Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Eve
Christian jostles me awake and helps me out of the car, slinging my huge duffle bag over his shoulder. We’re in a parking garage, surrounded by very expensive, high-end cars. I’m barely awake as I follow him to an elevator bank.
“You sure I can’t help you with that?” a bellhop says.
“I’ve got it, thanks,” Christian replies, ushering me into an elevator that slides open.
“Where are we?” I ask as we’re swept up and deposited on the twelfth floor. He doesn’t answer, but when we step out into the hallway, I have a sinking suspicion I know exactly where we are. I’ve never been here myself, but this place is legendary in Malibu. Only the uber- uber -rich can afford to stay here. “Is this Exeter House?”
“My dad keeps an apartment here,” he says. I follow him down the hall and into one of the two doors on this entire floor. “It’s about the only thing he’s good for.”
Stepping in, I’m immediately impressed. The apartment is huge . Like, the size of three regular apartments, easily. And it’s decorated in warm, Danish-style furniture and modern art, but little else. Very masculine.
“What if your dad shows up?” I ask, looking around.
“My dad’s in France until the end of the month, and my mom doesn’t know about this place,” he says, disappearing down a hallway.
I rush to catch up. “Lucas will assume we’re coming here.”
“He doesn’t know about it either,” he says, dumping my bag next to a massive king-sized bed in the largest bedroom I’ve ever seen. One entire wall is made up of windows that overlook the Pacific Ocean.
Christian turns to me. “The only reason I know about this place is because one of my dad’s side-pieces mentioned it. I blackmailed him into letting me use it occasionally.”
“Seriously?” I push out a sharp breath. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your family is toxic as fuck .”
“Can’t argue with you there.”
I walk over to the nearest window and watch as the water ebbs and flows under our feet—like we’re on stilts with the endless ocean stretched out in front of us, bright blue skies above. It’s calming.
“I’d have someone come and put your things away for you, but it’s probably better to keep your presence here on the down-low. At least until I figure this shit out.”
I wonder what figure this shit out means, but I don’t ask, because it doesn’t matter. I’m no longer a part of his world. So…not my circus, right?
“How long?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
I nod once and clear my throat. “So, um, are you staying here, too?”
He pulls something out of his back pocket and tosses it on the bed. It’s my phone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
There’s something oddly final about the way he says that, and it makes my stomach drop, like I’ve just entered zero gravity.
“Okay, well…” I swallow. “...I guess I’d better take a shower.” My voice sounds weird even to me—too high, too forced. I’m trying to act normal when everything inside me is screaming that something’s wrong.
Without grabbing any clean clothes, I make a beeline for the bathroom and shut myself inside. My emotions are all over the place right now. I guess almost dying will do that.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I press my palm against my mouth to keep a sob from escaping. I want to hate Christian for making me feel this way—vulnerable, scared and so fucking conflicted. But as much as I want to hate him, I don’t.
I don’t.
How fucked up is that?
How fucked up am I for loving a guy who is capable of so much darkness?
I pause, swallowing hard. Do I love him?
Christian saved my life, but that doesn’t erase the dark things he’s done—the cruelty, the manipulation. He’s far too savage to love. There’s no way it would work between us, no happily ever after—and yet, I can’t get him out of my head.
Being with him is like walking into a storm you know could kill you. My brain tells me to turn away, run, but my heart wants to lean into the chaos, give myself to it.
Even now, when I close my eyes, I can feel his fingertips on my skin, hear his deep, rumbling baritone in my ear—that lethal tenderness that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s crazy how much I crave him when it’s clear he’s no good for me…
What’s that quote? “Love makes you stupid.”
I guess it does.
I end up jumping in the shower and letting the hot water wash away the cold, the saltwater, and the nightmare of almost being drowned. Thick steam fills my lungs as I stand under the water and just…try to pull my shit together.
I don’t know how long I’m in the bathroom—twenty minutes, maybe—before I’m finally brave enough to leave my little bathroom sanctuary. I grab a plush white towel and use it to dry off, then wrap it around my body.
Okay. Here we go.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pull the door open to face whatever’s waiting for me in the bedroom. Will Christian be waiting? Will he be gone?
I walk out and stop short. Christian is sitting on the edge of the bed, forearms resting on his thighs, the manila envelope in his hands.
My heart leaps, but I try to look casual. Like, I’m not relieved he’s still here. “I thought you were leaving.”
He holds the envelope up, ignoring my statement. Typical. “It’s still sealed,” he says.
“You went through my bag?” Why am I surprised? It’d only be the millionth time he’s violated my privacy.
“I thought I’d start putting things away for you,” he says. “This was sitting on the top.”
My gaze shifts to the envelope, my heart rate kicking up. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I was too tired to read it last night.”
“Bullshit,” he says, calling me out.
He tosses the envelope onto the nightstand, rises, and walks over to me. Damn , but this guy makes me feel small and vulnerable. Just having him this close—his warmth, his clean smell—sends static skittering across my skin. I have to remind myself that I’m supposed to hate him.
