Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

15. Etta

15

Etta

‘come out and play’- Billie Eilish

T here’s a body next to me.

A very large, very masculine, very warm body.

I lie still for several long seconds, wondering what I’m supposed to do. Do I get up and run for the shower before he wakes? Do I roll over and poke him on the shoulder and greet him with a boot to the face?

My entire body tingles with awareness. Even my breathing has spiked. There’s something so incredibly intimate about sharing a bed, sharing oxygen as you sleep. It strikes an exposed nerve, blunt and uncomfortable. I haven’t slept next to someone in a long time. And it’s as important to me as having healthy mental boundaries at work.

It’s too much, too soon. I don’t like the way the scent of his whiskey soaked skin makes my stomach flutter, or how his heat wraps around my back, warming me to my core.

Nope. Nope. Shower, it is.

My fingers creep over the covers, my body prepares to take flight, every muscle coiled and tense. I stick one leg out, shivering as the balmy temperature of the morning air slithers along my calf. I tuck my shoulder and begin to roll.

“Good morning.”

“Shit!”

I spring from the bed like a rabbit, my ankle catching in the sheets, testing my balance. An exasperated, embarrassed yelp slips out of my mouth as I untangle myself, only to choke on a gasp when I notice Odin.

He’s lying with his hands resting on the pillow behind his head, his entire naked torso on full glorious display. His skin is creamy and smooth and a little bit golden, and the right angles of his arms accentuate every curve and dip of muscle.

I am gobsmacked.

He slept next to me all night.

He slept next to me, shirtless. ALL NIGHT!

“Good morning,” I squeak and grab the sheets to cover my body from his view. “Did you sleep well?”

He doesn’t even look my way when he answers. “Not particularly. It’s hard when your bedmate snores like an injured elephant.”

My brows furrow. Surely he can’t be talking about me? I’ve never snored in my life. “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

Casually, he grabs his phone from the nightstand. He taps the screen a few times and then a sound—that can only be described as abhorrent and clearly unhealthy snoring—explodes from the speaker. Oh my God. He recorded me!

My eyes widen in horror as he holds it closer to me, as if I couldn’t hear it blasting across the bed.

“Delete that right now!”

Odin shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I’m going to send it to Martise to forward to the rangers. Maybe it will help with the rhino mating program.”

I squeal. “You asshole!” I launch forward and grab a pillow off the bed and toss my weapon at Odin.

He catches it with ease, the veins in his hands wiggling as his fingers dig into the soft material. His upper body barely flexes, and yet, I can’t take my eyes off him. My mouth waters almost instantly. A quiet rumble reverberates from his throat. I freeze on the spot when he brings the pillow down and I catch another glimpse of his barely there smile. It disappears a beat later when his attention fixes on my body. I’m wearing a matching set of pajamas, thin cream cotton, spaghetti straps, hem so short it would make a nun cry. In the right light, it might as well be see-through.

Odin rakes his singular gaze over me and he appears somewhat pleased. “You should get ready. We’re leaving at nine.”

Huffing, I urge my feet to move toward my suitcase, where I grab a change of clothes and practically sprint into the bathroom.

Once dressed in my casual safari ensemble, including matching shoes and hat, I am determined to be cool and civil, not forgetful to breathe whenever he looks at me with that droplet of interest.

Odin is dressed—thank God—and sitting inside by a small dining table for two with a spread of food before him.

The air is stifling; the heat beginning to rise. I head toward the glass doors that open up onto the sun-drenched deck, but they won’t budge when I try to open them. They don’t have a press lock, either; it requires a key. “Why are the doors locked?”

Odin sips his coffee. “For your safety.”

“Where is the key?”

He pats his thigh. I sigh and make my way over to take a seat opposite him, my stomach rumbling with anticipation. I grab the coffee like a starved beast and sip it as I take in the exquisiteness of the morning light streaming through the clear glass to my right. Gingerly, I pick at the fruit and the pastries provided. Odin is busy with his phone. Suddenly, a thought that came to me last night, finds its way to the forefront of my mind.

