Eager to give it to him, I rush forward, but on a whim stop again in the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet. I pull out his cologne, spraying a tiny bit on me. Then, smiling, I hurry down the stairs to the living area, and follow my nose to the loft-style kitchen. Chris is behind the island, his shirtless back to me as I silently pad toward him in my bare feet. I take a moment to admire his broad shoulders, his inked right arm, and the blond hair that’s a little wild and untamed, just like the man.
He turns and his sexy, happy smile echoes what I feel. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
Returning his smile, I finish my walk up the stairs. “Merry Christmas.” I stop on the opposite side of the island and he sets a cup of coffee in front of me. I stuff the box in my robe’s generous pocket and wrap my hands around the mug. “Thank you. What smells so good?”
He opens the oven and pulls out a tray of cinnamon rolls, setting them on the counter. “They just need to be iced.”
“They look like extra hours in the gym.”
“Or in bed,” he suggests, setting a velvet box on the counter in between us. “Open it.”
Hoping this is what I think it is, I quickly pop the top, thrilled to find the engagement ring I’ve only seen on paper before. “It’s gorgeous,” I say, staring down at the diamond encased by a beautifully etched golden rose. My gaze lifts to his. “And so special, because you designed it.”
He rounds the island and stands beside me, removing the dragon ring he also designed from my left ring finger and moving it to my right hand. “Soon,” he whispers, sliding the rose onto my left hand, “you’ll be all mine.”
“I’m already all yours, and you know it.”
“But then the rest of the world will know it.”
“I’m pretty sure they do already.”
We both break out in spontaneous smiles and he encloses my hand with his. “Come. I have something else for you.”
As he does so often, he doesn’t wait for a response, leading me down the stairs to the elevator. He punches the button and it opens immediately. “We’re going to the garage?” I ask as we enter and he punches the button for the bottom level.
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
That boyish mischief I know so well dances in his eyes. “Wait and see.” With only one floor to travel we’ve already arrived, and he pulls me into the foyer, places me in front of him, and opens the garage door. As I walk forward the motion detectors turn on the lights, and I gasp when I see a shiny, metallic-blue 911 with a huge red bow on top.
I whirl on Chris. “You bought me a car?” I ask, stating the obvious.
“Actually, I bought you two. There’s a silver convertible Mercedes waiting for you in San Francisco. And you can trade either or both for something else.”
“Chris, that’s two one-hundred-thousand-dollar cars!”
His hands come down on my shoulders. “Stop putting a price tag on things, Sara. We have money, and I want you to have anything you want or need. The money isn’t any sort of control over you. But it does gives us control over our lives. And it lets us make a difference in other people’s lives. Together. We do these things together.”
I inhale and let it out. “I know—I do. My father used money as a weapon for so many years, it’s still a trigger. I hate that he still impacts me that way.”
He smiles, banishing the darkness, and holds out the remote. “Go on. You know you want to check it out.”
I nod, the fun of the moment rising. “Yes!” I take the remote and run toward the car, climbing inside to inhale the new leather scent and run my hand over the dash. “It’s gorgeous!”
He squats down beside me. “You’re sure? You like it?”
“I love it!” I turn toward him and set my feet on the garage floor, my knees touching his, then I reach into my pocket and hold out the box on my palms.
His brow dips and he strokes his name on the top. “That’s my signature.”
“Yes. I had it copied. And the wood—”
“Is African. I know.”
“Open it,” I urge.
He flips the lid and stares down at the brush. He’s silent so long, I say, “It’s—”
“The first brush I ever painted with. I know.” He looks skyward a moment, as if battling some emotion, before his hand comes to rest on the back of my head and he pulls my mouth to his, kissing me softly, tenderly. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “This gift represents both of the most defining moments of change in my life: my decision to paint, and my decision to let go of the past and hold onto you.”
• • •
It seems like the holiday is over in the blink of an eye, and then it’s time to leave for the States. Chris encourages me to dress comfortably to sleep on the plane, and like him, I choose a sweat suit. I scoff at the idea that I will ever sleep on a plane that could drop out of the air at any moment, but after a winter storm delays our flight for eight hours, and with the help of a Bloody Mary, I change my mind.
At the private hangar in San Francisco where we land, we meet Alex, the newest local Walker Security employee. Alex is tall, with wavy dark hair, and, like Jacob, appears to be in his early thirties. He’s dressed sharply in a suit and is reserved and efficient. He delivers us to our apartment at four o’clock, just two hours before we’re to meet Mark and Crystal at the restaurant, but Chris and I are both too curious about the meeting to cancel.
As we step out of the car into the sixty-something-degree air, Chris makes arrangements with Alex for our later departure.
My cell phone buzzes and I glance down to find a text message from Katie.
Are you there yet? I confirmed that the cakes and flowers were delivered. I need to know your choices by six or we will lose your Valentine’s Day bookings.
I quickly type, We just arrived at the building.
Chris joins me again. “Apparently the press has been here today, in anticipation that we’ll be around for the memorial. We’re going to leave out of the garage tonight to be safe.”
