. Concerts. And the girl asked who he was. Surprise shadowed the male appreciation of the woman in front of him. For now. He'll so be back at it.

"I think the question is, who are you?" he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"A camper."

"Well, camper, your tent is on my property, in case you missed that," he said, pointing at the Private Property notice on the berm not far from her den. The rusty, barely visible, Pisa-tower-bend sign. He should invest some money in a new one. "My house's back there, anyway."

She turned around, took those details in. "Oh."

All right, calculus time. A girl, alone, in an old tent. Add a black bag he'd peeked to with clothes in it, plus that look in her eyes. The result? Trouble. "All right. You hungry?"

She nodded.

"Let's go."

He picked up his surfboard and started off. "What?" he asked after he glanced behind his shoulder and saw she hadn't moved.

"I–I don't know you." Yeah, okay, back to that. She either had lived on the moon for the past fifteen years, or was bullshitting him. He would give her the benefit of the doubt because she was hot, and keep Sheriff Charlie on speed dial for a while. "I'm Erik Axelsson."

He waited for his name to dawn on her. Nothing. For real?

"I'm Andrea Smith."

"All right, Andrea. I'm hungry, covered in sand, and the sun is cooking my brain. I'm going in; you do as you please."

~*~

Andrea stood in the scorching heat for a moment. Her stomach grumbled, her back complained about the rough night on the bus, then in the tent. She'd accepted help from strangers before. Someone in her position couldn't be picky. But someone in her position couldn't afford to be too trusting either. Danger had brushed her a couple of times too many already.

All her fortune amounted to twenty dollars and change, and it always took days to find a job, even the most basic kind. A meal offered was one she didn't have to buy. The man promised food and seemed sound. When she put it like that, it was an easy choice.

She hurried after him, trying to catch up with his long legs. He led her on a paved path through the low vegetation, then beyond a gray stone wall. She gaped at the tear-shaped pool, at the smaller, rounded tub, at the peaceful deck with table and garden chairs. Then she saw the house.

Lord, it was beautiful, with so little concrete walls she didn't understand how it stood. It was all windows and glass, with an open area on the side covered by the main roof. Inside, coolness washed over her and relieved her from the worst of the tiredness. So much light in the barely furnished living room, so much space. She could breathe in there.

"Pancakes okay?" Erik asked as he told her to sit with a tilt of his head. "My cooking skills aren't awful, nor super. I survive. And I have every restaurant on my phone." He took two bottles of water from the fridge, handed her one.

"I could cook," she whispered.

"So you do talk. Good." He smiled, and the room turned brighter, warmer.

Yes, she had the ability to talk¬–when she wasn't sleep deprived, exhausted, filthy, and facing a man she'd just realized looked like a beautiful surfing Viking god. Andrea gathered all her courage. "I guess I owe you an apology. For mounting my tent on your property and crashing into your house."

He studied at her with a frown, shrugged. "It's okay. I need a shower, you might want one too–on your own, that is. You got clothes in that tent of yours."

Not a question, but she nodded anyway. "I do."

"Go get 'em. We get clean; we eat; we're off. Deal?"

"Thank you," she said, and never meant anything more.

"You're welcome. Come on, I'll show you where you can shower."

After she got her clothes and toiletries, Erik led her into a bedroom with its own bathroom. There were no walls between the two rooms, only more glass with shutters to ensure privacy. She wouldn't shut them. The light, sweet heaven, the light flooded everything, and she certainly won't change that. With a sigh of pleasure, Andrea ditched the shower and filled the stand-alone wooden bathtub shaped like a rowboat. The soap she used smelled better than anything she'd ever set her nose on. She wished she hadn't cut her hair in a short pixie–how soft it would be after using that cherry shampoo.

She put on fresh clothes, and if the T-shirt was crinkled, at least it was clean. Understanding the meaning of the saying 'feeling like a hundred dollar bill', she headed back to the kitchen.

She saw Erik's back when she walked in; he turned to her as he stood at the counter. His mouth turned up at the corners, nothing more than a quirk of his lips to acknowledge her presence, but enough for her to finally see him.

Long, pale blond hair tied in a loose ponytail framed a tanned, strong face where the eyes gleamed in a sharp ice-blue. He had three little silver hoops in his left ear. Only a pair of loose shorts on him.

Andrea swallowed. Okay, he'd been shirtless at the beach that morning, but she'd been too distressed to pay attention, the sun too angry to let her see. Now he stood few feet from her and boy, there was a lot to take in. Broad shoulders, big arms. He had a tattoo. Giant knot-work patterns ran from his right pectoral up to his shoulder, and down to his wrist, following every swelling of well-honed muscles, the length of thick tendons.

Erik Axelsson was the kind of man that made any woman think that kind of thoughts.

Andrea tried to unlock her gaze and push it somewhere else, then a thought poked at her. He was gorgeous, why couldn't she use the gift of sight? Her current status of free, young, and unattached meant she could do whatever it pleased her. On that solemn consideration, she deliberately brought her gaze to him, his hard chest, the ridges and shadows of his stomach. The shorts he wore hung on his narrow hips a little too low, showing grooves and a tan-line that made her blush. He was bronze everywhere the sun had kissed him, and it made the pure blue of his eyes even more piercing.

She'd never, ever, seen anything like this. Like him. He mesmerized her.

"Earth calls Andrea," he said.

"Mh?"

"Are you done?"

Done doing what? She wasn't doing anything, barely standing. "Pardon me?"

"You can resume the ogling later, baby, I have no problem with it. The thing is, I'm hungry and on a schedule. Do you, or do you not, want chocolate in your pancakes?" he spelled out with more than a hint of laughter in his voice.

She cleared her throat, scooped up the tiny, sad crumble of dignity left. "I'd love it, thank you."

"Take a seat."

Andrea did as she was told, looked out the glass wall at the ocean so she wouldn't stare at his back, and how light played on his muscles there. It didn't work.

"Can I help you?" she offered. "With the pancakes."

"Sure. I'll put the coffee on."

Andrea made the batter as he measured the coffee, grabbed two cups. They worked in silence and sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen with pancakes in front of them.

"These are good," he said between chews as he took another serving of the choc-chip pancakes, poured syrup on.

Heat crawled on her face. "It's nothing."

"And it's delicious." Andrea had cooked meals, great meals, for so many people before she'd run away. Never heard a compliment or little gratitude. So his words now drew a smile out of her. "Thank you."

Out of old habit, when they finished eating she rose to her feet to clean up the table, started to wash the dishes.

She needed to find a job, and a place to stay that wouldn't fly off on a stormy day. In a couple of days. She would check the town before risking exposure to people. Breakfast had been a feast and would keep her until tomorrow.

Andrea wiped the sink dry, then her hands. "Yes?" she asked when she turned around and found Erik staring at her.

"Nothing." He stood. "Do you need me to take you somewhere? I'm driving up to Sebastian if you want a ride."

"I'm good." She stopped her fidgeting fingers, folded them together. "Thank you, Erik. You shouldn't have gone through all the trouble."

"No problem."

He kept on watching her. Awkward. What was she supposed to say? To do? She pushed an invisible strand of hair behind her ear. "I... I'm going."

"I'll see you around," he said.

She smiled, grabbed her few clothes, and walked out.

CHAPTER 2

Four days later.

She was still there.

Erik closed the phone call before Lee, his agent, picked up.

Leaning against the porch rail on the first-floor balcony, he frowned.

Andrea had moved her tent a hundred feet on the left and over the backshore, setting camp out of his property the day they'd met. Now hidden behind dunes and the low sea grapes, he'd seen the blue dot by chance, only because a new melody had called him to the studio to write.

The sky jump yesterday had been amazing, a shock to his system. Like clockwork, the adrenaline had triggered the music, and the music had triggered the impulse to walk on the first floor and grab his Stratocaster. He'd worked for hours, riding high the wave of excitement writing always brought until it was spent, and the song done.

Erik had gone to the porch to call Lee and tell him about the new piece to sell and spotted the blue stain in the sandy strip before the ocean. After four days.

He tapped the cold phone against his lips, thinking.

Understatement of the day: the girl was weird.

When he'd caught her staring at him no lust, desire, or even a mild sexual interest had gleamed in her eyes. Instead, she had the same look you saw on the faces of people that wanted to understand a modern painting, the effort to keep looking despite not getting it. The girl had cooked and cleaned up like it was a second nature to do so–efficient, perfect, and something hateful.

Clearly unused to speaking up, she did it with calm and determination.

The girl was hot. An understated beauty, the kind that sucker-punches you in the guts when you least expect it. Uncared for, too, which was a crying shame. And the hair deal. Despite not being picky, he preferred hair long and soft on women, but Andrea rocked the shit out of that pixie cut with her grace and porcelain cheekbones. Those huge, brown eyes, so sweet, and sad, and full of secrets. He'd never had any, not only because of a life spent under the spotlights but because they wouldn't suit any life. Secrets meant headaches, and Erik was too busy having fun for that. He could totally blame curiosity and interest on her weirdness.

Black clouds had started to gather up from inland already. Florida daily summer storms were starting, one of them well on its way, and an old tent didn't cut it as a safe place to wait it out.

To sum up, in his hands was a girl supposedly unaware of who he'd been, alone, ran from something or someone, made perfect pancakes, and was easy on the eyes.

Erik slid the phone into the back pocket of his shorts, walked inside, and grabbed a pair of sunglasses on his way to the beach.

~*~

"Hey, pixie face," he shouted outside the tent, already flapping in the wind. "You there?"

When nothing moved from the inside, he looked around.

There she was, facing the ocean sitting on the sand. Her small figure painted an image of peace, with none of the drama of hair flowing into an angry sky, or any other passionate emotions. A quiet wait, hers–for the light to fade, the heat to gentle, the tide to change. Always on the run, constantly busy, Erik wished he could learn to do the same.

Pushing the thought off, he walked to her. "Hello there."

Andrea turned, covered the blazing mid-afternoon sun with her hand. "I moved the tent."

"Yes, I know." Erik crouched down, Andrea drew back.

"Two questions," he said. "Are you running from the law?"

Her eyelashes fluttered, and surprise made her stammer. "I... I'm not."

"I'll keep in mind that you stink at lying."

"I'm not."

"Honey, you ain't telling the truth either. I don't care what happened at this point, but I want to know if the cops are looking for you."

Andrea swallowed. "No," she declared then.

"Some drug-related mess? Because I left that shit in my twenties, ain't picking that up again."

"God, no," she said.

"All right." He stood, offered his palm to help her get up. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Home. I'm in the mood for having a guest for a while."

"Why?" She scrambled up ignoring his hand, walked beside him. "I mean, you know nothing about me. I could be dangerous."

Erik stopped and gave her a thorough once over. Then laughed, hard, for an almost insulting long time. She lowered her eyes as she played with the hem of her T-shirt.

"We agreed you can't lie worth crap," he said when he could talk again, and they resumed their walk to the house. "I asked if you were running from the cops and you said no."

"Still, I'm a stranger."

"That, you are. I have reasons though."

Erik opened the door and the crisp air prickled at his hot skin. He flopped down on a couch, both arms stretched on the back of it. "A," he counted on his fingers. "You're in some kind of trouble and need a place to crash. Been there, done that, I know it sucks. B, you're weird, and weird makes for nice company. C, wanna hear which decisions had worked best for me?"

She shook her head.

"The ones I didn't overthink. The golden rule is if it feels good, go with it. And, last but not the least," he smiled. "You make killer pancakes. Can you do other food stuff?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so let's play it like this." He pushed forward to the edge of the couch. "You cook, and I give you a roof and a bed for a while."

"Are you serious?"

"Not often." He shrugged. "I am right now. So that you know, there are cameras everywhere. Do something funny, and your ass will sit in a police car before you can say hi. I sleep in a detached bedroom if this is a concern for you."

"Do we have a deal?" Erik asked as he rose and stretched his hand in front of him.

This time, she took it. "Yes."

He smiled, pulled a little at the hem of her T-shirt. "And try talking more. I kinda like your voice."

Andrea started moving her head, then pinched her lips before saying, "Thank you."

~*~

A week later, late afternoon.

"You should have come." The mildly sprained ankle wouldn't have made Erik incapable of walking without help, but who was he to send back a woman willing to act as a human crutch? Erik currently had a hundred or so pounds of cute-as-they-come female focused on carrying some of his weight glued to his side, her arm around him. It was the first time she'd adventured close enough for them to touch, too, which didn't feel half bad.

"I don't like crowds," she said. "Or noise."

"A motocross race has both, I'm afraid." If he leaned on her for real, she would end up squashed on the floor under him. Wasn't that an interesting thought? Erik grinned and let her ease him on the couch. "Although, it's not about the crowd or the noise. It's about the thrill."

"How is twisting an ankle thrilling?"

"There's always a price, sweetheart. Plus, all the girls go into nurse mode."

"Oh, all good, then," she said with a flat voice, sitting properly beside him.

He leaned aside, enough to pinch the tip of her nose. "Relax pixie, I'm okay. Nothing that a good sleep won't cure."

"Did you eat?"

"I hoped you'd ask that. I'm running on an empty stomach, on top of the ankle mess. Watcha got for poor, beaten Erik?"

That cajoled a little smile out. "Fried chicken."

"With biscuits?"

"With biscuits."

He pumped both fists. "Yes!"

"I'll go get it and bring some Tylenol along."

Erik watched Andrea as she went to the kitchen.

The woman had no idea the alluring way she walked. Back in the days, he'd seen enough overdone sashay to last him a couple of hundred years. He'd appreciated the show, mind him, but as everything, it'd gotten old at some point.

Now he wanted to hang with people with something to tell him–to tell Erik, not show Ax. Someone who didn't need to turn anything into a parade the second he walked in. If this person could keep up with all his crazy, being that a tandem skydive, a week spent canoeing, or climbing a fine piece of rock, all the better.

Andrea wouldn't do any of that. Would she? She looked more like the bake-a-cake-then-knit-a-scarf kind of woman. Or maybe not. He rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed the eyes as the day caught up with him.

Truth to be told, he could only speculate about her, and curiosity was driving him nuts. In a world of women who couldn't wait to talk about themselves, this one had never said a word about herself. Zero.

Within a week, they had fallen into a nice routine where he did his things, she hers, whatever they were. They would eat together if he stayed home and if he'd gone places, food was always ready when he got back. They talked about trivial stuff, even shared some laughs and yet, as far as knowing Andrea, he had little to show.

He opened his eyes, feeling her presence more than hearing her. The woman was quieter than a cat with slippers on.

"Sorry," she said, resting the tray with food and painkillers on the coffee table in front of him. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"No worries, I wasn't sleeping. Sit with me. Please?" he topped off when he saw her hesitation.

"Sure." She sat close, but still at a proper distance so they wouldn't touch. She folded her legs under her, grabbed a cushion and set it on her lap. Talk about barricades.

The sky was turning dark and windy, ripe with rain. The palm trees leafy branches flapped like crazed flags, the restless ocean slapped the shore, and the light turned gloomy. The lamps inside the house switched on low, giving the room a warm quiet against the storm. "What is it that you do, Pixie?" he asked.

"Pardon me?"

"Well," he settled on the couch so he would face her. "You hate crowds and noise, which is pretty much my entire life, one way or the other. So tell me, what do you like?"

It was amazing how effortlessly he could follow her thoughts even if she didn't talk. Not because he had a sensitive nature, but because she had no filter whatsoever. He'd confused her, it was clear by her concentrated frown; and from her deflated breath and sagging shoulders, she was sad. "I... I never thought about it."

"Come on, that's bullshit."

She lowered her eyes to fidgeting hands. "It's the truth," she whispered.

"Okay, sorry." Talking about his sensitive nature. "Think about it now."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know you."

"Why?"

"Would you just answer me already?" He sat up straight. "For example, I like to surf and motocross. I also love rock climbing."

"You do that?"

Interest flickered in her eyes, a chance Erik wouldn't have let pass. "Both rocks and ice."

She inched closer. "How is it?"

"Amazing. You get on top of that fucker–sorry, and feel unstoppable."

"It's dangerous."

