Page 11 of Keeping Ava

The world around me is a muddle of sounds.

I’m scared, and time seems to move around me while I’m stuck inside my own head. And yet, when a pair of arms pick me up and hold me close, everything comes back to me.

The noises. His woodsy masculine scent. A warmth that settles deep into my bones and calms my panic.

“Elijah.” It leaves me on a breathless whimper, and his arms tighten around me. My head is on his chest, and I’m matching my breathing to the sound of his heart beneath my ear. It helps me focus.

“I have you, Ava. Just breathe for me.” The chill of his A/C hits my skin and I shiver, burrowing deeper. Eli walks a few steps further into his living room and stops, turning with me in his hold, and sits. I’m astride his lap, clutching his shirt while his hand, the skin a bit rough, runs up and down my back in slow motion. I feel no fear. No discomfort in his hold. “That’s it. Slow and deep…match mine.”

Up and down, the touch is gentle as his chest expands and I mimic the move. For a while we just sit there, in the quiet of the late afternoon, breathing. He doesn’t rush me, and I don’t want to move from his embrace.

Instead, I soak up his attention—gorge myself on what can never be.

What I can’t allow myself to want.

“Better?” he says a few minutes later. His lips are on the crown of my head, just lightly pressing there.

“Yeah.” My voice is a bit hoarse, and my throat is dry. I’m thirsty, and he picks up on this.

Elijah’s quick to pick me up and set me down on the couch beside his now empty spot. “Be right back,” he calls out over his shoulder, entering another room that connects to this one.

Immediately, I miss his warmth. How good he felt against me. How safe. Christ, I need help. Something can’t be right with me if…

I hear a cabinet door and then the fridge open right before a crash. The sound makes me jump in my seat, and yet I find myself rushing toward him on still-weak legs. I’m feeling the aftereffects of my anxiety, lethargic now, but can’t stop myself. “You okay in there?”

“Yes.” There’s a muffled curse, and another item falls. Glass this time, and it shatters. “Just peachy.” He sounds grumpy, and maybe even a little bit cute how he tries to hide whatever’s happening.

However, I’m not ready for what I encounter upon entering his kitchen. It’s comical, to say the least.

“How the?” A giggle slips through my lips, and his head snaps in my direction. The expression on his face is one of annoyance, but quickly softens as I take in the hot mess he’s made. “Again, Eli. How?”

A large Tupperware container full of spaghetti and meatballs is spread about everywhere, splashed on the walls, cabinet doors, and the floor. And on top of that, there’s broken glass and what I think is lemonade from a pitcher.

I take another step inside the room, but he holds a hand up, stopping me. “Watch your feet,” he grunts, his tone a bit harsh a second before glass crunches beneath my sandals. Bits spread out further, one or two jumping on my toe. Eli sees this and lets out another low fuck before marching over and picking me up.

His hands on my hips pull a gasp from me, and goose bumps arise on my sensitive skin.

A shiver rushes through me, but I bite down on my bottom lip to contain the pleasure it brings.

Why does he affect me this way? Like no man before him.

For years, I lived and breathed for my shop. No dates, much less time for a relationship. Time and time again, I would say “no” to Jason—and anyone who asked me out—choosing instead to focus on the new sales promotion and flavors for each month.

I focused solely on what I could create inside my kitchen to entice my clientele.

Besides, while I’ve never slept with a man, I’ve owned a few vibrators over the years. My B.O.B. did the job of taking care of my virginity just fine. No fumbling or nerves. Just me at my own pace without any outside pressure.

I’ve been more than content to fully take care of myself. To be alone.

I’m not a prude, just never been interested. Until now.

“Where did you go, beautiful?” he says, bringing me back to the present. I’m sitting in the middle of his island now, legs slightly spread, with Elijah standing almost between them.

And I say almost because even though his upper body is leaning toward me, his hips stay a few inches from my knees. Close enough that I feel his heat, but not touching. Even his hands stay away from my flesh.

He keeps one on each side of me, on the counter, palms facing downward.

“Nowhere?” It comes out as a question, and he raises a brow. “I just spaced out.”

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