Riding Dirty for Christmas (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 6

Jack

I stack the last clean glass, my eyes following Eden as she moves behind my bar. She fits here, like she's always belonged.

John shepherds the last few drunks out, locks up, and shoots me a look before heading off.

The bar's quiet now, just the hum of the coolers. But the air between Eden and me? It's anything but calm.

Since the fight ended, she's been dodging my eyes, keeping busy with cleanup.

She's damn good at it too, just like she was serving drinks. But she can't hide how her body reacts when I get close. The slight hitch in her breath, the pink creeping up her cheeks - it's all there if you know what to look for.

And I do.

Every time she steps away, I feel a pull to follow. That word - mine - thrums through me again, matching the beat of my heart.

“First shift done,” I say, grabbing two glasses and filling them with soda. “You should eat something.”

I head to the bar's small kitchen and return with a plate of warm pretzels - my grandmother's recipe that's saved many a bartender on long nights.

Eden raises an eyebrow but takes a pretzel. “What's next, milk and cookies?”

“If that's what you need,” I reply, my tone more serious than I intended, loaded with everything left unsaid. Her eyes flick to mine, catching the weight behind my words.

“Thank you,” I add, watching as she efficiently wipes down the bar, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “For helping tonight.”

She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. “It was... fun, actually. Reminded me of simpler times.”

“Before the fancy design career and big-city life?” I probe, curious about the life she's built away from here.

“Before everything got so complicated,” Eden says, finally meeting my eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, you know? Moving away, chasing success...”

There's something raw in her expression that hits me right in the gut, makes me want to shield her from whatever's causing that pain.

“Are you happy?” I ask, keeping my voice low. My hands itch to reach for her, but I hold back.

“I'm...” She pauses, struggling. “I'm successful.”

“That's not what I asked.” The words come out gentler than I feel. Everything in me is screaming to fix this, to make it right for her.

Eden puts down her cleaning rag, tension visible in her shoulders. “What do you want me to say, Jack? That I spend most nights alone in my apartment, designing clothes I don't even like anymore?”

I can't help moving closer, drawn in by the hurt in her voice. “Eden...”

“Don't.” She holds up a hand, but doesn't back away. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you see right through me.” Her voice breaks a little on the last word.

Maybe it's the late hour, or the way the Christmas lights make her eyes sparkle, or just the primal recognition that's been drawing us together since that first night. Whatever it is, I can't resist anymore.

I cup her face in my hands, giving her time to pull away even though everything in me rebels at the thought. She doesn't.

“Maybe I do understand,” I murmur. “Maybe that's what scares you.”

For a moment, she leans into my touch, her eyes drifting shut. Everything in me wants to pull her closer, to chase away whatever's eating at her.

But I can't. Not yet. Something tells me if I push now, if Eden runs tonight, she won't come back.

So I let her step away, my hands falling empty. Back to safer ground. For now.

I clear my throat, trying to ignore the lingering warmth on my palms. “I should get your pay sorted.”

I start toward the register, giving her space, but Eden waves me off.

“Don't be ridiculous. We're practically family now, right?” Her voice catches on 'family,' and something flickers across her face. “Or we will be, once Mom and Robert...”

She trails off, looking anywhere but at me.

“Earlier tonight,” I say carefully, watching her face, “you seemed worried about the wedding plans. About your mom rushing in.”

She tenses up, shoulders going stiff. Still won't look at me.

“You've been on edge about this wedding since you walked into my bar that first night,” I press gently.

“That obvious, huh?” She takes a long sip of her soda, like she's stalling.

When she finally looks up, her eyes are troubled. “They're moving so fast. Eight months and suddenly they're planning a wedding. Picking out china patterns and talking about renovating Mom's house and—” She stops herself, running a hand through her hair.

“When you know, you know,” I say, the words coming out heavier than I meant them to.

She drops her half-eaten pretzel. “That's the problem - they don't know each other.”

“They're happy,” I say, leaning against the counter. “Dad lights up around your mom. I haven't seen him like this.”

“Eight months, Jack.” Her fingers start crumbling the edge of a pretzel. “That's nothing. That's barely enough time to know someone's coffee order, let alone commit to forever.”

I keep my voice soft. “Your mom seems more grounded with Robert.”

