In that bittersweet kiss, I missed the younger him—the boy I never got to see grow up. I missed his smile. His eagerness. His simplicity.
I missed my childhood.
But your future is spread before you. Don’t be sad. Don’t hold onto things you cannot change.
Embracing wisdom I didn’t know I had, I licked his bottom lip. “I love you,” I breathed.
He gathered me close, pressing his forehead against mine. “I know. You were born for me, Cleo. My Sagittarius fallen straight from the stars.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The stars had seen fit to reunite us. What did that mean? That we’d paid our dues and finally deserved our happiness? Or perhaps we were just star-crossed lovers being taunted by hope.
Either way, I would fight to keep her.
I would fight to protect my future.
I would take extra pleasure reaping my revenge.
Not only did they have my sins to pay for but also what they’d done to the woman I adored.
I would show them what a monster they’d made when they’d tried to destroy me.
I would show them who would win.
—Kill
My body was boneless as the garage door slid into place¸ locking out the night sky and trapping us inside Arthur’s home.
The journey had been long, and I’d never been more grateful to climb off a bike and know I was only moments away from a hot shower and bed.
Glorious bed.
Arthur captured my face, pulling my helmet off before scooping me up behind my knees and cradling me to his chest.
I didn’t mind being picked up—in fact, my wobbly legs were grateful. “Bed, please, kind sir,” I said, smiling tiredly.
“Anything for you, my queen.” Laughing quietly, he strode toward the connecting door to his home. Somehow he managed to unlock the door, without putting me down. “I’ll run you a bath if you want?”
I shook my head. “No, a shower will do. I want to be horizontal as soon as humanly possible.”
“I thought you were horizontal only an hour or so ago on the beach.” His smirk made me giggle.
“Yes, and I’m the one who had to sit on a hot throbbing machine with stickiness between my legs. Your stickiness, I might add.”
His face battled with smugness and happiness. “It better be mine, woman.”
We laughed together as we moved down the corridor and into the foyer.
Arthur slammed to a halt.
His strong muscles gave out beneath me, plopping me roughly to my feet.
“Oh my God. What happened?!” My eyes popped wide at the mess. It looked as if a hurricane had torn through his home, decimating everything in its path.
Arthur charged into his office. “Fuck!”
I ran after him, hands slamming over my mouth at the broken computer screens, smashed glass from the large equations on the walls, and pockmarked desk. Everything was in tatters.
He shot to the wall behind the only sofa, hurling the couch away with a furious swipe. Dropping to his knees, he pressed a button and a fake wall panel slid up. I stared in amazement as he entered a long code and the safe popped open.
What in the world?
Inching closer, I caught glimpses of cash, manila folders, and a few photographs tucked against the side.
My heart raced to see the photos. Something inside demanded to see—they held clues—they held parts of my past that I desperately wanted to recall.
But before I could drift closer, Arthur slammed the safe and relocked it.
“They didn’t find what they were looking for, at least,” he growled, staring up at me from the floor. His back was bunched, face harsh and layered with darkness from the room. He looked… not so much evil but capable. A man capable of murdering anyone who trespassed on his property or tried to steal what was his.
Looking around at the mess, I asked, “What did they want?”
He climbed to his feet, shaking his head. “I don’t know.” His voice changed, losing the ease of togetherness, slipping back into the bombproof fortress he wore when I first sewed him up.
He knows.
“Don’t lie to me, Art.”
My heart stuttered at the deception. It hurt. To have him lie blatantly to my face—after everything we’d been through it was like a ten-ton piano crushing my heart while playing a mournful lullaby.
“I’m not lying, Cleo. I have suspicions, but until I talk to Wallstreet I won’t know if they’re true. I’m not going to give you things to worry about that will only clutter your brain with more nonsense.”
I took a step back. “You think my amnesia is nonsense?”
He threw up his hands. “Well, it would save us a lot of fucking time if you could just remember, wouldn’t it?!”
I blinked at his sudden temper. Where the hell had that come from? From rage at having strangers violate his home? Or the inability to protect his sanctity?
They weren’t strangers.
Whoever had done this knew him. Knew me. Knew what they were looking for—regardless if they found it or not.
Lights suddenly came on, bathing the room in golden warmth. The mess was even more apparent, with strewn paper and a mangled letter opener that’d been used to jack open the locked drawer of his desk.
It’s open.
The drawer where he kept the letter or image that he held the night I spied on him.
His vow came back, loud and clear.
“I will have my vengeance. I will find my peace. I will ruin those motherfuckers and hope to God I will be free.”
Arthur saw me looking at the drawer. His face hardened as he took a step toward me. “Cleo… don’t.”
My eyes flashed to him then back to the drawer. I knew I should respect his privacy, but at the same time…
Screw it.
I bolted to the drawer and slid to my knees as I scooped up the jumbled papers below.
“For God’s sake!” Arthur stomped closer, towering over me with his hands on his hips. “You’re so fucking eager. When will you learn to be patient?”
I didn’t look up, too busy rifling through the stack of files with columns and printed digits.