“So, I wanted to tell you something.” He looks up, and the composure I erected in the shower wobbles. The sunlight is hitting him on the right side of the face, sharpening his jaw, caressing his skin. His hair shimmers an ashy brown. His single eye is the color of a storm covered sky with the moon illuminating it from behind. If I had a camera, I would take a shot of him right now and send it to every magazine in the world. He’s never been so handsome, casual and calm. Even the trees outside brush against the door to get a single touch.

He puts his phone away, giving me his full attention. “You have something to tell me?”

“Yes. I’m—” I have to tear my eyes away and look at something else. My feet, my coffee, a slice of cheese. Yes, cheese will do.

“Lactose intolerant?”

“No—”

“Suffering from sleep apnea? No need to tell me. I’m acutely aware.”

I groan, my intestines in knots. I don’t know why I share what I do next. But Odin’s acceptance of Ford and Dom, his desire to protect them, makes me comfortable enough to speak. “I’m bisexual, in case you didn’t know.” His face remains the same, no surprise or aversion. If anything, he peers deeper at me. “My last relationship was with a woman. Her name was Beth. We dated for ten months, but it ended about a year ago.”

A stretch of silence follows. One in which I sense Odin is trying to figure something out. “Do you… want access to other people?” he asks.

“No,” I say, knocking the table. Odin steady’s it with a firm hold of his hands, while I try to steady myself. “No, that’s not why I was saying it. I just felt inclined to tell you, in case anything came up.”

Rubbing his hand along the short stubble of his jaw, Odin’s expression is contemplative. “I’m not going to trap you for the rest of your life. If you want to be with other women or men, that’s fine.”

My hands tremble in my lap as I try to understand his motives. Surely a man like Odin would despise sharing his wife. “Why would you let me do that?”

“It’s only fair.”

My throat thickens, making it impossible to swallow, or think, or breathe. The haunted shadow that has eclipsed Odin from the day I met him returns, wiping away the easy-going version of him that sat across from me only a minute ago.

Shoulder’s stiff, jaw tight, he stands. “We should go. Martise is waiting.”

Odin and I meet Ford outside the main building. Martise is there, too, dressed in similar attire. Canvas pants, long sleeve cotton shirt and a rounded hat. She pulls it off a million times better than I do.

“Are you excited?” She asks as I approach.

“So much! I think I might throw up or cry. I’ll definitely be crying. ”

Martise laughs and ushers me over to the two safari jeeps. Khaki in color, with open roofs, they have even added features for taking pictures or resting camera equipment. I haul myself inside the first one, Odin right behind me. Ford and Martise hop in the other. A ranger is already seated in the driver’s seat in ours and introduces himself as Lance.

“You have brought the good weather with you. Before you came, it was raining every day, filling the rivers. The hiatus means we can go in the cars, rather than through the water.”

“But can we go in the river, too?” I ask.

Ford shouts from the other car. “NO!”

I chuckle and turn to Odin. He nods. “As long as you stay inside and don’t decide to go swimming.”

“I would never.” I flutter my eyelashes innocently.

Odin rolls his eye and adjusts himself in the seat next to me. His long-sleeved navy shirt pulls at his chest and arms, pools in at the neck, revealing muscle and coarse hair and skin. His legs are relaxed in a dangerous position, but I keep my eyes averted.

Spinning away, I sit on the edge of my seat and try not to giggle. I’m so thrilled it feels like my heart has grown wings and exploded free of my ribcage to soar above my head.

The Jeep’s engine kicks, moving down the dirt road that leads to the southwestern wildlands of Zambia. It’s obvious as we move how swollen the rivers are, the added water making the jungle fresher, denser. There are bursts of intense green foliage, flowering trees, and most of the dryer patches are pressed down and muddy.

“The Luangwa Valley is known for its high population of leopards. Hopefully, we can see some today,” Lance informs us, steering the jeep along the worn paths, his eyes scanning the vegetation around us. I do the same, straining my vision to spot movement or a change in color. Nothing for the first few minutes. Then, as we round a corner of tangled and glorious ebony trees, a marshy section of the land comes into view. And, standing amongst the shallow water smothered with floating weeds, is a herd of puku. They huddle together, a few dozen at least, brown and dotted with white patches of fur, very similar to a deer. The males are obvious from the two horns poking atop their heads, but the females out number them tremendously.

