Jasper Vale (The Edens)

The moment I opened the front door and stepped inside the A-frame, the acrid scent of burnt food slapped me in the face. Smoke hazed the kitchen, clouding the air as the early evening light shined through the windows.

“What the fuck?” I set my backpack on the island and hurried to the stove, yanking the door open. It was empty. And off. But something had clearly died in there today.

“Eloise?” I called.

No answer.

No surprise.

She’d been avoiding me all week, ever since that encounter with her brothers at her rental.

Over the past six days, the reality of our situation had crept in, bitter and harsh, just like the scent in the cabin. We were strangers. And we were acting like it.

Not even sex was a commonality at this point, not with Eloise choosing to sleep on the couch.

A week ago, I’d thought this agreement of ours would be a damn breeze. The two of us would pretend for a while. We’d enjoy some hot, uncomplicated sex. Then after the wedding, we’d call it quits. Get a simple divorce. Part ways.

I was a fucking idiot for thinking this would be easy. Eloise and I were as fucked as whatever had been in my oven.

The smell stung my nostrils, so I strode for the closest window, only to find it already open. Then I glanced toward the back of the house to the sliding door, also open.

My wife sat on the deck.

I ducked into the laundry room, taking out the small fan stashed on the top shelf of the storage closet. With it in the kitchen window, running full blast, I propped open the front door to get some air flowing, then I headed outside.

The deck only rose about a foot off the ground. Eloise was sitting on the edge, her legs crossed, her gaze aimed to the trees. There was something black in her hand that looked a lot like a hockey puck. “I made cookies.”

The hockey puck. The source of the smoke and smell.

“Want one?” She held it up in the air, turning enough that I could see her face.

The look in those blue eyes made my chest pinch. There were tear tracks on her cheeks. Smudges of black from watery mascara that she’d tried to rub away. Or maybe that was from the cookie.

“Chocolate chip?” I asked, taking the burnt cookie.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like chocolate chip cookies.” Winding it up like it was a Frisbee, I threw the cookie as far as possible, sending it sailing through the air and crashing into a tree trunk. Then I wiped my hands together, brushing away the charcoal dust, before I took a seat beside Eloise.

“You don’t like chocolate chip cookies?” she asked.

“No.”

“What’s your favorite cookie?”

“I don’t really like cookies. But if I had to choose, oatmeal raisin.”

“Oatmeal raisin? Oh my God, I married a monster.”

The corner of my mouth turned up. It was the first time I’d smiled in, well . . . a week.

“Sorry I stank up the house,” she said.

“It’ll fade.”

“Stupid Eloise,” she muttered.

“Call yourself stupid again, and I’ll take you over my knee.”

She gasped, her eyes widening.

“You’re not stupid.” I knew it was one of those off-handed, self-deprecating remarks, but I still didn’t like it. If I heard it again, I’d spank her beautiful ass until it was red. “So don’t say it.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her gaze running over my T-shirt and shorts. “Were you at the gym?”

“This morning. Then I went for a hike. Did you work today?”

“No, I took it off.”

Eloise had spent every day this week at the hotel. Either to avoid me or because she was busy. Probably both. Normally when I woke up each morning around six, she was already gone, leaving behind her scent, that earthy, floral vanilla, in the bathroom.

Except this morning, there’d been no perfume. When I’d come down from the loft, she’d been asleep on the couch, her eyelids fluttering as she’d dreamed.

So it had been my turn to sneak out early.

Foster had asked me to come to his gym this morning to work out.

Today was the first time we’d seen each other since the coffee shop last weekend. We’d talked on the phone a couple times, short, clipped conversations. Not that our face-to-face today had been much different. We hadn’t spoken much before we’d climbed into the ring to spar.

Inside the ropes, there hadn’t been the need for words. Foster had let his fists do all the talking.

Eloise’s eyes locked on the fresh cut on my lower lip. She reached out to touch it but stopped before she actually made contact. Then that sad look in her eyes doubled.

So did the pinch in my chest.

“How was Foster?” she asked.

