Chapter 11
When dinner was done, the dishes were clean, and Julia was tucking the children into bed, Croc walked up behind me and gently cupped my elbow.
"You already agreed," he said in way of greeting, as if he knew I would change my mind.
I turned, one brow lifted, but the expectant, puppy-eyed expression on his face was more than the strongest women could stand. I sighed and shook my head. "Fine."
He beamed and pulled me along, only to stop right outside the front door and bend down. "Climb on my back."
I took a step back. He was shirtless, which wasn't surprising. He usually was, and the idea of that kind of contact, let alone spreading myself against him, felt far too dangerous. And intimate. "Why?"
"I need to climb." He looked over his shoulder. "If you want, I can carry you in front of me." He stood and turned, opening his arms wide. "You'll need to," he paused and did a slow appraisal, all the way down and back up again, "You'll need to wrap your legs around me, and hug my neck." His voice lowered, Adam's apple bobbed.
The man looked ready to have a heart attack. "Oh, is that all? I bet you'd like that, huh?"
Croc nodded. "Very much."
I scoffed. "Not happening. Turn back around, and I'll climb on your back."
He grimaced but didn't argue. He did as told, pouting like a child who'd been denied their favorite toy. His shoulders stiffened when I linked my arms over them, and I felt him shiver as I stretched across his back. He gripped my legs on either side, securing them into place across his abdomen, then took a deep, shuddering breath.
"You okay there, Tarzan?"
"I don't know who that is, but I don't think I've ever been better." He stood and held me with one arm while his other scaled the side of the house. Gravity didn't care about my hormones or how uncomfortable I was. The minute it pulled at me, I instinctively locked my legs and gripped him tighter.
Croc made short work of the climb, and as he sat me down on the roof, my attention immediately narrowed to a pile of blankets and pillows arranged in its center. They were situated under a lean-to built out of sticks and moss.
"You made a bed for this?" I took a step backward.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, preventing what would have been a very nasty fall.
I looked back at the place I'd been about to go over.
"Careful," Croc said, letting go of my hand. "That's my bed. It's always here."
"Oh." I stepped forward. "You sleep on the roof?"
"For almost as long as I can remember," he said. "After Pappy was gone, I got scared at night. Too many shadows in the house. Too exposed. Anything could get in, and my imagination made it hard to sleep." He shrugged one shoulder. "I thought being high up was safer."
"And now?"
He studied my face, from hairline to temple, lingering on my mouth before meeting my eyes again. "Now, I stay for the view." He extended his hand and waited patiently for me to take it.
I hesitated, chewing the inside of my lip.
"You're safe with me, Willow. I'd never do anything you didn't want to do." He paused. "Do you want me to take you back down?"
Dammit. He didn't make it easy. Didn't he understand? I wasn't worried about what he wanted or didn't want. I was worried about myself. I was worried I'd forget our situation and agree to things I shouldn't agree to. Every day it got harder to remember what he was. He didn't seem feral anymore. He didn't seem wild. He spoke, acted, and carried himself better than men who hadn't grown up under these conditions.
As if he could read my thoughts, he lowered his hand. "How about I walk ahead and you follow me at whatever distance you want?" He tilted his head, then pivoted. "It isn't far." He started toward the end of the shack and climbed onto where the roof rose over the loft, then took a seat along the edge and glanced back at me.
I took a deep breath in through my nose and didn't release it until I'd closed the space between us.
Croc's lips curved when I sat without leaving a huge gap between us, then he pointed towards the winding water stretching off into the distance.
My breath caught. The trees opened, clearing the view for miles, and glowing, neon-green glitter shimmered in time with the current, illuminating the canals. It looked like a painting; some surreal landscape that only existed by imagination. But it did exist. It was tangible. It was real, and I was surrounded by it.
"The sludge isn't as bad as they think it is," Croc murmured. "It doesn't hurt the animals. It doesn't hurt me. It makes the fish and the garden grow bigger. It burns for ages, giving us light without having to gather wood." He turned his face toward mine. "And it brought you."
My heart skipped, and I cleared my throat as if it would send a message for it to keep its shit together. "And Julia and the kids." Not me. Not just me. I was nothing special, and I didn't like that he thought I was.
He smiled. "And Julia and the kids."
A breeze blew over us and made the trees sway. So much beauty created out of pain. How many people had died from that same green? This initiative had destroyed how many lives? Yet, looking at it then, in that form, a new part of nature, it was the most wondrous thing I'd ever seen. "It's weird to see it this way, but you're right. It's beautiful."
Croc hummed his agreement, still focused on the view. "When you told me your story earlier, I knew I needed to show you. That way, you could see yourself the way I see you."
I forced my face to remain forward. Looking at him was a bad idea. Sitting there was a bad idea. How had he gotten so good at talking? When had he learned the perfect thing to say? "Oh yeah?" I kicked my legs back and forth and watched my feet move. "How is that?"
"You're upset by the things you did."
