Chapter Fifteen
Four Days Later
After my non-date with Rory on Monday, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not merely that night, but almost every moment in the days that followed.
I replayed our conversation at dinner.
I conjured memories of that half-smile.
I touched my lips as I remembered my kiss on his freckled cheek.
I tried to stay busy at work to keep thoughts of him at bay, but it was mentally exhausting. Texting Diane about it didn’t help either. By the time I got to Friday, when it was just me in the store by myself, I gave up and gave in.
A girl’s night out was just what I needed.
Rather than confide in Maya about my feelings for Rory, I sat next to her in the theater and let myself get lost in the production of Moulin Rouge . It was great, and the escape had been necessary.
It was also over all too soon.
Needing to get home to Daisy and Graham, Maya and I said our goodbyes right after the show. I took the Tube to the Blackfriars station not far from St. Andrew’s Hill, and it was nearly eleven when I extracted my keys from my purse in order to unlock the door to my building.
Except, as I reached for the handle, I realized it wasn’t locked.
Frowning, I tried to remember when I’d last used this door. Earlier, I’d left the shop from the front, right after closing. Before that, I hadn’t gone out in a couple of days.
I shook away the thought and headed inside, twisting the lock before I ascended the stairs. When I reached my flat, I found the door locked, just as I remembered, and I didn’t give any more thought to the unlocked door downstairs.
That was until I walked inside.
The first thing I noticed were the lights that were on. One in the kitchen, and the other in the hallway upstairs. Then, before I could react, someone came racing down the stairs. Dressed in all black with a ski-mask on, I couldn’t tell who it was. I screamed at the top of my lungs as the intruder came toward me. The next thing I knew, I was being shoved out of the way. I fell to the ground as the person ran by me, disappearing through the door and down the outer stairs.
Stunned, for a moment, I didn’t move.
Then my mind began to register the state of my flat. Every drawer and cabinet I had was open, and there were books strewn all over the floor.
“Sawyer?”
I heard his voice as if on the opposite end of a tunnel, and I was vaguely aware of the concern I sensed in his tone.
“Sawyer? Are you alright?” he asked seconds before he filled my vacant doorframe. “Bloody hell,” he muttered before I could respond.
Rory came toward me, reaching for my arm and helping me to my feet. It wasn’t until I was standing that I realized I was trembling.
“I was taking out the rubbish, and thought I heard you scream. At first, I was convinced I’d imagined it, but then I saw someone sprinting out of here. Are you alright?”
“Um—”
“My god, of course you’re not. Come here. Sit down.”
He took hold of my hand and lead me the short distance to my kitchen. He pulled out a chair at my table, and I sat as my gaze roamed about the room. I couldn’t even appreciate his touch, too distracted by what was happening.
“Give me a moment. I’ll phone the police.”
I nodded as he extracted his mobile from his pocket, then swallowed around the knot I realized was lodged in my throat.
Someone had broken-in to my home. By the state of my things, it seemed obvious it was likely the same person who’d broken-in to the store. Only, no doors were damaged this time.
I reached up and buried my fingers in my hair, gripping the strands as I curled in on myself.
What did it mean?
Why was it happening?
On Sunday, Rory thought whoever had made a mess of the store was looking for something. If I was right, and tonight’s culprit was the same person, what could they have possibly been looking for? And how on earth had they gotten in?
I sealed my eyes closed tight, trying to remember anything about the intruder. Unfortunately, it all happened too fast. I couldn’t say if it was a man or a woman. They were taller than me, but so were a lot of people. As for the clothes they wore, they were completely nondescript, not to mention the ski cap hid any helpful identifying features.
Still—my gut told me I knew who it was.
Archie.
It was the only name that made sense.
I was fairly certain he didn’t have a key, but the place belonged to his father once. Maybe he did, or he found it in a forgotten drawer somewhere.
But why? What was he looking for?
