Utterly focused and determined, so in tune with his own body, in that moment he resembled an apex predator, striking and beautifully dangerous.
Over and over again, my gaze traveled the length of him, stopping and staring in awe at the most magnificent parts. His hard-edged jaw, clenched with such force, every dominant muscle in his torso, the beautiful eagle painted over his body’s hypnotizing hills and valleys, drawing me an impressive map that stopped at his waist.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do with how I was feeling. It had been such a slow build that I hadn’t even realized it was happening, not until he’d taken my hand in his without me prompting him to do so. It was a gesture that had surpassed his promise of protection, making this something altogether different.
I flushed with heat even as a shiver raked its way up and down both my arms. It had been a long time since I’d had feelings such as these, feelings I wasn’t even sure I wanted to put a name to. Back then, when I’d still been Autumn, I’d been just a girl and my boyfriend had been just a boy. We’d been curious teenagers together, exploring each other’s bodies, learning them, learning what we liked and what we didn’t.
This wasn’t that.
This was so very different. These feelings were different.
Because Eagle wasn’t a boy. Eagle was most definitely not a boy.
I could hear my father now, warning me about men, to stay away from them, to avoid them at all costs. They only want one thing, he’d said, and they’d do whatever it took to get it.
But what if it was the other way around? What if it was me who was wanting?
Catching my eye, Eagle paused in mid-swing and let his fists drop to his side. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face me.
And just like that, my father’s voice faded away, back into the past where it belonged. I wasn’t a child anymore; I wasn’t a curious teenager. I was a woman now, and even as inexperienced as I was, I was a woman. I could feel that truth, see it in the eyes of the man staring back at me.
“Squirrel?” he asked cautiously, his voice rough with exertion.
I couldn’t stop staring at him. He should frighten me, hehadfrightened me, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I was something else entirely. The longer I stared, the more still he became, until the question faded from his expression and he was staring back at me with an intensity that caused heat to blossom low in my belly. My lips parted of their own accord and I sucked in a sharp breath.
I could stay like this forever, I thought, standing here and staring at him, a million things left unsaid between us. I didn’t need words because I had this feeling, and it was by far the best and the most exhilarating feeling I’d experienced in a very long time.
Eagle looked away first, lowering his gaze to the floor. It was strange because it wasn’t something he did—looking away. This man was fierce and violent; he didn’t shy away from things, didn’t cower or hide. He was the dominant one, a man people feared.
That meant something; it had to. But I didn’t know what.
His head was hung low to his chest, his shoulders hunched as if they felt heavy and leaden, when he started across the room. My breath caught, and my heartbeat stuttered. He was coming toward me.He was coming toward me.
And as he reached me, he passed right by me, leaving me with only a brush of his arm against my shoulder as he entered the outer room. On purpose or accidentally, I wasn’t sure which, but his touch left me with a flooding warmth, and I felt fuller than I could ever remember feeling.
I turned on my bare heel, my gaze following as he crossed the room. Grabbing one of several jugs of water, he emptied it into the plastic sink and gripped the edges, then dunked his head inside. Water sloshed over the sides, and the room lapsed into silence as I waited for him to reemerge.
Seconds passed, minutes, and after what felt like far too long, I took several wary steps toward him. “Eagle!” I called out, the hair on my arms standing on end. “Eagle!”
He pulled his head free, gasping for air, coughing and spitting while water sprayed in every direction. Standing up straight, he pounded on his chest, his breathing ragged and pained. My heart pounded as I watched him and I stood frozen in place, unsure of what to say or do.
Reaching over the sink, he pulled a small blade off a nearby stack of boxes and gripped it tightly in his fist. Facing the wall, he raised the blade, the expression on his face one of utter despair.
“No!” I screamed, and bolted forward.
He paused, turning to look at me just as I reached him and with both hands grabbed hold of his arm, ready to wrestle the blade free if I had to.
“Just cutting my hair, Squirrel,” he said, his gravelly voice tired and weak. “It’s too fucking long.”
With his other hand, he gestured to his head. His Mohawk was overgrown and hanging long down one side of his face.
Relief flooded me as I released him, and I swallowed hard. He glanced down at his arm, at the places where my fingertips had left fleeting impressions overtop the numerous tattoos there.
“I can help,” I said, still concerned that maybe something wasn’t quite right with him. “Let me help you.”
Eagle barked out a laugh, a surprising sound that had me taking a step backward. “You want me to give you a blade, Squirrel, and leave myself at your mercy?”
I stared up at him, shocked. “I would never hurt you,” I whispered, taken aback not only by his mistrust, but by the fact that I’d said those words aloud.
