CHERISH (60 page)

I swallow deep, making sure he knows it’s what I want to do.

“Beautiful.” His lips are on mine.

He’s kissing me even as his flavor still runs in my mouth, and he is utterly shameless, making me want him more.

I’m spinning as our kiss ignites, realizing everything that has happened—from the moment I turned that corner in front of the building and ran into that stink of a man . . . to being in Beckett's bed, feeling him enter me . . . and then, now, having him pull us together, enveloping me in some raw possessive power that I both want to run from and never leave.

“Now, you really are mine. You know that, don’t you?” That crooked, sexy smile is back as he pulls me up into him, standing for us both, and deep in my soul, I answer in the affirmative because there really is no other possibility at this moment.

I belong to him, and it’s beyond the depth of any emotion I’ve ever felt with another human being.

Before I can speak, he’s turned the water off and spins me in a towel. He’s got me dried and tucked in beside him, naked and warm under the covers of his bed, his lips on my forehead and arms locked around me like armor. His body is the pinnacle of masculine presence as I trace my fingers down his collarbone, over the planes and angles of a chest so smooth and hard, it creates a new sensation of texture I’ve never imagined.

“Are you okay? And I don’t want a quick answer. I want to
know
, Promise.
Are. You. Okay
? Because this is the beginning. Do you get that? This isn’t a singular event. It’s a door, and we are in a new place now. You and me, together.”

I can feel how much he really wants to know how I am. My default has always been silence or at best a nod or a single word. With him, I feel the sentences form. Paragraphs and thoughts want to tumble out and be received, because I sense he not only wants this from me, he needs it.

“I’m . . .” I take a second because I honestly want to give him an answer that feeds his need to know. “I’m exhausted and exhilarated. I’m horrified and at peace. Does that make any sense? I’m so many things that shouldn’t exist together in the same moment. I want to get dressed and leave and pretend this didn’t happen, and I’m helpless to move away from you.”

He doesn’t just listen to me; he absorbs my words, internalizing them, taking them in like they’re an honor and not just some sonic waves created to drift passed him.

“It makes perfect sense. . . . Do you feel safe?”

“Right now, yes. Safer than I’ve ever felt.”

His body shifts, angling toward me and tucking me into that perfect spot next to him, my head on his chest. The thumping of his heart tells me my answer has changed something inside of him.

“Thank you. That is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.”

He reads my mind again as his lips take my mouth, and a torrent of flapping wings explode in my belly.

Beckett

“I wish you would stay.” We’re driving out of the basement parking structure, and I feel empty already knowing she won’t be laying with me the rest of the night. The Suburban hums as I pull out onto the empty street and take a turn toward the freeway back toward her apartment.

She will soon understand her value. It is beyond this world. Beyond anything anyone can quantify that doesn’t see her like I do.

I can see a little smile curl her lip upward as I glance over at the girl who cried sitting alone in that courtroom all those years ago.

Inside the most magnificent moments of my life, I feel the dread. The possibility that I can be here, right now, with her, and still know that I contributed to the ruin of her life—that I made a choice and let her be consumed by the vile evil that I know exists, the evil that will come back to extract its due from me someday.

“I have to be up at 5:30 to get ready for work.”

I don’t care. I want to tell her I don’t care and show her the empty drawers with her name on them I’ve already set aside. Show her there is space in the cabinet in the bathroom and half the closet is hers.

My brain is working out the pieces of how to make sure she never leaves again while simultaneously trying to stomp out the inevitable seeping in of dark secrets that could send her as far away from me as she’s ever been.

“I’ve been known to be up at 5:30, you know. I’ve been up at every hour on the clock a few hundred times over. I’ll be up all night tonight.”

“Why? Why do you have to stay up all night?” There is a subtle worry in her voice, and I hate to admit I like it.

“Because you won’t be there, and I’ve already realized I won’t sleep unless you’re with me. So, it’s blackmail. I won’t sleep until you come back.”

“You’re blackmailing me? What’s next, a hunger strike if I refuse to let you—”

My chest pulls tight. “Don’t ever refuse me.” The words tumble out faster and harder than they should, and I see her wince.

Did I just say that? And mean it?

“Hey, sorry.” I throw my hand to the back of my neck and squeeze. “That came out wrong. I have to be honest, something about you—about us—is so different. I’m still sort of stunned by you. I’ll try to rein in the beast you have clearly unchained.” I smile, and she gives me one back that feeds my soul.

“Yeah, we kind of got caught up. I never expected this.”

I need her hand in mine. All the time. My hand leaves the back of my neck and gravitates toward her, and I feel the softness of her skin. Could it really be that no woman has ever felt like this before? Is she of such an order that no one has ever come close? Or, am I just so jacked that every sensation seems new with her?

My fingers interweave with hers, pulling the back of her hand to my lips.

“Me, either.” I kiss her hand again then continue. “But, we’re here now, and in my crazy head, we’re never leaving.”

“Yes.” Promise leans her head on my shoulder, and her single word of agreement has me ready to carve into her again.

“Say ‘
yes
’ again.”

“What? You’re a little weird. You know that, right?” The passing streetlights flash inside the windows every few seconds, lighting up her hair like a glowing halo.

“Just say it.”

I need to hear the word again. I think of all the other answers in the future for which I want her to use this word.

