The comment hits Lachlan, sending him into a fit of laughter. I smile, enjoying the vibrations as I close my eyes and they buzz against my cheek.
“Next time,” he says in a low drawl that makes my fingers tingle. “I’ll feed you as much as you want, as many times as you want, until you’re satisfied.”
“Promises, promises.”
We stay like that for a long time. I’m more at peace than I can remember being for ages. Certainly, from before we fled from Auckland. Possibly longer, stretching back years. “You make me feel so good.”
“It’s mutual.”
The words spark something joyous in me. That as much as this boy gives to me, he finds plenty to take for himself. It’s a privilege to feed his needs. The luckiest girl in the world.
Then real life intrudes as he says, “I’d better get you home. Otherwise, you’ll get no sleep whatsoever.”
No sleep for such a perfect reason sounds divine, but I’m still too caught up in my afterglow to argue. Whatever Lachlan thinks is best. He’s been right about most everything so far.
I uncurl, shaking out my dozy limbs until I have control. The drive back is far more bittersweet than the trip out; there’s a lump in my throat when I finally pull upat my door.
I shouldn’t be greedy. My body is still twinging with pleasant spasms from its earlier exertions. I should take that as my lot and find it enough. When I hand back the keys and step from the vehicle, it should bring an end to the night.
But I’m as susceptible as my father and Lachlan is my new addiction.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask in a breathless voice, ready to be rejected, ready to have reality reassert itself with masterful control.
“Of course, I’m coming in,” he says, leaping from the passenger side and beeping the car door locks closed. “Did you think I’d let you get away with only three? We’ve got to make up for lost time.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LOCK
Inside her room,I close the door and embrace her again, kissing her until my lips swell. I can’t get enough of her mouth, the soft press of contact, the delicious taste of her, still with the lingering hint of whiskey, a slight umami flavour coming from her split lip.
I would kiss her forever but when the hand cupping the back of her head strays too far, she winces, briefly pulling away, and my stomach knots.
Damn Keanen and his low alcohol tolerance. The stabbing wasn’t enough, but the shock of his clumsy attack took me by surprise. I wish I could go back and do it again, exult in the wrench of the knife slicing into his flesh, tearing through skin and muscle and fat and gristle. Stabbing until his grabby hands learned a lesson they’d never forget.
I shake with the need to punish him. Lost in a swirl ofendorphins and pheromones and the only reason—theonlyreason—I’m not still back on that patio carving him into tiny little slices is because George hung off my arm and begged me not to hurt him any further.
But, oh god, how I want to. How my mind keeps getting distracted, even with the joyful beauty in my arms. Planning his demise. Staging his downfall. Stomping through his life until there’s nothing left in it worth sticking around for.
The temptation is enormous but I need to be present, right here, right now. George needs to be cared for, petted, caressed, hugged…loved.Her safety and wellness is a thousand times more important than making sure that prick never gets the chance to hurt any girl, whether by design or accident, ever again.
So my voice is purposefully gentle, free of all that underlying rage, when I ask, “Can I see?”
When she nods, I lead her into the adjoining bathroom and lift her onto the bench next to the sink.
A small part of her hair is matted and dark with blood. It takes a few minutes of soaking with a wet cloth before I can pull the tangled strands apart to see the wound. There’s one large lump with a smaller swelling underneath. A split about a centimetre long runs down the side of the injury, with speckled grazing visible in a wider mark.
“What’s the v-verdict?”
I shake my head ruefully, blinking back the shock at how badly injured she is, how much damage Keanen inflicted in such a short time. One slip of my attention. That’ll never, never, never happen again.
“At death’s door,” I say in the lightest voice I can manage. “I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.”
“Oh, so funny. Remind me of this when you’ve got a splitting headache and double vision.”
My chest tightens with worry. “You do?”
George narrows her eyes. “It depends. Do I get more respect?”
