Chapter 21 Kaye
KAYE
Apollo coos from his perch on my lap and I scratch the soft fur between his ears.
Sitting on this large, soft bed in safety and comfort, it’s hard not to doubt everything I thought I knew before.
How could the laughing maniac from my nightmares be the man who cared enough to reunite me with my beautiful boy?
The one who has lit my sense on fire, and touched me like I am the object of his every desire.
There’s a knock on my door. Apollo leaps away with an air of agitation until he sees who it is.
He entwines himself around Zane’s legs like some kind of furry bear trap, all teeth and claws, playful nips.
He reaches down to rub Apollo’s belly and is rewarded with a kiss and a bite, in that order.
Wouldn’t want anyone to forget that he’s a pint-sized killing machine.
Zane looks up at me, a cool flicker behind his eyes. “This is probably the biggest mistake I have ever made and will ever make.”
“Says the man who invited his arch nemesis to move in with him.” I grin.
“This is different. It’s the last safe place I have to hide my family.”
His eyes lock onto mine and I see the fear. It doesn’t matter that I would never do anything that put George or her parents in harm’s way. He’ll do anything to protect his family.
I can make you forget. After all we’ve been through, I don’t doubt he’s still capable of making good on that threat. The worst part is I understand.
I shiver, wrapping an arm around myself. “We don’t have to do this, Zane.”
He shakes his head. “I need your help.”
“You could blindfold me,” I blurt out. And God, if that doesn’t sound sinful. My other sense alight and alive with his touch roaming my skin.
“You’d let me do that?”
I laugh. “Maybe more than once, if you play your cards right.”
I try not to think about how good he looks with that amused quirk of an eyebrow as I look for the most opaque scarf in my meager closet. His fingers graze mine as he takes it from my grasp. Warmth tingles through my core.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” His voice has taken on that velvety texture I know so well.
“You’re going to talk me out of it if you keep saying that.”
“Tell me if at any point you’re uncomfortable or change your mind. We can figure something else out.”
I nod, and he moves behind me. His fingertips tease the skin at my temples as he brushes the hair off my face, gathering it between my shoulder blades and leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
The soft fabric of the scarf drapes over my eyes, resting lightly on the bridge of my nose.
He pulls the knot tight, the movement gentle and controlled despite the hitch it causes in my breath.
“Is that okay?” His breath is warm across my ear. I don’t know how to process the delicious texture of it. How it seems to vibrate something sheathed within the hard casing of my bones.
“Yes.” Warmth spreads across my cheekbones.
“I’ve got you, Kaye.” Zane’s hands are solid and certain as they run down my arms. “I won’t let you fall.”
He leads me slowly and carefully into his sacred space, a place I have imagined only in dreams. I stumble once or twice, but true to his word he doesn’t let me fall.
“These stairs are narrow and steep.” His voice echoes around me, the sound bouncing in from the tightness of the walls. When did that happen? Even the air smells different now. A dry stagnancy, and something muskier. Headier. “Do you mind if I carry you?”
I swallow, that nameless fragrance stale on my tongue, and shake my head.
He guides my hands to his shoulders. Through my lack of sight, I get to savor him in new ways.
The brush of hair at the nape of his neck against the glide of my fingertips.
The taut muscles beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.
Just under his jaw, his pulse thrums with life, picking up a faster tempo under my touch.
The I’m in his arms. The tips of my toes drag ever so slightly against a wall, and I’m thankful I picked out a pair of sturdy boots to wear instead of the softer sneakers I often choose.
His arms are warm and steady where they curve around my waist and under my knees.
I inhale the scent of him with every breath.
Soap and sandalwood, something a little spicy hiding in the undertones.
“What are you thinking?” The way he asks it makes me think that surely he must know. That the great mind-melder of New Malcolm is playing tricks again, but this time I know how to play them and win.
“You smell good.” I quirk an eyebrow he has no way of seeing. “It’s not what I expected.”
“I’m going to try not to take that as an insult.”
