Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ERIN
I shower alone with the hot water easing the tension from my aching shoulders. I dry my hair, dress in my old T-shirt and shorts. None of the fancy new things he bought.
With the same money he paid me.
I crawl into bed, curling up on my side as close to the edge as possible. I pull the covers over my shoulders and try to fall asleep before he comes. I feel his kiss on my cheek. I hear him say the words.
He loves me.
I dream about a wedding.
Not ours. Theirs.
Lucian and Isobel stand beneath an archway that curls over them in bright orange ribbons, licking the air but never burning them. The archway isn’t flowers. It’s flames. Isobel is beautiful in white, untouched by smoke, golden hair spilling over her shoulders like sunlight.
The cake stands on a table beside them. Three tiers, clear and glistening, carved out of ice.
A little figurine stands on top. She looks like me—a frozen girl, forced to watch them.
Lucian lifts her hand to his mouth.
The flames roar higher.
The ice cake begins to crack.
A line splits down the center. Then another. The cake shatters.
A thousand frozen pieces scatter across the floor. Now I’m standing there, the human version of me. The ice is glass, and a shard cuts my bare foot. A bright red pool blooms at my feet.
“Erin.”
In my dream, Lucian turns and looks at me.
“Erin.”
My eyes snap open.
Morning light spills weak and gray through unfamiliar curtains. For one breath, I do not know where I am. Not his apartment. Not the apartment.
Then Lucian’s arm tightens around my waist, and I’m back at Red Shutters. His hand slides beneath the hem of my shirt and spreads over my stomach. Possessive.
Warm.
“Erin.”
My name is a command. A warning. But now it’s an invitation.
I stare at the wall.
There is a small crack in the plaster near the window. Someone painted over it badly, but I can still see the line. A repaired break. Hidden, not healed.
“I’m tired,” I say.
His hand moves over my stomach, fingers splaying. “We’re all tired, baby.”
He pulls me against him, dragging down my shorts. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes against my neck.
I whisper, “Stop.”
His breath changes. His palm smooths over my ass, fingers spreading, clutching, digging into my curves like he needs me to breathe.
The feel of his hardness settles between my ass cheeks, hot and heavy. He grinds against me, a pool of heat and wetness slicks between my legs.
His mouth moves along my shoulder. Teeth. Tongue. A kiss too close to tender till it’s not. His hand slides between my thighs, finding me already wet, and the sound that leaves him is feral.
He shifts behind me, pushing his sleep pants down, pressing harder into me.
I’m aching and empty and my muscles clench with need. He knows. He feels it. He presses his stomach harder against my back. He pushes two fingers inside me, curving his fingers up to that spot that feels like everything in me is tightening.
It’s too much for him to handle. He groans, pulling his hand away. I make an angry little sound and reach back for him.
He catches my wrist, pins it against my stomach, and presses his mouth to my ear.
“You want to be stubborn this morning?” He enters me in one deep, ruthless slide, hard, hot and insistent. “I think not.”
My gasp breaks against the pillow.
For a second, there is only fullness. Heat. His body locking around mine. His arm across my waist. His mouth at my neck. His breath ragged in my ear as he says, “Mine.”
I grip his forearm where it bends across me. “Yours.”
His control snaps.
He moves hard and slow at first, each thrust dragging the breath out of me, forcing every thought into my body. And it’s just me and him and us and what we do when no one is looking.
But everyone knows.
His hand slides to my throat, no pressure, just possession.
His other hand between my legs, circling with cruel precision. The tightness is impossible now. I shatter like the ice wedding cake.
I come with my nails digging into his arm, my muscles clamped around his cock like a vice. He keeps moving through it, drawing it out until I’m shaking.
Then his rhythm turns rougher.
Less controlled.
His hand leaves my throat and grips my hip hard enough to bruise. I hope it does. I want to show it to her.
“Baby,” he groans. “Erin.”
He comes buried deep inside me, his body going rigid behind mine, his mouth pressed to my shoulder, biting it to keep from yelling.
Somewhere downstairs, a door shuts. Voices. The echo of heavy boot steps.
The world returns slowly. I turn to face him before I lose the nerve to tell him. “I dreamed about a wedding,” I whisper.
“Whose?”
“Yours. And you were marrying her.”
“That dream,” his mouth moves to my jaw. “Sounds like a nightmare.”
“A nightmare of jealousy?” I ask.
“I like you jealous.”
“Of course you do.”
“I like knowing you don’t want any other woman to have been with me.”
“That sounds unhealthy.”
“It is,” he says, and kisses the corner of my mouth. “But so are we.”
I shove at his shoulder, “That’s so not reassuring.”
His gaze holds mine. “You have me, now.”
