Page 10 of Surprising Bones

CHAPTER FOUR

BONES

Sunday morning, 8:58am, and I’m double-parked in front of Eden’s crappy apartment complex, tapping the wheel, and wondering why every second I’m not with her feels like a thousand spent in limbo. Fucking hell. I sound like a pussy-whipped moron.

I kill the engine, shove the door open, and grab the coffee and donuts I grabbed on the way here. My boots hit broken concrete like a warning.

Eden’s building is a pit, with paint peeling and metal numbers hanging crooked. Two flights of stairs and I’m at her door. I’m not giving her a fucking minute to change her mind about this, so I plant my feet and knock.

Three seconds later, the door swings open.

My cock turns to stone in my pants as I stare down at her. She’s standing there in a faded sweatshirt and tight black yoga pants that make my mouth water.

“Morning, sweetheart,” I rumble. Just seeing her does something violent to my chest.

She lifts her chin. “Good morning. Please tell me one of those coffees is for me.”

I grin, crowding the doorway with my frame. “It is,” I hand over one of the cups and watch as she takes a sip. My cock jumps in my pants as she lightly moans. “I also brought donuts.” I hold up the bag.

“My hero.” Her lips twitch. She’s fighting the smile but losing. I fucking love it.

Today, she’s coming home with me, and I need to convince her to give me a chance.

I shoulder into her apartment, already hard as a rock from the way her ass fills out those yoga pants. I hand her the bag of donuts, then I can’t resist the urge to tug her close and bury my nose in the curve of her neck. Fucking hell. Her scent drives me fucking insane. Wild and sweet, just like her. My cock is a steel rod in my jeans, but this isn’t the time to mark her up the way I want. Not yet.

“Let’s get your shit out of here,” I grunt, my voice thicker than it should be.

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t argue. I love that about her. She’s efficient as fuck; all her boxes are stacked by the door. There isn’t much. That pisses me off—she deserves more than this sad apartment, more than what life’s handed her. She deserves everything.

I grab two boxes at once because I’m not letting those delicate hands lift a goddamn thing heavier than a donut. She bristles, reaching for a box herself, but I growl, “I got this, sweetheart,” and her eyes go wide, heat flaring between us. “Enjoy your coffee and donuts while I load this up.”

Four trips are all it takes, and my truck is loaded. I watch her in the sunlight, chest rising fast, mouth parted. All I want is to haul her into the cab, pin her against the seat, and show her she belongs to me.

But first, I’m getting her out of this shithole for good.

After the last load, I look around her empty apartment. “That it?”

She nods. “I pack light.”

The drive over is short but quiet. She watches the world pass by through the passenger window, hands clasped in her lap like she’s bracing for impact. I keep sneaking glances at her. She’s wound tight, but I can see the steel under all that reserve.

When we pull into the lot behind the garage, she lets out a tiny breath. Like she’s been under water this whole time and only just realized she can come up for air.

The Boneyard Garage looks good in the early morning. Sun just cresting the east wall, throwing long shadows over the gravel lot, and the big red, white, and black sign catching the light like a beacon. Eden’s eyes dart over everything, cataloging the scene before she even gets out of the truck.

I unlock the office door and show her the way to the apartment stairs. They’re steep as hell and creak like a horror movie, but I keep them clean and the railing is solid. She follows me up, hauling her plant and the mug like they’re breakable heirlooms. The top floor opens into a little landing with a heavy oak door and a deadbolt you could anchor a ship with.

Inside, it’s basic but better than the apartment she just moved out of. I spent yesterday scrubbing every inch, swapping in a new shower curtain, and putting together the secondhand IKEA dresser myself, only swearing at it twice. The living space is small, but the couch is new and there’s a decent-sized TV mounted on the wall. The tiny kitchen is clean, with new appliances and a fancy coffeemaker.

Eden sets her plant on the kitchen counter and stands there, silent, just soaking it all in. Her eyes find the big picture window that looks out over the garage yard and the city beyond. She smiles, just a twitch at the corner of her mouth, but it’s the first real smile I’ve seen.

“It’s great,” she says, voice soft as she glances around.

“I’m glad you like it.” I can’t help it, I watch her the way a wolf tracks prey—always moving, always calculating.

I haul her boxes upstairs while she walks the perimeter, checking closets and flipping on lights. She moves with purpose, opening each cabinet and running her hands over the counters, like she’s verifying it’s all real.

As I watch her, I realize she isn’t the kind you bring in for a one-night fling and then send packing. Eden is mine. Now, I just have to prove that to her.