Chapter Twenty-seven
S he sits with her hands in her lap, fingers playing with a stray thread on one of the rips in her jeans.
She’s been skirting around me all morning, pretending the near kiss the night before never happened.
I can’t forget, though, not when the mere brush of her pillowy lips is enough to leave me craving more.
There’s no way to pretend there isn’t some invisible tether between us.
I pull up to her house and park the Porsche at the end of her path, looking toward the vacant house. Lily is with my brother and Savannah while we gather up Sloane’s belongings to move over to my place.
“Can I have your keys?” I ask her.
“What for?” She pauses with her hand on the door handle.
“You need to wait here so I can check that it’s clear.”
Her eyes widen, “Clear!?”
“I told you,” I hold my hand out, “I won’t take risks with your safety. Keys?”
She blinks a few times before she reaches into her purse and pulls out a set with at least a dozen keys on it. Quietly, she separates the keys I’ll need to unlock her door.
“This is the top lock,” She shows me the key and then moves to the next, “The middle, and then this will do the lock on the bottom,” She shows me the last key.
I take them from her, “I’ll be right back, okay? Lock the car behind me.”
“What if it isn’t safe inside?” She whispers.
“Then you get behind the wheel and you drive, you hear me? Go straight to Savannah; my brother will be able to keep you safe.”
“What about you?” She grabs my arm as I move to get out of the car. “Dean, what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me, Butterfly,” I tell her softly, covering her hand only to uncurl her fingers from my arm, “You go, and you leave me.”
Her head shakes frantically, fear stamped all over her, but I get out and close the door behind me. Bending a little, I catch her eye through the window, gesturing toward the button for the central locking. A lone tear slips out of the corner of her eye, and something inside my chest cracks.
Whoever hurt this woman is going to pay. There is nothing that will be able to stop me from ripping them apart.
“Lock it,” I mouth to her.
With a hard swallow, she does as she is told, and I hear the locks engage; only then do I head up to the house.
It doesn’t look like anyone has been here, but that means nothing.
I’ve worked with men before who can get into a place without ever unlocking the door or breaking a window.
They’re quick, stealthy, and able to hide until the last second. You never see them coming.
As quietly as I can, I insert the first key and then the next, listening the best I can for sounds on the other side, but I hear nothing out of the ordinary.
I insert the final key, the bolt clicking back, and press down on the handle.
The lack of use of both arms gives me a disadvantage, but I’ve had worse odds.
Shoving the door open all the way, I pull the gun from my waistband and step inside, kicking the door closed behind me.
Loaded and ready, I go room to room, checking every closet, every space big enough to hide someone, keeping my steps light and agile.
With the downstairs clear, I take the stairs slowly, one at a time, keeping my breaths light and soundless.
I scan the hallway, finding only dust mites swirling in the stale air as a beam of sunlight flows in through a window at the top of the stairs.
I go to the bathroom first, checking every possible spot before I head to the bedroom, taking my time to ensure it’s safe before Sloane comes in here.
Downstairs, I hear the door open and spin, pressing myself to the wall. The house must be being watched; there’s no one in here, but they could have been waiting outside. Whoever it is, they’re sloppy and loud, not even masking their steps.
It figures; Richard can’t afford the elite.
Stepping back out of the bedroom, I quickly make my way to the wall at the top of the stairs, using it to conceal myself as whoever it is keeps rummaging around downstairs.
I peer down at them, keeping my cover, trying to catch a glimpse, but the layout makes it impossible.
I press my spine back to the wall just as they round the corner, their steps echoing through the quiet house.
They come slowly, taking each step one at a time, and when they’re close enough to reach, I lunge and have them pinned to the wall in the next second.
Sloane’s wide eyes meet mine, her lips parted and breaths coming in rough, heavy pants.
“Sloane!?” I hiss, loosening my grip on her, but I keep her pressed to the wall. “What the fuck are you doing!?”
“You — you were taking too long,” She whispers with a shake, “I didn’t — I couldn’t leave you.”
“Fuck, Butterfly,” I press my brow to hers as I realize the type of courage it took for her to come inside.
My hand slides to her neck, cupping the edge of her throat.
Her eyes search mine, her fear and anxiety written all over her face, but slowly, surely, she relaxes a little in my hold, like she’s starting to truly believe I can keep her safe.