“For now.” Eden pushes her hair back again. “Look, I watched Mom spiral after my dad left. The dating, the impulse decisions. Mom doesn't think things through, just jumps in and I have to pick up the pieces.”

The hurt in her voice hits me hard. Dad filled me in on some of this last week - how her father had bailed last year, how he'd wrecked their family without a second thought.

Eden doesn't know I'm in on any of this. Watching her try to stay strong now, shielding her mother's heart when her own must still be raw... Something fierce and protective flares up inside me.

This isn't about my old man and her mom anymore. This is about wounds that haven't healed, trust that's still shaky.

I step closer. “Look, I get it. You want to protect her.”

“And you are looking out for your father.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “We're not so different.”

Understanding hits me hard. The fierce need to shield our parents from pain. The way we both build walls to keep others out. “No. We're not.”

I move closer without thinking, drawn to her. Eden backs up until she hits the bar, but I can't stop myself from following.

She puts her hand on my chest, probably to keep some distance. But her fingers curl into my shirt, holding rather than pushing.

The heat of her touch burns through the fabric, making it hard to focus.

“We can't all guard our hearts forever,” I say, watching how the Christmas lights play across her face, deepening the shadows in her eyes.

“I'm not—” She swallows hard. “This isn't about—” Her free hand waves vaguely between us, but she doesn't move away.

Her hand stays on my chest. I cover it with mine, feeling her pulse race. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I can tell by her sharp breath that she feels it too.

“Isn't it?”

I study Eden's face in the dim light, seeing past her careful mask to the vulnerability underneath.

Her eyes meet mine, filled with the same conflict I'm feeling. Protection versus connection. Safety versus risk. The tension between us is almost visible, making the air feel heavy.

Without thinking, I brush a strand of hair from her face. She leans into my touch, and guilt wars with desire in my chest.

This could complicate everything - our parents' happiness, the wedding, our careful dance around each other. But the way she's looking at me now pushes all those worries aside.

My fingers find the knot of her apron, tugging it loose. Eden's breath catches as I pull it free, letting it fall to the floor. I run my hands up her arms, feeling her shiver.

“We really shouldn't,” Eden whispers, but her fingers tighten in my shirt. She sways closer, almost unconsciously.

“Probably not.” My voice is rough as I work the elastic from her hair, watching it fall around her shoulders. I can't help running my fingers through it, using the gentle grip to tilt her head back.

She laughs softly, the sound turning to a gasp as I brush my lips against her throat. “You're not helping.”

She's my father's future stepdaughter. She's leaving soon. But everything in me knows she's mine. Has known since that first moment.

Eden studies me, her eyes searching mine in the dim light. Her breathing is quick and shallow, pupils wide. Whatever she sees in my gaze makes her decision. She tilts her chin, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parting on a soft sigh.

I capture her mouth with mine.

For a heartbeat, she's still. Then she melts, fingers curling into my shirt as she kisses me back with a matching desperation. Finally, I think. Finally.

The kiss starts gentle, then grows hungrier as she responds. Her hands slide up my chest, trembling against my skin through the thin fabric.

My fingers thread through her hair, cradling her head as I deepen the kiss. When I pull her closer, she fits against me perfectly, like she was made for me.

Like she's always been mine, just waiting for this moment.

One hand stays tangled in her hair while the other finds her hip, my thumb brushing the bare skin where her shirt rides up. Every inch of exposed flesh is a temptation.

Eden breaks away, breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her hair wild, her neck marked by my attention.

“What are we doing?” she whispers against my mouth, even as her fingers slip beneath my shirt to trace my skin. “This complicates everything.”

The thought of stopping, of letting her go, is painful. Not when she fits so perfectly in my arms. Not when every part of me recognizes her as mine.

I pull back enough to frame her face, my thumbs stroking her cheeks.

“If you want me to stop, tell me now,” I challenge, my voice rough. The words hurt, but I need to give her this choice. Need her to choose me.

Her eyes search mine, conflicted but dark with desire. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Something fierce and triumphant roars in my chest. I claim her mouth again, slower this time, pouring every ounce of possession into the kiss.

When Eden nips at my bottom lip, a growl rumbles from deep in my chest.

Pure instinct takes over as I lift her onto the bar, stepping between her parted thighs.

Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and the friction draws a groan from us both. The sight of her - wanting me, needing me - fuels my desire.

I trail kisses down her neck, marking a path along her throat with teeth and tongue. Her nails dig into my back as I lift her higher on the bar, positioning her exactly where I want her.

Eden awakens a consuming need to possess, to protect. Eden's fingers tangle in my hair, holding me close as I continue down her neck.

When she tilts her head back, offering her throat, something primal in me roars in satisfaction. I place open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, tasting her skin, memorizing every response.

“Jack,” she whimpers, arching into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips that sounds like surrender.

She grips my shoulders, fingers digging into muscle, and I growl my approval.

“Need you,” I murmur against her neck, the words raw and honest. Every brush of her fingers chips away at my control.

Her fingers tug at my shirt and I help her pull it off. Her touch ignites something deeper than desire - a fierce need to shelter her, to make her understand she belongs with me.

Eden wraps her legs tighter around my waist, grinding against me. The friction tears a groan from my throat.

I capture her lips in a bruising kiss, pouring my desperation into it. My hands shake as I remove her shirt, but my touch remains gentle - she's mine to protect as much as to claim.

Each inch of exposed skin demands attention. I trail kisses down her chest, drawing gasps and whimpers that fuel the fire inside me.

Her body responds to my touch like she was made for me, like she's always been meant to be mine.

Eden wriggles out of her pants, and the sight of her - bare and ready - sends a surge of need through my blood. She's gorgeous like this, vulnerable and wanting, trusting me completely.

Her eyes meet mine, pupils wide with desire, lips swollen from my kisses. The word “mine” pulses through me with each heartbeat.

“Jack,” she gasps against my lips, her nails marking my shoulders. “Please.”

Her whimpers have my cock straining against my jeans, but I force myself to go slow, to savor every moment. I want to brand myself into her memory, make her body remember my touch long after this night ends.

When I finally free myself and reach for the condom, my hands shake with the effort of maintaining control.

The first brush of my cock against her slick heat nearly breaks my restraint. Her heels dig into my lower back, urging me closer.

I capture her mouth in a fierce kiss, swallowing her moans as I push in slowly, giving her time to adjust. Every instinct screams to claim her hard and fast, but I force myself to go slow, to protect even as I possess.

Her eyes flutter closed, head falling back as I fill her completely.

This is different from before. Slower.

This is different from before. Slower. Deeper. Every soft sound she makes feeds something possessive and fierce in my chest. Mine, my body insists with each heartbeat.

Mine to protect.

Mine to pleasure.

Mine to keep.

“Look at me,” I demand, my voice rough with need and something deeper. “Stay with me, Princess.”

Her eyes snap open, meeting mine. The trust I see there makes my chest tight. I hold her gaze as I start to move, each thrust a claim, each withdrawal a promise.

Her hips rise to meet mine.

This is more than desire. Eden has burrowed under my skin, past my defenses. She belongs here, with me, and I'll spend however long it takes proving it to her.

She's tightening around me, her body trembling on the edge. I reach between us, my thumb finding her clit with sure, firm circles.

“Let go for me,” I growl against her throat. “I've got you.”

“Jack!” She cries out my name like salvation as she comes undone in my arms.

The sight of her lost in pleasure, trusting me completely with her vulnerability, pushes me over the edge.

I thrust into her one final time, my release tearing through me with an intensity that leaves me shaking.

I rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling as we come down. My hands gentle now, stroking her back, her sides, unable to stop touching her.

Even as our breathing slows and reality starts to creep back in, I can't bring myself to let her go completely.

I help her down from the bar, her body sliding against mine in a way that threatens to reignite everything. When she bends to grab her clothes, hair falling around her face like a shield, every protective instinct in me rises up.

I want to gather her close, carry her upstairs, keep her safe and satisfied until she forgets why she ever thought of leaving.

Instead, I clean up quickly, tucking myself away. The silence between us grows heavy with unspoken words and lingering desire. But beneath it all, something has shifted.

Something fundamental has changed between us, and we both know it.

I carefully remove and dispose of the condom, tucking myself back into my jeans. Then I help her gather her scattered clothing, handing her items one by one as we both dress in silence.

I may have given her space to retreat, but I'm not letting her run.

Not this time.

Not ever.