Page 22 of Entwined With You

“You always hurt the one you love.”

“That’s a bullshit saying from people who don’t know what love is.”

I just shrug. But I have to admit — even if only to myself—that for the first time in fifteen years, I’m starting to fear that I’ve had it wrong all along. Not just about who killed me, but about the whole course of my life since that horrible, fateful day.

The top was down as they sped along the 405 from the Valley to Venice Beach. Brax tried to keep his eyes on the road, but he kept catching glimpses of her out of the corner of his eye. Her bare feet on the dashboard. Her fingers tapping out a beat with the classic rock playlist. The red hair she hadn’t bothered to tie back whipping in the wind.

Even now, he could remember the sensation her hair so silky between his fingers. Most often, it was colored a basic, boring brown—the better to blend into a crowd. But there were times when she’d let it grow out, then use a wig when they were on a job. And he could still recall the sweetly erotic pleasure of her hair brushing his naked chest as she teased kisses down to his navel. And then lower still.

Stop it.

Beside him, he saw her twist in her seat. “Did you say something?”

“Nope. Just listening to the radio.”

“Rolling Stones. I love You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” She flashed him that adorable—and far-too-familiar— smile. “For a while there, that song was my own personal mantra.”

“Not anymore?”

She tilted her head as if studying him. “I’ve got pretty much all I want now. And I’m working on getting the rest of it.”

“What’s that?”

She laughed. “I already told you. Vengeance.”

He took his eyes off the road long enough to meet hers.

“Good luck with that.”

“Even if that means I’m getting you?”

“That depends on how you mean to get me.” The words were out before he could call them back, and he wanted to kick his own ass. She wasn’t Sabrina. He barely knew her. And the woman thought he was a killer.

Really not the best time to play flirty word games.

He kept his eyes on the road, but he knew she was still looking at him. He could practically feel the way she was studying his profile, as if the secret of his guilt or innocence was written in his pores.

After a few moments, she shifted again, facing forward and putting her feet down before she reached over to fiddle with the CD player’s knob as if it was the most natural thing to do, just like she always had. A habit that used to drive him absolutely apeshit crazy.

Now, he said nothing. How could he with the giant lump in his throat?

He knew she wasn’t Sabrina. He knew it. Intellectually. Logically. But as for emotionally…

Well, that was a harder truth to swallow.

Just because they looked the same didn’t mean they were the same. The outside of a person didn’t define the person inside. He knew all of that.

And yet…

And yet with Samantha there were so many little things. Tiny jabs to his memory that were somehow both painful and wonderful. That sideways, quirky smile. The Laser of Death glare when she was pissed off. The musical lilt in her voice when she was being sarcastic, as if the sarcasm was about to lead into a Broadway musical number.

Then there was Old Blue. She knew this car.

And the kiss. That mind-altering, bring-a-man-to-his-knees kiss in front of Darrin.

He knew she wasn’t Sabrina. And yet he couldn’t feel that reality. It was because he didn’t want to, of course. Because having Not-Sabrina in his life was a hell of a lot better than not having Sabrina.

Even if Not-Sabrina believed he’d killed her.