I gasped when I remembered my father’s letter, tucked away in my mother’s book. I shot to my feet and began searching for the last words I’d ever have from either of my parents. Half the books from the custom shelves built on the wall were scattered about the room, but I hadn’t stowed All the Shades of Summer there.
I went to the desk in the corner. Like in the kitchen, the drawer was pulled open. This one was left almost empty, some of my father’s old papers and a few notes I’d made regarding ideas for the store discarded on the surface. I lifted the haphazard stack and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my mother’s book sitting there. I grabbed it and flipped it open. The pages parted where I’d tucked Sawyer’s letter.
“The police are on their way. What are you looking for? Is something missing?”
I clutched my book to my chest as I spun around. Rory was standing closer than I expected, and my breath caught when I almost collided with him. He took hold of my arms, as if to steady me, and he didn’t let go as I craned my neck to look up at him.
“Um—no,” I stammered. “I mean, I don’t know.”
“Did you get a look at who it was?”
I dropped my gaze to his chest and shook my head, regretful I didn’t have a better answer. While I suspected , the only motive I could think of for Archie to break in—not once but twice— was to scare me. But I didn’t have any proof, and I wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good idea to put his name out there like that.
The Blackstones already resented me for existing. I didn’t want to make it worse.
“Hey,” he murmured, curling a finger beneath my chin. He gently encouraged me to lift my gaze. “It’s alright,” he assured me.
When my eyes met his, I pressed my lips together firmly and tried my damnedest to combat the tears that suddenly stung the back of my eyes. I was overwhelmed. I felt violated and shaky—and Rory’s affection was tearing down whatever safeguards I’d erected around our friendship. A small voice in the back of my head told me to pull away, but everything inside me longed to lean against him; to absorb his steady calmness.
His brow furrowed in a deep scowl, Rory bent closer and pleaded, “Don’t cry. You’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere—just, please, don’t cry.”
I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and blew it out through my mouth, nodding as I tried to obey. It helped, his plea and my breath, so I filled my lungs again.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
For reasons I couldn’t articulate, his praise made me feel lightheaded.
I clutched the book I held tighter.
Then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
I knew Rory heard them too when he let me go and turned towards the door.
My conversation with the police was like déjà vu. I had hardly anything helpful to contribute. While I didn’t accuse my half-brother of being responsible, I did mention it seemed as though the intruder had a key, even though I didn’t know anyone else who had one.
As this was the second break-in in less than a week, they did speak to me as if I was going to get bumped on their priority list. They also suggested I get my locks changed, and I planned on taking their advice—though, my need for various tradesmen was getting really old.
By the time the policemen left, it was midnight.
I swept a bit of hair behind my ears and sighed as I took in the mess.
“If you’d like, I’ll help you clean up in the morning. As for right now, pack a bag. You’re staying at mine tonight,” declared Rory.
I wanted that, more than words could say. While it seemed unlikely anyone would try to break-in twice in one night, I wouldn’t feel safe until I’d dealt with the locks, so I didn’t bother arguing.
“I’ll be five minutes,” I assured him.
I stowed my mother’s book and my father’s letter in my purse, then hurried upstairs to gather a few things in an overnight bag. My leaky roof had yet to be repaired, and I tripped over the pot I still had in the floor, in spite of the dry weather we’d had the last couple of days. The repair man was due to come the following day, but I hardly had space in my mind to think about it.
I repositioned the pot, tossed what I thought I needed in my bag, and headed back down the stairs.
“I, uh, I just need my coat and then—”
“Sawyer?” Rory called patiently.
“Hmm?”
“You’re wearing your coat now.”
“Oh,” I breathed, looking down at myself. “Right. I am. Okay.”
“Come on,” he insisted, handing me my purse before reaching for my bag. “Let’s get out of here.”
It felt a little futile, but I locked up behind us as we went. When we stepped into Rory’s place, I felt better almost instantly. It was cozy, warm, tidy and familiar. He had a fire going, and it reminded me how my scream had pulled him away from what was likely the beginning of his downtime after work.
“I know this is not how you planned your night. I’m sorry to have pulled you away from your fire. Were you reading anything?”