My eyes widened and shot to his. He couldn't know. Could he? Had he somehow been able to use my scent to hear the parts I didn't say? "What part of my story made you think that?" I swallowed hard. "I didn't do anything. I'm not the one—"
"I agree. What you did was brave. You were strong. You let them do things to you to protect your family. But when you told me about it, your scent changed." He tapped his nose. "You're ashamed of it."
I couldn't answer him. He had sensed it, just not the details. In one statement, he'd managed to tell me something I barely admitted to myself. I was ashamed, but not of the decision to be in the trials. My shame had nothing to do with injections and everything to do with all the deals I'd made in life. The prices I'd paid. My deals with Danny. The fact I was alive when others were long gone, all because I'd always been the girl willing to...
"I feel shame, too," he said, interrupting my thoughts. "About the way I acted when you first arrived. I hadn't known as much as I do now, and I'm sorry if I scared you." His voice grew rough. "Even now, it's—" He paused. "Your scent makes me think about...it makes me...it's hard to think straight sometimes." He offered me a grim smile. "I'm working on it."
Men were stronger, and more often than not, they held all the power. They wielded weapons of privilege and the ability to do as they please. Croc was different. He attacked with sweet words and kindness, and I wasn't sure how to combat him. They were the perfect thing to say, especially when I knew, without a doubt, how much he meant them. He made me want to shake him, hug him, scream my frustration, and cry with gratitude. He tore me in two, one half determined to keep what little soul I had from being taken, the other ready to hand it over. He could have it, just so I would know it would never end up with the next asshole at the next stop along my timeline.
That was ridiculous. It wouldn't be giving. With Croc, I'd be taking, and no matter how I tried to spin it, I was in charge here. I was the one with the advantage, the leverage. I would be the asshole. "Can you please stop?"
He shifted, and a look of pure guilt creased his brow. "What did I do?" he asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"No!" I growled. "Stop being so damn perfect. Can't you see I'm trying to do what's best for you? Can't you see I'm the only woman you've ever met? I'm damaged goods. I only seem so great because you have nothing to compare me to." I sucked in a breath and ground my teeth. "You think I'm not tempted? You are fucking gorgeous! You think I'm immune to how fucking inhumanly perfect you are?"
His lips curved into a wide smile.
"No!" I scolded again. "No smiling! That's the point. I'm doing the right thing for both of us. Don't make it harder. Can't you just burp or fart or act like a dick? Do something wrong for once in your damn life!"
In an instant, he turned and pushed me backward, locking me in place with the upper half of his body.
I gasped, stunned silent for a long moment before my words finally had the courage to resurface. "What are you doing?"
"Something wrong." His gaze was fixed on my mouth, and before I could say another word, he slowly leaned forward and feathered his lips against mine.
A shiver rushed across my skin, tingling from my scalp to my toes. I should have pushed him away. I should have told him to stop. He wasn't aggressive. He didn't make it where I couldn't break the contact. One word, one sound of distress, one press of my hand against his chest, and I knew he'd move away. But my brain betrayed me. It wouldn't send the signals. Instead, it focused on the sensation of his lips against mine, the smell of his skin, the heat of his body.
He did it again, the lightest caress, then tentatively traced my bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. I gasped again, and he took the opening, deepening the kiss, tasting me. A low, rumbling groan shook his chest, and his free hand lifted to tangle into my hair. He was completely tuned into my every reaction. If I made a sound, he'd repeat whatever caused it. If I shifted closer, he'd mimic the move. Just like with everything else, he studied, learned, then mastered until I was putty in his hands, and he molded me like an artist.
"I like this idea," he said.
I nodded, too overcome with sensations to do anything other than agree with the person causing them.
"Much better than rules." He pressed his nose to the side of my neck, took a deep inhale, then pressed opened mouth kisses down to my collar bone.
I arched my back and whimpered, and every reason I had to stay away from him didn't matter. I'd never felt like this. It had never felt like this, and the shock of just how different it was, made me rationalize why I couldn't possibly stop him. It was only now. It was only one time. I could do this. It was okay. It felt way too good to stop.
But I didn't need my reasons, because I had Gator.
"Croc!" His high-pitched cry rose from down below. "Croc! Are you up there? Please be up there! There's a man down here, and I don't know whether to eat him or not!"
Croc stiffened and shot upright, and I followed him with the same urgency as one name echoed through my mind.
Merle.
Gator was in the front yard, a disheveled and disoriented man barely standing at his side. It was too dark to tell, and I shook Croc's shoulder. "Get me down! Hurry!"
He scooped me up, this time in front, and I was too anxious to find out who had arrived to argue. We dropped rather than climbed down. Croc landed easily on his feet but refused to release me once we were on the ground. "Stay behind me," he said, tone sharp.
It was the first time I'd ever heard him sound mean, and it was enough to make me do as he said, hands on his back, peeking around as we drew closer and...the man's face grew clear.
Ice filled my veins, bile flooded my throat, and my stomach churned as if a new dose of chemicals were already connected to my arm. "Danny," I breathed.
His gaze shot to mine at the sound of his name, then widened as he got a glimpse of my face. "Oh, thank god. Willow."