"Yeah, if you're a moron. As long as you know what you're doing, how far you can push your limits, and respect the mountain, it's safe. Would you like to try?"

"I could?"

"You can start with something easy, see how it goes. Put a bit of meat on those arms," he said, poking at her delicate bicep.

"I'd like that. The climbing, not the meat part." All the excitement flew from her face in the time of a heartbeat and she shrugged. "Maybe, one day."

The time will come, Erik swore, when she'd tell him what she hid from. And that moment was going to be real soon because he just got the biggest kick out of seeing her all fired up. He'd forgotten how it felt, having that genuine enthusiasm for anything as simple as trying to climb a rock. "How about something we can do here, in the next few days?"

He meant nothing sexual, yet the idea flared up as soon as the words left his mouth. Erik struggled to keep his face cool and cleared his throat. "I'm thinking jet skiing."

"I've never done that."

"Basically, you sit behind me, hold tight, and try not to fall into the water. Hey, you know what we can do?" He didn't give her time to think. "We'll have a day out, eat someplace on the coast and come back. I can vouch for a no-crowd and no-noise experience." He put a hand on his chest and one in the air. "I promise."

Erik grinned. Ax, worldwide adored rock star to whom women fought over, asked a girl out–and she wavered. She didn't even seem to realize he was asking her on a date. Unashamed, he unleashed the charm. "Please," he crooned.

And won.

"Okay," she said.

"Tomorrow, front door, 9 am."
CHAPTER 3

What an idiot, Andrea thought for the millionth time as she put on the only one-piece bathing suit she had been able to find. It didn't fit right, but no way she'd wear any of the others.

A man who looked like Erik was bound to have all the women he wanted. And with such reasonable female bustling, it made sense he had swimwear in any form, shape, and size, to lend her. People really used those styles at the beach? Push-ups, thongs, strings she didn't know how to use, as far as a bikinis went. And, alone and misunderstood, a traditional, blue, one-piece.

All of the above brought her to the big question: what had gotten into her head when she'd said yes? Not only she didn't want to share anything about herself. There was nothing to share at all. Her life had started normal, then stopped for more than ten years, and now it boiled down to running from one place to another.

Wow, such an impressive tale to tell a man like Erik–well-travelled, well-learned, well-lived, and more beautiful than a wicked angel.

Still, there she stood, at eight-forty-five in the morning, wearing someone else's swimwear to spend the day with him, and looking forward to it.

All different kinds of nerves pushed the giggle out before she could stop it. It was going to be the biggest adventure of her whole life.

The extent and the consequences of the mistake about to happen? Hard to say, but he'd asked no questions and promised no crowd. More than that, without realizing it, he promised a day where she would be normal. Maybe she'd see what having fun was all about.

She slid a T-shirt and shorts on. The old life of obedience and numbness stood behind her, along with the one person that could still bring her back. As long as she kept a low profile and moving though, David would not find her. If the past several years had taught her something, it was not throwing a gift away.

She would live that day. Fear and embarrassment were not invited. The goal was keeping up with Erik, and she'd try to be the purest version of Andrea, the one without a crappy past and a nonexistent future. She would smell and eat and feel whatever came.

Admirable thoughts, which didn't do a thing to soften the impact when she entered the living room.

Erik leaned against the back of the couch, texting, his head bowed on the cell phone. A long strand of golden hair had escaped the messy topknot like fused pale gold. He wore only white beach trunks that showed again that mouthwatering tan line. He raised his head when she got close and smiled.

Andrea swallowed.

The blatant once-over, the blaze that sparkled in the blue of his eyes, said so many things... Forgotten things.

No matter how bad it had been, or how it ended, she had been married. She wasn't that naïve, recognized what that gleam meant. Okay. Time to turn around and hide, she was good at that. Although, this time, it would be for a whole different kind of fear, a kind that held too much allure.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, in a blue velvet voice.

"Um, jet-skiing?"

"Exactly. You're way overdressed." He pushed from the couch, left the cell on the coffee table and walked to her. Blood washed away from her brain when he hooked a finger in the hem of the cut-offs, pulled a little. "Drop the clothes, Pixie," he said low.

His voice held a buoyant challenge she didn't want to ignore. If she were going to live today, might as well do it in full. With not as much effort as she would have thought, Andrea quenched her first instinct–turn, walk into her room and change.

Or, she could embrace insanity.

Taking even only one step back would be caving, so her chin rose as her hand went to the cut-offs button, then the zipper. Dizzy for the warmth of his body close to her, she fought to keep breathing as his eyes never left hers. The shorts pooled at the feet, then the t T-shirt followed.

"Still too much," he murmured when her clothes were down to the one-piece swimsuit. "Better, though." He took in a long breath and when he spoke, his voice back to the normal upbeat tone. "Ready?"

Oh, boy, was she? "Yes, thank you."

"Come on," he took her hand and headed out. "My man Spunky drove the jet ski here earlier, all our gear is outside. Safety vest on, and we're good to go."

~*~

There were a couple of things to investigate, Erik mused as he watched Andrea walking upstairs to her bedroom.

The sun had started its descent, and he had spent one hell of a great day with that girl.

She was such a weird jumble of feelings and reactions. Eyes as unguarded as a little girl's, they would turn into wise, old almost, within a sentence. Her laugh didn't come full and free but always in tiny, careful steps, as if she needed time to let go. Nothing about that day had happened naturally to her, yet she'd taken all of it on.

Desperate innocence mixed with some spunk.

Erik took a bottle of cranberry juice from the fridge, swallowed some.

And there was her gut-wrenching beauty, another clashing mess. A woman's eyes and lips, made for whispering in the dark, and hair so short an army man would be proud of. That lithe body, where almost boyish hips led to the most perfect little butt he'd ever seen walking. And lord, could she walk.

He left the main house, went to his detached bedroom to take a shower.

A bad dude hid behind all her secrecy, he'd bet his ass. As the water washed away the salt on his skin, Erik shrugged. He never had issues with feelings, and right now a whole current of them pushed him to discover her secrets, have more of her precious laugh. Trouble looked for her, but he'd see to them if and when they landed.

Even more importantly, he didn't want it to end.

He finished showering, jogged to the kitchen to put food into a cooler. "Hey," he greeted her when she came down. "Ready for today, part two?"

She frowned.

"I told you it was going to be a day out, we still have dinner and the evening. Don't worry," he hurried when her eyes were growing wearier. "No people." Cooler in one hand, a can of mosquito repellent in the other, he motioned toward the outside. "Have you ever dined on the beach?"

Yep, he was looking for trouble, because when her slow smile came fully on, Erik recognized that thrill he'd been missing for a while, and knew he'd soon be wanting way more than that.

He took her hand, led her to the shore and spread the blanket on the still warm sand. "It's not one of your dinners," he said, pulling the food out from the cooler. "I–"

"It's perfect," she interrupted.

They ate in silence, lulled by lazy waves, lost in the quick change of the sky from sapphire, to red, purple, and deep blue. She leaned into her arms stretched back, sighed.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

"Yes, thanks."

"Wanna bet I can make it better?" Without waiting for her answer, he pushed his arms under her bent knees and back, chuckling at her sharp intake of breath, and sat her between his legs. "How's this?" he said.

"I–" She took a long, steadying breath. "I don't appreciate being manhandled."

"Sorry," he lied, and made ament by stamping a big, noisy kiss over her hair. "Next time I'll write you a formal request."

"Thank you."

"You need to relax to be comfortable."

"Okay."

God, he wanted to laugh and kiss her until she'd lose that shy-induced propriety.

"It's just that I don't like being manhandled," she said.

In the bright moonlight, her profile free from any curtain of hair, he saw her lips quirk up. Better yet, her body relaxed and softened against his. "Andrea?"

"Yes?"

"You really don't know who I am?"

She scrambled away from his embrace, sat cross-legged in front of him and looked into his face. Worry marred the sweetness of her face. "Erik Axelsson?"

"Besides that."

"I don't understand."

God that was precious. "I used to be a musician."

"I figured that."

Andrea lowered her eyes, brushed away some sand on the blanket. "I stepped into the room with all the instruments when I was cleaning around the other day. But I didn't touch anything," she hurried.

"Okay, relax." Jesus was she tense. "It's not like, I don't know, a secret room or–wait. Why were you cleaning?"

"Because I had nothing left to do, lunch was ready..." her voice drifted away along with a shrug.

Seriously, that woman needed a fast course on having fun. He opened his arms wide. "Then go to the beach! It's less than a thousand feet from the house."

"I thought I would be of more use that way."

"Cleaning is covered and besides, you're here to crash, girl, not to clean. You cook and I thank you for that, but that's it. And it's a seriously shitty phrasing, being of 'more use,'" he said, stressing the last words as if in dislike. "Anyway. I used to be a musician-hey, can you come back here?" he asked her, patting the blanket in front of him.

"Why?"

"Because I like having you close." He could still feel her arms around his waist as they rode the waves that morning. She'd held tight, her thighs pressing on his legs, her cheek on his back. Yeah, he'd liked that.

She pondered his words, must have decided it was a good idea. "Perfect," he whispered when she leaned on him.

"So you're a musician. What kind of music do you play?"

"I used to be a rocker, Ax, for my bandmates and the world."

"Were you famous?"

Hordes of hysterical, crying fans when he manned the stage, the thunder of the crowd in the stadiums. The blinding lights, the crazy nights of women, booze, drugs. The paparazzi and the wanna-be groupies at the check-ins. He had a room chocked full of awards he hadn't gone in since leaving the scene. "You can say that," he told her.

"What happened?"

"We'll get back to that. Now tell me, were you born in the States?" Not that it made any difference, the whole world had shouted his name. But it might be a reason, and a way to steal info.

"Yes."

Never too many details, he thought. "Then how on earth you've not heard of us? Ax and the Hurricanes? No bells? Nothing? How?"

"I led a...sheltered life."

"Andrea, baby, that's not a sheltered life. That's out of the freakin' world."

He heard her long, sad sigh, wondered how hard he could push the questioning. Never in his life someone had been so open and at the same time so private.

"I guess you're right," she whispered so low he barely caught it.

What the hell happened to her? "Talk to me," he asked.

"It's getting late," she said instead, moving away.

They put the leftovers in the cooler, stood.

On the beach, under the moonlight, on a night made for heartbeat and whispers, her eyes broke his heart. "I had a great day, Pixie," he said, bringing her hand to his lips to brush with a kiss. "Thank you."

And if the first instinct was to hold on to it, when she pulled back he let go.

How could he expect her arms suddenly surround his waist, the pressure of her face on his chest? That kind of surprise, the innocence within, and the pleasure had been foreign to him for so long... The cooler fell from his grip with a thump as he held her, stroked her short hair.

"Thank you, Erik," she murmured. Tightening her hold, she raised her eyes to meet his. "You can't know what today meant for me."

"Why don't you tell me?"

She shook her head, dropped a small kiss on his chest and moved away. "I'll never forget," she said and walked toward the house.

Erik stood there, rubbing the spot she'd kissed. "I won't forget either," he whispered to the waves and the moon. "And you ain't seen nothing yet, my Pixie."
CHAPTER 4

The bedroom door clicked as it closed. Andrea rested her back against it, closed her eyes. When the room stopped spinning, she dared to go to the bathroom and look in the mirror.

Still same old her.

Was she? In a way, yes, but today Erik had uncovered a new world, so full of shine and fun and a bit of crazy. The jet ski adventure had been amazing–the slap of the wind, the smell of the ocean, and the blazing sun. God, it still lingered on her skin. The second Erik had opened the jet ski's throttle they'd jumped on toward the open ocean. Aware of being wrapped around him like ivy, she had not let go an inch flat out of fear. Exhilaration had kicked in then, and that's when the screams started, and laughs, and more scream, just because she could.

When that high faded, realization of Erik's strong body pressed to hers hit her and with it came a different kind of exhilaration. The kind that made her wonder what he'd do if she unzipped his life-vest and touched his skin, his rippling muscles. She didn't do it, of course, despite wanting it so much her thoughts had spun around.

A memorable lunch, with shrimps eaten at a food truck by the beach. Nothing more than a couple of rusty coffee tables and rickety chairs and delicious food, but she'd laughed until her stomach hurt, napped under a palm tree afterward. Then they'd gone back to racing in the waves.

And the picnic under the moon.

Spent, she sat on the bed and fell back on the plush mattress. Erik Axelsson was a force that attracted life like a magnet, a life he consumed with such energy, such greed, it was contagious. He'd given her a taste of it, and when the time to leave would come, she'll always carry those emotions with along like the most precious gift.

What would he think if he knew the entire story? Condemn her? Laugh?

Of course, he wouldn't understand her parent's choice, that one decision that had changed her life for good. Dreams, wishes, aspirations–all erased and rewritten with ink she had no word in choosing. Escaping implied living a particular kind of life and Andrea couldn't be anything but thankful for the simple fact of being free. She moved often, and if she had to rely on strangers to survive while hunting for a job or shelter. Those weren't friends but guardian angels, sent from mom and dad to help, maybe to atone a little.

None of the many good people she'd met had ever made her question her freedom.

It was what it was–not fixable or negotiable, only to accept and move on. Rules hadn't changed today; the player had. Andrea was free. And missing out so much it stabbed her heart. Not only things she won't be able to do–adventures, Erik called them. What if she liked someone and wanted to see if there was room for something? Maybe someone with crazy long hair and a giant tattoo? She'd never realized until now that if her heart still believed in love, the life she had to lead didn't give love a single chance. A real, normal husband. Children. A job.

She dressed for the night, laid on her bed, and sighed. On the most beautiful and perfect day in her adult life, Andrea's nose had slammed against reality. Her life sucked.

~*~

Andrea loved the internet.

Alone in the living room, with a laptop on her legs and the morning sun on her face and spirit, she cracked her fingers like a pianist would do before playing and started surfing. Those few memories of the World Wide Web ran back to the last high school year before her family had moved. The World Wide Web used to be such a small part of, well, everything.

Fast forward 12 years, and she'd re-entered a world where the internet and computers not only thrived but reigned sovereign. In the past two years, what little money she put together went for food, a roof for the night, transportation. When things went exceptionally well, she scraped together money to go into a small internet cafe where, for an hour or so, she owned the world and caught up with it.

History and gossip, news and movies, engineering and knitting, if she wanted to stick the nose there–all just a click away. She'd brooded over asking Erik to use his computer for a few days before finding the courage. It might have been silly, but it was such a personal thing, full of personal data, it felt like an invasion of privacy even more than living in his house.

That's why when he'd nodded, shrugged a "sure" and gave her a way to surf the web, timidity had vanished and she'd jumped into his arms. He'd frowned, but his arms had surrounded her, which was pleasant. Until she'd become aware of his smell, of the light scratch of his unshaved chin on her hair. Of how every inch of her laid on his hard body. Hard and warm and safe. With all that, dawned the realization of what a freak she must look like and she'd pulled back. Thank god he hadn't commented.

Like every morning since that day, Andrea sat on the couch as soon as chores were done. There, a thought poked at her: Erik said he used to be a known musician, let's see if that was true. Andrea typed 'Ax and the Hurricanes'–the name of the group–and choked on her glass of water.

Holy. Sweet. Heavens.

He was, like, a super megastar. Grammies, million-dollar record deals, adoring fans everywhere in the world.

She hit YouTube. His voice, his voice took her shaky breath away. Beautiful when he shouted a loud and fast rock song, or crooned a love ballad. Whatever the music, that undercurrent of energy surrounding him, the trait that attracted her the most, never ceased to buzz, weave, right underneath the skin, ready to be released wherever he had the fancy to do so.

According to Wikipedia, Erik Agnar Axelsson was born in Crescent Creek, moved to LA at barely 18 but what in the world was he doing back in that small, sandy town? He'd dined with the president, for heaven's sake, he should live in Hollywood or something, in a castle so big it needed twenty people to run it.

God, what was he doing wasting time with her, when the whole world loved him, missed him and his music? Fear zipped through her lungs, cutting off the air.

She couldn't stay there. With him. What if a reporter rang for an interview? He might be Erik to her, but he was Ax to the rest of the world. And the freaking world knew his face and sought him out.