My phone buzzes again and I glance down at Katie’s message.
Oh good. Let me know!
I hold up my phone to show Chris. “Katie is freaking out about the cakes and flowers.”
“She’s going to be a crazy woman by the time the wedding happens. Let’s preserve her sanity as long as we can for our own good, and go sample the cakes.” He wraps his arm around me and leans in close, his breath a hot fan on my neck. “And then I’ll have you for dessert.”
I laugh as we start toward the sliding glass doors. “We don’t have time for that.”
“Cake sampling is five minutes. You, an hour.”
Thanks to that erotic promise, I’m all smiles as we enter the building.
When we pass the security post, there’s a fifty-something man in a suit there.
“I miss Jacob,” I say after we’re out of his earshot.
“The new man’s name is Max,” Chris says. “He’s ex-military and very capable.”
I sigh as we step into the elevator. “I don’t like change.”
The doors shut and Chris slides his hand to my hip. “Things change, baby.”
“Meaning us? Will we change, too?”
“Yes. We’ll get old and gray.” The doors ding and the elevator opens. “But I’ll still be able to do this.” He lifts me and throws me over his shoulder, and I laugh, remembering the first time he did this, and his “Me Tarzan, you Jane,” proclamation.
“Put me down, Tarzan,” I order as he walks down the living room stairs and crosses to the kitchen door. “The blood is rushing to my head.”
He stops dead in his tracks. “Holy shit.”
I try to twist around and see what he’s seeing. “What?”
He slides me down to the floor and turns me to face the kitchen island. Flowers cover every bit of it, a
nd just beyond, in the windowed alcove, our kitchen table is completely buried under a variety of cupcake choices.
“We sure aren’t going to be hungry if we taste all those cupcakes,” I say.
“We aren’t doing this today. There’s no way the florist and the bakery had the same deadline.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “This is Katie’s deadline, and she’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.”
I grin, walking to the counter to inspect the many bouquet choices, immediately eying an arrangement of pink roses.
“I know, Katie,” I hear Chris say. “Yes. I know. Yes.” I smile, certain she is lecturing him, one of the few people on the planet who can pull it off. “Pay triple if you have to,” he finally says. “Just get us until tomorrow. We have the memorial. Not exactly the right day to be making wedding decisions.” There is a long silence. “Yes. No. I need—Katie. Tomorrow.”
I walk toward the cupcakes, and the counters by the fridge and stove are also covered in flowers, including another pink rose arrangement. I lift it from the vase to see how it’s different from the one I already admired. Chris enters the kitchen and I glance at him. “Everything okay?
“Tomorrow is fine,” he replies, stepping up beside me.
“Thank goodness.” I show him the flowers. “I like these. I love the whole leather and pink thing. It’s so us. I still think you should wear your leather jacket, not a tux.” I glance up and go still at the way his expression has gone all hard lines and tension. “What’s wrong?”
He takes the flowers from me and sets them back in the vase, his hands going to my waist as he backs me against the wall. “One day,” he says, his voice a tight band of well-contained emotion, “I’ll want the whip again.”
My hands go to his upper arms. “What just happened?”
“Katie. Something she said.”
“What could she have possibly said to make you think about the whip, Chris?”
“Nothing I want to talk about when we need to be ready to leave in an hour and a half.”
“We can cancel dinner. You’re what’s important.”
“We aren’t canceling; we came back early for that. And I’m not letting this interrupt our lives. Ever. But I need to know that you know this battle isn’t over. Tell me you can handle it.” It’s a terse, urgent command.
“I know that. And I can handle it. We can handle it.”
“I won’t go there again, I promise. I’ll want to, but I won’t. If I didn’t believe that with everything I am, Sara, I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me.”
“I believe you, Chris.”
“It builds. I never know the trigger. Maybe it’s the next Dylan—and there will be another Dylan, through our charity work. Or maybe it’s a nightmare about the shooting. I don’t know what it will be, but it will happen. But you need to know this, Sara: I’ll tell you. I won’t hide it. I won’t shut you out.”
“I know. Remember when you told me to see you? To really see you? I do, Chris. I really see you, and I love every part of you. I love you,” I repeat.
He swallows the proclamation with a kiss that is more than simple passion. It is a question that I’ve answered before, but something Katie said made him doubt, and I know what he means by triggers. There are things that make me remember Michael. Things that make me remember my father, and fear Chris will one day leave me. But Chris no longer sets those triggers off for me. No matter what he feels now, I am not afraid that this is the end.
He tears his mouth from mine, his gaze heavy-lidded, his desire so raw and palpable that I’m right there with him in an instant, wet, hot, and in need in a way only he can satisfy.
As if echoing my thoughts, he says, “I need to be inside you, and out of my own head.” His voice is rough erotic sandpaper on my nerve endings, and he doesn’t give me time to respond. He turns me to the wall and tears my shirt over my head, one arm wrapping my waist, holding me to him, another hand cupping my breasts, fingers shoving down my bra, pinching my nipples. Sensations spiral through me and already my knees are weak, my body heavy against his. He abandons my breasts and I want to pull him back but already he is shoving down my sweatpants. I help him every way I can, and somehow I am able to toe off one of my shoes but I’m pretty sure he somehow gets the second one off for me.