Lance slows down the car so we can have a good look. “The puku gather together during the rainy season for added safety.”

The herd is on the right of the truck—my side. Without turning away in case they decide to disappear, I swing my hand back and grab onto Odin’s arm. “Can you see? Am I blocking you?”

Odin’s bicep flexes under my touch. “I can see.”

Mouth open wide, heart hammering, Lance keeps the truck moving. I turn and find Ford’s attention, pointing enthusiastically at the puku. He laughs, nodding.

The humidity in the air makes my underarms sweat, but I slathered myself in deodorant for that specific reason and I don’t particularly care. I would hop off this truck and roll myself around in the dirt if it meant I could get closer to the animals.

After another twenty minutes, we start heading into a section of land that’s more densely populated with cork oak trees—Lance informs me of their name (I gobble down every piece of information he shares).

The ground is littered with leaves and the air is heated as if a presence watches us from a hidden place. Sure enough, Lance decelerates, retrieves his binoculars, and points up into one of the trees. “Ah, what a lucky sight. Looks like he’s got a fresh kill.”

I rise on my knees and peer up into the tree. Hanging off one of the thicker branches is a leopard, sitting pretty with a freshly slain puku. My hand flies to my mouth as I observe it licking its paws, smug with his meal.

Lance passes me my own set of binoculars, and I take them eagerly, lining them up until the leopard comes into view, so close and so detailed. I’m teary immediately, unable to help it. Jesus. I haven’t cried this number of tears—both happy and sad—in such a long time. Not since my mom’s funeral. In fact, I thought I had none left to shed after a year of grieving, shedding the woman I used to be when my mother was alive to wrap me in her arms.

Kacey Musgraves’ song ‘Happy and Sad’ starts playing in my head, quickly followed by ‘Oh What a World.’ Both of them describe exactly what I’m feeling without having to explain it. The music speaks what my words cannot.

The leopard is stunning. The spots are rich in color and evenly spaced, able to blend in seamlessly with its surroundings. We watch it eat for almost half an hour. It might be gruesome for some, but I’m enrapt with the whole thing. The length of its incisors, its impressive paws, its blood tipped whiskers.

Lance deems it time to move on, and as much as I want to ask if we can stay, I know there’s more he wants to show us.

Once away from the leopard, I slump into my seat, awestruck. My hand falls onto the leather next to Odin’s, just missing his. There’s a charge of energy, an electric spark. It’s so conflicting to think about this day as amazing, considering how I got here. But how can I not? Odin could have taken me anywhere in the world and he took me here.

I turn to face him. Both our gazes are blocked by the sunglasses on our faces, but I still feel the heat of his as if he wore nothing at all.

I open my mouth, with every intention of thanking him, when I see something in the distance, just above Odin’s head. Gasping, I shoot to a standing position and tap Lance on the shoulder. “Stop, stop!”

A mother elephant and her calf are striding casually through the brush to get to the river. Leaping forward to get a closer look, I rest one hand on Odin’s shoulder and the other on his thigh. He stills as I lean over him, my chest coming precariously close to his face. The elephant and her calf stop near the river’s edge and take a slow drink. I’m losing my mind from all the over-stimulation. My brain is tremendously slow to process the closeness, the majesty of these animals while my palms are touching Odin, purring at how good he feels.

My body tilts closer, my hands reach for the other side of the car. Odin places his arm across my chest, stopping me from falling out and into the mud.

“That’s close enough,” he says, his voice incredibly deep.

I pout. “She won’t hurt me.”

“I’m not taking the chance.”

My breasts press into his toned arm. My heart rate sours to a dangerous level. “Can I stand between your legs?” He doesn’t budge, not for several seconds. “I promise I’ll be good.”

The weight of my promise dangles like a grape from the vine poised on the tip of his mouth. My shoulders shake with a shiver, my body curves around his arm. The image of me being a very good girl puffs like smoke behind my eyes, momentarily stunning me.

Eventually, he relents. “Don’t push it.”