Andrea closed the laptop with care. A nobody who needed total anonymity had ended up being a guest in the home of one of the biggest rock stars ever.

She stood, careful not to drop the computer, put it on the coffee table with shaking hands. She must leave. Now. Without seeing Erik, she simply wasn't strong enough to tell him goodbye, not after he'd made her feel more in just a few days than she had in her whole life, fresh air to her stifled, useless existence. Andrea swallowed the knot in her throat. It came back in a chuckle too close to a hysterical one. She hid her face in her palms, long breaths cleansing the chaos inside her head enough to function.

"Hey, Pixie!" Erik's voice booming from the main entrance was followed by the thump of the closing door. Andrea froze. The front door opened into a small foyer, and then into the living room. He would see her within two strides of his long legs. "I was thinking," he said entering the room. The survivor took over and Andrea squared her shoulders, exhaled as he kept talking. "Why don't we try something–what? What happened?" he asked, his face and his voice switching into concern when he saw her.

She took a step back, searched his eyes when he towered in front of her.

"Andrea?"

"Thank you for everything, Erik. It's more than anyone has ever done for me." She had to stop and clear her voice. Those words burned and scorched more than a thousand flames. "It's time for me to leave. I'm sure you understand."

He ran steady fingers through his pale gold mane, scratched his head, and frowned as he looked outside for a second. "You can be sure I don't."

"I'm sorry about that, but–"

"But what? Is it the itch of the road? Because believe me, baby, I know all about that."

"No, it's not that."

He opened his arms, just as wide as his sapphire eyes. "Then what the hell is it? All the secrecy, the half words." He walked to the fridge, took a bottle of cranberry juice, closed the door with a slam that made the inside of the fridge rattle. "I opened my house to you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"Right. My bad. Regardless, I deserve a teeny-tiny bit of trust. Or, at the very least, a goodbye." He leaned down until their eyes leveled. "You were sneaking out, weren't you, Pixie?"

"No."

"Lousy, lousy liar."

"Why are you so mad?" she managed and was surprised to see the same question in his eyes.

"Just because." Damned if she let the tears go, even if his eyes had lost the heat of anger and turned a soft blue. Even if he stretched his hand only to brush it along her cheek. "I know you're in trouble. Trust me, Andrea. Please."

"Why?" she managed through a shaky voice. "Why are you going through all this trouble for me?"

He shrugged. That made her chuckle through the tears. "That's not an answer."

"Neither are yours." She closed her eyes. Tired, she was so tired. Of running, of loneliness, of fear. What he offered was not a solution because there wasn't any. But he offered some relief, support, a shoulder that would help to take the edge off the past years and it was more than she'd ever had. Andrea took his hand, big and warm, and strong, in hers. "Come sit with me."
CHAPTER 5

Andrea guided him outside, sat on the heat-drenched poolside, let her feet splashing in the water. Erik, a silent presence sitting by her side, never let go of her hold.

The sun was a blazing ball above, and mugginess seeped deep under her skin. It felt beautiful. She'd been caged for so long that now, for the most painful confession of her life she wanted warm wind, the rolling of the waves, the smell of the ocean and the man sitting at her side. Because of such an afraid heart, she'd rely on her senses to believe the present.

"My father used to be a surgeon," Andrea started. "Details are fuzzy, and I was forbidden from asking questions about what happened later on. From what I understood about the whole thing, he made a mistake while performing surgery on a patient, a young boy who died because of it. Dad went into deep depression. My mom had found this group, and if it was nothing at first, as dad spiraled down she leaned on them more and more. My father started to tag along; within a few months, we moved to their huge farm somewhere north of Lake Tahoe. The group is called The Children of Vision. I was fifteen when we joined them."

Erik sat behind her, settling her between his legs like that night at the beach. Heat would turn them into a sweaty mess in few minutes, but cocooned into him while recalling for the first time those months, how life had changed, she'd never felt safer. "Look, Andrea," he said, kissing the nape of her neck. "You don't have to go tell me if it hurts. I'm sorry I asked, just–"

"It's okay," she stopped him. "Really."

"Then I'm here."

She leaned back, resting on his chest.

"Other people already lived there. Each of us had duties–some would farm. Some would cook. Whatever the chore, there was zero contact with the outside. Only a few were allowed to leave. We were told the world bled with sins, hatred and darkness. We needed to distance our spirit from it to reach the light, the truth, how insignificant and wrong we are as single persons. Unless, of course, we gave ourselves to the Children's Father's teaching. Father Frank, that's how we called the man who started and led the group. Father Frank was the only one with the vision, and could teach how to be pure and happy."

"Did you believe in that?"

"What other choice did I have? I've never been a rebel, never had a bad temper. It's who I am. When we moved in I was too young and docile to fight, and when I wasn't young anymore I was weak." His even breathing stroked her temple, her cheek, and she inched aside to allow him closer, seeking comfort for what would come next "Father Frank had a son about my age," she whispered. "David."

Alerted by the change in her voice, Erik tensed and wrapped his arms around her, waiting.

"They wedded me to him on my 20th birthday."

One long intake of breath; another. And the question. "Did he abused you?"

"No, no. Violence was never physical, David never forced himself on me, or hit me. No need to. It was all a mind-game. Public shame and humiliation dressed as communal meetings, cleansing through abstention from food and work. Prayers." Father' voice, quiet and soothing, still rang in her ears. You have nothing outside the Children. No one. Only I and the others. We're the only ones that can give you love, understanding, salvation.

"It was wrong, my heart and mind saw it clearly, but years of that life weakens you. Besides, my parents were there."

"You stayed for them."

"At first. They would have paid a steep price if I left. Then I was David's."

"Sounds like a possession."

"More than that, deeper. David would have had to repent for me too, but–" She shrugged, took a long breath. "I'm afraid I didn't care much."

"You had no reasons to."

Erik's quick dismissal didn't lift the weight she carried deep in her heart, but it felt good hearing it. "Maybe. I loved my parents, though. I still miss them."

"Even if you paid for their choice?"

"It took some time to let go. It's not forgiveness, not really. In a way, they did with me in mind. Love moved them, and I can't hate for an act of love. But I had to work on myself a lot to unravel all these feelings. And at the end of the day, I loved them. When my mom died though, then my dad, I couldn't stand it anymore."

"How did you get out?"

"It was night."

Andrea kept her eyes firmly on the rippling water of the pool. If she closed them, she would be there again. Crunching snow under her feet; the cold stabbing her nose; unforgiving darkness all around. No signs of where she was, where to go. Afraid of meeting someone and terrified of being chased and caught by the Children. "I walked on until I found a bus station. I had a hundred dollars, all I could steal from Father's hidden cash, and I bought a ticket to L.A. I figured big city, easier to hide."

Her back was completely damp by Erik's closeness, drops of sweat ran down her neck to pool in the collar of her ancient T-shirt, yet she wouldn't have moved an inch if there was a hurricane coming. Because today's sun burned the blackness of that night. The heat chased away the cold that almost killed her. Erik was her champion, winning over the loneliness of every day since the escape.

"How long ago was that?"

"Two years."

"Shit." His arms tightened around her. "How have you survived all this time?"

"I managed," she said with a shrug. "The world is full of good people, with heart. I can't have a bank account, a driving license, or a real job because it would overexpose me. Luckily, there's always someone who needs help for a little while–waitressing, cleaning. Sometimes it was good, other times harder, but I've been able to move from town to town. And I cut my hair, as soon as I could," she declared.

"Okay."

"Having your hair styled was a sign of vanity, so it was forbidden."

The touch on her neck, unexpected and slow, called a shiver through her. "I love your hair," Erik said.

Andrea leaned back to stroke his chin with a cheek, breathing the scent of male skin mixed with the heat. But reality set, so she left the safety of his arms and sat in front of him, legs crossed. "The Children, David, is why I can't stay here, in your house. With you."

"This place is like any other–"

The problem dawned on him.

"You're Ax."

No need for any more explanation, but he stubbornly shook his head. "No, no way. I used to be Ax, been nothing but Erik for five years. I worked hard to live up to that name, and just as hard to get out of that life." When she tried to get up, his hand took hers. "Nobody has snooped around me in 5 years, Andrea. You didn't even know my face or who The Hurricanes were. That's how much I'm out of that."

"I can't take the risk, Erik. They are looking–no forgive and forget, ever. They might be discreet but they listen and watch everything. If I stay, sooner or later they'd get wind of it and tell David."

"Okay, let's say he finds you. What would happen then?"

"He'd kill me."

Erik all but jumped up, fists on both hips, and chuckled. "Come on."

"He would," she said low. "By leaving I disrespected my husband and even worse, betrayed all the Children and what they stand for. I'm stained, a sinner beyond saving. Because I'm David's, and the Children's, they can dispose of me however they see fit."

"So he'd walk up and what? Shoot you here in the garden? Drown you in the pool?"

"If that's what it takes."

"This is ridiculous. Call the cops, and be done with this crap already," he told her, picking up the phone.

"There's nothing the police can do." Andrea pushed the cell back, blocked it into his chest. "Freedom of religion is on their side and besides, The Children don't do anything against the law."

"I think I'm gonna play the emotional abuse card. Bet that's illegal."

"Maybe. But you know when Father says you're alone? That you're nothing outside the Children? It's the truth. Some of the people were alone to begin with, but those with families had cut all ties to any previous life. There is no world outside the Children."

"That's bullshit, there must be something you can do."

"Keep moving. It's the only way to be free from them."

Anger flashed again on his face. "This ain't freedom. You were dying there and you're not living now, either. These creeps still run your life."

"Do you think I don't know it?" she whispered, trembling. She wanted to shout, but pain barely allowed her to speak. A knot bigger and stronger than herself clogged her throat, tears stung, and the heart pumped fast, so fast. The look of concern on his face was gasoline on the already burning fire of a desperation she couldn't keep inside anymore. "You think I like having no friends, no home. No dreams?" A fat tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away with an angry swipe of hand. "I look at you and wonder how it would be to kiss you. To hope you kiss me back, and maybe, maybe, get the chance to say stupid things like 'hey, let's see if this goes somewhere.'"

Erik was on her in one leap. A moment she stood alone against the extent of the truth, and the next she was in his arms, clenching his T-shirt and sobbing, soaking the cotton with years of hopelessness. "I can't," she whispered. "Can't."

Andrea squeezed her eyes tighter at the sweet pressure of his hand in her hair, how he angled her face to keep wiping away those stubborn tears with small brushes of loving lips. He picked her up and carried her inside. The chilled air raised goose bumps on her overheated body, and she nestled more into his warmth. Erik sat on the couch, settled her on his lap.

"I'm sorry, baby," he crooned, rocking her. "So, so sorry. For everything. But I promise you, it's safe here. With me. Nobody's gonna come." He kissed her temple. "Just don't go, not yet. Let's take a breather, think this crap through for a while."

"Nothing's ever going to change," she murmured, exhausted by the outburst, lulled by the rhythm of his heartbeat and voice.

She didn't resist when he pulled her chin up with a finger. "Please, Pixie, bet me on that. I'd love to prove you wrong."

She would win that bet, for sure. The thought would only bring more tears, but his mouth lingered so close, so warm. He was so big, hard, and smelled like the beach on a hot summer day. Would he taste like that, too? Would his kiss be as bold? His touch as daring? With an effort, she raised her eyes, saw a blue fire blazing in his.

No, no, no, she needed to get away from him if she wanted to keep breathing. It was too much; he was too much. It was plain wrong. No, not wrong. Stupid. He was so alive, almost vibrating with energy. "Why are you doing all this?" she asked him again, like the first day they had met.

Now, though, the focus of the question had changed.

And god, he pulled her even closer. "You know why."

Dazzled by his voice, paralyzed by the fierce answer of her body, she only shook her head.

"Come on, baby," he hummed. "Say it. Say those stupid words to me, Andrea."

Spellbound, she spoke. "Let's see if this goes somewhere."

"That's good." His cheek skimmed hers, their lips just shy of touching, her heart just shy of bursting. "Now kiss me," he asked low, so low. "So you can see if I kiss you back."

When had she slid into this world of sensual laziness? There was no control, no fear, only her brain soaked in hot honey, her body singing a foreign need.

The drumming heart subsided to a still silence when she touched her lips to his. A memory of cranberry juice, the soft scrub of an unshaved face. The pleasure in that simple contact overwhelmed her, led the tumbling awakening of senses. The universe existed in his breathing, his hands, his acceptance of her pace.

Sudden worry pushed her to break the closeness. "You're not kissing me back."

The tip of his tongue traced his lips as he frowned, lost in thoughts. "Sorry," he murmured. "It was my first time."

"Excuse me?"

Erik chuckled. "Not that kind of first time. I've had my fair share of kisses." He tipped his head, contemplated her face. "Never like this."

"How was this?"

"It was..." he stopped, touched her mouth with his fingertips. "Like there's nothing else in the world but this kiss. Nowhere to go but here."

"And it's bad?"

"Not one bit."

"So will you kiss me back?"

"Oh, baby, count on that."

And when he did, her head swayed. He took her mouth not in an attack, but in sexy, wholesome pleasure so thick and full Andrea melted into his lead. When he pulled her up by the waist, strong muscles tensed under her fingertips and pushed her a little more over the edge. She straddled him, got lost in that heat. Her sighs, his, she couldn't tell anymore, all hands on hungry skin, pressure building inside, as she pressed into him. Breathing was hard, but she didn't need to, not as long as he held her, kissed her, wanted her like that.

His teeth scratched her throat, his tongue licked a hot spot behind the ear.

Then she realized her hips rocked, rubbed, moved. Too far, too fast. "Erik," she pleaded pushing weakly on his chest. "Erik, we have to stop."

"No," he argued, sucking the corner of her mouth. "We don't."

She shut her eyes, breathed in to find strength and ignore the zip of lust that shot straight into her lower belly. "Please." A handful of minutes more and she'd rip his clothes off. "Stop."

Sadly, he got the message. Erik didn't let her go but drew away. "It's not gonna work if you do that," he said when she tried to get closer again.

"Sorry."

Andrea scrambled at his side and had the weird satisfaction to see him breathing hard with his head resting on the back of the couch and his eyes on the ceiling. What if she was overreacting? One more bite of those lips wouldn't hurt anyone. After all, people kissed all the time, right? Only one little kiss.

"No, baby," he said. "Not unless you want to move to a bed."

Damn it. "I don't think I'm ready for that."

"That's a lie, and we both know it. Come on over here." Erik took her hand, pulled until she was snuggled at his side. "I need to calm down a bit, let's see how I manage to do it with you close."

He fished the remote from in between the cushions and turned the radio on.
CHAPTER 6

Holy shit.

Just. Holy. Shit.

Erik leaned on the porch rail of his detached bedroom, a glass of blackberry juice in one hand and the moon for company. In the main house, the light in Andrea's room went out making the night darker. Mugginess was never a bothered, nor were the mosquitos. He'd shared ten years of his life with the world and now, in this new reality, being alone felt just fine.

Trading blinding lights of the stage for the smiling moon, the deafening roar of the amplifiers for the ocean's waves had been a choice that had come with no regrets.

As for women, well, they came easily. Always had, even before the fame and money. Yet, the last time he'd slept with a woman was a vague memory. Not because it was long ago–it wasn't. Because at the end of the day, sex was the same old-same old. Whens and hows popped up if recalled, but nothing to remember. Nothing to give a thrill.

Then Pixie entered the scene. Sad, brown eyes and longing stares, short hair and regal neck. That innocence of spirit packed into the hot, knowing body of a woman. That thirst for living, for learning.

He sipped again, chuckled eyeing the bottle. Juice. There used to be Single-Malt Scotch in his hand.

Things changed, life moved, and he'd dance to its rhythm like always.

That afternoon, after being this close to embarrassing himself by coming in his pants, satisfaction had come from holding her, nothing more. He'd have been a lot happier if things had kept going toward sex, but still. Music had flowed in the background as the sun slowly set. Dinner in the garden, a movie. The first Iron Man, as it turned out Andrea loved special effect and superheroes. Who would have thought?

