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‘There are some numbers,’ he starts quietly.
‘No,’ I shout.
But the old man ignores me, a million apologies in his eyes. ‘A code,’ he goes on, and I close my eyes, trying to hide from the wonder that I know will be on Becker’s face.
‘Why did you keep it, Gramps? Why didn’t you destroy it?’
The old man’s lips purse, though he doesn’t speak.
So Becker goes on. ‘Because you couldn’t let it go, either, could you? You kept that piece as a private trophy.’
The old man sinks into the bed on a heavy sigh. ‘My stick is in the wall.’
Becker gasps his shock, and I close my eyes again, so tightly, maybe to escape the crazy I’m faced with. Now what? I can’t let him go off and hunt for that sculpture. I can’t risk losing him. This is beyond my ability to handle.
The torrid tale of his parents plays on repeat in my head as I open my eyes and look at Becker. He’s in a trance, and I can see his mind spinning, plotting and planning. He’s already looking for that damn sculpture again. ‘No, Becker,’ I warn.
He stares up at me blankly, giving me nothing. So I take his arms by his biceps and dig my nails in. ‘Do you hear me?’ I grate, my temper getting the better of me. I can’t help it. My panic is escalating with each second he remains quiet, knowing he’s thinking too much. ‘Do you hear me?’ I shout, crashing my fists into his shoulders viciously. I’m not letting him do this. Not to us, and especially not to himself. ‘Tell me you hear me.’
‘Vengeance for my parents, Eleanor,’ he says calmly.
I start shaking my head fast, tears springing into my eyes. I knew it. I knew he didn’t mean it when he told his granddad that he was through. No more searching. No more obsessive need to hunt down what may not even be there to find. He never had any intention of giving up. He’s incapable of it. ‘No.’ I say quietly.
The seriousness in his hazel eyes terrifies me. ‘Yes,’ he replies.
‘I’ll leave you.’ This threat is all I have, and I beg it’s enough. The tears break and tumble down my cheeks as I frantically search my mind for more words to throw in his face in my desperate attempt to discourage him. ‘I’m guaranteed, Becker. A life with me is guaranteed. There’s no guarantee you’ll find what you’re looking for.’ My words become broken and my body starts to jerk as he watches me falling apart. ‘You’ve lost too much already. Please don’t risk us,’ I sob. ‘Please don’t make me live without you.’
His vacant beauty just stares at me as silence descends, and reality hits me. I can’t live my life in fear of losing him. I drop my gaze as I toy with the ring on my finger, swallowing down the lump of despair in my throat. What’s more important to him? It’s a stupid question – one I wished I’d never asked myself. Because the answer hurts.
‘Eleanor?’
I look up, finding Becker watching me, his eyes wide and wary. I stare right back, my mind a muddle of confusion. Then I slip the ring from my finger and hold it out to him. Becker shakes his head, stepping back, refusing to accept it. So I place it on the sideboard.
Then I turn and walk out. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel a thing, aside from the awful ache in my heart. I’m not enough for him at all. I’m not his priority, and of every mad thing I’ve accepted, I can’t accept not being number one to him.
‘Eleanor,’ Becker shouts, coming after me. ‘Eleanor, no, wait.’ He grabs my arms, and I swing around violently, wrenching myself free.
‘No,’ I grate, and he recoils, his face falling.
I back away slowly and leave him feeling lost, refusing to look at anything as I wander aimlessly through the corridors of The Haven. I refuse to slip into the kitchen and say goodbye to Winston. I refuse to admire any of Becker’s treasures as I enter the Grand Hall.
And I refuse to cry.
I’ve sacrificed my integrity and morals for Becker Hunt. I gave him everything. My trust, my devotion, my heart. My all. And he can’t even give up one thing for me.
‘Eleanor?’ Old Mr Hunt’s frail voice hits me from behind, and I stutter to a stop. Like an omen, I’m within licking distance of the chair where Becker proposed to me. ‘Dear girl, just hold your horses for a moment.’
I clench my eyes shut, silently begging him not to make this any harder than it already is. ‘I’ve accepted so much, Mr H,’ I say, hating that I can’t control the distress in my voice. ‘I can’t accept this.’