Where is it?
My heart raced to find it. I had a consuming need to know.
“Never. I don’t want to be in the dark anymore.”
Arthur squatted on his haunches, pushing me away a little to press a panel in the bottom of the drawer. He pulled a small note free from the hidey-hole. “Here. Is this what you want?”
I snatched it, letting the other papers cascade down my lap.
I didn’t care I was being rude. I didn’t care I acted a little crazy.
All I wanted to do was read—read something that meant the world to him.
It was a poem.
Kisses on my fingers. Touches full of lingers.
Your heart has stolen mine; two souls beating in time.
Yet you push me away—rejection a cruel slay.
I beg you to kiss me. Take me. Claim me.
Make me yours and put my fears at bay.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I’d always loved to write poetry. I wasn’t very good, but I found vowels and consonants a lot easier to use than division and multiplication.
Art sat frozen beside me, staring blankly at the piece of paper.
Five long minutes ticked past before his beautiful face tilted to look at mine. “You wrote this?”
I nodded, biting my lip.
He exhaled in a rush, running a hand through his long hair. “What do you want from me, Cleo?” he whispered. “You’re too young. I’m not good enough—”
“Don’t say that. You are good enough for me.”
He shook his head sadly. “I’m not. You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’m destined for. Our lives aren’t meant to be together.”
Terrible fear crushed my heart and I grabbed his hand, pressing it hard against my chest. “Feel that?”
His eyes
flared but he nodded. “Your heartbeat? Yeah, I feel it.”
“You leave me and that stops.”
Temper flashed in his gaze. “I won’t let you play silly games with me. You’ll survive without me.”
My anger met his. “No. You’ll see, Art. You’ll see that I was right and your heart beats for me. Mine, yours—they chime to the same beat. Wherever we end up in the world, whatever you do or whoever you decide to tie your life to, we’ll never be whole unless we’re one.”
I pressed his fingers harder against my heart. “It’s not stupidity or a young crush. It’s the truth. You’ll die without me. You need me as much as I need you.”
The flashback ended; a rogue tear dripped down my nose, staining the lopsided cursive on the note in my hands. “I was so cocky. So sure of us back then,” I murmured.
Arthur caught my tear, bringing the captured salt to his mouth and licking it from his fingertip. “You were. The day I was taken to prison I remembered that note. I remembered you saying I would die without you, and I swear on my life I felt I was cursed because in that moment I did die. You’d gone. Everything I’d dreamed for—our future, our love, even the quietness we’d find when doing homework together—it was all gone.”
He bowed his head. “I was dead, Cleo. That note was the only thing that made me feel alive. But now I don’t need it, because you’ve brought me back to life.” His strong fingers spread on my chest, half cupping my breast in ownership while absorbing my heartbeats below. “This is mine. Mine is yours. I get it now.”
I shivered in his hold. “Then why are you still keeping things from me?”
His jaw clenched as his green eyes locked me out. “I swear I’ll tell you. I’ve promised countless of times. I just need—”
“More time,” I finished for him, hanging my head. Smoothing the tearstained poem, I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be patient.”
The part of me that had a compulsive need to tend and nurture every creature in pain sought to comfort Art. I didn’t want him to suffer anymore. If it meant I had to be patient in order for him to deal with this upheaval, then so be it.
Call it selfless or stupid, I would give him the time he obviously needed.
In a way that makes me stronger than him. So it’s my duty to protect him.
Tucking wayward strands behind my ear, he helped me stand. “Thank you. Now let’s go to bed. I’ll deal with this shit tomorrow.” Grabbing my elbow, he guided me toward the door.
I dug my heels into the tiles. “Wait. I could never sleep now. Shouldn’t we call the police? Gather evidence—that sort of thing?”
He grinned as if I were a silly child who didn’t understand the mechanics of the world. “Police aren’t welcome here, Buttercup. Besides, there won’t be any evidence that will make sense to them. I’ll get Grasshopper and Mo to have a look—see what they can find. And you will sleep, because I’ll be beside you keeping you safe.”
I huffed, unsuccessfully hiding my frustration.
Art didn’t say anything else, just propelled me up the staircase and down the corridor. The bedrooms looked untouched.
Thank God.
I didn’t think I could sleep in a room that had been defiled by burglars.
Striding into his room, he let me go to run both hands through his hair. “Shit, I’ve got sand everywhere.” Motioning to the bathroom, he said, “We’re having a shower, then bed. I need to rest so I can figure this shit out.”
Ripping his T-shirt over his head, he unbuckled his jeans and let them fall to his ankles. With another tug, his boxer-briefs were a puddle on the carpet and he strode toward me completely naked.
Damn him to hell.
My mouth went dry and all annoyance toward him evaporated.
His muscled stomach rose and fell, hypnotizing my eyes with every breath. The etched V of his torso guided my eyes to his thickening cock; wetness rushed between my legs.
I couldn’t look away from the mermaid on his thigh, dancing with every movement.