Point was, for the first time in a long while, he'd experienced being content, a state of mind a lot different from happy, high, excited, or whatever other good feeling bounced out there.

Maybe age was catching up. He'd been in this big world for thirty-five years, ten of those lived fully, hard, and fast. Nowadays, his heart didn't ram into the ribcage like a damn oversized, deranged kangaroo often and when it did, music caused it, not a woman.

That was a first, too, and he loved few things more than first times. How many of them could Pixie give him?

~*~

Oh, another sunny, beautiful day on the South East Coast. What a treat. From the bedroom door frame, naked as the birds flying high, Erik scowled at the sun and the wide expanse of the sapphire sky. Why did everything have to be so damned bright, anyway?

Yep, definitely getting old, Erik mused. And grumpy. All because of a horrible night spent in that horrible spot that's halfway between sleeping and being awake. Andrea filled both dimensions with her smell of soap, her voice, and she was always naked.

An almost willing, therefore untouchable, beautiful chick in your guest room and a sleepless night. So cliché.

Coffee. Hot, dark, and plenty.

He threw a pair of shorts on, tied his hair into a lazy ponytail, and walked to the main house. Today's goal was to get a massage or something, he thought as he felt the tense muscles of the neck with his fingers.

God. The countless nights spent on a tour bus floor for no other reason than he'd fallen from someone's bunk bed and going back up wasn't worth the effort. Sometimes he'd been drunk, sometimes high on some shit, but that's beside the point.

Now he needed a massage because that girl messed up his beauty sleep.

Disgusted, he cringed. Not only old, he'd gotten spoiled too. A massage. For real?

Erik reached the glass door, saw Andrea moving around in the kitchen surrounded by pans and pots. Dancing, it seemed. Yep, sure the girl knew how to dance. Her hips swayed in an unmistakable rhythmic way, her head bounced left and right, and she drummed in the air with two wooden spoons. A mouthwatering sight.

Maybe she could give him a massage. Now, that might fix the bad night.

Erik opened the door trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want to interrupt such a good show.

Well, well.

Andrea wasn't just dancing. Wearing an oversized red T-shirt and pair of pajama shorts to match, Andrea was moving to one of his songs and singing along. A healthy octave higher than him, hitting all the notes with the same ease one has to breathe.

Careful not to get caught, Erik rested a shoulder on the wall and listened.

The mystery that was Pixie never stopped giving. A wide, if not huge vocal range, and damn, the sheer force of those pipes. Beautiful lower register. She had to work on the vibrato. Above all, she didn't sound like a rookie. Not schooled the way he was, but no stranger to music either.

When the song ended and he clapped, she all but jumped on the stove. "Erik," she said out of breath, clenching the wooden spoon on her heart.

"Good morning, to you, Pixie. Out of curiosity, you didn't tell me about that because..."

That wideness of eyes, the frantic twisting of the spoon, weren't sign of someone thrilled about being heard. "About what?"

"About your air drumming skills." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Your voice, Andrea."

She turned, giving him her back, and got busy with breakfast. "There's nothing to say."

"I thought, but I can't be too sure now, that I was the expert. You know, having been a rock star and all. There's a lot to say about the performance."

She shrugged, her whole body suddenly tensed.

Another soft spot. Erik scratched his cheek where the stubble was turning into a beard. With anybody else, he would have pushed–for answers, for getting her into his bed. With her? Damn, he wanted to hear all those secrets, not force her to tell him.

He walked behind her, turned her gently by her shoulders. Her eyes kept low, concealed, so he raised her chin with a finger. "Look," he said. "I can't say why you hide your voice, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I'm just saying, it's a beautiful gift, and a shame to waste it."

Misplaced anger darkened her usually sweet eyes, only chased away by that sorrow he'd swore to erase. His brain wiped out of every thought when she stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss on his lips.

If this was a plot to divert his attention from the topic, it had been spot on.

What could he do but react and cage that lithe body into his arms, spoons and everything, then lower his head to take that worried mouth? She wriggled out only to hold on to his once painful neck. Completely stretched out on his bigger frame, his hands traveled on her back, sides, down to grab her ass, press it over him.

Long, eager fingers undid his ponytail, ran through his hair as kisses got deeper, hotter, hungrier, each time. "Let me take you to bed, Andrea."

To hell with his rotten, stupid, big mouth. Those few words worked like a cold shower and she stepped back, panting, her lips swollen. "Erik, I–"

"Yeah, I know," he said, pulling her once more into his embrace and leaving a small peck on the tip of her nose. He wanted a fucking statue built for him after that morning, it was the least she could do for the pain that will follow. Again.

When her breath slowed to normal, she rested a cheek on his chest and sighed. "I told you how we all had a duty, with the Children. Well, mine was singing."

"For them?"

She nodded, bumping the head against his chin. "I had duties toward my husband, of course, like cooking and such. Then there we had a daily meeting, twice on Sundays, where I had to sing about whatever topic we'd talk through. We had different hymns for different times of the year."

In the big scheme of her previous life, Erik didn't deem singing such a bad thing. It seemed that way to her, though, so he nodded. "Okay."

"I hated it."

"I get that." He kissed her hair. "Although, it's not really music's fault, you know?"

Andrea stepped back, leaning against the sink. "I hate singing."

Mimicking her position, he leaned back against the kitchen island, right in front of her. "The thing is, it didn't look like hating, what I saw walking in. That's a nice pout, by the way."

"Whatever. Let's have breakfast, French toast is disgusting if gets cold."

She started to turn, but he grabbed her arm, stopped the movement. "You so don't hate singing, Pixie. You hated doing it for them, which I understand."

"What difference does it make?" she asked, freeing herself to carry two plates to the already set table.

"A whole world," he said low as his brain was plunging into the ocean of possibilities a voice like hers would have.

A great songwriter, Erik loved the thrill of that first draft, the product of something burning into his heart, of music and lyrics coming as one like thunder and lightning became a storm. Producing the songs, with all the little details, then putting it all together with a nice bow? Not for him. Usually.

For her, he was more than willing to give it a try. Of course, he needed a song first, then convince her to sing and record it. Let her see, or hear, what she was giving up.

He hid a grin, sat at the table. A new adventure, with Pixie at his side. The same Pixie that kept her eyes down and drawing lines of syrup on the plate with the fork.

"Those are delicious," he said, chewing. "You got something on your mind

Embarrassment blossomed on her face and took a long breath. "I like kissing you."

Okay.

He stilled for a second, replayed those words a couple of times. Yep, he'd heard right. "Good. That's good because I have ideas in that direction," he said as cool as possible, under the circumstances.

"You do?"

He nodded. Oh, baby, if you only knew.

"I guess you can tell I'm, well, out of my element," Andrea noted, setting down the fork with a measured movement.

She was delicious when she tried to hide embarrassment behind propriety.

"You're a quick learner."

"Thank you," she said, a new wave of pink creeping up her face. "So... do you plan on kissing me again?"

"Sure, name the time. How about now? No time like the present."

"No. Well, yes–" she shook her head as if she needed to clear her mind. "I'd love to, at some point," she clarified. "I only wanted to have an idea of what we were doing."

"We're celebrating life, my sweet Andrea."

"Okay. Okay." She ran the fingers of both hands through her short hair, linked them behind the head. "Are you mad at me because I need some time?"

Hungrier than he'd ever been for a woman? Yes. Frustrated like a hormonal teenager? You bet. Angry? No way.

He got up, kneeled in front of her and took her hand. "Look, I really, really want you, and I hope you're going to be okay with that real soon. But I'm not mad. Come on, Pixie, you have to know by now I'm not that kind of a jerk."

She laid a palm on his cheek. Nobody had done anything so sweet in ages, literally.

"Thank you."

"Not a problem," he assured, kissing her palm. "Now," he said going back to his seat. "How about shark fishing? Ever done that?"

"No."

"You will today. Go get ready, and Andrea? Please put on a bikini this time."
CHAPTER 7

That was about done.

Erik replayed the bridge of one of the many melodies that poured out of him lately. Always proficient, in the past few days writing had been an almost daily need.

Some of those songs would be perfect for her.

Andrea had what it took to dominate the scene, Erik felt it in his guts. She'd have it all–fame, money, the safety she craved–and by doing something that gave her pleasure. All that stuff about hating singing was bullshit he wouldn't buy even if she signed a statement in blood.

Screw that crazy ex-husband and his nuthouse. She was safe with him, and he would be with her through the entire way–wait.

Did he want to be there with her?

Erik thought the issue over for a whole second or two. Yep, he so did.

Did she want him?

Come on, of course, she did. For sure. Probably. Crap, hopefully. But his Andrea couldn't fake emotions and stuff, and she did have feelings for him. Any attempt to define what sparkled in her eyes would be wasted time since he didn't have much experience in the love department. But something simmered there, and he'd grown more and more attached to it. Hell, let's be honest here, he'd started to rely on it.

Capable fingers moved on the piano keys, and a sweet melody filled the silent room. One of the many songs he'd sung endless times, but not written. The words left his mouth almost of their own will.

One long, sudden moment

It's all it takes

A thrill of the heart

In a meadow of peace

Yeah, okay. The lyrics finally made sense.

Chances were, he'd fallen for her. Maybe had happened a while ago, when he'd watched her sitting on the sand, alone, her thoughts lost in the ocean. Or maybe, as the song said, had happened little by little, second by long, ripe second. So much goodness, and courage. The ability to look at the world with child's eyes and the experience of a crappy life that turned her back made of pure steel.

They fit like two halves of a zipper.

Erik cringed. Metaphors like that were the reason why he'd never written a love song, because he flat out sucked at it.

A life of craziness, both before and after the Hurricanes, didn't fit anymore. Still comfortable, yes, but something was missing. Andrea made quiet look amazing as long as she stayed. With her, the zipper would work. They would work.

Pixie had to learn how to live, and he was ready, able, and willing to help.

Erik smiled. For the first time, someone needed him. Not for record sales, advertising, or having a blast somewhere doing something useless. She'd never talked to the police or any other human being about what happened, but she'd talked to him. Andrea trusted him. Needed him. To protect, help, guide. Damn, it was so far from who he'd always been it terrified him in an exciting way.

He chuckled. Erik Axelsson in love and feeling pretty darn good about it. Why did people bitch about that, anyway? Even ran from it? This felt awesome. So new, so vibrant and deep. Real.

Now, what to do with all that.

He walked to the window, followed a ship cruising far on the horizon.

Random feelings weren't enough, not this time. Problem was, how could someone like her fall in love with someone like him for good. That girl didn't give a rat's ass about fame, didn't suspect the size of his bank account. Or his many properties and cars. Money, to sum it up.

Andrea was all about substance. Erik scratched his head.

Okay, no problem. He would... woo her. Whoa. Did he just say that? Yes, because she deserved attention, care. Someone who showed her how special she was not to him, but in herself. And how to have fun. God, she needed that, and some serious appreciation for that killer body. She had no idea about it, and he couldn't wait to point it out.

Also, he would help her reach the place she deserved in music. Satisfied, he walked out of the room to carry on with his plan.

~*~

Something had changed.

Andrea knew it the second he sat at the other side of the kitchen table.

Always energetic, always moving, Erik looked... steady. The light in his eyes had enough danger to make her want to hide.

A man on a mission, could she deal with whatever churned in his mind? Well, she will. No more hush up.

After a night spent spinning thoughts, she'd come to one conclusion: taking what he offered. Not because she had to or, worse, because he'd asked her. The reason was simpler, and more beautiful, than that. Erik was the right man, and she had to accept that what he was willing to give was what she wanted.

No chickening out this time.

Every day spent with Erik made her more uneasy, with the scale tipping toward David finding her. She had no such thing as a future to promise, but too many todays had been lost already. The here and now Erik offered would not add to that, she could make sure of.

A shiver ran through her spine when he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I'm here to make a deal."

Oh, boy. She cleared her voice. "What kind of deal?"

"Sing for me. One song."

Oh, that. Not was she expected or hoped. His grin made her lips twist upward despite the disappointment, but she wouldn't give up easily. "That's not a deal, it's an order."

"Okay, I'll rephrase. Sing and record one song for me, and I'll drop the issue. If you don't, be prepared to be annoyed until the end of time."

"That's blackmail."

He leaned all the way across the table to grab her hands. "Come on, Andrea. Only one song. For me. Please?"

How could a man that looked like him be so sweet? Andrea rolled her eyes. "Why do you want me to sing so bad? I told you, I don't like doing it."

"And I'm telling you, you've done it for the wrong people." He waved a hand in the air. "The right man is right here."

It sounded tempting, mostly because he had a point. She loved singing, but it had been so intertwined with why she used to do it that had lost all the magic, all the pleasure. Maybe she could let go, sing for the sake of music.

"You're thinking about it," he said, leaving the chair to crouch down at her side. Tall as he was, with only a little stretch he started leaving a trail of little kisses on her neck, then whispered in her ear, "Please."

"You're bad."

"Honey, you have no idea," he murmured between pecks and nibbles.

"One song?" she breathed, closing her eyes. It wasn't an unacceptable request after all.

From her jawline, his lips made their way up, brushed with an odd mixture of hunger and gentleness on hers. "Just." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "One." Another little naughty peck on the other side. "Song."

How could anybody deny him anything? "Okay."

The kiss deepened, shot straight to her head and sank down into the pit of her stomach. Lost, she slid down the chair, wrapped her legs around his waist. Still holding her, and with no apparent effort, Erik stood. Surprise and an exquisite, unknown, all-female appreciation of that strength made something to her, like an injection of wet heat. "Don't stop," he murmured, walking on. "Keep those lips on me, Pixie."

"Where are we going?" she asked with what little voice she could muster.

"Upstairs."

At that moment, wrapped around him with his mouth tracing paths of kisses to her shoulder, Andrea was in no shape to form complex thoughts. His bedroom was outside, not upstairs. That much she knew. "Why?"

"The song." Words broke through the Erik-induced haze, sweet as a chainsaw.

"What?"

"You agreed to a song, baby."

"Now?"

"No time like the present. Hold on," he said, opening the door to his home studio.

Once inside, he let her go with one last kiss, full on the lips.

Dumbstruck by the swift switch from sultry-and-hot to strictly business, she gaped at him as he gathered paper from a table, headed to the piano lid, propped it up on a short pole and sat on the little bench. He tied his hair into a ponytail, a gesture inexplicably sexy. "What?" he asked when she still hadn't made a sound.

"You're... very efficient."

"Time's a-wastin'. Now," he said, offering her a single sheet of words and notes. "Few songs would fit you, tell me what you think. Come and sit down next to me."

He smiled, started the melody and just like that, he'd changed once again. Gone was the daredevil, carefree, passionate Erik. There stood Ax, his voice rising with an upbeat song, fun and rocking. His whole body managed to keep the rhythm even as he sat playing. Music flowed through him, and she couldn't tell if he infused the song with that inner fire, or if the flames in him were lit by the music.

Either case, it was amazing.

When the last note faded, he turned to her. "So?"

"You're fantastic, Erik. Your voice is, I don't know, magical."

"Yeah, okay, thanks. What about the song? Do you like it?"

She'd liked him, that was for sure. And she probably should have paid more attention to the music, but she trusted him to know how to write a good piece music. "Yes."

He narrowed the eyes, crossed tanned arms over his chest. "Liar, liar, pants on fire."

Her shoulders dropped. "Sorry. I was distracted."

"There's nothing in here to distract."

"You are here."

"Aw, baby." He cradled her face in both hands and kissed her. "Flattery. Well played. Now, back to work." He took the paper and rubbed a hand over his chin. "I went from C major to Bb major because I wanted more joy than passion. Cheerfulness over triumph. And we can talk about that progression in the bridge. Something seems off, you know what I mean?"

"Sure."

"Okay, what is going on here?"

"I, um, have no idea what you're talking about." Why did she fiddle with the sheet as if she'd murdered someone? She'd told him worse things, it was silly to be ashamed. "I can't read music."

That threw him off. Erik frowned, reorganizing the new info in his head. "For real?"

"Yeah."

"How did you manage singing for those nutsos, training your voice like that?"

"Annette, the piano player, would sing for me, show me what to do, and I'd repeat."

