“Without talking to Phaedra?”
“Correct,” he confirms. When I growl in frustration, he becomes defensive. “All of us need to figure this out on our own. Not just Mathias.”
It pains me to hear it, but he’s right. I’m not as worried about Hawthorne or Jamison, though. I see the way they look at her. My worry is reserved for Mathias. I don’t know if he’ll be able to get over the role Phaedra played in his life. As someone who can’t have kids, I can’t fathom what he must have felt when he was separated from his daughter. All I can do is hope he looks toward the future, not the past, when he makes his decision.
“I know,” I concede, then change the subject. “I need a ride.” A portal will be faster, and it sounds like Jamison needs a break.
An irritated sound escapes Jamison’s throat. “Where to?”
“Polk, Ohio.”
Silence. “What the bloody hell for?”
“I’ll tell you on the way,” I say with a smile as I hang up the phone. As I pass by the study, I let Hawthorne and Phaedra know that Jamison and I are leaving.
Phaedra glances up. “What about Mathias? Is he going too?”
Inwardly, I wince, knowing how this is going to go over, but I try to soften it. “He had to get back before they missed him.”
Hawthorne’s sharp gaze darts from me to her.
She nods quietly but doesn’t comment further.
I give Hawthorne a look, silently demanding he cheer her up while I’m gone, but he turns away. Frustrated, I throw my hands in the air and storm out the door.
16
PHAEDRA
Mathias looked weary, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and I know a large part of it was because of me. I wanted to apologize to him, but he wouldn’t give me the chance. I barely got out a hi before he bolted outside. Is it because he can’t bear to be in the same room as me?
Hawthorne pushes his hand into the soil, and tiny buds sprout from the center. It continues to grow until it’s a four-foot-tall tree with branches sprouting off it. Flowers bloom along the leaves, but no fruit.
I frown. Hawthorne looks up, but when he sees my expression, he reaches out a thumb to smooth the lines between my brows. “Oops. Forgot my hands were dirty.” He lays a hand on his shirt and cotton spools from the fabric into his hand, creating a small cloth. After dampening it with a bit of conjured water, he smooths it across my forehead.
With him this close, his earthy scent fills the air, penetrating my skin until it’s drenched, reminding me of all the times we spent together. I inhale sharply as the images bombard me, including the one of us intimate in the shower, and I reach out and grip his shirt tightly.
His hand slowly lowers until he’s staring down at me. Yearning and desire flare between us, darkening his sea-green eyes, but he holds himself back.
I lick my lips, aching to feel his lips on mine.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he pleads with me. “Gatlin told me you were in the shower earlier, and I’ve been hanging on by a thread ever since. The smell of you is driving me crazy. I’m so hard I can barely remember my name. It’s all I can do not to strip you down and take you right here.”
My breath catches. “I can’t help what I feel. I want you. Having you here but unable to touch you…and show you how sorry I am, it’s driving me crazy.” His face blanks, and I huff out a breath, refusing to push him into something he’ll regret. “I know you don’t want…”
His lips slam onto mine. Instead of tenderness and passion, it’s crammed with anger and sadness and need all rolled into one. Firm and controlling, he demands my submission. And I instantly crumble under the barrage of his lips. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I don’t care. Even if this doesn’t resolve things between us. I miss him. I want him.
“I’ll tell you what I don’t want,” he replies with a snarl, surprising me. “I don’t want some derangedmageobsessing over you.”
Anger glints in his eyes, surprising me. This must have been bugging him since they met with Caron.
He slides a finger down my shirt and buttons disappear, baring my lace-covered breasts to his gaze. His eyes heat as he removes my bra and cups my breasts in his hands. I arch,wanting him to squeeze them. Instead, he lightly flicks each nipple with his thumbnail, then soothes it, over and over, until I’m desperate for him to put his mouth on them.
He leans down and tongues them, licking and flattening them as they harden further in response. Aching now, I moan as he sucks on them. I hold his head tightly to me, not wanting him to stop.
“I don’t want to wake up every morning and not see you sleeping next to me.”
My grip loosens for a second as his words hit me.Damn. We grew so close when he was injured. Sleeping next to him felt right. Natural. Like we belonged together.