“No. I’d only just started it before I stepped out to take down the rubbish. I was going to make myself a nightcap. Still might. Would you like a drink?”
My hands had stopped shaking, but a drink to calm my nerves sounded more than a little appealing.
“I’d love one, actually.”
“Very well,” he said, setting my bag behind the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
As he headed to the kitchen, I finally slipped out of my coat, discarding it over the arm of his loveseat. I then removed my shoes and sat in the corner of his couch, curling my legs up beside me and balling the sleeves of my sweater in my hands as I admired the crackling fire.
It was hard to believe, not two hours earlier, I was out with a friend, enjoying a fun night. Now, even though I didn’t want to, I couldn’t stop thinking about the moment I realized I wasn’t alone in my home. It was the unsolved mystery behind why anyone would want to ransack my place that troubled me the most.
I reasoned that if I could answer that one question, maybe I could prevent such a thing from happening again in the future. But without the answers, I worried I’d have to constantly be looking over my shoulder for a villain I couldn’t positively identify.
I was pulled from my thoughts when Rory entered the room—a dirty martini in one hand, and two fingers of scotch in his other. He placed both drinks on his coffee table before occupying the seat next to mine.
All at once, rather than a face hidden behind a mask, I was wholly captivated by the man who’d raced to my rescue. I replayed his gentle good girl from earlier, and a shiver inadvertently raced down my spine.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked, nodding down at my hands.
I glanced at my fists, covered by my sweater, and then met his eyes.
It was a simple question, and not at all an intimate one—but the fact that he’d asked was more than I could handle.
Every time I needed him, he was there. Even sometimes before I asked.
I was tired of thanking him by way of his stomach. I was tired of holding myself back. I was tired of pretending. So, I ignored his question and decided to pose one of my own—only, mine didn’t require words.
Not exactly.
I wet my lips as I shifted in my seat, then reached for his face with both of my hands. His beard tickling my palms, I held him still as I pressed my mouth against his.
His reply came instantly.
My stomach did a summersault as he parted his lips so he might taste mine with a subtle flick of his tongue.
A soft hum of excitement sounded from the back of my throat as I opened up for him, and in response, he tilted his head and deepened the kiss further.
This . This was better than I imagined it could be.
I moved my hands so I could sink my fingers into his hair, and it was perfect.
Silky, and soft, and perfect.
Then one of his hands was at my waist, pulling me closer. I gasped, breathing in his exhale as he took hold of the side of my neck, wordlessly expressing his desire for more.
Another moan escaped me, and his grip around me tightened, our kiss growing increasingly frantic by the second. He pulled me fully into his arms, almost dragging me into his lap as he claimed my mouth with a hunger I felt, too, burning in my belly.
I thought him uninterested, but I was wrong.
This kiss was my proof I was so incredibly wrong.
Or so I thought, until the moment he pulled away—abruptly shattering the moment.
And he didn’t just end the kiss, he practically shoved me across the couch, holding me at arm’s length.
Both of us still panting, his eyes more vibrant and alert than I’d ever seen them, he breathed, “Not like this. I don’t want you like this.”
It was in that moment when I realized just how far I’d fallen for him. I knew it because what he said hit me like a punch to the gut. As if the wind had been knocked out of me, my body deflated underneath his hands.
He’d rejected me, again.
Only this time, it actually hurt.
“No, sweetheart, you misunderstand me,” he insisted, his hands tightening their hold—one at my shoulder, the other at my waist. “What I mean is, if we’re going to do this, I want you . Not when you’re drunk or jet-lagged, and not when you’re scared. I want the real you—gorgeous and enchanting as you are.”
I blinked hard and shook my head, the emotional whiplash of the moment quite jarring. When my eyes found his once more, all I could manage was, “Enchanting? You think—you think I’m enchanting? ”
The crease in the middle of his brow formed as he replied, “Unbearably so, yes.”