"That's impressive."

"I wanted to learn, but learning, in general, wasn't highly regarded by the Children. Sorry."

"What for? It wasn't your fault."

"I should have pushed the matter."

He leaned over until their heads almost touched. "You've done what you could. And it's all for the best as I'd love to teach you."

"Are you sure?"

"Anytime, Pixie. Are you okay doing the same thing with me?"

"Yes." A hundred thousand times yes. He had a way to make her feel like everything was possible, to kindle the enthusiasm for life she'd had to stifle for an eternity.

He started with vocal exercises to warm up, although she suspected it was to see what she could do. Only after a long time did he put lyrics into the melodies.

When she repeated the first line with him, tears prickled at her eyes.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong? We don't have to–"

A finger on his mouth stopped those words. "Thank you, Erik."

He smiled, those beautiful sapphire eyes sweet and warm. "My pleasure."

She wiped away the tear. No room for that now. "Then let's sing."
CHAPTER 8

"I'm done," Erik said, stretching his arms above his head.

The crack of his back when he stretched made him wonder how Andrea had managed hours spent in that room, sitting at his side. Nothing more than sitting. One visit to the restroom, one glass of orange juice, and that was it. She'd gone through the song with the discipline of a soldier.

Meanwhile, he'd paced listening to her voice strolling breezily up to those octaves; changed from piano to guitar to see which fitted her better, electric first and then acoustic; paced more pondering some of her ideas; laid on the couch only to jump up again.

"I can go on some more," she said.

"Baby, I believe you could go on and on and on all night long, but I'm done for the day and my back needs some Jacuzzi time. Before that," he replied, moving to the computer, tapping fast on the keyboard. He connected his golden iPod, then gave it to Andrea. "Homework. This is a playlist of singers with roughly your vocal range. Different styles and music, to give you an idea of what's out there. Cristina Aguilera, Beyonce, Adele, Pink, Florence Welch, Carrie Underwood. See who takes you more, then we'll arrange your song after that. Now, about the serious stuff–a hot tub with a hot girl." Erik stood, offered a hand. "Would you like to join me, Miss Smith?"

The brown in her eyes warmed and deepened. "My pleasure, Mr. Axelsson."

They changed clothes and met at the side of the pool where the rounded Jacuzzi awaited. A grin spread across Erik's face when Andrea showed up in a bikini. The look of surprised delight when the warm water started bubbling was one of the finer things in the world. "First time?"

She nodded, giggling and wiggling her body to enjoy the bubbles completely.

"You know, Pixie, one day we'll sit somewhere real quiet and you'll go through all the things you've never done."

"Oh, you don't have that kind of time," she said with a casual shrug. "And while on topic, I've never used my voice like today."

It was mesmerizing watching as she sank into the water down to the neck, rested her head back and closed her eyes with a sigh. "You have no idea, do you?"

"No. I've never thought bubbles could feel so, so good. I mean, it's just air, if you think about it."

"I'm not talking about the Jacuzzi."

Andrea opened one eye. "Uh?"

"You have the wistful beauty of a sunset and the voice of a powerful angel."

Blushing, she pretended great interest in the swirling water, then shrugged. "It makes sense you're good with words." She cleared her throat. "I listened to some of your songs. Diamond is beautiful."

"I didn't write that one. Or any other ballad I've ever sung."

"Oh?"

"Fact is, I suck with that. With words of love."

"But what you just said–"

"Simply the truth." For a moment, Erik got caught between the need to touch her and the joy of staring at the flush that reddened her cheeks. Instead, he took the third road. "After we fine-tune what we've done today, I want to ask a friend of mine to listen to it."

"Erik–"

"I have to see if I love your voice because it's part of you, or if I'm right and you're fantastic regardless my feelings." Her eyes grew so wide, her mouth barely staying closed, that he laughed. "Get used to that. I don't lose energy hiding what's inside my head or my heart."

"I... don't know what to say. With my situation, and how–"

"Relax, Andrea," he said, pulling her to him. "No actual need to say, or do, anything. When you want to tell me something, you'll find a way." He paused, shut a pang of unease. "Whatever that will be."

~*~

Erik had feelings for her. Thank god they were in the water, her legs wouldn't hold the weight for sure.

A man so unafraid, so strong, so alive, had feelings for her–the perpetually scared Andrea.

Terrified fit the bill better right now. Or that pounding in her head was excitement?

And maybe he wasn't talking about those feelings.

How could she think and breathe at the same time? Burning up and staying there, frozen?

Lord, what a mess.

For sure, it'll hurt like hell when she'd have to say goodbye–and that day will come. But his half-naked body felt hard under her fingertips, the water swirled and stroked, those strong arms around her kept away the blackest panic as the sky turned red and gold. Those eyes.

Andrea might be afraid of many things, but not of being here, in this moment, with this man. It was right and beautiful, a gift to cherish, a memory to carry in her heart of hearts forever. Andrea's hands run over his chest, shoulders, and link behind his neck. "Actually," she said with more strength than what she felt. "There is one thing I want to tell you now. To ask."

Erik rubbed a stubbled cheek against hers and his voice, low and soft, hummed close. "What is it?"

Despite the pep talk, she hid into his shoulder. "Would you take me inside? In the bedroom?" He stilled; she tensed.

Great, she'd misunderstood what he'd said about feelings. What if that wasn't how you ask a man to be intimate? Her ridiculous inexperience had blown that silly attempt at seduction. Badly. Heat from embarrassment crept into her face and she started to move away. "Sorry."

"Where are you going?" Erik asked.

To dig a hole and hide until blissful death comes. She shrugged.

"Come here," he said, hooking a finger in the rim of the bikini bottom, pulling her into him once again. "Don't do that, Andrea."

"Do what?"

"Sleeping with me because of what I said."

"I'm not."

"Only yesterday you weren't ready."

"Today I am."

Erik's eyebrows rose in doubt.

If only he'd quit stroking her back she could come up with a better answer. So Andrea broke the body contact but kept his hands in hers. "You were right. I've been running and I still have to. But I don't want to run from this. I want you, and it's the only thing that doesn't scare me right now. So, if you want..."

"Sweet, sweet Andrea," he murmured. He pressed a button above the water level and the swirling quieted. "Come," he said.

Everything slowed.

They got out of the hot tub, and Erik grabbed a towel from the chair, began to gently rub her skin. Soft, just like the pressure of his hands. He dried her shoulders, arms, down to her hips. Then made her turn and did the same to her back and bottom. When his lips took the place of cotton, her lower belly tightened into a vise. Andrea closed her eyes, leaned into his touch, and shivered when teeth scratched the soft flesh between neck and shoulder. "Erik?"

"It's going to be slow and easy, baby. I've always run through life," he said, linking his fingers with hers. "Not now. Let's go, the night is long."
CHAPTER 9

Andrea stopped just past the bedroom threshold, her nervous fingers playing with the ribbons of the bikini bottom. Nothing much inside, only an enormous bed. Bigger than a king-size, the mattress wrapped in white linen laid on a low, black platform. It faced the ocean, and the large windows let in all the early evening light.

The gentle brush of a hand on her arm made her jump. "I'm a bit nervous," she admitted.

Erik walked to the windows and fastened the shutters, allowing only spears of brightness to come in. "Better?" he asked with a small kiss on her forehead

"Thanks. But you can leave them open if–"

"I don't need to see," he said moving in closer, closer.

Andrea closed the eyes, feeling his hot honeyed touch running from her wanting mouth, throat, then down, and down. "I only need my hands," he whispered, taking that sweet journey to her back, cajoling a shiver. "And my lips." Skimming, grazing, scratching in the most exciting way, those lips were their only contact. She felt the warmth of his body though, wished to come out from that spell enough to touch him.

"You know the best thing about bikinis?" he asked. The ribbon tied up on her back tickled her oversensitive skin when he played with it. "They are easy to take off."

In the sweltering silence, he pulled the string, and the top loosened on her torso; then it was time for the ribbon at the nape of her neck. The little piece of cloth fell on the floor with a barely a sound.

She didn't dare even peek. She wasn't used to being observed, studied with that concentration, but Erik kept watching her, and the hunger in those blue eyes burned on her skin, in his touch. Then long, knowing fingers traced the lines of her breasts, and she couldn't think at all, couldn't breathe. The torture of his caress headed south, on her clenched stomach, then reaching the bikini ribbons resting on her hips, pulled at them.

Suddenly naked, Andrea's eyes flashed open. Her gaze met his, where she could see his desire shinning.

"I want to drop to my knees and cry," he said as his hand retraced the path already brushed. "You are so beautiful it hurts."

Unable to speak, she smiled, fought the need to cover her body.

Erik chuckled as he gathered her up. "And polite. All naked in my arms." A frown creased his forehead as a thought flashed by. "You know what, sweet Andrea? That's just what I'm going to do."

"What?"

The lethal grin he aimed at her stirred a dangerous thrill. "Drop to my knees, baby."

"I don't–"

Any question stopped when he pushed her. One moment she stood safely in his arms and the next, her back bounced on the mattress. "First," Erik said laying on her. "This," he started taking her mouth with greed. It was a whole new world, being kissed with his full weight on her. When he moaned, Andrea realized that she moved under him. "You're killing me," he murmured before lowering the head again.

"No," she fought when he slid away. Without him, the cool air the fan stirred wasn't comfortable, she felt too exposed, the colors he'd put into her soul faded too fast. The way he touched her, kissed her, that honest greed, was the most erotic thing she had ever imagined. Nothing dark and savage, but a booming sunny day for him to eat, experience, live with joy and a dash of recklessness. While it filled her heart with delight, it charged her body like summer heat.

"Gimme ten–no, fifteen minutes before complaining, all right?" he asked kissing his way down.

Way down low.

Any more possible objections died out when his lips closed on one of her breasts, the peak between his teeth, and nibbled. Andrea clenched the sheets trying to muffle a scream.

"Nobody will hear anything, baby." He returned to her mouth, the tip of his tongue tracing her upper lip. "Let go for me," he whispered. "Don't ever be afraid."

And he was back to the other breast, feeding a need so basic and unruled she should have been ashamed, not basking in it. When she thought it couldn't get any better, his lips continued their descent down.

Andrea stopped breathing when the surprise, the pleasure of his tongue hit with that first, wet stroke. As his mouth kept on feasting the only chance of saving her mind was letting go, and so she did, a long moan in a stranger's voice–the voice of a woman lost to lust. A moan that turned into a guttural scream when everything inside her brightened to the point of blindness.

She tried to take some air in, tried to move, but she was disconnected, soaked in satisfaction. Breathing still came in short bursts when Erik's grin appeared into her blurred vision. "Told ya," he said.

"Okay," she nodded. "Okay."

"That was just the beginning," he promised, kissing her some more.

Her taste lingered on his mouth, and the realization hit with a new stab of excitement. High on passion, her touch grew as bold as the will to give him back all the pleasure he'd given her. But when she tried to push him away, he captured her wrists, pulled them up above her head. "Let go of my hands, I want to touch you."

"Oh, no. My turn to play, sorry baby."

At some point, he must have taken off his trunks because there was nothing on him as their legs tangled up. Hands, lips and skin, and more lips. Her being, her life, mingled completely with what they did to each other, and her brain didn't seem to be able to keep up.

Erik held her as he rolled on the bed, bringing her on top, running his palms everywhere he could reach. Her mouth watered, adrenaline shot through her system when she felt him so hard and ready. Because she could, because she had that power, she rocked her hips and basked in the dark pleasure of his hiss. Unable to resist, her lips crushed on him. "Erik," she moaned.

He flipped them over again. This time he didn't lay at her side but took his place between her legs. "Hold on to me, baby," he said in a raspy order.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and he was inside her. Filling her. Loving her. For a long, mindless instant, Andrea knew what merging with another person meant. Consciousness, the physical boundaries of her own body, all blurred and bled into him.

Then he started moving, and she was yanked down to the reality of hunger, of pleasure, real, strong, alive like the man with her.

Her fingernails scratched his back as she arched, letting go of everything but him. When he took them on top of that roller coaster, she dove with him.

~*~

Out of breath, Erik laid face up, holding her as tight as possible.

Thank god he'd figured out his feelings before they made love. Back in the days, he'd hated when a good lay got misunderstood for something else.

Now, what they'd done, and hopefully would do again real soon, was so not getting laid. The difference stood so broad it was a mystery how one could ever get mistaken for the other. He'd loved her, turned what boomed within his soul into physical action. His body had spoken for his heart and lord, what an experience.

As hearts slowed, a comfortable silence brushed him. At his side, Andrea's breathing was a quiet strike of air on the chest, her eyelids going up and down at the rhythm of his fingertips cruising on her arm.

"Erik?" she asked with a thick voice.

"What is it?"

"I love your hair."

Of all the things a dude likes to hear after mind-blowing sex. "Um, thanks."

She chuckled, stirred a little. "And the tattoos, the earrings. I mean, the whole Viking warrior looks. Strong, fearless, passionate."

Better. "What else?"

"It makes me want to do what we've done all over again. Many times over."

Way better. "Oh, we will, Pixie. Of that, 'you can be sure. Give me twenty minutes, tops. Hell, I'll make do with fifteen."

She rose on an elbow, gaze trained on his. "It's never been like this." Her lips touched his with a kiss, light and sweet. "Not necessarily bad, but I've never felt like this in my whole life."

Those words and that look in her eyes were heaven to Erik's ears. He stroked the back of a hand on her flushed cheek. "My pleasure. Believe me."

"So tell me. You have the right looks, the right name," she said, nesting once more in his arms. "You must have some Scandinavian ancestor."

"More than that. I'm first generation, both my parents came from Norway."

"That explains all." With a steady fingertip, she traced the tattoo under his collarbone, followed the ink to his shoulder, then the chest. "Where are they now?"

"They died in a car accident when I was eighteen."

She slid an arm around his waist, held tighter. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." He shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"What did you do?"

"I took whatever job paid well and left some free time. I found a couple of guys, got together and started a band. We worked hard, got lucky, hit the right buttons."

"That's what I call underplay."

Erik shrugged again. "Of course it wasn't easy, the first few months without my parents... well, I don't like to over-think about it. What came next though, has been great."

Hopefully, she wouldn't ask more about those days after the accident. He'd grieved in his way and was okay now, but sure he still missed them every time his mind was allowed to go there. Once more, Andrea didn't disappoint and changed the subject. "Have you always wanted to be a musician?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I love music, and I had such a ride. The songs, the road, the lights. People screaming." He winked. "The ladies and the crazies."

"Then why leave?"

"Because I had enough, it wasn't thrilling anymore. In ten years, I earned everything I had ever wanted. Money, fame, awards. I led the life every twenty-year-old boy wants and yes, that includes a lot of alcohol and some heavier stuff, too."

"Sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll?"

"Yup. Great, while it lasted. Then it got boring, so I switched to orange juice, stuck by what the contract bound me to, then sold the crazy house in LA and moved here, in the very same town my parents had chosen and I grew up in. Folks around here don't care for Ax."

"Do you miss music?"

"I didn't give up music, only the lifestyle. I still write, sell the songs under a different name, so nobody bothers me. I keep in touch with the band and a few other people in the business. And I have the means to do whatever I want when I want to."

Erik waited. This was the moment when the woman usually started the this is an empty life, you should settle down and raise a family speech.

"Sounds amazing."

He pulled up on one elbow. "For real? Not sad, for a 35 years old?"

"Are you kidding me? Erik, I'm 27 and I've never done anything, literally. I am sad. Pathetic. You've lived in the truest sense of the word. You went through life the way you wanted to, fulfilled whatever goal you set, and that's a blessing."

That was true. Work for what you want and change what doesn't function had been a trustworthy motto which still served him well. The life he'd led for the past five years was over: an empty house and some nobody woman wouldn't be enough anymore.

Andrea yawned, curled up closer.

More accurately, Erik wouldn't be happy coming back to a house without Andrea in it. At his side, her breathing became rhythmic, her hold loosened. Wasn't this the biggest kick of all?