Silently, Arthur grabbed the hem of my yellow T-shirt, tugging it over my head. Biting his bottom lip, which made him so damn sexy, he lowered my zipper and peeled the denim down my legs.
The whisper of his fingers over my skin sent flutters through my core.
Dropping in front of me, he removed my panties, then placed a kiss on the top of my pussy. It wasn’t just sexual, it was a worship—an acknowledgment of everything we’d been through and everything still to come.
Suddenly, I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand the distance or emotional void. Wrapping my arms around his head, I held him against my stomach.
He stiffened, then embraced my hips with a fierceness that almost toppled me over. His touch was painful but needed. It shouted just how much I meant to him.
His breath was hot as he exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, Cleo.”
I couldn’t speak; tears tangled my words.
Arthur squeezed me harder, nuzzling against my flat stomach, kissing the burns and shiny scars that licked my midriff. “I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice caught, his body shuddering against mine.
I hated that he kept apologizing. None of this was his fault. It didn’t make sense for him to carry so much guilt over something he had no control. And to be honest, I hated his apologies. They kept all the wrongs he’d done in the forefront of our minds. I’d already forgiven him.
I want to move forward, not backward.
I wanted to fold to my knees and hug him hard. I wanted to tell him in actions rather than words that his regret and self-hatred weren’t needed anymore.
But suddenly it was over.
His arms were gone.
His retreating back was a farewell as he disappeared into the bathroom.
He’s still hiding so much. It’s killing him inside.
Tentatively, I followed him.
I found him already standing beneath streaming water, his hands splayed on the tiled shower wall, his perfectly formed ass tense and unyielding. The muscles on either side of his spine were locked with emotions he refused to share.
Slinking into the spray, I pressed a kiss against his spine and molded my body against his. He sighed, the tension in his body dissolving droplet by droplet down the drain.
“I love you, Buttercup,” he whispered.
My heart thundered.
The first time he’d said it since this mess started unwinding.
It should’ve been a beginning.
So why does it sound like a good-bye?
“I love you, too, Art. So much.”
Silently, he turned in my arms. With green eyes blocking me from seeing his secrets, he reached for the body wash and lathered his hands. With a gentle touch, he cupped my breasts, sliding his soapy, bubbly hands down my stomach, across my hips—one scarred and one inked—and dipping to my ass.
His fingers traced my crack. A smile teased his mouth. “Better make sure there’s no sand left in there.”
I laughed quietly, allowing him to wash me in his hypnotic, slow way.
He never rushed, never demanded more. The unhurried tenderness turned my bones to molten and my heart wept in gratefulness.
Finally, once I was clean, he let me go. Throwing his head back into the spray, I bent forward and pumped a generous amount of body wash into my palms.
He jolted as I placed them on his strong, broad chest.
His jaw clenched as I returned the honor, sliding my hands beneath his arms, lathering bubbles in the slight happy trail leading to his cock.
I adored him just as he’d done me, never rushing, never demanding.
When I got to his crack, my fingers disappeared between strong muscles, and he froze. His cock jumped hot and hard against my thigh.
“Damn, Cleo. Stop.”
I shook my head, pressing my fingers farther. I’d only meant to wash this part of him free from sand, but I was drunk on touching him. Drunk on knowing he was mine. I wanted to touch him where no one else had. I wanted to give him pleas
ure.
I found his weak spot.
Art, my brawny sexy broody boy, was ticklish.
“Stop that!”
“Never!” I giggled, hooking my fingers behind his knee, where I’d somehow found out he was ticklish.
“Goddammit, Cleo. Stop!”
He jerked away, bumping both of us off the couch and onto the carpet. We rolled together, his long legs bashing into the coffee table.
The smash of a glass sounded over our struggle.
“Uh-oh. Now you’ve done it,” I said, pinning him to the floor and straddling him.
His green eyes glowed, his large hands gripping my twelve-year-old hips. “You’re gonna be in serious trouble, Buttercup.”
I knew then that he was mine.
I just had to grow some boobs to make him notice me.
“I’m already in serious trouble, Art.”
I sighed as the memory ended.
The unlocking of my past was coming faster. More and more flashbacks, which all included him. Each memory was out of sync, the timeline all messed up, the journeys and tribulations hidden until they unlocked, but I loved them all equally.
Sure, I would’ve preferred them in order, but I liked it like this. A surprise—a treat.
Arthur grabbed my wrist, jerking my fingers free and pinning my hands above my head.
In a wet glide, part from the shower and part from being wet all the time around him, he nudged my knees apart and guided his erection inside me.
The joining made us both groan, our mouths opening wide as rain fell all around us.
I was bruised. I was sore.
Yet I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
This wasn’t sex—it was an affirmation of everything we’d found and survived.
Arthur thrust possessively, rocking deep and true.
My orgasm arrived soft as a petal and just as delicate. The gentle waves giving me a release without draining my body of its last dregs of energy.
Arthur came three thrusts later, his teeth capturing my throat as he spurted inside.
No words were exchanged as we rinsed off and stepped from the spray.