Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (29 page)

“How does this make you feel?” He unfastens the eye hook, grabs a hold of the zipper, and slowly starts to pull it down.

“I don’t know.” I’m feeling so many things, it’s hard to pinpoint one specific emotion.

He stops moving his hands. “Tell me.”

I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to keep me in the present, here with him, by talking.

“Nervous.” My hands are shaking, and I will them to stop.

“In a good way or bad?” The warmth of his breath brushes across my ear.

“Bad,” I whisper.

He pauses.

“Well, that just won’t do.” He pulls the zipper to the bottom and cold air finds its way between us. Clutching the dress to my front, one of his fingers starts at the base of my neck and runs over the bumps of my spinal cord. My body likes this and goosebumps chase after him. He hums with approval.

Nuzzling his face, which is slightly rough, against my neck, he kisses me under my ear.

Oh my God. His mouth is on me.

Instantly, the ghosts disappear. It’s not lost on me that all it took from him to release me from the roots of fear is just one kiss. One kiss to make them wither up and die.

Sinking into him, he molds himself to my back and runs his hands down my arms.

Time slows, and I memorize every detail. The feel of the fabric of his shirt, the press of the buttons into my skin, the softness of his hair against my cheek, the size of his warm hands as they run across my skin affectionately, and his smell. He smells so good.

Eventually, he pulls back. The warmth is immediately gone and my back chills. His hands drift under the fabric of my dress, and around to my stomach. I release my hold on it, and it slips off my body and pools at our feet. Wrapping both arms around me, he pulls me back against him so my head falls to his shoulder, and he hugs me tightly.

“Avery, relax.” There’s a gentle command in his words. I didn’t realize I was still so tense, and I let out a sigh to release it.

One of his hands can stretch almost the entire width of my stomach and as he begins to move them, I decide his hands are one of my most favorite things about him. They move across my stomach, up over my breasts, back and forth across my collarbone, down my sides, over my hips, and up the insides of my thighs.

Time stops.

Over and over, he repeats the pattern.

He’s loving me with his hands; he knows this is what I need. He’s replacing old memories with new ones. New ones with him.

Turning around, my breath catches at how incredibly sexy he looks. His dark hair is sticking up, the blue in his eyes has darkened, his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are wet. Needing to see more of him, I start to undress him by unclasping his suspenders, pulling the dress shirt from his pants, and unbuttoning it.

He doesn’t move. He just watches me.

Pushing the shirt onto the floor, my eyes catch his as I pull the white undershirt up and off too.

Ash is so handsome. The muscles, the lines, the dips, his skin, his coloring . . . he’s flawless.

Reaching up, my hand falls to the middle of his chest. His skin feels like it’s burning, and I love it. Deliberately, I drag my hand down the front of him and he trembles just before catching it with one of his. He moves my hand back up and wraps it around his neck, using his other to pull me in closer.

No words are said. But as his eyes lock onto my mouth, and he licks his lips, I feel as if that one move speaks volumes.

Leaning forward, he captures my mouth with his, and I’ve died and gone to heaven.

When Ash kisses me, I feel like I’m the only girl in the whole world he’s ever kissed. He’s shown me a tender side, and he’s also shown me desire. But right here, right now, he’s on fire. There’s a hunger to this kiss that leaves no question for how he feels about me.

His arm has completely banded around my waist, keeping us so close. His heart is pounding through his chest and into mine, and his other hand has wrapped around my head and into my hair, giving him the ability to position me any way he wants to . . . and he is. He’s taking what he wants, and what he wants is me.

Moving my head back, he exposes my throat, and drags his mouth across my skin, tasting me as he goes. Both of us are breathing hard, and both of us are completely caught up in the moment.

“God, I could do that all night with you, but pizza’s here,” he gasps into my skin.

“What?” I freeze. “When did you order that?” And how does he know?

“I didn’t. I texted John downstairs when we came in, and he ordered it for us. Makes getting food deliveries easier.” He steps back from me, leaving his hands on my hips.

No! Stay close.

The doorbell rings; I must have missed it the first time.

“Help yourself to the closet. You should be able to find some clothes in there.” His eyes drop and run over the length of me. “Or don’t,” he says grinning at me.

Leaning forward he kisses me on the forehead and then turns for the front door.

My eyes trail him as he goes, and my heart trips in my chest. The muscles in his back move gracefully as his arms swing by his side, and the dips that fall below his waist peek out as his pants have dropped to sit low on his hips. He’s not just hot, or handsome, or gorgeous, he’s something all on his own. To me . . . he’s beyond words.

I DIDN’T MEAN to get so carried away with her tonight in my room, but having her nearly naked and being allowed to freely run my hands all over her gorgeous body, there was no stopping it. And had the doorbell not rung, I’m certain that tonight would have ended very differently. In hindsight though, I’m glad we were interrupted.

After we ate the pizza, we curled up on the couch and turned the TV on. The emotions of the evening finally caught up to her, all the adrenaline wore off—from the incident and me—and she crashed. Within minutes, her head was on my lap and she was asleep with me running my fingers through her hair.

The straight hair throws me off, but just a little bit. Now the eyes, that’s different, and relief settled in when she came out of my room and I saw they were blue again. She’d chucked the contacts, thank God.