I was so flattered I was almost speechless. It wasn’t merely his word choice, but my awareness that Rory wasn’t a man who said such things halfheartedly. He never minced his words.
“Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
“Because I don’t want to break your heart, and I fear it’s inevitable.”
Suddenly, the distance between us was achingly intolerable. I wiggled my shoulders, signaling for him to let me go. When he did, I crawled toward him, settling myself across his lap as I wrapped one arm around his shoulders, holding one side of his bearded cheek in my free hand.
“I don’t think it is,” I whispered. “Rory…this is the real me. I’m yours for the taking. Have been for a while now. If it’s me you want, I’m right here.”
I barely got the words out before his mouth was sealed with mine, and I was putty in his hands.
His kiss was deep and sensual, creating a war within me.
I wanted to kiss him until my lips were raw, but I also wanted more—I wanted all of him, and I wanted him to have all of me.
His hands explored me liberally, as if he’d imagined this moment as much as I had, and he knew exactly where he wanted to go.
I was more than a little turned on when he reached for my sweater, and my sex pulsed yearningly when he peeled the garment over my head. Anxious to touch his sculpted marble-like physic, I wasn’t shy about removing the turtleneck he wore next. Pale as he was, his skin was hot to the touch, and I wanted to graze every inch of him with my lips.
When I pressed a wet kiss against his shoulder, he whispered a curse, buried his fingers in my hair, and gently coaxed my head where he wanted it. Then he licked my lips, teasing me before he said, “I’ll be damned if I don’t savor you the way I’ve thought about more times than I’ll ever admit. Let me up. I’ll be right back.”
With the promise of his return, I moved out of his lap and watched him make his way out of the room and down the hallway. He was gone for less than sixty seconds, but upon his return, my whole body buzzed with longing, like he’d been gone for much longer.
He switched off the overhead lights, and I watched as he tossed a condom on the coffee table before he spread a blanket open on the rug in front of the fire.
He was setting the scene.
Rory Collins was a romantic .
I was smiling when he came to stand in front of me. Before I stood to join him, he grazed his thumb across my bottom lip and muttered, “I want to taste every inch of you.”
My smile slipped as I pressed my thighs together.
There were a dozen things I could have said in response—words to echo his desire—but I said none of them.
I didn’t want to tell.
I wanted to show.
I stood to my feet, reaching for him.
He met me halfway, kissing me slower this time.
When he reached for the clasp at the back of my bra, my breath caught.
My heart was racing when he lifted his mouth away from mine, trailing his fingers across my skin as he guided the straps over my shoulders and down my arms.
I was aware of my shallow breaths as I stood under his gaze, but I couldn’t help it. I was too consumed by the moment.
My bra hit the floor, and he took me by the hands, guiding me toward the blanket. He didn’t need to tell me to lie down, I just did it. I knew it was the right thing to do when he got down on his hands and knees and began to worship my body.
It was the only word I could use to describe it.
From my lips to my jaw—from the sensitive spot behind my ear down the length of my neck—across my collarbone and between my breasts—along the valley of my stomach, to the barrier of my jeans, his mouth traveled, leaving a lingering trail of hot kisses as he went.
I was practically squirming when he peeled off my jeans. He left on my panties, which were soaked, making me crazy as he tasted his way up my leg from my ankle.
When he’d reached my thighs, he spread me open, then brazenly dragged his nose over the seamless cotton panties I was way too aroused to be embarrassed by.
Then he opened his mouth, latching onto me through the fabric, and I was sure I couldn’t take anymore.
Burying my fingers in his hair, I bent my legs, planted my feet, and arched my back off the floor.
“ Rory ,” I moaned, breathless. “ Please ,” I begged.
Mercifully, he shoved aside the fabric between his mouth and me , and I was suddenly levitating.
I mewled, the sound almost swallowing up his groan as he devoured me.
He didn’t stop until I was a heap of trembling nerves spread out on the floor.
Once he was finished, his lips still grazing my sex, he cast his gaze on me from beneath his lashes. Those blue eyes were ablaze like a victorious conqueror.