‘Accept what?’
I turn and look at the old frail man, astonished. He needs to ask? ‘You know as well as me that he’ll go looking for that sculpture. I can’t hang around worrying if he’ll come back to me. I can’t do that.’
‘You’re a part of this family now, Eleanor. Don’t leave us.’
I weep despairingly, letting him pull me into his arms and hug me. The old man’s big frail body feels warm and strong against my hopeless form.
‘You are enough for him,’ he whispers quietly. ‘I have to believe him. I saw it in his eyes just now when you left. I saw it in the reflection of his tears when he promised me he would let it go. I heard the devastation in his voice when he cried on my shoulder, darling girl. I couldn’t let you walk away. I had to do something.’ His arms rub at my back soothingly while I sob into his chest, my shoulders jerking uncontrollably. ‘Please, Eleanor. Stay. My boy has found something to live for besides his treasure. Don’t take that away from him.’
I’m useless in his arms, crying like a baby. But past my uncontrollable emotion, I manage to wonder if there’s a small selfish reason for old Mr H making such a heartfelt plea. I wonder if he fears that if Becker no longer has me, there will be nothing to stop him from resuming the mercy mission that he’s so adamant he can walk away from. I can’t be certain, and it’s something I wouldn’t insult Mr H by asking. He has every reason to have that fear after losing his son and daughter-in-law. Which begs the question why he’s told Becker. He didn’t have to. Or did he? Maybe he needs peace, too.
‘Gramps?’ Becker’s soft calling of his granddad is thick with distress, and old Mr H releases me, wiping my eyes before I can reach to do it myself. He smiles down at me and nods, eyes full of encouragement. I can’t speak through the huge lump in my throat, so I nod in return. Then he turns and wanders away, stopping briefly by his grandson and kissing him gently on his forehead.
Once we are alone, I find myself diverting my eyes everywhere, unable to look at Becker, my mind a riot of silent confusion. I see a chair nearby and move towards it, but stutter to stop before I make it there. I can’t sit on that chair. Not after he proposed to me there. I change direction, heading to the dresser to lean on, but, again, I don’t make it. I see myself climbing the side of it. Everywhere. Reminders. I close my eyes and keep my back to him. I don’t know what to do. All I can hear are old Mr H’s pleading words, and all I can see is Becker’s torment. And that damn sculpture.
‘You’re all I need, Eleanor.’ His words bring me back into the room, his voice rough with emotion.
My heart skips a few beats, and I swallow harshly, turning to seek him out, needing to see him. He’s standing at least ten metres away, looking lost and hopeless among his treasure, his angel eyes glazed with tears.
‘Watching you walk away just then is one of the most painful things I’ve ever faced,’ he whispers, his gaze sinking into me, heavy with a thousand emotions. ‘I never lose, Eleanor. I’ve made sure of it since I lost my parents. Then I met you . . . and I lost my heart.’ His voice quivers, and I battle with the water pooling in my eyes. He steps forward, hesitant. ‘Please don’t leave me,’ he begs. ‘I can live without that sculpture, but I could never live without you.’
‘Stop.’ I sniffle, struggling to see him though my hampered vision. ‘Just stop.’
His lip trembles as he holds his arms out to me. ‘Don’t make me be without you. I had a moment of weakness, that’s
all. The revelation caught me off guard, gave me a lapse in focus.’
My hands come up to my face, hiding from Becker as my despair continues to pour out of me. I feel strong arms tentatively circle my shoulders, and he hauls me into his chest, embracing me with the power of a thousand men. ‘I only need you.’
His nose sinks into my neck. I can feel the wetness of his tears on my skin, my arms coming up to his back and feeling gently as he holds me like the world might end if he lets go.
He cuddles me until my sobs finally abate and my tears stop streaming. Breaking gently away from me, he threads his fingers through mine and toys with them quietly for a few moments. Then he starts walking backwards, his angel eyes lifting to mine in silent hope. My feet begin to move, following his steps. I put up no resistance.