Taking a deep breath, I move until my legs are positioned between his, my hands now resting on the side of the car. Like slotting a book into the perfect gap on a shelf. It’s insane to be like this with him. Friendly. Intimate. Aware of his every breath and move.

“It’s beautiful, eh?” Lance says.

I wipe my eyes with the bottom of my shirt, knowing full well that my naked stomach will flash briefly right in front of Odin. He shifts in his seat; his hand comes to rub along his jaw. I see it all unfold in my periphery because I’m still so enamored with the elephants.

From a young age, my mother always reminded me that I’m not alone. That I, along with seven billion other people, share the planet with creatures who did not have a voice. And our role as humans was to make sure we listened. That we respect a mouse as equally as we do a human being. I try every day of my life to do that. Now, more so than ever, I feel her presence next to me. Her smile and her voice are so clear. Her joy and her pride wrap around me from the heavens and boosts my already joyful mood. Like a shot of sunlight straight to the heart.

Under my breath, I whisper over to elephants, “Hi, guys, it’s an honor to share the planet with you.”

We stop halfway through the day to convene together along the Luangwa River and have lunch. I’m buzzing and so hyped that I can’t stop talking.

“Did you see the leopard? Oh my God, how incredible was it? The patterns on its fur! Its eyes! Its paws! I can’t believe it. This is the best day of my life.” Ford chuckles along with my enthusiasm. Odin, however, is not as amused. I don’t think it’s me, necessarily, but something is happening to him. Like an invisible knife is pressing into his gut. A mixture of anger and sadness and fear.

I try to decipher it as I nibble on the sandwiches and little mini tarts provided for us to eat, but it’s gone before I can study it. He’s good at that. Hiding, shoving down what he’s feeling until it’s dead. It must be tiring.

Martise strides over as I reach for seconds. Ford happily chats with Lance and the other ranger, so when she catches me, I’m alone.

“You have a bright soul, Dr. Etta. It makes me emotional just watching you watch the animals.”

“I hope you’re wearing waterproof mascara, because I made that horrendous mistake,” I say, as I point to the blotch of black on my cotton shirt.

Martise chuckles, glancing quickly over to Odin and then back to me. “How long have you known Odin?”

I’m not sure she has been made aware of our… relationship. So, I keep it simple. “Not long.”

“Have you peeled back all of his layers yet?”

I scoff. “Is that even possible?”

Martise gives me a sympathetic smile. “It is. Or it should be. He used to be like you—full of spirit, so connected to life, and determined to see everything the world had to offer.” It makes sense, I suppose. No one is that jaded and cold, not without having been affected by something life altering. “Odin is complicated, but so utterly simple. He has been broken for a long time. After everything that happened with Gen—”

“Gen?” I interrupt. No one’s told me anything about a person named Gen.

Martise appears as though she’s made a mistake. “You do not know?”

“About what?”

She raises her hands in apology. “I’m sorry. It is not my place to discuss.” Then takes one of my wrists and pulls my hand into her dry, warm palms. We make eye contact. It’s so deep I might be drowning. “But you… You are just what he needs.”

I shouldn’t even want to know. I shouldn’t even care about the man who stole me and blackmailed me into staying. But I can’t help from asking, “How so?”

“Just keep shining, and hopefully he will realize how freeing it is to step into your light rather than shy away from it.”

“Shall we continue?” Lance calls to all of us. Martise squeezes my shoulder and smiles softly. The pressure of her touch lingers on my skin, making me think of my mother again. I’ve missed having a friend. I’ve missed the bond women share in companionship. Martise, so quickly, seems like she could fill that void.

I dismiss the idea. She probably has plenty of friends and I most likely won’t see her again after this trip of a lifetime. It’s disappointing and affects my mood like a cloud hovering over my head.

Following her lead, we make our way over to the cars and I reclaim my position next to Odin. He doesn’t even seem to notice I’ve returned, and that hurts more than the fact that Martise will become another stranger in my revolving door of a social life.

I turn to him. “Odin?” He slings his arm over the seat and glances my way, his sunglasses hiding the emotions I want to see. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

A muscle in his jaw tenses, then he returns his gaze toward the horizon. “Anytime.”