The time with her precious boy has been a gift. But the space?
Fucking torture.
I’ve spent three years—ornineteen—waiting to have her in my arms, in my bed. Nothing left between us. And having herthis close isn’t easing that craving. It’s infecting me, conquering my thoughts and senses, making me fucking insane.
Her cherry-and-brown-sugar scent clings to every surface in the penthouse, taunting me. But I can’t get enough. I stole her pillow, bought every damn product I could find with that dessert fragrance, and filled her bathroom—and mine—with them.
Jax smooths the clear adhesive bandage over the fresh ink. “That should do it. You good, man?”
I stand, pluck my button-up off the back of the chair, and slip it on. “I’m trying to be.”
He scans me, his concern hovering between us, until he settles on, “That’s all we can do.”
Jax is no stranger to the relentless grip of obsession. His is of a darker nature, so it’s not a fair comparison. My suffering is immersed in beauty.
Which is precisely why, the second I’m done buttoning and tucking, I dash back to glimpse the source. On the way, I check on Axel and Remy and snap a quick picture of them watching a movie.
Pulling up the security app on my computer as I take my seat at my desk, I locate her in her office, and serenity washes over me. She’s reading through files—probably old contracts still on paper—and organizing them. Dressed to kill in a black pencil skirt and suit jacket with a red silk camisole underneath it—sexy and professional—she is so in her element, lost in her work. Stunning.
My mind instantly quiets when I watch her, knowing she’s safe. After all these years, my heart rate still thumps faster at the sight of her, like it did the first time I saw her. But just like then, I can breathe more freely than I ever could without her.
She’s always been my hope.
I claimed her that day, but not in the way I should have.
Unable to tolerate one more second in my house, I drive downtown to grab a bag of beignets, a blueberry scone for my mom, and some kettle corn for my little sister. But on my way home, I decide to stop off at the park and enjoy my food in peace. Otherwise, I’ll end up breaking something, possibly my father’s face.
Fuck, I wish I could leave this all behind. People think I have the whole world in my hands. I get why it looks that way. But other seventeen-year-olds have everything in front of them while I’m shackled to a destiny I don’t want any part of. Anything with his name attached to it is tainted. Not that it matters. I’ll die in this place, miserable, my only life purpose to keep him from tormenting my mom and siblings.
Hopeless.
I have no idea why she stays with him, unless he’s threatening her. She doesn’t tell me much, but the gist and the consequences are clear. He’s a neglectful, cheating bastard, who cares more about work, money, and power than my mother. And her pain wrecks the rest of us. Axel is nothing like him, but he’s off being groomed for the family empire all the same, and I’m stuck at home, helpless, drying her tears.
After parking my Porsche Carrera GT, I get out and wander toward the playground. Ordinarily, I sit on a bench, but there is a beautiful brunette about my age perched on the merry-go-round. It seems my day is turning around.
She raises her brows when I take a spot not far from her, glaring as if I stole a piece of prime real estate she’d had an offer in on. And something about that glare is familiar. It takes a beat for it to click, but then the vision of pigtail braids and canine teeth slams into me.
“You’re the girl who bit me,” I spew with all the indignation that epiphany warrants.
Her mouth hikes into an annoyed snarl. “You must be mistaken. I’m not really into biting.”
“Says the heathen whose jaw unhinged like a snake before she took a chunk out of my arm at the Montessori preschool.”
She rolls her big brown eyes. “Snakes don’t actually unhinge their jaws. That’s a myth. I mean, the garter snake might, but really, they just have a different jaw structure.”
“What the hell is with the snake rant? Is this some deflection tactic? Headed for a life of crime and planning to lull the detectives to sleep if you get caught?”
She throws her hand out toward me. “Clearly, my ability to judge character was spot-on, even when I was three.”
I shake my head in feigned disappointment. “That was pathetic. You folded like a house of cards. Walked right into my trap.”
“Maybe you walked into mine, trudging knee deep into the quicksand of my ‘life of crime.’ While my upstanding father will be disappointed, he’ll testify to my insanity if I’m ever caught. He’s a psychiatrist, and he’d categorize my obsession as unhealthy, but what can I say? I’ve been single-minded, on the hunt for the kid who got me expelled from preschool.”
She crosses her arms, done with her satirical rant and ready to go head-to-head with me. Adorable. “Our neighbor had to watch me for weeks. No other preschool would accept me because, apparently, a three-year-old biting a frustrating four-year-old is a capital offense. My mother ended up quitting her job to homeschool me because society wasn’t willing to risk it.”
“What an ass-backward argument. Blaming the victim is disgraceful. You should be a lawyer. The ousting serves you right.” I lift my sleeve to show her my bicep, where her pretty teeth left a forever branding on me—yep, she pierced that deepinto the flesh. “The greatest dangers to the community always come in the cutest, most unsuspecting packages.”
She blushes, but doesn’t miss a beat. “Weak. You bruise like a banana.”