He remains silent the whole way to his private space, and as soon as the door closes behind us, he slowly and quietly starts stripping me down. I stand before him, fascinated by the concentration on his face as he carefully removes all of my clothes. His eyes roam over my skin as he carries out his task, but they never meet mine. So I continue to watch him, starting to understand what he’s doing. He wants to show me how he feels, eliminate any doubt that has crept into my mind, and he thinks this is the best way to do it.
My bra is removed thoughtfully, his fingers brushing my skin here and there. Each time he touches me, I hold my breath, and he smiles mildly to himself, feeling my struggle to remain still while he undresses me. Dropping to one knee, he draws my knickers down, and I step out of them, before he takes each foot in turn and lifts it slightly from the ground so he can remove my shoes. When I’m totally bare before him, he feels around me and cups my arse, then reaches forward with his lips and rests them on the sensitive flesh to the side of my pubic bone. My hands come up fast and find his shoulders, my body bending at the hips on a lumpy swallow. I take one hand to his hair and comb through his ruffled waves, as my other feels his rough cheek.
He rises before me, smoothly and slowly, not once taking his eyes off mine. ‘Your love is mine.’ He swoops in and tackles my mouth, firm but slow, walking me back and caging me in against the door. I fall into his pace, match his passion, and wrap my arms tightly around his shoulders. ‘Mine to cherish,’ he mumbles past my lips. ‘Mine to protect, to worship, to admire.’
‘I’m not a piece of your treasure.’
‘Oh, baby, you really are.’ I swallow his words and hope they find my soul and brand themselves there. ‘I’m never freeing you from my maze, Eleanor Cole.’ He physically fights with himself to disconnect us, then reaches for his shirt buttons and starts undoing them one by one, purposely slowly. Inch by inch, his chest is slowly revealed, and my eyes flick to his, aware that’s he’s watching me admiring his perfection. ‘Yours,’ he says simply, rolling his shoulders and shrugging off his shirt. It gets tossed aside, and then his hands move to his trousers, unfastening them slowly, making a meal of his task, knowing I’m desperate to have our naked skin touching. The sound of his zip coming down is deafening in the silent room. The sexual tension is crippling.
All of the moisture in my mouth has evaporated. Becker smiles and pushes his trousers and boxers down his legs together, revealing his thick, sturdy thighs. I breathe out shakily as he kicks off his remaining clothes, and then he reaches forward and clamps my wrist in his hold, yanking me into his chest. Our bodies collide, soft curves on cut muscle, and my forehead meets his shoulder, my breath ricocheting back into my face. There’s a need rooting itself inside of me, one that demands I physically attach myself to him, because I don’t quite feel complete when we’re not connected. It’s beautiful and unhealthy at the same time. The more I learn about him, the stronger I feel.
‘Naked cuddles.’ His gravelly tone tickles my ear, and I flex my neck and roll my shoulder, trying to contain my hot shivers. Hooking one arm around his neck, I let him lift me from my feet and carry me to the bed where I’m laid down gently, and then he crawls up me on his knees and spreads himself all over me. And I realise. He really does just want a naked cuddle. To feel close. To hold me and reflect on what’s just happened. To make sure we’re okay.
And then I also realise . . .
I want that, too.
He hugs me tightly all night, like he’s scared I’ll disappear should he give me space to move. Neither of us breathe a word, though the silence is riddled with our thoughts. They are screaming, demanding to be shared. Yet we keep them to ourselves. I can tell when he’s trying to clear his racing mind because he increases his already tight hold, trying to squeeze away the crazy in his head.
Me? I just accept the various levels of constriction, trapped beneath him, while trying to process everything, as well as deliberate and worry about what might be whirling around in Becker’s head. I know what he said to his grandfather – all of the convincing words about letting go of his desire to find the sculpture. But what Becker said and what he is actually thinking are two entirely different things. I saw the excitement that he tried to conceal when his gramps told him what I’d unwittingly discovered. But just because the map can be completed, it doesn’t mean the sculpture can be found. I can’t lose Becker. Not to a woman, and most definitely not to a myth.
My hands resting on his back strokes and feels across the ink. I can almost feel the edges of the map swelling, like they’re raised and pulsing.
Like they’re coming to life.