“The house is clear,” I rasp, my own instincts loosening their grip on me, only to be replaced by the feel of her body pressed to mine. Her eyes drop to my mouth, and she wets her lips with a swallow.
“Okay,” She replies softly.
“We should get you packed,” I say it out loud, as if to convince myself.
“Yeah,” She agrees, but neither of us make a move to do that.
I curl my hand around to the nape of her neck, her hair like silk as it moves over my hand, the smell of her, like lemons and sugar, wrapping me up and making my damn mouth water. She tips her head back as she slips her own hands up the front of my shirt.
I should stop this and check it’s what she wants. It’s been hot and cold, a tightrope, and I don’t want her to regret anything. But fuck, I want to taste her. I want to slip my tongue between her lips, hold her face as I steal her breath to fill my own lungs.
Leaning in, I wait, and I wait, closing the small gap as slowly as I can, keeping her stare until the tip of my nose brushes hers.
She doesn’t pull away, her eyes falling half closed so tentatively, I brush her lips with mine.
A testing touch, as light as a feather, and when she leans in for more, I pull her tighter to me, tipping her head back a little more to slant my mouth over hers.
Her whole body melts.
Running my tongue along the seam of her lips, I test and wait to see if she’ll open for me and give me the taste I’m craving.
And when she opens for me, I don’t waste a single second, and that first taste, it almost brings me to my knees. My fingers curl against the nape of her neck, holding her to me, and I take. She matches my desperation, fingers curling into my shirt to hold me to her, and when she whimpers…
Fuck.
My cock hardens to the point of fucking pain. I know she can feel it; it’ll be hard for her not to when it’s pressing to the soft swell of her stomach. I am desperate, damn right feral for her. My heart pounds, and my palms are clammy. I want her.
I break away from the kiss only to pepper kisses along her jaw, down her throat, grinning against her skin when she tilts her face to the side to allow me access. My teeth scrape over her fluttering pulse, feeling the way she’s reacting to me by the way her blood pumps furiously through her veins.
“Let me have you,” I rasp against her skin, “Let me keep you.”
“Dean,” She moans when my mouth reaches her clavicle, my teeth grazing.
“Come on, Butterfly,” My hand finally leaves her neck to smooth down over her shoulder, over the mound of her breast to her waist, “Look how good we are together.”
I skirt my hand down more, to the flare of her wide hips, down to her thigh, and then I bend a little to grasp her behind her knee, bringing her leg up to hook it at my hip.
I grind forward, the barrier of our clothes making my skin itch.
She gasps as I push my hips into the center of her, letting her feel just how fucking desperate I am.
Her nails bite against the muscles in my abdomen.
I bring my mouth back to hers, running my tongue along her bottom lip. “It’s just you and me, pretty girl.”
The moment the words are out, she stiffens; her mouth stops moving, her body stops reacting. I pull away, a frown pulling at my brows as I watch her. She begins to shake as she frantically pushes me away.
“Sloane,” I allow her to put space between us, watching as the walls go back up, brick by armored brick. She wraps her arms around herself.
My courageous girl, my fucking brave butterfly…
“Don’t say that,” Her voice comes out croaky, rough.
I scramble to try and figure out what it is that set her off. We were fine, we were there…
It’s just you and me.
She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and her breathing is rushed, too quick. She’s on the verge of another attack.
“Sloane,” I close the gap again, reaching for her but she flinches. My chest cracks, clean in half, but I don’t stop. “You’re okay.”
“He said…” She sucks in a sharp breath.
“ He is not here.” I assure her, “ He will never be here, never be near you.”
I take her trembling hand and bring it to my chest. “Feel it.”
Her lashes flutter wildly as she captures and clings to my eyes with her own, “Feel my heart, Sloane. You feel it?”
“Yes,” She whispers.
“Good,” I praise as I draw her hand from my chest and coax it toward hers, “Do you feel yours?”
“Yes,” She hiccups.
“You know what that means, Sloane?”
Her head shakes, “No.”
“It means you survived.” I cover her hand, flattening her palm on her chest. “It means you won. It means you are not there; you are right here . You survived.”
“I survived.” She pushes out a deep breath.
“And you get to live. ”