Content, he closed his eyes and let the mind drift into dreams full of her.
CHAPTER 10

7 AM and the sun was scorching already, Erik mused in the AC safety of the studio.

The good thing about a detached bedroom? No need to worry about waking up Andrea.

Music had yanked him out of bed, and as usual, he'd obliged. Damn it. If it weren't for his mistress, he would still be curled up with Andrea, resting–well deserved rest after a long, long, night like the past one.

But the thrill had come and, as always, had forced him to the piano. Hadn't it been a surprise, those sweet notes, slow tempo, quiet voice, and vulnerable words?

His first ballad. A pretty darn good one, too, and perfect for Andrea. Erik couldn't say why her voice, and the career that would follow, were so important to him. Maybe because music and singing made up for the biggest part of who he was that he wanted her in it. Sharing music meant sharing himself. Plus, she deserved the golden world, had the ability to get it, and he could help.

A couple of problems though. First, he'd been away from the game for a long time. Second, those feelings for her were so new and significant he didn't trust himself a hundred percent. In one hand, there was him not being an idiot but a pro, someone who'd played the field long and hard enough to recognize greatness. He was also a man in love. What if he'd heard in her voice a projection of those feelings?

Andrea was too important to run the risk. No, Erik needed a person from the inside, someone he could trust to give him total sincerity.

Erik took the cellphone and dialed before going back and forth through a few lines of the song. It was way too early for his friend to pick up, but he'd leave a message. When the forgotten phone he had wedged between his shoulder and ear came to life with a human voice, he all but fell from the chair.

"Ax! Ugly son of a bitch. You passed the bull and are coming back?"

"Sorry, Cowboy, not gonna happen. What are you doing up, anyway? It's barely eight, I thought you were touring."

"I am but what can I say? I'm a new man."

And it still freaked Erik out.

Only after a call to Cowboy he'd believed the paparazzi: bad boy Cowboy was going to get married, move to Colorado, and become a father.

"How are you? How is Montana?"

"I'm great, and she's huge."

Erik chuckled. "Is she there?"

"Of course not, I care about my wellbeing. Super pregnant or not that woman is still a better shooter than me. She's back in Colorado, waiting for our little girl to make the entrance."

"That's crazy."

Cowboy chuckled, and the sweetness and happiness in that sound didn't get lost on Erik.

"Yup. Are we done with this crap? I mean, I love talking about my girls, but that's not why you called. What's up?"

"I need you to listen to a record, tell me what you think."

"Your record?"

"No."

Cowboy paused before speaking again. "Who's the chick?"

Erik waited a beat. "Who says there's one?"

"Because it's always about a chick, son. She hot?"

"I don't see how–hell." Erik rolled his eyes. "Yeah, she's hot."

"Did she ask you to record her? To help? Been there, done that, Ax, and it can get ugly real fast. Your ass and not mine this time around but still, I don't want to be around that kind of crazy."

"Don't worry, I had to push hard to convince her to sing." Erik sat at the desk, propped naked feet on a boom box. "She had no clue who I am, or used to be."

"And you bought that?"

"True story."

"Fuck, that's new. Where had she lived, under the ocean?"

"Something like that. Are you gonna give me professional, serious, impartial and priceless advice?" he asked, steering the conversation away from Andrea's past. "I want to polish the record a little more, and I can send it to you in a couple of days." Erik paused. "I think she can go places, Cowboy, but–"

"But you want to be sure it's not your dick talking."

"Exactly."

"Well, boy, you got me curious. Let's do this. I'm playing the BB&T Center tonight, it's the last date before I go back home to Montana."

"You're in Miami?"

"In flesh and blood. I can come by and have a look, and an ear, at her before leaving. What do you say?"

"Sounds good. Only thing, keep a low profile. She's not into publicity."

"Will do. See you in a couple of days."

~*~

The man wasn't him.

Andrea locked the windows and doors to the patio, pulled the curtains. She stumbled into the kitchen, took out a bottle of cold water that didn't calm the nerves, but at least washed away the worst of the fright-induced heat.

The man she saw at the beach was not David–same slow, stiff gait, same brown hair trimmed short, but not David. She would recognize her husband if he stood a mile away with a hat and sunglasses.

Shaking, she sat on a stool at the kitchen island.

It had been roughly a month since Erik had taken her in, a few days since they'd become lovers, and the thought of her past had never hunted her conscience more than it did now.

She had no right to stay. No future to give to the one man that, in more than two years, had made her question a life on the run.

A man she'd fallen for. His energy, the endless thirst for life. The reckless rejection of fear when she was scared all the time. Everything was possible. Not for her, though, because she had no weapons against the Children and David.

Even worse, staying with Erik meant taking danger to him. He didn't, wouldn't believe David capable of violence, but he wasn't there when David talked about punishments in the darkness of their bed. How he'd thought it would flatter her to hear how their fate together was sealed by a higher will nobody could deny. The fervent promise that if someone tried to part them, he would do anything to get her back. He would never leave her, David had promised in a terrifying declaration of eternal love.

A love made of invisible shackles and nurtured by fear.

And now, the life of a man who'd given her the heat of the sun, the sweetness of the moon, and the entire universe in between crept toward danger–if she stayed. Leaving was the right thing to do. Maybe the only.

Did she have the strength to flee from happiness? To stay and risk? Both ways terrified her, and heartbreak would come with either.

"Pixie," Erik called from outside.

She closed her eyes, for once grateful to have learned how to push back tears as she pictured him putting the surfing gear into the little shed after a morning of surfing. His bare feet would be covered in sand, and long blond hair dripping salty water. The fair skin of his ancestors would be red in the spots neglected of sunscreen, and he would plod to her with a bottle of after-sun and pleading puppy eyes.

The door handle rattled, but the lock kept it closed. "Hey, Pixie? You there?" He knocked on the glass.

A smile plastered on her face, Andrea hurried to open it.

"Why did locked the door?" he asked with a frown as he popped only the head inside, leaning on the door frame.

"Habit," she said.

"Why do you even bother lying? You know you suck."

She started to reply, but his cell phone rang from the coffee table. "Do you mind bringing it to me? I have half the beach on me."

After a quick glance at the screen, he looked up at her. "I have to take this, and a shower. Then you'll spill the beans on the barricade. Hey, man," he said into the phone, taking a step back outside.

Andrea closed the door, started toward the bathroom. Maybe splashing her face with cold water would help some and she could come up with a palatable excuse. So she did, tried to relax by tidying up the already perfect kitchen. Her nerves were better when Erik opened the door, showered and as handsome as they came. And worried. He got close and took her hands. "Don't freak out."

"Okay," she said, but her fingers turned into a vise, and her heart started a race that would kill a healthy person.

"A friend of mine is here to visit. Nothing major, only for a couple of hours, and he's alone."

"A couple of hours," she repeated, dumbstruck, fighting a sudden spasm in her stomach.

"We talked the other day, he was in Miami for work and I told him to come by."

That was so not the whole story. "And?"

Erik took a long breath. "And I might have said I met an incredibly talented woman and that she's here with me."

Andrea locked her hands in his to fight off the vertigo. "You didn't."

"He's just a friend."

"From when you sang?"

Erik nodded.

The impact that could have on her life punched her belly and breathing became difficult. "He's famous, too."

"I told him to be quiet, and I trust him," he said. "There's nothing wrong with hanging out here for an afternoon. Relax, Pixie. We're not putting on a concert or something. Come on," Erik coaxed with his best smile.

A shiny red car parked in the driveway.

"He's here now?" she all but screeched.

"Earlier than I thought, but yeah. No time like the present."

"You could have–no, should have said something. Why didn't you tell me? Why? Jesus, why?"

"Because of this," he said, pointing at her. "You would have spent two days stressing out. My way is like the band-aid thing, no time to get tense and going through all the things that could go wrong. Nothing will go wrong."

"You don't know that," she grumbled.

But she had no way of stopping the nightmare, and no time to keep fighting with Erik because a man got out of the car. Tall, with long tan hair and a huge grin, he and Erik shook hands, hug and patted each other's shoulders. If Erik trusted this man, maybe so should she.

The guest took off his sunglasses, pointing dark blue eyes at her and freezing her with his next words. "You must be Ax's girl," he told her, stretching out his hand. "Call me Cowboy."

Taken back from the label 'Ax's girl,' she only nodded. At her side, Erik didn't even flinch. "This is Andrea," he said, surrounding her waist with an arm and pulling her closer to his side.

What was she supposed to do? Hug him back, keep her distance? Did this Cowboy know they were lovers? Heat crept up her neck. Of course, he knew. What did a lover do when friends came over? She knew all about being a good wife, and zero about being a... god.. a lover.

"Trying to disappear?" Erik whispered in her ear as they walked into the house.

If she only could.

"It's almost lunchtime, who's hungry?" Erik asked them once inside

"I could eat," Cowboy said.

"Cool, we'll throw some steaks on the BBQ and be nostalgic. Cowboy here and me?" Erik told her with a wink. "We were bad, Pixie."

"Rotten bad," echoed Cowboy with a mischievous grin. "A week wouldn't be enough for all the stories. All true, too, not that bullshit that you would hear about on the paparazzi."

"If they only knew half of what really happened.... And here we are," Erik said, pulling the meat out from the fridge, "Reminiscing over some steaks."

"If you miss it, come back," Cowboy said. "You'd be on top in no time."

"Are you kidding me? I'm living the life, man. Talking about oldies, I'm afraid I don't have, what was your favorite? Vodka, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm done with that shit. Gonna be a father, you know?"

"I just can't wait to see that."

"You will, at the wedding. You do have a plus one," he said with a grin that made Andrea smile back. She refused to be sad because she might not be here anymore by the time of the wedding–whenever it was going to be. Her past was banned from today.

~*~

The day sneaked up on her and before Andrea knew it, her head rested on Erik's chest in bed.

What a wonderful day had been!

They'd eaten outside, protected by the umbrella stuck on the table outside, and the men's banter over girls and shenanigans had pulled more than a laugh from her.

There had been music, of course, of any kind. Both amazing singers, Erik and Cowboy had gone through each other's biggest hits, pulled her in with them before bullying her into singing a few solos. Cowboy's compliments over her voice had been flattering just as much as seeing Erik's pride in her performances.

She had to defend her no-career-in-music-ever stance from two very stubborn males and patted herself on the shoulder when they realized there was no hope and threw in the towel.

Now Erik lay at her side, his hand moving up and down her side, then resting on her hip.

She closed the eyes. It might be a bubble, a blink within the span of her wasted life, but at that moment, after that day, she was happy.

CHAPTER 11

Lakeville, CA

David pushed sweaty hands into his pants pockets, sped up the pace. Even just a few hours away from home and in the madness of town was too long. Endless. Hateful.

The people that made the Children were his family, and he loved each one of them not out of duty. Leading them was going to be a duty when Father passed to a better existence. Until then? Well, he would follow the calling of loving and helping them.

David was born, literally, within the Children, had never experienced the ugliness, unfairness, and violence of the outside; sadly, many of his people hadn't been as blessed. They had been eaten and spat by this broken world, and had come to Father hopeless, searching for more, for something clean and safe.

A car horn screamed too close, pinched mercilessly at his forming headache and when he got inside the Superstore, for a moment he enjoyed the quieter atmosphere. It lasted too little though. Two women started arguing; a young girl ate strawberries she'd stolen from the fruit aisle.

No, this wasn't for him.

After picking up the few things the Children's farm didn't make, he went to the cashier.

Nothing more than a gleam of awareness, a skipped heartbeat–Andrea.

Yes, that was Andrea, looking at him from the newspaper stand. To be sure, he looked again and sucked in a breath.

Splashed on the first page with two men. Her short hair was the more obvious challenge to the Children's teaching, but her ruin ran deeper than that, no doubt.

David smiled.

That was okay though. Perfect. Because after years of searching, he'd found her.

He took the copy with trembling hands, brushed a finger over her image in a cold caress. The past didn't matter anymore. All the purging, the atonement he endured because of her. Feeling dirty, unworthy, because her sins were his. None of it mattered anymore.

Now he could finally clean his spirit, erase that stain, and be free.

David shut his eyes tight, fighting confused tears. She'd have to be sacrificed, no other way around it. Lower people were allowed to leave the Children. Andrea had been chosen by higher powers to be at his. She wasn't lower people; she was his wife.

The paper crumpled in a sudden fist. He loved her, always had and would, but this was out of his hands. No other choice stood possible–for himself, for her, and for the good of the Children.

The sacrifice would make them proud, show how deep his faith ran. Andrea's death, and his, would elevate the Children's worth in the eyes of Father and the Gods.

David nodded to the cashier, took his bags and left.

He needed to hurry.

~*~

Andrea loved mornings, lately.

With the Children, she'd wake up before the sun, pray and talk for hours about how fortunate they were to be apart and away from the dirty world. Then work until sunset. Since the day she'd left, mornings had become the time for moving, looking for another place to crash for a few days, another occasional job that would grant food and a bus ticket.

Now... Well, now mornings meant waking up in Erik's arms and kissing his scruffy golden beard. Cooking breakfast for him, for them, and waiting for him to stumble into the kitchen with half open eyes guided by the smell of coffee. He always had something to do, being writing or fixing a song, going to do some weird sport she wasn't ready to share. Or, like that morning, he'd visit a charity that helped underprivileged children, teaching them the basics of music.

Sometimes he stayed out for hours, but Andrea loved any moment of this life. Year after year she'd been surrounded by people. Since the day she escaped, she'd been by herself. And in both scenarios, she'd been brutally, utterly lonely.

Now though, she enjoyed that solitude because it was filled with sweet new memories and sparkling expectancy for what the day would bring.

Despite the scowl on Erik's face, she kept using the time alone to do things that made her feel useful like cleaning, gardening, or cooking. Only when her self-imposed duties were done, she'd sit under the beach umbrella with the laptop on her legs and the ocean view and read until Erik got home for lunch.

Her best discovery up to now was learning some colleges allowed people to take their courses without being enrolled in any program. No degree at the end of it, but she was after knowledge, not a certification.

Before her study time, she started her reading routine.

News.

A recap of the latest election debate. She saved the page to read it later.

The price of gas was going down.

Oh, the NWS had issued a warning for a tropical storm in the Caribbean.

Hey, there was an article on Cowboy on the entertainment page. Andrea clicked the link.

No.

It couldn't be.

They had been careful. Cowboy said he'd come alone, nobody had followed him, and he'd swore nobody knew where he was but his fiancé, Montana.

She pressed a hand to her mouth as the image got bigger and bigger until it was the only thing her mind processed. A picture of her standing between Erik and Cowboy on the home studio's porch on the first floor. Laughing.

Andrea knew exactly the moment the snap had been taken, remembered every word they were saying. Happy. She'd been happy, carefree.

Careless.

Erik.

She must leave. Quick. She could be out of the house and on a bus in a few hours, and he would be safe. She would call him, tell him to be careful because they will come looking for her, it was only a matter of time.

Andrea jumped up from the couch, ran into his bedroom where most of her things were now. A bag, she needed a bag and darted into the first room he'd given to her.

She grabbed the phone, a backpack, and a black plastic sack and flew back into Erik's bedroom.

~*~

Erik pushed his Ducati harder, harder, cut in between two speeding cars with no sounds in his ears other than the roar of 160 horsepower, her voice, and the intoxication of fear mixed up with anger raging in his veins.

Andrea couldn't have left.

After spending the morning teaching kids music, happy and clueless as the idiot he was, he'd turned on the phone to check the messages. Pixie had left one an hour earlier. Maybe she needed something while he was in town. They would have to review her no-leaving-the-house-ever policy. Even if doing things for her made him happy, she needed the freedom to do stupid stuff like take a walk down the marina and buy ice cream.

Erik had played the message, and the grin had faded in time with Andrea's words.

"I have to go," she'd said, crying. "He'll find me, and I can't face that again. I just can't. He's too strong." Her voice came garbled as if she moved around while speaking. As if she packed.

"He'll try to hurt me. Hurt you. And I love you too much to let that happen. I'm sorry, Erik. I shouldn't have let it happen, any of this."

She'd said she loved him, and had sounded so tired, so hopeless it made him want to roar. "I took some money, I'm sorry for that too."