Chapter 30
By morning, Becker is still like a second skin on me, and I’m guessing I’ve had only a few hours’ sleep. I drifted in and out of consciousness all night. Each time I found myself dosing off, Becker squeezed me that little bit harder, telling me that sleep wasn’t close for him and his mind was still racing.
‘I’m sorry.’ He breaks into my sleepiness with his raspy apology in my ear, snuggling deeper into me. The heat he’s kicking off is both comforting and stifling.
‘For what?’
‘For being a twat. For making you feel so desperate that you walked away from me.’
I smile, holding him to me. My head has been in some pretty strange places throughout the night. Scary places. Worrying places. But I’m enough for him. It’s what I’ve told myself repeatedly. Yet I know Becker will still get his vengeance, just in a different way. He’ll continue to rip off Brent Wilson. It’s like his own private satisfaction, since he can’t have the gratification and recognition of finding the missing treasure. I can’t help but feel happy to let him have that.
‘Thank you,’ he says above me, stroking my hair on a sigh. He lifts a little, his hands taking mine to above my head. ‘Thank you for loving me when I didn’t want you to,’ he says, searching my eyes. ‘Thank you for staying when I tried to force you away. Thank you for making me hurt so badly when you left me.’ He winces, like he’s remembering that feeling. I hope he is. ‘And thank you for knowing me better than I know myself,’ he finishes softly, sinking his face into my neck. ‘My search is over, because I’ve found what I need.’
I close my eyes, and we lay there for an age, wrapped in each other’s naked embrace, both of us quiet, until Becker starts to chuckle, knocking me out of my daydream as he emerges from his hiding place in my neck. ‘What?’ I ask, as I gaze up at him.
He puts his finger to his lip. ‘Shhhh . . .’ he hushes. ‘Listen.’
My ears prick up and my eyes dart, listening carefully. It’s silent. I’m just about to question him again, but then I hear something. Becker’s smile stretches, and I search the room, confused. The wet-sounding snort comes again, and Becker starts to unravel our tangled limbs. He gets up and wanders casually out of the bedroom area to the door of his apartment. My eyes are presented with their usual predicament when Becker’s naked and with his back to me, but it’s his tattoo that gets my attention today. It’s glowing at me, as if reminding me of its presence and how it came to be there, but I zoom in on the small empty space in the c
entre that’s been the bane of Becker’s life, shaking my head at the thought of Mr H keeping it from his grandson all this time. Becker could find the sculpture now, if it’s there to be found. Can it be found?
Eleanor!
My returned curiosity starts to play games with me. It’s caught me off guard. So has the flutter of excitement that’s just sprung into my tummy – excitement that I fight with everything I have to push away. Oh my God, what is wrong with me? It’s like there’s a little devil on my shoulder, one that’s trying to tempt me into stupidity. Go away!
I quickly shake myself back into the real world, watching as Becker opens the door and immediately stands back. I don’t have time to cover myself with the sheets. Winston bolts across the space and launches his stocky body onto the bed.
‘Whoa!’ I fall to my back and accept his attack, his tongue all over my face, his paws trampling over my naked body. ‘Winston,’ I laugh, trying to fight the burly beast off. ‘Winston, get off me!’
I hear Becker laughing as he returns and joins us on the bed, pulling at Winston’s collar. ‘Come on, get down.’
But the bulldog is having none of it, and I recoil, as does Becker, when he growls and bares his teeth.
‘Hey,’ Becker warns, keeping his distance. ‘Get off the bed.’
Woof!
‘Don’t shout at me,’ Becker bellows back.
Woof!
‘No!’
Woof!
‘Forget it.’ Becker bravely swoops in and grabs Winston’s collar, then proceeds to wrestle him from the bed, while I sit up against the headboard, smiling my amusement. Winston puts up a good fight. He clearly hasn’t learned who’s boss, but he’s quickly revealed that he’s all bark and no bite. ‘Didn’t think so,’ Becker grunts smugly, guiding him away from the bed. ‘Now, sit.’
Winston looks to me, like he’s searching for some guidance as to whether he should obey his owner. It cracks me up. ‘Sit, boy,’ I say, laughing, and he immediately does, making Becker bark his annoyance.