“
Yes.
” Her voice is clipped, but there is still that little bit of a smile coming through.

“That is now officially my favorite word.”

She shakes her head but I see her smile grow, and my heart is slapping against my chest far harder than the moment calls for.

“Here. Turn in here.” She points as I see the apartment complex on my left.

It’s dark out, but not late. We’d already talked about what happened on the street with the attack and decided not to call the police or tell anyone else. I left it up to her, and she made that call.

As I turn into the complex’s driveway, I remember the sound of her screams, and I feel an invisible fist slam into my gut.

“You okay?” She looks at me, and I realize I must have made some distressed noise.

“Yep. All’s good. Where do I park?”

Bruce is leaning against the kitchen's quartz countertop when we make our entrance into his and Promise's shared apartment. His foot is wiggling fast, and I can see him glancing from me to Jeremy with something between amusement and horror.

“Beckett, this is Jeremy. Jeremy—Beckett.” Promise introduces us with a tension in her voice that I hate.

I’ve found my new least favorite word.

Jeremy
.

Whoever this fuck is, he was here when we walked in. Standing there like he belonged. Motherfucker’s got some lessons coming; I can feel it already.

“What’s up? What are you doing here?” Promise is uncomfortable, and it makes me want to tear this dude’s throat out.

Not Bruce.

Jeremy.

My hackles are up, and the dude isn’t smart enough to take his fucking eyes off me.

I know this fucker.

Holy shit. I absolutely fucking know him. What the fuck is he doing here?

“I need to talk to you. It’s important.” He’s talking to Promise, but his eyes are on me.

I can smell shit coming from him. Not the excrement kind, the other kind. The bad kind.

We are only three steps inside the door, but I’m on high alert. I can read the signs. Bruce is smiling, but he isn’t relaxed. Yet, creepo-in-khaki sure as shit thinks he’s at home.

I’ll fix that.

He’s not a big dude, but he’s got that arrogant ego halo around him. Sitting there, at the dining room table, like he’s in his own damn house. I glance over to see his jacket tossed on the sofa in a heap. He’s drumming his fingertips on the table, and they’re making a clicking sound.

Dude needs to schedule a manicure, and I can see where he couldn’t bother to wipe off the drops of mustard and ketchup from his short-sleeved, worn, plaid dress shirt.

Yeah, I see you, motherfucker. Don’t push me. I’ve got another damn gear that you do not want to experience. Take. Your. Fucking. Eyes. Elsewhere.

When she wraps both her arms around her waist and goes quiet, I can’t take any more of whatever this is.

“Maybe now’s not the best time.” My voice is steady, level, and the hell if I’m dropping my eyes first.

Jeremy looks at Promise.

“Is now not a good time?” His question is a demand, and I think of all the ways I can make him die.

Fucking bully. I hate bullies. Putting her on the spot like that when she is clearly uncomfortable already.

“Now is
not
a good time,” I answer for everybody in the room, taking one step up, daring him to stand.

“Well,” Jeremy breaks into a playful, condescending smile like this is some fucking game for him. “Then I guess we won’t be seeing Jordan tomorrow.”

Promise darts forward, her eyes wide, moving from Jeremy to me, and her mouth is open like words are there, but she can’t decide in which order to put them.

“Babe, you okay?” I spin around, putting a wall between her and Jeremy, taking a mental note of the look Jeremy flashed at her when he heard me call her “babe.”

“Yeah. I just . . .” She blinks five times before she continues, then lowers her voice to a whisper, her eyes falling to the floor. “I kinda need to talk to him about something.”

At that moment, I realize just how little I know about her life. This girl that I feel some primal responsibility for is a near stranger in so many ways.

I run my hands over my head, back and forth, trying to get a grip on the moment and not let the darkness take over. She’s fucking scared; I can feel it like I can feel the pain in my neck as it starts up and jerks three times before I can take my next breath.

Promise’s eyes dart to mine, watching me intently as my head and neck do their thing.

There is so much we don’t know about each other, and I can see doubt cast over her face as she watches me finish my twitch.

That jerking, twitching shit started when I was around ten. At first, they said it was the stress of the fire and the ensuing shit storm that subsequently engulfed my life. But, a few years and hundreds of twitches a day later, they gave it a name with the added news that it was a lifelong condition.

It’s settled down. As you get older, it ebbs and flows more. Most people think I should be barfing out strings of obscenities in church when they hear the word “Tourettes.” But, it’s not that. That is just what comedians and movies show. It’s this.

A constant obsession, a pressure that needs to be relieved and never will. A tension that builds somewhere inside. You hold back as long as you can, but eventually, you have to make the motion.

“It’s important, Promise.” Jeremy chimes in like a bitch.

“Hey, step the fuck down, man.” I spin around, wishing the fire I feel inside could shoot out of my eyes and turn him into the flaming shitball he is.

“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll go.”

Jeremy moves like he’s going to stand, but I see his pussy-ass glance at Promise.

“Anyone want popcorn? I feel like some popcorn.” Bruce snorts as he tosses back the last of a glass of red wine from his viewing position in the kitchen.

“Don’t leave.
Wait.
” Promise says, directing her plea toward Jeremy while laying her hand on my chest, drawing my eyes back to her. “I have to talk to him,” she whispers.