“You’re ridiculous,” I told him once we were headed upward again.
“What?”
I gestured at the door. “Because you know so much about being married with kids?”
He laughed again, only it had a richer, warmer feel to it. “That’s all behind us, Six. We’re in this together now. Come what may.”
The elevator doors opened again before I could respond to that. As if I could even respond to that.
The lights were off when we walked into the apartment, but the TV was on. Frankie sat on one side of the couch, Cage on the other, Juliet sprawled out and asleep between them.
“She woke up,” Frankie explained in a whisper. “She was missing you, so I let her watch TV. Do you want me to move her?”
“Leave her there for a minute,” Sayer said. I gave him a curious look, but he ignored me. “And why don’t you crash at Gus’s tonight, Frankie.”
Her eyes bugged. “Are you serious?”
“You’ll be safe there,” he insisted. “Cage can take you over.”
“Am I not safe here?” she pushed.
Sayer kept his straight face while I died with embarrassment. “No.”
“All right,” she finally agreed. “I suppose you’re due for some… family time.”
Sayer made a humming noise. “Long overdue.”
I slapped a hand over my eyes and groaned. “Oh my God.”
Frankie laughed as she got up from the couch, careful not to disturb Juliet. “Let me grab my things.”
She disappeared into her bedroom and Cage walked over to talk to us. “Your FBI friend came up and introduced himself tonight.”
Sayer’s good mood died.
“Mason?” I asked.
Cage rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I think he thought Frankie was up here alone with Juliet.”
“Frankie?” I asked again, feeling like a parrot. “What do you mean?” A hundred possibilities spun through my head. Was Mason trying to recruit Frankie for his case? Did he want her to testify against her uncles? Did he want to use her against me? Had he hoped to get Juliet too, and use them both?
Cage finally put me out of my misery, glancing down the hall and then dropping his voice even lower. “Apparently they know each other.”
“Who?” Oh my God, could I say more than one word at a time? No. The answer was no.
“The agent and the princess.”
“Mason and Frankie?” There. Three words in one whole sentence. Boom.
Cage groaned at my obtuseness. “Yes, the FBI agent and your friend. There seemed to be… history there.”
“No.” My answer was immediate and final. “No, they don’t know each other. She knows about him from me. And he knows about her because he’s FBI. But they don’t know each other.”
Cage raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”
Irritation got the best of me and I snapped at him. “Are you playing matchmaker, Cage? I thought you didn’t believe in love and all that?”
He made a face. “Who said anything about love? I’m just saying… things were tense between them.”
Frankie’s bedroom door closed as she stepped into the hallway and we all jumped apart like we were in junior high whispering secrets about the popular girl.
“What?” Frankie asked self-consciously.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. Sometimes I was the best liar on the planet. Sometimes I was a freaking moron. “Cage was just telling us that Mason Payne stopped by for a visit.”
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “He’s so entitled. I found him highly obnoxious.”
“Thanks for sending him away,” I told her honestly.
She made a sound in the back of her throat and her lip curled. Okay, according to her facial tics, she really hated Agent Mason. “My pleasure.”
Not knowing what to make of any of it, I decided to change the subject. “Well, uh, thanks for babysitting for us.”
She stood at the door with Cage. “Did you make any progress?”
“We met Sayer’s bff, Conlan O’Donnell. You might know him as the head of the Irish mob.” Frankie’s eyes got huge and her mouth unhinged. “Oh, and we decided to kill Atticus.”
She floundered for a second, but finally managed to say, “Sounds like a productive night.”
Sayer opened the door, at the end of his patience. “Gus can fill you in.”
Cage and Frankie shared a look but thankfully didn’t make another comment. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow,” I promised Frankie, hoping she didn’t feel too bad about being banished. “We have plotting to do.”
She grinned at me. “Don’t stay up too late. You need your beauty res—”
Sayer slammed the door shut before Frankie could finish her sentence. He flicked three deadbolts, a chain and handle lock into place. I hoped they didn’t forget anything.
“Will she be okay there for a little bit?” Sayer asked as he peered over at Juliet asleep on the couch.
I nodded tentatively. “What do you have planned?”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me after him. “Bed.”
“What?”
“I’m taking you to bed,” he said, his voice pitched low and firm.
“Oh.”
His glance back at me was all wicked heat and toe-curling desire. My knees shook, and I kept myself standing by sheer force of will.
“You’re sure she’s okay out here alone?” he asked one more time when we reached the threshold of his bedroom door.
“I mean, she’s sleeping. As long as she keeps sleeping then yeah.”
He shut the door behind us. “You’re going to need to be quiet.”
I turned to face him. He had a dangerous energy that buzzed over my skin, making me nervous. “I-uh—”
His eyes sparked with fire as he moved forward, forcing me back. “It’s not going to be easy, but I have faith you can manage.”
The backs of my legs bumped against his bedframe. “Wh—”
I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence, because his mouth landed on mine and I was swept away in another round of delicious kissing. We crashed together in a lightning storm of desire and need and impatience.