“Before I came here, I was sure that if you smelled of anything it would be something dangerous. Like vetiver or anise.” I chuckle. “Or maybe something sweet to entice you in before swallowing you whole.”
“And now?”
It’s subtler, but no less enticing. I could still feel myself sinking into it, but it would be a willing kind of consumption. Not something that drowns you. It holds you just long enough to appreciate the notes.
Zane’s footfalls become even and the echo from cloistered walls fall away, and he doesn’t ask again. My perspective dips as he gently helps my feet connect to the ground. A chill races across my back. It’s already colder without his heat radiating around me.
Our fingers tangle in the air, each of us reaching for the knotted cloth. His skin is dry, warmer than mine. I feel something inside me rising to meet that temperature. I drop my hands to my sides, worried that they will spark.
“Allow me.”
The fabric falls away. I’m not sure what I expected Charade’s lair to look like. Somewhere cramped, lots of red and black. A dungeon full of leather and chains and stone, but not this.
It’s massive, for one thing, spanning what looks like the entire floor plan of the original house.
And while stone is a decorative feature, the intricate patterns of the manor’s deep cobblestone foundation making up the periphery and some of the inner walls, it’s modern.
Impeccably clean. The kind of place spiders and insects shrink from, their presence far too noticeable under the vibrant white lights.
Heat radiates from somewhere within, sinking through the pads of my feet.
The first space we walk into is designed more like an open concept living area.
Bookcases converge into a wide L, a burgundy rug with delicate black, cream, and gold designs covers the floor.
A coffee table doubles as a desk in front of a worn, but comfortable-looking couch.
The scent of cleaning products permeates the air, stinging my nose with its astringency.
“I’ve spent a few nights down here,” Zane says from his position somewhere behind me.
He seems content to let me soak in this piece of him without interference, yet I find myself turning to gage his reaction to every new tidbit I find.
An open textbook beginning to gather small feathers of dust on its pages.
A trunk full of bed wear. A picture frame containing a now-familiar face. Moira.
I trail my fingers over the glass. Moira, whose loss helped spark Zane’s quest for vengeance and started us on this clandestine path.
She was beautiful. Bright. Where would Zane be today if they had never gone to that office building?
Certainly not here with me. I can’t quite bring myself to regret that.
I hate that the world lost someone so good, but I’m grateful for where that road has led us.
Cool fingers entwine in mine. It’s not fear coursing through my veins anymore, but something far more powerful and infinitely more dangerous.
The urge to press my lips against his has never been so insistent.
I look up at him, at those impossible eyes, the beautiful, angular face that sculptors might dream about. Lips that devour me, body and soul.
It’s all I can think about. How he shattered me repeatedly again last night, offering mind-blowing orgasm after mind-blowing orgasm without asking for release in return.
The man must have the patience of a saint.
I, however, do not. I’ve made it clear how much I want him, but I’m unwilling to push him into anything he might not want to do.
We are both learning to trust, and whatever happens next will have to come in its own time.
We walk on, the walls falling away to a massive space supported under beams of steel. Rows of tools and equipment make wide stripes of shining industrial cleanliness against the more natural texture of the floor.
I hate that Zane was down here fighting for his life even as it bled out around him. For love. For revenge. He made it through on sheer will and determination alone, and then I stood in his way every other time it really mattered.
“What are you thinking?”
My eyes dart to him. “Us, here together as… I don’t even know what exactly anymore. Allies, at the very least. It’s—”
“Surreal,” he offers.
“—a miracle.” I finish in the same moment. Our eyes meet, and it’s one of those moments that can’t pass without laughter.
I move toward him, focused on his gorgeous smile, and laughter is the last thing on my mind. I feel him lean in, a sensation of increased warmth and charged electrons floating between us. He’s strong and intelligent, sexy as hell—and God help me, but I believe him when he says that he’s good.
His thumb ghosting across my cheek is a lurching trail of heaven.
Gentle. Sultry. I close my eyes to better savor the sensation.
His other arm wraps around my torso, curling around the contours of my lower back before dropping to rest against my hip.
The air heats as the space between us shrinks. His breath brushes over my skin.