Pissed. Seriously fucking pissed. “Fine.”

He was angry that I hadn’t told him about Eloise. He was mad that I’d spent a month concealing the truth. But mostly, I think he was hurt because he knew I was still hiding something.

Maybe I should have fessed up. Maybe I should have laid it all out there, explaining that this marriage was a sham. That Eloise and I were gutting this out so she could have a shot at her hotel and I wouldn’t have to show up to Sam’s wedding alone.

But I’d kept my mouth shut. My reward? An ass kicking.

Foster had landed a kick to my gut that had knocked the wind out of me. Then he’d popped me in the mouth, the skin splitting instantly.

It had bled on and off during my afternoon hike. Whatever blood was on the sleeve of my black shirt was invisible.

“You didn’t, um . . . tell him about our arrangement. Did you?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Thank you.” She sighed.

More secrets. But for some reason, keeping our motives from Foster didn’t bother me as much as hiding this marriage to Eloise.

Why? No fucking clue. I’d tried to figure it out on my hike. I’d spent a couple hours trying to sort through these feelings. Clear my head. It hadn’t worked. I still felt . . . off.

Maybe I was just tired. Sleep had been shit all week.

“Where did you go hiking?” she asked.

“The Sable Peak Trailhead.”

Even after a punishing workout with Foster, I’d had this restless energy coursing through my veins. So I’d searched for local trailheads and headed for the mountains.

The loop had been six miles. My legs were dead, and tomorrow I’d pay for overexerting myself. And only a sliver of that energy had faded.

“That’s always been Mateo’s favorite trail.” Eloise pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest. “Maybe I should have gone hiking with you instead of yet another kitchen fail.”

Those beautiful eyes flooded with tears.

This wasn’t about the cookies. But if she needed to cry over them, I’d sit beside her.

Even though I needed a shower, even though I was starving, I didn’t move. We stared at the trees until Eloise filled the silence.

“My mom is an amazing cook. She jokes that Knox and Lyla inherited her talents, and by the time Mateo and I were born, there was nothing left for us. But I still try. I bake cookies for family dinners and pretend not to notice when they all disappear to the garbage can in the garage. I make sangria that no one drinks.”

“Do you like to cook?”

“No.”

“Then why not quit?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess it would be nice to do it right. Just once.”

Eloise was still trying to cover up those ugly horses with pretty pictures.

“After today, I think . . . I give up.” Her voice was so small. Gone was the strong, vibrant woman who’d caught me in her spell in Vegas. And at the moment, I’d give anything to make those tears disappear.

“I like to cook,” I said. “Hate doing laundry.”

She sniffled, wiping beneath her eyes. “I don’t mind laundry.”

“Then you do my laundry. I’ll cook. No more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. Deal?”

“Deal.” She gave me a tiny smile. “Our first assignment of duties. Look at us, crushing this marriage thing already. Other newlyweds would be jealous. If they only knew it was all fake.”

Fake. My shoulders tensed. She was right. This marriage was as fake as my father’s handshakes and my mother’s interest in her son’s life.

I hated fake as much as I hated chocolate chip cookies.

“What?” Eloise nudged my elbow with hers.

“Nothing.” I stood from the step and walked inside.

The smell was better already, that fan blowing in the fresh, forest air. Or maybe my nose had just adjusted after the shock of the stench.

I made my way to the kitchen, my muscles already heavy and tired. My body needed fuel, so I opened the fridge and took out leftovers from dinner last night. Grilled chicken breasts, roasted vegetables and wild rice.

Eloise followed me inside, coming to stand beside the island. There was a pitcher on the countertop, one I hadn’t noticed when I’d come inside. Orange slices and apple rings floated in a ruby red liquid.

“Want some sangria?” She walked to a cabinet, taking out a cup. Then she poured herself a glass, taking a sip and grimacing. “Yum.”

“Hungry?” I asked, taking out a plate.

“Not really. I ate a lot of cookie dough.”

I frowned and took out another plate. Nutrition was important. Cookie dough and sangria weren’t going to be her dinner. So I dished us both food, my plate twice as full as hers, and carried them to the card table with forks and napkins.