He pushed me back on the bed and I wiggled to the center. He followed me, resting his weight on top of me, our legs tangling together. I stretched out, letting my entire length press against his. God, it had been such a long time since we were on an actual bed together—since before he went to prison.
My core ached with need almost instantly. His hard thigh was there to soothe, pushing against the center of me and promising so much more to come. His hands added to the maddening want building inside me. Finding my breasts under my bra, rolling and pinching my nipples until I was a gasping, panting mess.
He took his time kissing me, savoring my mouth and the taste of me. We moved together in familiar perfection. The day’s stubble scratched my skin, reminding me of how often I had enjoyed this, how the feel of him like this was enough to make me combust on the spot.
Eventually his kisses moved to my throat, his tongue gliding along my skin, his teeth scraping just enough to drive me wild. He tugged my low-cut shirt and bra down so he could kiss the tops of my breasts, getting a quick suck on my nipple before he pulled back again.
He sat up and we struggled to strip my cardigan off together. I tossed it off the bed. Impatiently, he yanked my shirt off next, throwing it behind him. My bra was quick to follow, discarded somewhere in the mess of clothes around us.
I laid back down on his bed, topless and self-conscious, my hair spread everywhere. He loomed over me, sitting back on his knees to take a long look. He sucked in a sharp breath and I watched his eyes darken with lust.
His hand reached out, tracing the swell of my breast with one shaky finger. “So goddamn beautiful.”
“Sayer,” I begged, pleaded.
My voice broke the spell and his hungry gaze met mine again. I tugged on the hem of his shirt and he quickly
unbuttoned it. His wrists got trapped in the cuffs for an unbearable second before he managed to free himself.
He was over me again, his hot, hard chest making me shiver as he lowered himself. We kissed again and again and again. Neither of us in a hurry to get through this. This was all about taking our time, enjoying every second, every sensation.
When his kisses moved lower they didn’t stop this time. He pulled my leggings off, and then my underwear, burying his face between my legs. I clung to the sheets as he feasted on me. The pressure built slowly, gradually, a sweet torture that spread through every limb, a fire burning so hot it consumed me.
By the time he’d pulled a delicious orgasm from me, my head was thrashing back and forth, and my moans were anything but quiet.
Reluctantly, I relaxed my thighs from the vise grip I had on his head and he looked up at me all male satisfaction and unquenched need. “Missed that,” he murmured.
“God, me too,” I panted breathlessly.
His dark chuckle curled over my skin, spiraling desire through me all over again. His eyes blazed, revealing the identical inferno inside him. He splayed his hand over my belly, staring at it in wonder for a long moment, before crawling back to his knees.
While I tried to stop my head from spinning, he divested himself of his jeans and pushed inside me. I gasped at the feel of him, stretching me, pushing me, chasing me toward another blissful ending. My hands landed on his shoulder blades and even though I was lying down I had to hold onto him to steady myself.
He thrust into me deeper, and deeper, and deeper. There was nothing outside of the bed, nothing outside of his body inside mine. I was reduced to desire and the greedy need to have more of him—all of him.
His impossibly strong arms were braced around my head, biceps bulging as he supported himself. God, the sight of him over me was enough to satisfy my fantasies for the next hundred years. He was a sculpture, carved perfectly to show off the male form. He was a fallen angel, pieced together by heaven itself. He was beautiful and broken and mine.
“More,” I gasped. “God, Sayer, more.”
He obliged, driving into me until every muscle in my body tightened and pulsed and eventually gave way to a blinding explosion. We came together in a cataclysmic finale that I was surprised didn’t shake the entire apartment building. His head dipped low and our cheeks pressed together as we eased out of the intense moment together.
When it was over, he collapsed beside me, nestling his face against my neck and throwing his arm over my middle. We caught our breath like that and I cherished every second of his warmth and raw strength, of having his naked body tight against mine, of rescuing this rare thing I had thought was lost forever.
He lifted his head and gave me his full attention again. “I love you, Caroline. I’ve never stopped. I will never stop.”
I had been waiting for those words for years, since the moment I decided to leave him. I’d been empty for five years without them. I’d been lost and hopeless and not myself. And even though he’d said them already, even though he’d already healed the painful ache and forgiven the worst of my sins, I was wholly unprepared for the force of them now, the whole-body devastation that washed over me, crumbling whatever walls and resistance and fear I had left.
There were moments between us where I knew I would never know the real truth, that some of his secrets would always and forever be sealed. But this… this I knew to be the complete and utter truth.
He did love me. He had always loved me. He would always love me.
Tears fell from the corners of my eyes, landing in my wild hair. “I love you too. I always have, Sayer. And I always, always will.”
We stayed like that for an eternal moment, long enough to turn our words into an oath, our bodies into a covenant. When at last we pulled apart to clean up and change the sheets, my entire body felt different—physically, emotionally… everything. He’d come back into my life like a hurricane. He’d utterly annihilated everything I thought to be true about him or this world or my future. And then he’d somehow put me back together.
