Page 37 of Reckless Love

But tonight, I stop at the door, and I press my palm to the hardwood. These last few days have proven that the connection, at least on my part, is just as strong as it ever was. Despite the eight years between us and the social class divide, I understand her on a fundamental level that hasn’t changed, even if she has.

If I went in right now, despite what she said on the stairs, I know she’d welcome me. That we’d pull the pin to toss a grenade into the lives we’ve been living for the last six years. I should hate the idea, want to run from it. Instead, it takes a monumental effort to draw my hand down the wood and off her door.

No matter how much I want her, I can’t go back to being a secret, to being something shameful, and if I open the door, that’s the only fate that awaits me. So, I head to my own room in another part of the mansion, and I hope I can resist ruining my life for one more taste of Ava Tucker.

Chapter Thirteen

Ava

The bedroom door creaks open, rousing me from a deep sleep. I sit up, startled, and a tall, broad, shadowy figure stands illuminated, framed in the doorway by the hallway light.

“Who’s there?”

“You know,” Stephen’s deep voice rasps.

“Is something wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, but he steps into the room. The bedroom lock snaps into place, loud in the quiet of the room. Shadows overtake the room.

“Is Landon okay?”

“I’m here to take care of you,” he says.

My heart rate slows and then races again at the implication. “You think you’ve still got it?” I taunt.

“I never lost it,” he says. “Only you did.”

Then he’s drawing me out of bed, cupping the side of my cheek, and trailing a line of kisses down my neck.

Oak, citrus, and sandalwood mingle around me, reminding my senses of the joy only certain smells can bring. A gust of partial memories swirl, not quite landing, but every one is of him and me tangled in tantalizing, exquisite physical contact.

The security lights from the yard peek through the curtains I didn’t close tight enough, creating just enough light to see faint outlines, broad strokes. But I’d know him even in the darkest dark.

“Do you think you’re ready for me?” he murmurs against my ear.

“Not yet,” I say, even though I am. If he went exploring, he’d find me soaked, so ready it’s almost painful. I’ve never wanted any man the way I want Stephen—immediate, undeniable, uncontrollable. Chemistry that can’t be faked.

But it’s been forever since anyone has touched me with such reverence, and I don’t want the end to come too soon. “Don’t stop.”

His fingertips trace the exposed skin along my neck, my collarbone, and down my arm. Shivers of pleasure follow in the wake of each caress. He’s so huge, takes up so much space that I feel tiny in comparison—a sensation I haven’t had since he left. A gentle giant who would hurt himself before he’d ever hurt me.

This is exactly the version of Stephen I’ve been craving after so much indifference.

“Never met anyone as beautiful as you.” His deep voice is in my ear. “You’re so pretty it should be a crime.”

“You’d have me arrested?”

“Locked up, chained down, just for me.”

“No one’s replaced me yet?” I try to keep my tone teasing, but I’m desperate to know. His hands and lips are distracting, but it’s his words I’m clinging to. It seems impossible there hasn’t been anyone else in six years. Someone else who captured his heart, even if temporarily. I’ve lived lifetimes since the last time he touched me like this—too long.

The idea of him with another woman makes my stomach twist in knots.

“All I think about is you. All I dream about is you.” His lips are whisper soft against the curve of my neck as his big hands slide up under my black silk negligee, drawing it over my head. He bunches it into a fist before letting it drop to the floor by our feet.

When I ease my hands under his T-shirt, I realize it’s the first one I ever bought him the summer before I left for college—the deep burgundy gave his tanned skin a gorgeous glow. I’d never bought a man a present before—only boys—and I’d been so nervous to give it to him that I’d concealed my uncertainty with bravado, said I wanted him to dress better.

God, I was such a brat. So wrong and awful about so many things.