The instant I’m naked he presses my hands to the wall, his body cradling mine, his thick erection pressed to my backside.
“Why are you still dressed?” I whisper, desperate to feel his skin against mine. But even as I say the words, I know why. Whatever happened on that phone call has him feeling his control has slipped away, and he burns to reclaim it.
His hands slide up and down my waist, sending shivers all through me, and when his hand cups my breasts again, and his other hand explores my backside, I am consumed by arousal.
No. I am consumed by him, and there is no explaining what it is like to be dominated by Chris Merit, to be owned the way he owns me in this moment. I am all woman in his arms, at his mercy in the most erotic of ways. And he is a master of creating a sweet torment.
His palm moves from my backside to curve over my hip and I suck in air at the biting pinch of fingers that continues to torment my nipple. Unable to take it, I dare to cover his hand with mine, holding it to my breasts. “Chris,” I whisper, begging him to do something that I can’t define.
He nips my earlobe, his breath a warm rush on my neck. “You aren’t ready yet,” he replies, as if he knows what I’m asking for, when I don’t know.
His hand on my hip moves, his fingers splaying on my belly, then moving lower, and my sex clenches in anticipation, a moment before his finger just barely teases my swollen clit. I shudder with the light touch that he withdraws, and then gives back, repeating the same torment again and again, each time touching me longer, deeper, until finally, when I think he will fully explore my sex, he withdraws. His palms cup my backside and he begins to massage.
“Oh,” I gasp, knowing this is a spanking in the making. And I want it. I want the way the anticipation and the fire of his palm makes everything fade except the here and now.
But he doesn’t give it to me. Instead he gives my cheeks a rough squeeze and orders, “Don’t move.”
“Chris,” I pant desperately, my elbows softening, my forearms settling on the wall to hold my weight. My only comfort is the sound of him undressing, and the hope he will soon be inside me.
He comes back, flattens his back on the wall and pulls me in front of him, his thick erection at my hip. I reach down and close my hand around him. One of his hands closes over mine, holding it to him while the other reaches behind my neck, dragging my mouth to his, and when he kisses me, it’s so passionate, so deep, that I can feel him everywhere. I moan into his mouth and he makes a low, sexy sound, cupping my backside with both hands and lifting me.
I wrap my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair. I don’t even remember him moving, but suddenly I’m on top of the counter and flowers are falling over, water pouring to the ground, but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is him bringing his shaft to my sex and pushing inside me, driving deep, his arm still around me, my face buried in his shoulder. I tilt forward, and so does he, both of us driving our bodies together; I am not even sure if I’m on the counter anymore or just on him. Or how we start or stop kissing. Or how hard my nails and teeth dig into his back. I just know the burn in my belly and breasts that expands and grows until I am spasming around him, and he’s making these primal, sexy sounds that have me clenching him even harder. His body quakes, his legs tremble with his release and our weight, and somehow it’s over—and we’re on the wet floor and he’s sitting against the counter, me straddling him, my head on his shoulder.
The sound of our breathing fills the air, slowly becoming more rhythmic, our bodies each fully relaxing into the other. I come back to reality with the awareness of his fingers splayed
on my back and mine lying on the gorgeous rainbow of colors that is his dragon tattoo. I blink and realize there are several bouquets lying on the floor around me, one of them my pink roses. “So, do you like the pink roses?”
A low, sexy rumble escapes Chris. “Did you just ask me if I like the pink roses while I’m still inside you?”
I lean up, pressing my hands to his chest. “Yes. Do you like the pink roses?”
“Yes, baby. I like the pink roses. And no one but you could take me from where I just was back to pink roses and laughter in sixty seconds flat.”
Knowing I can make him happy is all I need right now. He’ll tell me what upset him when he’s ready. I brush my fingers against the sexy one-day stubble on his jaw. “That’s why I’m about to be your wife.”
He covers my hand with his and rests it over his heart. “Yes, Sara. That is exactly why you are about to be my wife.” He wraps my arms around his neck and shifts. “Hold on tight. We’re getting up.”
I cup his face. “I will always hold on tight. I chose you.”
He curses under his breath. “We’re going to be late to dinner.”
I frown at the odd response. “What? Why?”
He kisses me and we end up back on the floor, laughing and making love in puddles of flower water. And yes, we are going to be late to dinner. And somehow it feels like one of the defining moments of our relationship. The past can torment us, but it can’t destroy us. Not anymore.
Part Ten
Gone, But Not Forgotten
For dinner and then the oceanside memorial, I choose a black dress, tights, and knee-high boots. When we arrive at the restaurant Chris urges me to go inside while he makes arrangements with Alex, who’s escorting us to ensure we have no press interference tonight. When I enter and round the corner, I smack into a hard body.
I gasp and look up to find myself staring into familiar, steel-gray eyes.
“Hello, Sara.”
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