With a shrug, I glance down at my feet. This beautiful guy looking right at me never fails to make me blush.
He touches the underside of my chin, tipping my face up, so I’m looking directly into his eyes. “Have I ever told you how much I hate lying?”
Is he being serious?
I smirk. “...says the least honest guy I’ve ever met…”
He smirks back, his eyes traveling over my face like he’s studying every detail and committing it to memory. “Well, you know what they say, ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’”
“That’s a dumb expression,” I say. “But, anyway, I’m not lying. I was tired.”
“You have a tell when you lie.” He tugs on my towel, and it instantly gives way, unfurling easily. I catch it before it falls to the floor, but my breasts are exposed. “Your face gives you away every time.”
My breathing is shallow. “What’s my tell?”
He shakes his head, his eyes drifting down to my body. He tugs the towel again, and I put up a token resistance, but with that second tug, he frees it from my hand and lets the crisp white terrycloth fall to the floor.
“I should punish you for lying,” he says with the hint of a smile, his warm hand cupping my breast. “But I think you’ve been through enough for one day.”
“How gracious of you,” I say, my breath hitching as he drags the tips of his fingers over the curve of my breast, down my ribcage, and down even farther to my hip, where his initials are carved into my skin.
“You haven’t mentioned my mark,” he says, his thumb gently circling the raised scar. “What do you think?”
I stare down at the CW on my hip, the skin still tender. “When I first saw it, I was pissed,” I say, my eyes flick up to meet his. “Now….I don’t hate it as much as I should.”
That familiar smirk returns, teasing the edges of his mouth. “You’re such a fucking wonder, Eve Savano.”
I shrug. “I’m glad you think so, because I’m not sure your brother agrees.”
I mean, fuck, he tried to kill me and the whole horrifying ordeal has been playing on a loop in my head since it happened. The sharp bite of the water. Lucas’s hands shoving me down, holding me under. The desperate feeling of trying to claw my way to the surface as saltwater burned its way down my throat.
Squeezing my eyes shut, tears slip down my cheeks.
“Shhh,” he soothes, pressing in, brushing his lips over my cheek. “I’m here now,” he whispers. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Lifting me, he carries me to the bed, and lays me down gently, his lips never leaving my skin. With a hand on my knee, he spreads my thighs and settles between them, his weight pinning me down to the mattress, his cock bulging behind his fly. “I’m here with you, baby,” he murmurs, kissing my cheeks, my eyes, my lips…
There’s no rush to it, no sharp edge—just quiet reverence that makes my chest ache. It shouldn’t be this tender. Not with him. Not when I’m supposed to hate him. But right now, he kisses me like I’m something special, sacred. And it feels so good to let him.
With our lips still connected, he lifts his body just enough to unzip his slacks, and pull his cock out. He’s inside me in seconds, his hot length pushing in slowly, stretching me, making me hiss. With him, there’s always pain at first. Pain that eventually melts into mind-numbing pleasure.
“That’s it,” he praises, whispering in my ear. “Take all of me. That’s my good girl.”
My chest feels impossibly tight, like my ribcage can hardly contain this warmth that’s spreading through me. It’s terrifying, but with every reverent kiss, every gentle touch, it chisels away a little more of that wall between us.
I’ve spent weeks telling myself I don’t need Christian, that there’s no happy ending for us, that letting him in would only end in heartache. And yet, here he is, kissing me like I’m something worth saving. And despite the blood and the lies and the lacerations on my heart, I feel it—a slow unraveling.
And this time, I’m not running from it…
* * *
For two days, the apartment at Exeter House becomes our little sanctuary and we fall into an easy rhythm—eat, fuck, sleep, walk on the beach, then rinse and repeat. It’s wild and raw, like we’re on our own beachy planet, where no one else exists but us…
He’s just fucked me for the second time today, when he collapses on top of me. I don’t move. I can’t. I’m a puddle of exhaustion, the blood in my veins still buzzing from that insane orgasm. After a couple of minutes, he reaches over and rolls me over onto my back. “Ugh, God. I feel dizzy,” I whimper.
I’ve never been fucked like that, and honestly, it’s scary how well he can read my body. He knew exactly what I needed and gave it to me. I’m quickly becoming addicted to this. To him.
He’s lying on his back, hand on his stomach, head tilted back. “I’ve never heard a girl scream like that. You were out of your fuckin’ mind.”
Sitting up, I look down at him. “Don’t get too cocky. It was okay—a six out of ten.”
Feigning offense, he reaches over and pinches my nipple.
“Ow!” I laugh, pulling away and covering myself with the sheet.
“If it was that bad, then I guess we need a redo. Best three out of five.”
“Oh, no. That’s not happening again.”
He rises slowly until he’s kneeling on the bed in front of me. He grabs my face so quickly, I don’t have a chance to pull away. He squeezes until my jaw hurts, and he brings his face close to mine, all that playful energy gone. “It’s cute when you think you have a choice…”