At midnight, I scoop her up into my arms and move her to my bed. Needing a little more time to unwind, I wander back to the living room. At twelve fifteen, there’s a knock on the door. Only two people come to my door, John from downstairs and Clay.

Sure enough, as I open the door, there’s Clay, together with Emma, both still dressed in evening attire.

“Hey, guys. Come in.” I push the door wider and Clay leads her in by the hand. They walk into the living room and sit on the couch in the exact spot Avery and I had just occupied. Whiskey climbs up next to Clay, and he chuckles as he pushes him back down to the floor. “Want anything to drink?” I ask.

“Nah, we’re good,” Clay says, wrapping his arm around Emma’s shoulders. Emma’s looking around, just like Avery did. I suppose it can be a little overwhelming to someone who hasn’t been here. With the addition, the space is right around five thousand square feet.

I move to sit across from them in a big chair, and Emma looks at me.

“How is she?” she picks up a piece of her skirt and starts worrying it between her fingers.

“I think she’s okay. She ate pizza, laughed a few times, and then went to bed.” My bed, where I plan on going very shortly.

She lets out a deep sigh and relaxes into Clay’s side. “Oh, thank God. I was so upset, and I’ve been on pins and needles to get out of that place and over here.”

“What took so long?” I look back and forth between the two of them.

“Cora and I still had to take the pictures with the patrons who paid, we were stopped by a few journalist, you know . . . it’s never as easy as you want it to be.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Being delayed at functions is pretty much guaranteed.

“Will, I want you to know she’s been different over the last month, and I know it’s because of you. She hasn’t talked about you, but it’s you. It’s like she’s happier, looser, and maybe even brighter. People like her have a tendency to have this sort of black cloud that follows them around. I don’t know, but I think the cloud is shrinking. So, thank you.” She blinks at me a few times and then smiles.

Silence fills the room as I let her words sink in. I know I should take the compliment, but instead I feel slightly agitated. The two of them watch me as I bend over and pet Whiskey’s head.

“What do you mean, ‘people like her’?” I pin Emma with a slightly hostile look. Clay uncrosses his legs and then crosses them on the other side. He sees my mood shift.

Emma’s eyes widen a little. “Just people who’ve experienced what she has. Has she told you about it?”

“No, but I’ve never asked.” Never really felt like I could. Maybe it’s time.

“How did you know what to do with her tonight?” Her brows furrow as she tilts her head to look at me.

“That’s not the first panic attack I’ve seen her have,” I say leaning back in the chair. Whiskey readjusts himself and curls up at my feet.

“Really? I haven’t seen her have one in a really long time.” Her hands stop moving, she’s surprised.

I give her a small smile and decide not to divulge. If Avery didn’t tell her, then it’s none of her business, but on the flip side, it’s not going to prevent me from asking questions.

“How long has she been this way?” I ask her.

“As long as I’ve known her. So, seven years now.” She starts messing with her dress again, and Clay’s fingers begin to move over her shoulder. She settles.

“The person who did this, did she know him?” I’ve thought a lot about what she might have gone through, granted I don’t know the details yet, but I’ve been stuck on wondering if this was personal or not. Seems to me that would somehow change the victimization of all this.

“Yeah, he was her boyfriend.” She looks away from me and frowns as some memory comes to mind.

Personal.

Shit.

“You’re kidding.” My hands clench into fists and I feel Clay watching me. I understand there are some people out there who want what they can’t have, and tragic inexcusable things happen. But her boyfriend? The person who is supposed to love her? That makes this domestic violence. I will never understand how anyone could physically hurt her—she’s so perfect.

“Nope, and they were together for a long time too. What happened to her wasn’t a one-time thing; it was a long-time thing.”

My jaw tenses and I swallow to try and push down the fury I feel at this moment. “Tell me.”

“You have to understand, Avery's always been beautiful. For as long as I've known her, whenever she walks into a room, guys literally stop what they are doing and just stare at her. They don't just stare at her because she's beautiful, no, there's always a look in their eyes that says, ‘more.’ She's viewed as a beautiful object, a trophy, something to own and show off, instead of the kind, loyal, amazing person she is. In the end, that's what the asshole thought of her and he tried his hardest to make her. He wanted to possess her, and each time she didn't do, dress, or say exactly what he wanted, he got a little angrier.”

Angry doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling. Sweat breaks out across my back.

“When they were in public, he would stand behind her, and squeeze her arms or the back of her neck, bruising her, and then later on he would laugh at the marks and tell her it's her own fault.”

“Jesus.” Her reaction to my hand on her neck at the airport flashes through my mind. Dread and pain slip in under my skin.

“Yeah, I know.” Emma pinches her lips together. “But what makes all of this so much worse is that she loved and trusted him.”

No wonder her take on trust is earned, not given.

She told me tonight she trusts me, and knowing what I do now, this trust means so much more. I need them to leave soon so I can climb into bed with her, and wrap her up in my arms.

“I know what you’re thinking—why did she stay with him?” She’s studying me.

“Actually, I was thinking how I could find this guy and end him,” I grit out through my teeth and glance at Clay. He’s tense like I am.

“He wasn’t always mean to her, but the last time was just . . .” She frowns.