Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
EMERSON
Ididn’t know what I was doing, but I was tired of battling with myself.
Last night had been enough for me to reconsider the fight, but today had solidified the fact that I had no choice but to surrender to it.
Ava had wheedled her way into my being with every smart comeback, every cute look, every free-spirited laugh and action.
And I couldn’t remove her if I wanted to.
My mind had done nothing but wander to her, thinking of what we’d done and how amazing it had been.
So that when I’d walked into the kitchen and seen her with another man, a possessive need had overtaken me.
I knew then that I was lost. There was no going back.
I would kill any man who so much as looked wrong at her without hesitation and if he dared to touch her, I would gut the son of a bitch and fuck her while he died a slow and painful death watching me take what belonged to me and not him.
The thoughts were irrational, and I’d never had them with any woman, not even the one that had come between Greyson and me.
Now as she sat across from me, talking about how she’d lost a serving job because she’d poured coffee on some ass who had pinched her, taking bites of pasta between breaths, her feet tucked under her, hands animating her story, I realized the tension of the day and even the last year had eased.
Like she was a salve that removed the strain in my life and filled it with something I hadn’t experienced in far too long: joy.
There was a part of me who even thought he could give it all up to keep her smiles and her laughter, to hear her voice, and see the gold highlights in her eyes.
She stretched, her shirt lifting to reveal the piercing in her belly button, and I nearly salivated at the thought of licking my way up that lush skin.
Dressed in a short plaid skirt and a shirt that had some logo I didn’t recognize on it, she tempted me to lift her back on the counter and take her again.
I’d shredded her bra, which left her perfect tits too visible below her shirt.
And that skirt…that skirt was dangerous.
She hopped from the stool and my eyes followed her swishing hips, then trailed the path of her thick thighs.
Wiping my hand down my face, I pushed away the thought of bending her over the sink and taking her again. That body was killing me.
“You look like you’re still hungry,” she said. My eyes flew from her legs to see her giving me a knowing smile.
Flashing her a coy grin, I replied, “I might need dessert soon.” She took my hand and dragged me from the kitchen. “I guess you do, too?” I asked, curious why we weren’t heading to my bedroom like I’d expected.
“I do, but I want to go outside for a little.” She turned to me, walking backward. “Can we make the night last just a little longer?”
“That’s what I was planning to do,” I answered. I grabbed for her, but she slipped out of my hold and ran toward the glass doors, her giggle trailing behind her.
Stopping in my tracks, I watched her open them, then look back at me.
Moonlight shimmered in her hair, making the strands white, the pink ones almost crimson.
My breath caught as I took her in, realization dawning that every small thing Ava did made her unique.
She lived life with wide eyes and no expectations but that she would enjoy it.
She didn’t carry her past like baggage, didn’t let it bend her spine or tear her down.
To her, life was a challenge, and she ran into the danger and possibilities without recoiling.
Everything about her was so different from me, yet there were subtle similarities.
“What?” she asked, her chestnut eyes holding so much life.
In two strides, I threaded my hand through her hair and brought her lips to mine.
Whatever was happening between us, I wouldn’t run from it.
I would spread my arms wide and let it barrel through me.
Change me, own me, devour me. Because if it meant this woman was mine, if it meant her smiles were for me, her laugh echoing in the chambers of my black heart, her touches washing the stains from my body, then I would give up everything else in my life to keep her.
I recognized the sensation in my chest, the bellowing emotion that demanded I acknowledge it, but I kept it silent, kissing Ava like she was the last breath of air that would fill my lungs.
That kiss washed over every other, drowning them in a sea of oblivion to never return to my memory again. Leaving only Ava in their place.
Lips separating so slowly they seemed to cling, I rested my head against hers, moving my fingers further into her curls.
It was too soon for this to be something definitive, yet it was.
I wouldn’t voice it, and I doubted she would, but the knowledge was there in the power of that kiss, in how her hands clung to my open shirt, its buttons still on the floor of my kitchen.
Giving her forehead a kiss, I looked down at her, seeing it there. The same understanding I carried and with it, the danger of voicing that truth.