Eloise took the chair beside mine, slouching in the cheap seat.

We needed to get the rest of the furniture from her rental, including the dining table. Most of her larger pieces wouldn’t fit in my Yukon, so I was going to ask Foster to borrow his truck and give me a hand lifting the heavy pieces.

But before I asked for a favor, I was letting him chill. We’d agreed to meet on Monday morning at the gym. Hopefully by then, some of his anger would have passed. Knowing Foster, he was probably at home, stewing over my lip. He’d already texted me an apology. And, unlike any of the Edens, a congratulations.

Foster and I would get past this. Probably. We’d get back to normal. Hopefully. Then in a week or two, I’d finish at Eloise’s house and we’d be done with moving.

Without any help from her fucking brothers.

The way they’d treated me had been fair. If I had a sister and she’d married a stranger in Vegas, I probably would have confronted the bastard too. But to yell at Eloise? To scold her like a child?

No. Fuck no.

Had anyone been happy for her? Or were they all just pouting because she hadn’t included them? That she’d done something without their approval first?

Foster had told me about the Edens. He had a lot of respect for Talia’s family. But they had a lot of work to do to earn mine.

Not that it mattered. Sooner rather than later, I’d just be that man who’d married Eloise. A mistake. The guy who’d disappeared after a quick divorce.

Eventually, I’d become a no one. A distant memory.

My fork stabbed a piece of chicken too hard, scraping against the plate.

While I inhaled my food, Eloise picked at hers. Every sip of her sangria looked pained but she seemed determined to drink the glass.

“Have you, um . . . gone to the coffee shop?” she asked, poking at a cube of squash.

“No.”

“I’ve gone every day.” Another piece of squash got added to her fork but she didn’t lift it to her mouth. “Lyla made my favorite pumpkin scones yesterday. She hasn’t made me pay for coffee all week.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Lyla always makes us pay. Not that any of us mind. We want to support her business. But she’s refused when I offered. And she only bakes with pumpkin in the fall.”

So Lyla was pissed too. Or hurt. Or both.

Eloise set down her fork. “Fake marriage is hard.”

I stabbed another bite of cold chicken, again harder than necessary. Did she need to keep reminding me this was fake? I was well aware.

“My parents asked me to come to the ranch for a family dinner tomorrow night. That’s why I made cookies. And sangria.” She took a drink, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll just stop by the grocery store tomorrow and buy a bottle of wine.”

I chewed, my jaw tensing as I waited for her to invite me along.

But Eloise sipped that sangria, not uttering a word. By the time her glass was empty, the cringing had stopped and my plate was empty, unlike hers.

“Done?” I asked, standing.

She nodded.

I took care of the dishes, then dug my phone from my pocket, pulling up a recipe. Then I rifled through the cupboards for a bowl and mixer.

“What are you doing?” Eloise asked, coming to the kitchen to refill her glass.

I didn’t answer. I just worked with quiet efficiency, knowing she’d figure it out.

When I hit the button on the oven to start it preheating, I knew the burnt smell would return, but hopefully the sugar and cinnamon would beat it out.

And while I made oatmeal raisin cookies, something I hadn’t done in years, Eloise stood beside the island, watching and drinking.

Thirteen minutes after I put the first batch in the oven, they were on a cooling rack and the last dozen was baking.

Now she wouldn’t show up at the ranch empty-handed. Even if she didn’t like oatmeal raisin.

“You’re incredibly sexy in the kitchen,” she said. “And when you smile. Except you don’t smile enough. Why is that?”

I lifted a shoulder, leaning against the counter. Maybe there just wasn’t much to smile about.

She shifted away from the island, taking the space beside mine. “I’m tipsy.”

So whatever popped into that gorgeous head of hers was coming out of her pretty mouth.

“Will you smile for me?”

I smiled.

Her nose scrunched up. “That’s not your real smile. Your eyes aren’t doing the crinkle thing.”

“Crinkle thing?”