It hadn’t been gentle or soft or considerate. But here I was, standing on the other side, a stronger, better, whole girl. And despite our current insanity, I also had a clear vision of our future. Together. As a family. Away from this hell and in a version of heaven that only we could carve out.
When we crawled back into bed together, I curled into the nook he made under his arm for me, and had to close my eyes at the sweetness of it. “We need to start using protection,” I said before I fell asleep. “Or I’m going to end up pregnant again.” It was one of those things I hadn’t had to think about in five years. But forgetting about it was unacceptable at this point.
He rolled over, pulling my back to his chest, spooning me the way we used to. His lips disappeared in my hair and I felt him breathe against my shoulder blade. “I don’t see the problem,” he murmured.
“Yeah, right,” I laughed. He was obviously joking.
Before sleep took hold, I had the fleeting thought to double check that he was kidding. Emotional and physical exhaustion took over and I was lulled in deep by the heat at my back and the worshipful way Sayer held me against him.
Chapter Eighteen
Sayer
Five Years Ago
Caro moved around my apartment like she lived here. I watched her from the island, wondering if this was the moment to pull out the ring I’d been hiding for over a year.
It wasn’t anything special, a thin platinum band with an inscription on the inside. It was meant to be simple, understated… indestructible. I had picked it with care.
Sure, I could have bought huge diamonds that showed off our wealth and our status, but that wasn’t the point of a wedding ring—it wasn’t the point of marriage.
Love wasn’t meant to be expensive and flashy. Love was soul deep and simple. I wanted a ring that lasted forever. I wanted Caro to put her ring on and feel comfort, home. I wanted her to know that she could buy whatever she wanted in this world, but this ring was set apart, unlike anything else she owned.
She had plenty of glittery jewelry and designer clothes and all the material possessions she could possibly want. I didn’t want this ring to be another thing. I didn’t want it to be one more accessory. It was different. We were different. I’d taken a risk and bought the band I thought she would be proud to wear for the rest of her life.
My fingers burned as I decided whether or not this was the right time. She was humming to herself as she made a sandwich and cleaned up the kitchen as she went. She wore a ripped-up sweatshirt that had cutouts where I could see her silky skin underneath and workout pants that hugged every inch of her, forming to her body in a way that left little to the imagination. Not that I needed to imagine what was under them. I was very well acquainted with her small, tight body. Her hair was pulled back in the way she wore it when she worked out, and she was totally makeup free. She had never been more beautiful.
She bounced on her heels and groaned. “That class murdered my legs. I’m not going to be able to walk straight for a week.”
“What class was it?”
She pulled a Cherry Coke out of the refrigerator and I resisted the urge to remind her that she gave up pop yesterday. “It’s like a boot camp thing. I think the goal is to make us cry.” She glanced at me with a playful smile. “Or puke.”
I frowned, hating the idea of her in that much physical pain. “Whose idea was this?”
“Frankie’s,” she said. “Who else? That girl’s trying to exercise herself to death I think. She’s up to like two or three classes a day. I can’t keep up with her.”
“Two or three classes a day? What for?”
She paused across the island from me, deep in thought. “I don’t know actually. She’s literally always working out though. She’s constantly off to the gym.”
“Is she in really good shape?”
Again, she thought about it long enough that I started to doubt Frank
ie’s entire gym alibi. “She’s in better shape for sure. I think part of the problem is she’s not eating better. Last night she ate an entire pint of coffee ice cream.”
I must have made a face because she laughed at me. “It’s not that bad! If we’re going to continue this relationship, I really need you to get on board with coffee. I can’t see myself spending the rest of my life with somebody who hates something so good.”
The itch to propose swelled to a fever pitch. I knew she didn’t mean anything by it, that she was just teasing me, but I couldn’t ignore the burning need to make our relationship permanent, to tie her to me legally for the rest of our lives.
That was the last and final step. We were bound together already by love, by our souls, by the brotherhood. But this final step felt unbearably important.
“What are your plans today?” I asked her, already coming up with ways to make this proposal happen. I could take her out tonight, to one of her favorite restaurants. Afterward, we could walk around the Washington Memorial. The cherry blossom trees were in bloom. I’d get down on one knee beneath one.
Or I could cook dinner for her here. She could stay in the clothes she was already wearing. I’d simply slide the ring across the counter and wait for her answer. Then I’d slip it onto her finger and take her right here, on the floor of my kitchen.
My heart pounded double-time in my chest, my adrenaline rushing with anticipation. My wife. The words echoed through my head, beating a victory drum in time with my heart.
She shrugged. “I should go home and shower,” she said. “I don’t have anything clean here.”
How was that possible? How was it possible she still had her own place?
Marriage would fix that. She wouldn’t have an excuse to live with Frankie anymore. She’d have to move in.
“You can wear something of mine,” I suggested, hating the idea of her leaving.
Her head tipped back, and she laughed. “Nothing you have even comes close to fitting me. And what am I going to do about underwear? “
She shouldn’t have said that… now I had one thought on my mind and it didn’t involve her wearing any clothes, clean or not. “Don’t wear any.”