Then he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me once.
Hard.
Final.
There’s a knock at the door. Rafe’s voice breaks our bubble. “Lucian. We need you. She’s ready to talk.”
When he lifts his head, his voice is cold enough to cut glass. “She can wait.”
Relief hits me so suddenly I almost hate myself for it. Outside the door, Rafe says nothing for a beat. Then, dryly, “I’ll tell her you’re unavailable.”
Lucian’s mouth twitches. Mine does too, despite everything. Footsteps retreat.
“Rafe isn’t happy,” I say. “She probably won’t be either.”
Lucian looks down at me. “She can wait,” he repeats, quieter now.
For me.
So I believe it.
My heart gives one painful, hopeful beat.
We shower together. Dry off together. Dress together. Nothing fancy. We wear jeans. A gray sweater for him. Black for me.
Brush our teeth.
Those simple daily things that don’t always have to be sexy. Right now, the rhythm of the everyday ordinary is what I find myself craving.
The every day with him. Since him. And hopefully, always him.
We get to the top of the stairs and I want to turn back.
There are three people already waiting for us at the bottom. And one of them is too mouthy for seven am.
Cass looks from me to Lucian, then back to me. Her brows lift. Then she whistles.
Low and lewd. “Well, hot damn, look who decided to leave their den of iniquity and join those unwillingly vowed to celibacy.”
I look at her. “Don’t.”
Gregory stands near the bottom of the stairs, speaking quietly with Bayne. When he sees us, his gaze drops to our joined hands. Assessing. Gregory likes it when everyone is getting along.
Rafe stares at my face, assessing my reaction to the news he’s about to drop.
“Isobel is asking for Lucian,” he says.
My fingers tighten around Lucian’s hand before I can stop myself. His thumb brushes over my knuckles. I feel like sex is the glue currently keeping us together and sane.
“She can wait,” Lucian says.
Rafe is still looking at me. “She wants to talk to you to make arrangements for her to talk to Erin alone.”
Lucian’s entire body changes beside me. “No.”
Rafe sighs. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“Treasure your instincts.”
“I do.” Rafe rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. “And my instincts tell me that if we keep avoiding every conversation that makes you want to kill someone, and if Erin can never be out of your sight, even for a moment, we’re never going to move forward.”
Blaze appears beside him. “I vote we make this happen.”
“We need to know what she knows,” Gregory says.
Cass wheels closer. “Same. Mostly because I’m nosy.”
Bayne stands near a window with a mug in his hand, looking like he’s ready to wrap this up.
I take a breath. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
“No,” Lucian says. “Absolutely not.”
“Lucian, you’ve got armed guards stationed every five inches. What could she possibly do to me?”
His eyes cut to mine. “Words can hurt worse than blades.”
“I know. Trust me, I know,” I say.
“You are not going near her without me,” he says.
“I wasn’t planning to,” I say.
That seems to surprise him. As well as everyone else in this room. I suppose my track record of wanting to do things on my own precedes me.
I lift our joined hands slightly. “I’m choosing not to do something stupid alone. Or make a sneaky plan that ends up blowing in my face. Or harass you till you give in.
Appreciate my growth.”
“Please,” Cass snorts. “We’ll be sure to mark it on your growth chart, Rin.” Blaze hides a choked laugh. We both ignore them. Lucian stares at me for a long second.
Then, finally, his mouth curves. Barely. “Noted.”
The warmth in my chest scares me more than Isobel. God, I love this man.
Rafe leads us back to the library. My steps slow as we approach the door. Lucian feels it. He doesn’t comment. He holds my hand tighter.
And we open the door. I’m starting to dread what was once my favorite room at Red Shutters.
I’m suddenly feeling very tired.
Bayne moves to a new window, a fresh view, another angle toward the line of trees.
All the guards have familiar faces. I don’t know all their names. Lucian probably prefers it that way. The food is untouched. She looks up as we enter. Her eyes go straight to our hands.
A strange expression crosses her face.
“You asked for me,” Lucian says. He doesn’t release my hand.
Isobel notices that too.
“I only asked for you because I want to talk to Erin,” she says. Her gaze flickers to our united hands, and sarcasm lines her voice. “And since you keep her in your pocket 24/7—”
My turn to snort. “He doesn’t keep me in his pocket, lady. Trust me, he’s tried.”
“Well, since he won’t let you out of his sight, I have to ask his permission to speak to you.”
She’s snappy this morning. Maybe there was a pea under her mattress.
“No,” I say, taking my old seat. “You can ask me if you want to talk to me.”
“Are you up for a chat?” she asks.
“Sure. I’m always up for a little girl time.” I gesture to Lucian. “But he stays.”
Lucian slides into the seat next to me.