She waved it off, lifting her glass. But before she could take another drink, I stole it from her hand, bringing the sangria to my mouth.

Fuck, it was awful.

She’d used too much orange juice or too much rum or too much wine. Maybe too much of everything. It was like drinking diluted sweet and sour sauce.

“Bad, right?” She pouted.

I answered by finishing her glass in a single gulp.

“Jas,” she whispered. Damn, but I liked it when she called me Jas. Her gaze dropped to my mouth. “I don’t want to sleep on the couch anymore.”

Thank fuck. I set the empty glass in the sink. The pitcher would get poured down the drain later. The cookies had a minute left, but I took them out anyway, shutting off the oven and leaving them on the stovetop.

Then I took Eloise’s hand, leading her to the bathroom. With a quick flick on the knob, I turned on the shower.

“Turn around,” I ordered.

She obeyed without hesitation, facing the mirror.

I reached behind my head, yanking off my T-shirt. Then I shoved my shorts and boxers from my legs, kicking them off with my shoes. My cock jutted out, hard and throbbing, aching for the beautiful woman who stood silently staring at our reflection.

When I came up behind her, Eloise’s entire body shivered. I pressed my nose into her hair, breathing in that intoxicating scent. It held a bit of the burnt cookie smell too.

With one hand, I took her face in my grip, turning her chin up so she had to look up at me. She tried to turn around, but I shook my head, keeping her body aimed toward the mirror.

“Have you ever watched yourself come before?”

Her breath hitched. “No.”

“Watch.” Releasing her chin, I nodded to the mirror, already fogging at the edges from the shower’s steam.

Then I reached for the hem of her tee, pulling it up and over her chest. Her sports bra came next, landing with a thump on the floor. When her joggers and panties joined the heap, my hand snaked around her waist, skating across her hip before dropping down her thigh.

“Are you wet for me, angel?” I asked.

She nodded, her breaths coming in pants. Her eyelids fluttered closed the moment I dragged a finger through her slit.

“Fucking soaked,” I murmured against the skin of her shoulder. “Don’t close your eyes.”

Her blue eyes popped open, locking with mine through the glass.

“Watch how exquisite you are when you come.” I stroked her flesh, drawing that wetness from her core to her clit with slow, lazy circles. My cock was rock hard, weeping to sink inside her wet heat. I wedged it in between her ass cheeks.

Eloise whimpered, rocking her hips against my arousal.

I wrapped my other arm around her waist, holding her to me as I worked her clit, faster and faster. Her body began to tremble. Her mouth opened, her breaths heavy. And just like I’d ordered, she kept her eyes locked on our reflection.

“Fuck, but you’re gorgeous.” I slipped my middle finger inside. Then I shifted to her clit again, stroking and flicking. “Look at you. Look at how fucking sexy you are. Who gives a damn if you can bake cookies or make sangria. You’re perfect, El.”

“Jas.” She turned her chin, reaching back to cup my head, drawing my mouth toward hers.

I slammed my lips on hers, our tongues tangling the moment her orgasm broke. I swallowed her cry, refusing to let up as her body trembled and shattered. Pulse after pulse, she came apart in my arms until her body sagged against mine.

We shuffled into the shower, our mouths colliding again as soon as we were under the spray. Then I hoisted her up, her mouth fused to mine, her hands coming to my cheeks as she took control of the kiss, letting me press her against the slippery tiled wall.

When I slid inside, burying myself to the root, she wrapped her arms around my neck, holding tight while I fucked her hard, not letting up until we came together in a frenzy of cries and groans.

“No more couch,” I said, my cock still deep inside her.

She pushed her fingers through my wet hair. “Okay.”

I eased out and set her on her feet. While I washed my hair, she dragged a soapy puff across my shoulders and back. Then the two of us moved to the loft, ignoring the mess in the kitchen.

We fucked again, slow and lazy, until we were both spent.

The restless energy was gone. Finally. And even though she fell asleep cuddled into my side, making me too hot and uncomfortable, I crashed, waking only when dawn crept through the windows.

And found Eloise still sleeping against my side.