“What happens in five days, Emerson?”
A jolt of uncomfortable currents hit my chest. Five days until I traded her for my brother. Sent her home to the other side of the country to resume her life. I didn’t want to think about it and so I didn’t answer her.
“Let’s go out on the deck like you wanted.”
Her eyes flitted between mine and she gave me a quick nod before taking my hand and leading me out.
The moon was high and full, its beams lighting the beach below, its body leaving a warped mirror image on the water.
Ava leaned over the rail, her sight on the moon, but a shape on the table caught my attention.
Dropping her hand, I headed to it and picked up the notebook.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” she said as I flipped through it.
Even in the moonlight, I could see the talent on the pages.
“Should I punish you for going through my desk, or failing to tell me how talented you are?”
“I guess it depends on the punishment,” she teased.
I glanced from the sketch of a man who looked too much like me to think it was anyone else.
“I would have gotten you art supplies if you’d asked,” I told her. It bothered me that she’d gone through my drawers, but I kept the valuable information locked away and I knew her intentions had been innocent.
She gave me a shrug. “I haven’t drawn in years.”
Scrunching my brow, I asked, “Why? And why go back to school for art history when you’re this good?”
The scratching at her arm gave me insight into her vulnerable side, a side she kept hidden below confidence and a bubbly demeanor.
“The art world is competitive. I tried after school but having to sell myself, to market pieces of myself as if I was selling stolen watches on a street corner, got to me. I started working more at all those odd jobs and when Uncle Den offered me the chance to go to grad school for the fiftieth time, I took it with the goal of enjoying other people’s art. I left that part of me behind.”
“You ran away from it.” I closed the distance between us, keeping the journal in my hand. “Ava Shelton, who never runs from anything but an unhinged mob boss she thinks is going to kill her, ran.”
“I didn’t run. I just woke up. They were dreams of a little girl who wanted an escape from her cruel life. That’s all they were.”
I took her chin between my fingers. “You ran and from the looks of it,” I shook the notebook, “you decided to stop running.”
She looked away from me, and I tossed the book on the table. “You don’t run, wildcat. From anything.” Her sight shot back to me. “Remember that because it’s one of the things I…” I caught myself before the wrong word shed the locks I had on it. “…adore about you.”
Neck tipping, she studied me, and I knew she could see what I didn’t want her to.
“I want to go to the beach,” she said, surprising me with the change of subject.
“Running from the truth?” I asked.
“As much as you are,” she retorted, and I snapped my mouth shut, hating how she was calling me out, although, if I was reading her right, she was calling herself out as well.
“It’s too dark to go down to the beach.”
“Ha, are you kidding me? The ruthless boss is afraid of going to the beach at night?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” I said, stepping back from her. A small voice in the back of my head told me I was afraid of one thing now—losing her. “I’m older—”
“Pfft, that’s an excuse. You’re how old, Emerson?”
“Forty-five, Ava.”
“Okay, so that is a bit older than me. Shit, fifteen years? I thought Riley was the only one into older men. With…” Her eyes went wide, and I saw her figuring it out, surprised she hadn’t earlier.
“Wait. She told me Greyson was forty-five. How can you be the same age…unless…oh my God, you’re twins?
” I’d never seen her eyes so large, and she reminded me of one of those caricatures artists drew at the fairs our parents used to take us to.
She took my face in her hands and moved my head back and forth, inspecting me.
“You won’t find any similarities except our eyes.”
“I thought you were his older brother.”
“I am. I claim those damn five minutes.”
She laughed, still looking for some sign that what she’d discovered was true. “That’s crazy. You look nothing alike.”
It was true. Only our eyes matched. I stood an inch taller, my build broader and more muscular—although I hadn’t seen my brother in twenty-five years—my hair was black like our father’s and his brown like our mother’s.
Her hand fell, her expression shifting, her eyes growing concerned and losing the wide-eyed excitement. “How do you not speak to your brother for decades when you’re twins? Isn’t there some kind of twin bond they talk about?”