It was only fitting.
That’s exactly what he was—and I wanted a taste of him.
“My turn,” I declared, freeing his hair from my grip.
He sat up, settling himself on his haunches. When he reached for my panties, finally removing them, I thought maybe that was his silent way of telling me I wasn’t going to get my way.
Then he stood, looked down at me and asked, “Should I undress myself, or would you like to?”
I was on my knees a second later, anxious to strip him completely bare.
Unlike him, when I had Rory naked and standing in front of me, I didn’t have an ounce of patience to spare. He was very well groomed, with barely enough hair for me to be sure he was red everywhere, and it only increased my longing. I went straight for the prize, which was already hard and all but begging for my attention.
“Bloody hell,” he grunted, both of his hands finding purchase in my hair.
I stroked as I sucked, losing myself in the soundtrack of his pleasure. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of what he’d given me. Except, before I could get him there, he was pulling me away.
“Enough,” he demanded, his grip in my hair almost painful. “I don’t want to come in your mouth.”
“But—”
He didn’t let me finish. Again.
Letting go of my hair, he placed a finger over my lips and insisted, “There’s a time and place for that, but tonight’s not it. Tonight, we’ll chase the high together.”
I didn’t argue after that.
How could I?
He reached for the condom, and I reclined across the blanket as he sheathed himself. Then he was lowering himself on top of me. The heat and weight of his body was comforting in a way I couldn’t remember experiencing before with anyone. I hitched my knees on either side of his hips, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he kissed me tenderly.
His patience really was astounding.
Then he moved his hips, dragging his length across my entrance, teasing me in the most titillating way. When he did it again, and again, stealing my breath each time, it occurred to me that it wasn’t merely patience he was exuding.
He was taking his time.
He was savoring me—the way he thought about more times than he’d ever admit.
When he finally sank himself inside of me, I melted beneath him.
He stilled when he was fully seated, his eyes staring directly into mine.
I didn’t understand it, but for a second, I thought I might cry.
It was that perfect.
“Fuck,” he swore on a breath. “I can’t believe I ever told you no .”
Before I could respond, he eased out of me then rolled his hips with notable precision, robbing me of my words. He did this exactly twice, and then we were insatiable. Even with him inside of me, I couldn’t get enough of him.
If his greedy hands were anything to go by, he felt the same.
Soon, the heat of the fire still burning beside us was nothing compared to the fire we stoked every time we came together. Our skin grew slick with sweat as we chased the high together .
“ Rory, ” I gasped, my hand clasped around the back of his neck.
I was going to come, and it was going to be explosive.
“Are you there?” he asked, touching his forehead to mine.
All I could manage was a nod.
“Good girl. Come for me, Sawyer,” he panted.
As if my body was completely under his command, no sooner had he said the words than I was drowning in my own pleasure.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunted, pounding into me harder as I freed an unadulterated cry.
I was clinging to him desperately, which was why when he came, I felt it not just inside of me, but all over. His muscles tensed as he lost control, and he jerked his hips erratically once, twice, three times before he began to relax.
His forehead still pressed against mine, neither of us moved as we tried to catch our breath. I felt wrung out but deliriously satisfied.
In classic Rory fashion, he had gone above and beyond.
“That was— wow ,” I murmured.
It had been the right thing to say.
I was sure of this, because as soon as I said it, he chuckled softly. Then he lifted his head, and my whole world stopped.
“Yeah,” he replied, speaking through a smile.
As if his face was terribly fragile, I gently reached for his cheeks, and delicately traced my thumbs across his lips.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this look on you before. You hardly ever smile,” I whispered. “Now I know why.”
I fought a laugh as his smile vanished, replaced by his signature scowl—only this scowl was tempered by the sated look in his eyes.
“Do you? And why is that?”
“Because when you do, you’re irresistible.”
His brow relaxed as he replied, “If that’s true, then I suppose it’s something we have in common.”
My smile was unavoidable.
He took one look at it, and then he proved his point and kissed it gone.