She paused, a long moment of terrifying, horrific quiet before her last words. "I love you."

And the call ended.

He'd left the school racing against his breath, jumped on his bike knowing she had an hour advantage. She could have gone anywhere in that time frame.

Speed turned insects and small debris into bullets; he barely felt the nips on his naked arms as he got to the last bend on the I-95. Almost there. Erik plunged into the exit so fast his knee skimmed the blacktop. He barreled through the ramp. The only traffic light on his way home had just turned red, and he flew by the intersection without a thought about other cars.

There was a bus station close to his place, she might have walked there, bought a ticket for the first bus leaving, wherever it went. Which would give him a general idea of her direction.

But if she had hitchhiked and found a ride, he was fucked.

Finally, he turned into the station; nobody was around in the harsh heat of one pm. Erik jumped down from the bike as it was still moving, simply let it go down and started running toward the only bus waiting, banged on its door and took the steps up in one big leap.

Noises were muffled, the narrow aisle too dark and–damn the helmet, he thought when realized he still wore it and tore it off his head.

Slowly, afraid and eager, he walked to the middle of the bus. She wasn't there.

Checked more seats. She wasn't there.

"Hey man," the driver hollered as he turned the engine on. "We're leaving in five. Give me a ticket or scram, I don't want no trouble here, all right?"

Erik ignored him, took a step toward the end of the bus. Only a bunch of rows left, then he'd have to pray she'd changed her mind and waited at home.

Maybe another bus had left within the last hour.

Maybe she'd hopped on that one.

Maybe.

Breath escaped his tight lungs in a relieved blow. "You scared me, Pixie."

Huddled in the corner of the window seat of the back row, trying to become invisible, Andrea's eyes, her big, sweet eyes, were red and puffy. And terrified.

A little lightheaded, he sat close to her, rested his elbows on his knees. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Leave me," she croaked.

"Yeah, well, no, I'm not gonna do that."

She squeezed her eyes tight, and a fat tear rolled down. "Please," she breathed.

"We're going," the driver shouted.

"Where to?" Erik shouted back.

"Atlanta."

"Cool. Can you give me thirty seconds to buy a ticket?"

Andrea's head shot up, echoed the driver's question. "What?"

"I'm going where you are, and that's final. I'd rather go home, but if you want a road trip, that's fine, let's go. I'll talk some sense into you on our way there. Just keep in mind," he said with a low voice only she heard. "For as nice as a Greyhound bus is, my car is better."

"I'm about thirty seconds away from getting back there and hauling your ass off, boy," the driver hollered. Which considering he was in his sixties, with a hundred pounds too many on him, made it one hell of a statement.

Erik shook his head, stretched a hand out to her. "Come home, Andrea."

She eyed it, then him. "I'm scared."

"I know. We'll fix it."

"What if we can't? What if you get hurt?"

"We will fix this, once and for all."

No gesture was more beautiful, more meaningful, of Andrea taking his hand. He brought it to his mouth, kissed it.

"Let's go," he said, taking her bag. "Before I get my ass kicked."
CHAPTER 12

Erik turned off the Ducati with a relieved sigh.

The drive home had been short and plain uncomfortable.

Besides the pain in the butt of picking up a powerful sports bike from the ground, riding it with a girl hanging on the back could be a pleasure, particularly if the girl in question was the one you loved and nearly lost. Sadly, a heavy backpack was added to the mix–a backpack worn on the chest because he had to play gallant and relieve her from the weight. Stir in a black plastic bag filled with clothes, wedge it between you and the girl and just like that, pleasure turned into annoying.

Finally, they dismounted and walked into the house in silence.

"So," Erik said, opening the fridge to find something to soothe both thirst and peeved nerves. Orange juice was laughable, it was more of a whiskey moment, but it was better than water. He needed to restock the bar with some alcohol for emergencies, anyway. "Care to tell me what made you run faster than a toupee in a hurricane?"

Andrea busied herself with the bags on the floor. "You should have let me go."

"We've established I don't want to, and neither do you. Moving on."

Exhausted, she trudged to a chair with a weary face and eyes still bearing the angry memory of tears. "You're too good for me."

"Yeah, a real boy scout. Can you cut the bullshit now?"

Andrea didn't speak, but started the computer, typed a few words and turned the screen toward him.

A picture of himself, her, and Cowboy from the other day. He skimmed through the article, even chuckled at the speculation he was going back to the spotlight.

Then the problem hit him. With an assertive move, he closed the laptop. "It has to stop. The running, the fear. Enough."

"It's never going to stop. When David sees the picture, he'll come for me."

"Let him."

"You don't understand," she said, shaking the head.

Erik had never believed in temper. Life was too much fun, the things to do always too many to waste time being mad. Besides, what was the point of raging and stressing out? If you cared enough to work hard for the goal, you would get there. No reasons for not enjoying the ride. But today, the combo of the frail voice, the hopelessness, did the trick. "You bet I don't understand," he bit off, smashing the glass bottle on the counter.

Andrea's eyes grew huge in surprise.

"You were locked up by your parents at fifteen, had a crap time for ten years. True, I can't imagine how bad that was. Then you left and spent some fucking long time running from Creep Junior because of what David might do if he finds you."

"I know what he'd do."

"Then go to the police, for Christ's sake," Erik boomed spreading his arms wide.

"They're powerless."

"Did you talk to a cop?"

"I know–"

"Did you, or did you not, talk to a cop?"

Her brows crumpled as her eyes filled with new tears. "I don't care about the police, I don't want to face him again, see him again. Period. Physical pain doesn't scare me, being stripped of willpower does. You can't understand how he controlled me, the power he had. I was numb. I want that part of my life over."

Erik stood, hurting in any possible way.

If he gave up now and took her into his arms, if he told her everything was going to be fine, she would never see. Tough love sucked. A lot. But Andrea had to recognize her strength if she wanted to move on and start living for real. So he crossed the arms tight over a tight chest and heart. "You'd rather keep hiding than facing the problem. Please," he said, raising a palm to stop her attempt to talk. "Don't say there are no solutions. There are, always. But you must want it bad enough to bust your butt hard and get them."

"I did once."

"No, you ran. Hid. It's high time you stop and kick the prick's ass."

"I am not strong enough to face him," she spelled clearly, a pleading to understand shouted in a small voice. "Sneaking out at night is one thing, another is standing face to face with him."

"I'm here to help."

"I can't ask you to."

"Come on, Andrea, no need ask a damned thing. By now you should know I love you." And damn if that little smile didn't twist his heart. "Yes, Pixie, I love you, and I want a life together. You're scared, and I get it, but you're not that person anymore. Maybe you choose the easy way out, if there ever was one, but you lived by yourself for two damned years. I couldn't. You're stronger than you think."

Please, don't let her cry now because I'd lose it. He needed to be cool for another ten minutes or so. "I'm telling you this though. Despite what I said, if you decide to keep running I won't stop you, or come after you." Fuck, that hurt.

"At the end of the day, it's your decision," he stated, low. "If you stay, be prepared to fight because there's no way I'm living like a prisoner." Erik couldn't stand to wait for the verdict in the kitchen where they'd laughed, and he had fallen in love. He needed to move, to get rid of the rock stuck on the chest. "Now I'm going to take a shower. Feel free to go, or to stay."

He grabbed the door handle when her voice stopped him.

"What will happen then?"

"You'll be free."

"Yes." Eyes on twisted hands, Andrea shook the head. "But how long is going to take for me to stop being something new?"

What the hell was she talking about? "Not following."

"You say you love me. It's probably true. Now."

Hoping to be able to rein in the worst of a bad temper, Erik stomped back and pulled her chair around to look straight at her face. "I don't like being pissed off, Andrea." His voice sounded dangerous, but he wouldn't tolerate this lack of trust from her. "Today's stunt had filled the quota already. Don't push it into uncharted territory by questioning my feelings."

Missing the point of his outrage she smiled, pressed a hand to his cheek. "I love you, Erik, but you scare me at the same time."

"What is that supposed to mean now?"

"That you need action, new things."

"New women?"

"Maybe. I'm here now and everything is perfect, David aside. What will happen to us when the thrill is gone?"

That did it. But the breaking down didn't come as he'd expected. Instead of an explosion of fury, he dropped to his knees and cradled her face in steady hands. "You're not with me, Andrea, you're part of me. I couldn't give you up as much as I couldn't rip an arm off."

The taste of her was sweet, her smell heady. "I don't just love you. You are my very heart and soul."

As a tear rolled down her cheek, Andrea touched her forehead to his. "Okay. Okay."

Her fingers, cold and delicate, wrapped around his wrists, then her brown eyes bore into his. "We'll fight."
CHAPTER 13

Erik had always liked Charlie.

When they were kids at school, she kicked Bob Mason's ass. He was a bully and an idiot, so Erik had lent a hand with pleasure. Years later, when he'd come back home for good, she hadn't made a big deal out of it, which had only increased his liking. A tad too intense for him girlfriend-wise, Charlie was the feisty little cousin you see now and then, and on those occasions, have a great time with.

Fast forward to the present, Sheriff Charlotte O'Brien was a tough woman doing a tough job, and Erik still liked her.

Not today.

"I understand your concern," she had told them while sitting in the sheriff's office. "But as long as they don't do anything illegal, there's not much we can do."

"Come on," he had answered back. "How about emotional abuse?"

"That's not for me to start a fight with." Charlie sighed. "If I went and arrested all the bullies and morons strolling around, I'd run out of cells within 10 minutes."

"This is not about a bully, is–"

"About freedom of religion. I might not like it, but I must respect it. There are other ways, though. Miss Smith could go after them for emotional abuse."

"No," Andrea said in a voice already tight with anxiety.

The Sheriff had nodded. "Then right now it would be me, arresting a man because of his beliefs and I can't do that, Erik."

"Fuck," he'd murmured.

"Amen to that. No pun intended." Charlie stretched a hand to lay on Erik's and squeezed. "Listen, we've known each other for a long time. As Sheriff, I can't step over the line. As a friend with some familiarity with police work, I can keep my eyes open. The whole department will."

And that was the end of the story.

"If you say I told you so, I'll make you walk all the way home," Erik grumbled to Andrea when they left the police station and got into his car.

"I wasn't going to." Andrea fastened the seatbelt, linked her hands on her lap. "But I did expect what she told us."

"That's just a sneaky way of saying 'I told you so.'"

Traffic jams were nearly nonexistent in Crescent Creek, and they soon entered the interstate.

"Suing the Children would take ages," Andrea said shaking her head. "Besides, I don't want to go through those years again and again. I was, we all were, almost zombies. Not in the way you think," she hurried to explain. "Father knew how to mess with our heads. He and David could make you feel so little, so wrong. But they had the answers, they would help you to become better. Day after day of that brainwash, no contact with the world, and surrounded by like-minded people and you end up thinking that alone, outside the Children, you can't survive. And you know what? It feels good being there, protected and part of something right and important."

Erik heard the unshed tears in her voice, the shame, and took her hand. "Nothing of this is your fault."

"Then," she kept going as if he'd never spoken. "One day you wake up and realize you're not breathing, you can't. But mom and dad are there, your husband, and you don't know how to get out, how to break free because they taught you fear of independence. So you stay. Day, after day, after day."

On the long strip of road cutting between the river and the ocean, the one that would take them home, he pulled over onto the grass and turned to her. "You left," he stated, eyes on hers. "You're the strongest person I've ever known, Andrea. Never, ever doubt it."

"You make me want to believe it."

"It's not about me, Pixie, don't believe in me. Believe in you, in who you are now because of what happened then. This woman is strong and clever, and sweet."

She nodded.

"I could hire some security, bodyguards and stuff," Erik said as he started the car again. "But I lived like that, and I'm not gonna do it again, especially not for one crazy asshole."

"The crazy asshole will come for me. It's only a matter of time."

"I'll find a private investigator to keep an eye on David, then. We'll know if and when he moves, alert Charlie if he gets too close. It still doesn't fix the problem, but right now is the only thing I can think of, short of hunting him down myself. Are you okay with that?"

"God, no! I won't let you go alone after him," she said horrified.

"The PI, Andrea," he explained evenly.

"Oh... then okay. It's just... I don't want you hurt."

He kissed the palm of her hand, linked their fingers as he took the last bend to the house.

The car, a gray sedan, waited on the grass on the opposite side of the lane leading to Erik's garage door. He wasn't expecting guests, he thought, his brain on full alert. Andrea, though...

Erik maneuvered in front of the garage, turned off the engine.

When three men got out the sedan, he heard Andrea's choked cry, felt the hand he still held turn to ice. "It's him," she breathed. "David."

Okay. Technically, the creep wasn't on his property yet. No problem. After beating the hell out of that bastard, he'd drag him inside and call the Sheriff for breaking and entering. Or trespassing or something else. Whatever.

"Stay in the car," he said, but Andrea grabbed his arm before he could reach the door handle, her frozen fingers like vises on his flesh.

"Let's go. Erik, please. Don't," she whispered, frantic. "Don't go. Don't go. Turn on the car. Turn the car on." Her trembling hands, wild, sloppy, started messing with the key in the ignition but failed miserably. "Let's go. Please. Please."

"Stop," he ordered to end her frenetic movements and mumbling. It didn't work, and he had to force her hands away, lock them in his firm hold. "Listen to me. My eyes, Andrea, look into my eyes. Not at him. Look at me. Me." He pushed out a smile when her gaze steadied into his. "It's going to be all right. We'll get rid of him tonight. I promise you. Now let me talk to him. Easy," he crooned when her breathing picked up again. "Wait in the car."

He kissed her lips, nothing more than a brush and when she nodded, he waved goodbye all the purposes of violence. She didn't need that now. It looked like it was gonna be all conversation and no action.

"Gentlemen," he greeted the men when he reached the pathetic gang.

"Release my wife," one of them said.

The infamous David. Average height and size. Average brown hair cut short, clean face. He was, well, average, far from what Erik had pictured a cult heir to be. He had to give the man an air of quiet power, though, the natural confidence of a man used to dictating the game.

Erik was so going to enjoy taking the prince down. "I'm sorry, stranger, but I can't release someone I'm not holding. Andrea is free to come and go as she pleases."

David nodded, yelled, "Andrea."

This guy had an incredibly powerful voice for someone his size. Assertive, too. A shame Pixie had learned a thing or two in the past years. The new Andrea wouldn't fall for that crap like a puppy.

Behind Erik, the sound of a car door opening cut the afternoon heat. Okay, she wanted to give the creep the boot herself. Personally, Erik would have preferred for her to stay safe in the car, but she had the right to kick the bastard in the ass herself. Closure and all that. Given the state of her nerves just a few minutes ago, her joining the fight said something about how far she'd come.

"Come here, Andrea," the creep ordered.

She walked past Erik and toward David, her cheeks wet. The uncomfortable shadow of anxiety laid over Erik, but he shrugged it off. Tears were understandable. She was going to David to say adios. Nothing else. The way her shoulders hunched, her chin nearly on the chest, that was irrelevant.

"Get in," the man ordered.

She opened David's car door. What the fuck?

"Andrea?" Erik called out. "Hey!" he shouted when she got in the passenger seat.

What was she doing? What the fucking hell was she doing?

As soon as Erik moved onward, the other two men stomped in front of him, blocking the path to her. "Out of my way," Erik commanded.

He didn't get an answer, but a man reached for his arm, grabbed it. "Get off me," he said, trying to shrug him off. The grip only tightened.

Busy struggling to get free of the bastards, Erik hadn't seen or heard David leaving the car, nor walking closer, until he stood in front of him.

"Don't ever come for her again," David said, so low he barely made out the words.

"Fuck you," Erik growled, lurching forward to jerk free.

He was helpless when David's fist hit his stomach and ribcage, then his face.
CHAPTER 14

It was over. David would kill her if she were lucky. Otherwise, he'd take her back and, this time, she'd stay. Because ultimately, David had been right all along.

Time dragged on in clotted instants. She wasn't strong or clever enough to be free from a terrifying husband and the Children; not worthy of happiness. Because of that, Erik paid.

Fearless, handsome Erik, had gone down like a leaf when David hit him.

