She glances up at me, lashes wet from her tears, and lifts her lips into a small, adorable smirk.
“Because you’re a stalker.”
I kiss her on the tip of her nose.
“No. I'm notastalker. I’myourstalker. Big difference.”
She holds her hand up in question, and I nod, giving her permission to touch me.
Pressing her hand to my face, she holds it still momentarily before moving it up and stroking her fingers through my hair.
“I’m glad you’re not stalking other women. I would have to hurt you.”
I hear Knox comment, “Again with the violence,” but I ignore him as I close my eyes and surrender to her touch.
“Do you like that, Carter?”
“Mmm,” I hum my approval.
“I don’t remember being touched before I was taken. There’s no recollection of safe touches before you. I think I’m getting addicted to the way it feels. It’s indescribable.”
The sound of footsteps behind me, followed by the closing door, catches my attention briefly, but her fingers moving slowly over my scalp keeps me focused and in the moment.
“I don’t know what made you let me touch you—but thank you.”
Blinking my eyes open, I stare into her blue ones and speak honestly.
“You respected my boundaries from the very beginning. You didn’t touch me or make me feel like shit about it. Instead, you accepted me for the deeply flawed man I am. You saw a change I didn’t even see for myself. Still, you respected those boundaries and simply offered your hand. You didn’t take—you gave me the choice.”
“Carter,” she cries, burying her face in my chest, and I tighten my hold on her.
Placing my hands on the side of her face, I tilt her head back and lick the tears from her face.
”We have to meet with Bones in a few hours. Would you like to go to the rose garden first?”
Heather nods a resounding yes.
“I would like that very much.”
Kissing her quickly on the lips and then the forehead, I pull away reluctantly.
“Go get ready, and I’ll make us something for lunch. It’s after eleven.”
She jumps up from under the covers wearing a tiny sleeveless shirt with spaghetti straps and matching shorts—the tiniest fucking shorts I’ve ever seen. When she walks to the bathroom, I spot the way her ass cheeks hang out the bottom of the thin material.
I adjust myself and go to the kitchen because if I think about her body for too long, we won’t make it to the rose garden or to talk to Bones. And that can’t happen. I’d love to stay in this bubble forever, but eventually her family would find us and pop it. We can’t live like this forever. Besides, she needs her revenge. And I cannot fucking wait to watch her torture the men that hurt her for so long.
Heather walksalong the rows of roses and bends down, inhaling the scent of each section.
“I thought I died.”
We all flash her a look that says we don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.
“When I was shot. I lost consciousness and had a dream that we were both dead. It wasn’t scary—it was beautiful. The grass was so green. There were roses everywhere, and we were together, Carter. The scent of the roses was strong. That’s why I wanted to see this place so badly because it looks just like it.
“Because you want to remember nearly dying?” Killian asks with disbelief.
She wags her finger, admonishing him.
