Page 147 of The Devil of Downtown

Usually, the view is breathtaking. Tonight it’s wild.

Rain pelts the water hard enough to dimple the surface, thousands of ripples colliding and disappearing as fast as they form. The mountains beyond are half-lost in mist, their outlinesblurred by the storm. I stand there longer than I mean to, watching the patterns come and go.

It’s been nearly three weeks since Dane brought me here. My ribs are mostly healed now. The headaches come less often. I’m moving more, doing more—long walks, light stretching, anything that reminds my body it still belongs to me.

Dane has barely left my side through all of it. Before, he kept himself closed off in ways I couldn’t quite reach, always holding something back. No matter how close we got, there was a part of him I never touched. Now it feels like he’s finally opened that door and handed me everything.

And his touch. It’s constant, grounding—hands in my hair, his fingers curled through mine, his lips brushing mine like he needs the contact as much as I do. I’ve never felt this close to anyone. Honestly, I’m going to miss this bubble we’re in when life returns to normal.

But we haven’t been without visitors. Charlotte and Julian come frequently. And Elsie loves it here, especially outside, collecting stones by the lake and insisting on showing Dane each one like it’s the most important discovery she’s ever made. The first time she came with Sloane, she latched onto Dane immediately, small fingers wrapped around his hand like she’d claimed him. He didn’t seem to mind. He let her pull him from room to room, answering her questions seriously, kneeling to her level, steady and patient in a way that made my chest ache.

Jennie came too. Brought food I didn’t need and stayed longer than she probably planned. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her until she was here.

In a couple of days, I’ll go back to the studio.

They kept my role open. Told me to take the time I needed. The thought of walking back into that space makes my stomach flutter with something close to fear, but also relief. Like I’m finally stepping forward again.

Another roll of thunder shakes the windows, and I shiver, hugging myself tight. As my physical health returned, conversely, the nightmares became more vivid. More real. I try to fight the tears, but they always come, hot and salty. I see one drop on the wooden floor by my bare feet, forming a circle like the rain on the lake.

“Ivy?” His voice carries from the hallway, tearing through the silent dark.

A heartbeat later, his footsteps echo down the hall. The living room door flies open. “Jesus, baby, I woke up, and you were just...” His words cut off in a rush of breath, a sound of pure relief. I feel him before I see him. His heat at my back.

I’m shivering. I’m only wearing his old, soft t-shirt, the hem brushing my thighs, and nothing else. The storm outside decorates the night in streaks of silver and violent purple, the rain lashing the wall of glass I’m staring through. My face is wet, too.

His thumbs stroke the tight cords of my shoulders. “What’s up, baby?” he murmurs into my hair, his voice low and sleep-rough.

“I had a nightmare,” I whisper, my voice a thin thread. “It’s nothing.”

“You should have woken me.” His lips press against the crown of my head.

I give a watery half-laugh, finally turning my head enough to see his shadowed profile. “Looks like I did.”

He doesn’t laugh. His hands slide down my arms, a slow, possessive caress. Then his mouth finds the side of my neck, just below my ear. A press of warm lips. Then another, lower, following the line of my throat.

The tears come faster, hot and silent. He kisses them away as they trail down my cheeks, his lips a soft murmur at my ear. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here.”

I turn fully then, my back against the cool glass. The storm is a wild painting behind me. Dane’s face is all concern, all fierce love in the semi-darkness. He runs his fingers along my jaw, tracing the path his kisses just took. His eyes search mine, seeing the ghost of the dream I can’t shake.

The need is sudden. A physical ache, to replace the cold fear with his heat. To feelalive, not broken.

My hands come up, gripping the hem of my shirt. I pull it up over my stomach; the air kissing my bare skin.

He freezes. “Ivy... what are you doing?”

My voice is steadier than I feel. “I want to feel you,” I say it simply. It’s the truest thing I know right now. “All of you.”

Worry clouds his beautiful eyes, but there’s heat there as his gaze slides over my body.

“What if I hurt you? The doctor said—”

“I’m fine now,” I insist, cutting him off. “In two days, I’m going back to training.” I step into him, closing the gap. I take his hand, his fingers slightly calloused, and place mine over his, guiding his palm up to cup my breast. His skin is so warm. I arch into the touch, a soft sigh escaping me. “See? Perfectly fine.”

“FuckIvy,” he groans, a broken sound of surrender. “You damn well know you have me wrapped around your little finger.”

“Yeah?” I murmur against his lips, my hand sliding to the waistband of his loose boxers, pushing them down. He’s already hard as my fingers wrap around his length.

“Seems that I do,” I purr, feeling him thicken and pulse under my grip.