Again, she'd been useless.

The car rocked from the weight when David and the others got in.

Actually, this was the best option for Erik–being rid of her. Safer. Quieter.

He'd spoken of love, of a life, and she believed him, but Andrea also knew how forgettable she was. Soon, he'd get over this mess and find happiness with someone else, someone more right for him.

Thinking about it, about Erik in love and lost in someone else's' arms, her smell on his sun-heated skin, didn't hurt. Nothing could pass the cold she carried inside. She'd tried to live and failed, and because it would take too much strength to end her useless life by herself, she'd wait for the end to come. Whenever it came, she would welcome it.

"Let's go," David said as he drove away.

It sounded so different from the many times Erik had told her the very same thing. Let's go. When he had invited her into his house. On that first day out when he'd fed her shrimp tacos under a palm tree. That night in the Jacuzzi when they had become lovers. When he'd snatched her from the bus right before it was too late.

I love you, and I want a life with you. His words, his voice, rang through her mind as clear as if he sat beside her.

Love.

So much of it, so strong and fierce for a man who changed everything. So glowing it was hard to accept it belonged to her. Unlike a fairytale, it wasn't enough.

The ocean and the river, blue like Erik's eyes, flowed at her sides as David drove.

You ran, choose the easy way out.

Yes, she had. She was doing now. Was there any other choice though?

You're stronger than you think.

The sun peeped out from a puffy cloud and slapped her face. Blinded by it, Andrea closed the eyes. Stronger than you think, Erik whispered. Stronger.

In a fast forwarded movie, images flashed in her head. The night she had escaped. Sleeping at a bus station, afraid the police would show up. Washing dishes in a run-down restaurant for a meal and a few dollars. Moving south, always south, so she wouldn't freeze to death at night. Hunger, raw and ugly, the kind that had her mouth water for the food rotting in some garbage can. Only the worry of getting sick had kept her from eating it. She'd braved starvation, cold, fear. Alone.

The heartbeat changed, and her eyes opened wide.

She had survived. Alone.

Nothing held her on in this that car seat but the will of a man who'd done zero away from his father's shadow. David had no power other than what she gave him.

All those speeches about not being strong enough to face the world. Lies.

David wouldn't hurt or control her anymore, in any way. She wouldn't let him, wouldn't go down that road again. No more.

She had to leave. Back to Erik. To the life she wanted to build, could build.

The interstate sign came into view. Time for action would run out soon.

"Stop the car," she ordered, her voice thick and trembling from under the weight of anger and adrenaline.

"Don't worry, Andrea. I'll make up for your sins, I'll cleanse us both."

Lunatic bastard. "No," she managed through clenched teeth. "Stop the car. Now."

"Once we're home, you'll see."

No. No more seeing, cleansing, fearing. Out. Andrea wanted out, right now.

Out where she could breathe.

Stop the car. Get out. Be free.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Cold sweat trickled down her neck as rage roared and gushed from the awakened brain like molten fire from a volcano.

She lunged over, grabbed the steering wheel and pulled with all she had.

David's scream barely registered in her ears as he lost control of the car.

Everything slowed, quieted. The rumble was far, alien as the voices in the cabin. All turned upside down, rolling, tossing her around while the seatbelt dug hard into her chest.

Then the spinning stopped, and silence washed into her head. Carefully, Andrea opened her eyes. The car stood on the side of an unused field. Groans from the front seat, from the back.

David.

His head lolled as a he rubbed blood from the forehead. Confused, banged up, but unharmed.

One chance. Now.

In a swift movement, Andrea unlocked the seat belt and pushed the door open. The first steps didn't come easy or natural. Stumbling, she shook the head and kept going. The walk broke into a jumbled jog when she heard the car doors opening, David's voice rising up. "Andrea."

She stopped and turned around, eyes focused solely on the man who had haunted her life.

David walked toward her. So full of himself, so sure she would just obey he didn't even make the effort to run, she wasn't even worth a little sweat.

Son of a bitch, she roared, and strode to him.

~*~

Erik jumped to his feet as soon as David's car was onto the main road.

Bastard.

With cautious fingers he felt the whacked ribs, took a few long, deep breaths. Nothing broken. The bump already forming between his eye and cheekbone would hurt like an ugly bitch, but he had far worse. The idiot didn't even know how to place a good hook.

Next time, though, he'll think of a different way to buy enough time to make a call to Charlie. Which was exactly what he did while opening the garage and jumping on the Ducati.

"I'll slow them down," he told the Sheriff. "Just be quick." He shoved his cell into his pocket as the bike roared.

The only one road between Ocean and River could take to town, or to Miami. They had turned toward Crescent Creek, so Erik pushed the bike in that direction.

He saw the car few miles before the Interstate ramp, on an unused field. The windows shattered, the top caved in–they'd crashed. Fear lasted only for a strangled breath.

Andrea was running away from David, which was good. She must have come to her senses. Erik stopped the bike in the field, near David's car; jumped out to help.

Then she turned around.

Erik had never seen the woman facing them all. She was fire and thunder, eyes blazing in fury, mouth set in an unforgiving line, fists clenched, deaf and blind to anything but her target.

In a few strides, Andrea got to David and unleashed hell.

Her fist caught the bastard by surprise and got him right in the nose. Unprepared for the attack and its violence, he fell on the knees, hands pressed to his now bleeding face. Big mistake, because she had free access to the entire body. Kicks and hits went down on him like pouring rain, screams, even bites when she could reach.

Taken aback from Andrea's reaction, the men finally came out from their stupor and rushed to David.

"Oh, I don't think so," Erik said. "Not this time."

He darted out, grabbed the first man by the shirt and pulled him back hard. He lost his footing and fell with a loud thump.

The other guy turned to help his friend, and found Erik's fist ready for his jaw and, with another swing, his stomach. Air whooshed out of the man, but the other guy tackled Erik. Nothing he couldn't fix by planting an elbow at full throttle in the man's belly. He got up, kicking the bastard hard for good measure.

Police sirens filled the air as Erik started walking toward Andrea.

David laid lay curled on the grass, arms wrapped around his head seeking protection from her fury. Blood stained his clothes, and hers.

"Enough," Erik told Andrea, but rage gripped her mind with too much strength, couldn't hear anything. Had she been stronger, or armed, she might have killed the man. Not that Erik disagreed, but it would throw in a whole new world of trouble.

Hell, he hated playing wise.

Erik grabbed Andrea at the waist from behind, closed her into the cage of his arms. "That's enough, Pixie."

He didn't let go when his hurting side got hit, kept talking with a firm voice. "It's done, love. You can stop. Stop it."

A little more time and a lot more blows later, she started to come back. The breathing quieted, the thrashing toned down until she was a limp body in his arms.

"It's done, Pixie," he whispered.

Andrea relaxed, let go a sigh. Then the tears came.

Erik turned her around, held her as they both dropped down to the grass. He stroked her hair while fat sobs drenched his T-shirt, smiled at Charlie when she reached them.

"Long time no see, Axelsson. It's been what, two, three hours?" she said, watching as the deputies drag the men to the sheriff's cars. "Guess that swollen eye is courtesy of them," she observed, jerking the head to David and his friends.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thought so. Come by the station when you are okay."

"Will do. Thanks."

"My pleasure." She'd walked a few steps away when she turned around, a smile hovering in her dark eyes. "Hey, your girl? Wow. Just wow."

He chuckled. "Tell me about it."

Erik closed the eyes, kissed Andrea's head. "Ready to go home, Pixie?"

The way she tightened the hold on his neck was answer enough.

Tired as he'd never been, with an aching body and a headache blooming from the punches he took, Erik got up, took her in his arms to carry her to the–shit.

Shit. The bike.

"Hey Sheriff?" he shouted. "Do you mind giving us a lift?"
EPILOG

The day after.

Andrea woke up slowly.

The sun filtered through the bamboo blinds. Beside her, a man stirred, then a hand looked for her, glided on the skin of her waist, pulled her closer.

She turned around to rest the head on his chest where the heartbeat sang the sweetest lullaby.

Sleep still hovered, but she forced the eyes to stay open, to take in his profile framed by that blonde mane–the straight nose, the golden stubble, the strong lips. Guilt's iron fist closed on her heart for the angry blue on the cheekbone, the swelling that must hurt a lot more than what he let on.

Andrea hid the face in the warm spot on his neck, just underneath the jaw.

"Hey," Erik said, the voice still thick with sleep. "You all right?"

Tricky question.

Yes, she was all right, but at what cost? Injuries, pain. Plus, the whole fight with David had to be taken into account.

The last thing she recalled was outrage. She'd honestly only wanted to talk to David, tell him she would never go back, and he was free to go to hell any moment now. But then his face, so smug, borderline bored, broke something.

After that, it was a blur of violence and screams remembered through the haze of red fury. Hands, throat, legs, arms, soreness echoed everywhere, the pitiful reminder of a beastly reaction.

Even worse, if not for Erik, she would have killed David.

"Andrea?" Erik called softly.

"I..." His smell, the warmth and texture of his skin, made concentrate a difficult task. Snuggle closer seemed safer, but there was a question to answer to. "I guess I'm sorry," she said at last. "And embarrassed."

"Why, and why? And if you don't stop moving against me, I'm gonna be a selfish jerk and take your PJ off instead of listening."

"Sorry."

"It's okay." Erik rolled to the side to face her and heavens, that man looked like a Viking God.

The warmth spreading from head to toes had nothing to do with embarrassment. Andrea reached for those lips, brushed them with hers. Following a deeper need, her fingertips ran over the tattoo on his shoulder. "How about we talk later and be both selfish jerks together?"

"That sure is a kick ass thought," he said with a smile that turned the warmth into a fire. "But now I'm curious. Start talking, Pixie, so we can stop talking real soon?"

"Deal." She took a long breath. "Your injuries are my fault."

"Injuries? These? Please," he scoffed. "Scratches. You should have seen how I got out when me and the guys–never mind. The point is, this is nothing."

"Half of your face is blue."

"Just under my eye, it seems worse because I have a fair complexion. I'm telling you, I'm okay. Now, why the embarrassment?"

Because she had lost it? Behaved more despicably than a madwoman? Resorted to pure violence and enjoyed every moment? "I've never been an aggressive person. I attacked him, Erik. I could be arrested."

"David and his minions rearranged my face. The attacked first. And there's that little gun he was carrying around."

"He didn't use it."

"He still had it illegally. I see I'm not convincing you," Erik murmured, nodding. "Okay, hear this. You know those sweet little white dogs, those all fur with a pink bow on the head?"

"Yes."

"They wouldn't hurt a fly, right?"

"No," she said, tentative.

"Now, take one of those puppies, cage it up in a tiny box for about ten years, yell and bully it. What do you think it would do, given a chance?"

"Bite," she whispered.

"Yes. But if it's loved and cared about?"

She smiled. "Love back."

"And that's your answer." He rose to an elbow with a grin that threatened to shatter his jaw. "That idiot didn't expect that kind of reaction from you. Hell, I didn't. Guess I'm gonna have to watch my mouth."

"There's nothing wrong with your mouth, and you know it." Andrea sighed. "I can't believe he thought he could order me to sit quietly while he killed me, then kill himself."

"The guy did come prepared. Brought along a doctor friend, all the right drugs in the right place. A man with a plan."

"It's not every day you go on a trip to Florida to euthanize your estranged wife and yourself," she said evenly.

"Hey, are you making fun of that? Because it's progress."

"Not sure, I still have to process what happened."

"What happened, Pixie, is that you're free. No more fear, no more running. You can finally take the advice of a seasoned star and start your career–"

"We talked about that, it's not going to happen. I want to study, and then have a career–not sure in what yet, but it won't be in music. Sorry," she said, kissing his unhappy mouth to sweeten the blow.

"Worth a shot, stubborn girl. At least will you sing with me when I write and record demos?"

"I will always sing with you." She pushed a long strand of golden hair over his shoulder, rested a palm on his face. "I'm free thanks to you, you made me want to fight."

"Andrea, it was all you, all the time. I'm happy I helped, though. So damn happy."

Then his lips touch hers, no more than a whisper to lean into, to seduce into something bigger and darker. Which made his jerking away all the more annoying. "You told me you loved me. On the phone, when you tried to run. I was so distracted with that jerk, trying to figure out how to be rid of him, that I never stopped to think about that. You love me." He followed a trail of kisses on her face, down to her neck. "Not the first time I heard the L word, but sure is the only time it has value. Tell me now," he ordered in a warm whisper, nibbling at her ear.

Nothing was easier to oblige. "I love you."

"Better." Erik laid back, pulled her to his side. "Do you realize you've never been married–really, lawfully married? I see from your face you didn't. That crap you did with him? That's not legal."

"I'm not married," she repeated slowly, tasting the words on the tongue like the sweetest wine, working on the meaning.

She was free to love Erik for as long as he wanted. They would have to talk the whole thing through, she didn't want to be the girl that planted herself in his house uninvited. That has gone on already for too long. But she could be with him, find a job, start school. Build a life back up from the shambles that once was her nonexistence.

"How do you feel about doing it for real?" Erik asked, pulling her from the epiphany of freedom.

"What's that again?"

Odd, how he looked away and fidgeted with the wrinkled sheet. "Doing the marriage thing for real." He cleared his throat. "With me."

Andrea stilled. Probably stopped breathing. Hard to say.

Erik wanted to marry her.

After so many years grieving the dream of loving someone this fully, this beautifully, this man was asking her to do just that.

"You might not be sold on the idea, I get it." Erik cleared his throat again, and still wouldn't meet her eyes. "I do. We could, um, don't know, start by living together and stuff. Getting engaged, at some point. But we can wait for as long as you need. Want." He took a full breath. "It's okay if you prefer to be free."

At a loss for words, she threaded trembling fingers through his hair. "Free," she repeated before sitting on the bed. He still wouldn't look at her, and his nerves were the sweetest thing ever. "Erik?"

"Yeah."

"I love you."

"Good to hear, given the circumstances."

She took his hand, kissed the big palm. "That's correct, I've never been married. What I had wouldn't have been a marriage even if it had been legal. I was a prisoner. Owned, not loved. At least, not in a healthy way."

"Sure. I get it. Forget I asked. I should–"

"You should stop talking nonsense and ask the right question."

"What quest–oh. The question."

His eyes finally met hers, alight with bright fire. His whole body reacted to what she'd told him. Naked as the day he was born Erik left the bed, walked around to the other side to take her hand and went down on one knee.

"Andrea Smith–"

"Turner."

His eyebrows rose.

"Smith is not my last name. Turner is. I stopped using Smith when I left the Children, for protection."

"Gotcha. Anything else I should know? Because it's kinda of a big deal, what's happening, I'd like no more interruptions."

"That was all, sorry."

"All right." He smiled. "Andrea Turner, will you marry me?"

"It depends. Will you take me rock climbing?"

"I'll take you everywhere you want."

Her voice had never been stronger. "Then, Erik Axelsson, I'd love to be your lawful wedded wife, and be free with you for the rest of my life."

When he smiled, the sun wouldn't have compared to it. "So, this is how forever feels like."

Andrea laughed, pulled him close. "Perfect. It feels just perfect."

###

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

Also, this is only the first glimpse of Crescent Creek. Find out Scott and DJ's, Rhett and Florence's, and later this year Aidan's stories!

Thanks!

Vivi

OTHER BOOKS BY VIVIANA MACKADE

Crescent Creek Series

All Those Miles I Walked ~ Crescent Creek #1

Soon on any major store.

Painted Love ~ Crescent Creek #2

Amazon

Stand Alone:

Guns for Angels

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Club Lighthouse Publishing

THE AUTHOR

Beach bum and country music addicted, Viviana lives in a small Floridian town with her husband and her son, her die-hard fans and personal cheer squad. She spends her days between typing on her beloved keyboard, playing in the pool with her boy, and eating whatever her husband puts on her plate (the guy is that good, and she really loves eating). Besides beaching, she enjoys long walks, horse-riding, hiking, and pretty much whatever she can do outside with her family.

Find me:

On my website http://www.viviana-mackade.com/

On  FB

On Twitter

