by Vivian Wood
“Okay, Violet. You wanna talk about trust? Let’s talk about trust. You can’t trust me? Oh, because you were so honest, right?” I hear her intake of breath, but I don’t stop.
“Look, Vi. I was an asshole. And we both held things back from each other…but what about the things that we didn’t? What about the things that we shared? Weren’t those real? They were for me.”
She pauses momentarily, glancing down towards the ground. The quiet is deafening, making the slushy rain sound like a roar. Though we are on the cemented sidewalk outside of the building, we are completely alone, and it almost feels as if we are back at the bar.
Seeing each other again for the first time after a year apart.
Our faces are dripping wet. Our clothes are soaked through. Rivulets of icy rain fall down Violet’s face like tears, and I’m not quite sure that they aren’t.
She lifts her eyes to meet mine.
“No, Heath…“she hisses softly. “You don’t get to make the calls, anymore. I’m done being your minion.”
I’ve never been the kind of man who couldn’t talk to women, never understood that tongue-tied type. But when I’m around Violet, I’m sometimes at a loss for words. With her, there are some things I just can’t say…
And just as I’m thinking about my next words, she runs off again, leaving me in the dust. I rush to the Audi, which thankfully isn’t far away. Opening the driver’s side door, I jump into its leather interior, pushing to “Start.” Several fumbling seconds later, I am backing out of my parking space and heading directly towards her.
I pull up next to her just as she raises her hand to hail the nearest taxi. My voice is a raspy growl.
“Get in, Vi.”
The downpour drenches us both but she ignores it, stomping through huge puddles with the gait of a gladiator. “You can go now, Heath.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Get in.” She flings her wet hair over her shoulder in response, sort of a fuck you without the middle finger. Nonetheless, I keep cruising beside her.
Rainwater is tunneling into the rental’s open window. I’ll be swimming in this car if I don’t make a change, and I couldn’t give two shits.
I can live with the wet leather…
I can’t without Violet.
She keeps trotting down the street, black bag in hand, getting more and more drenched with each passing minute. Her black jacket’s been left behind, and her bright red shirt is barely passing as clothing.
“Please get in.” I try another route. “I’ll take you to wherever you want to go. We don’t have to talk or anything. I’ll just drop you off.”
She hesitates briefly before halting completely. She chews her already-red lip, tapping a heel on the ground with impatience, and I can almost hear her thoughts. I’m damned sure she can hear mine, my heart is pounding so loudly.
She turns suddenly towards me. “Fine. I’ll get in. But take me home. And then get out of my life.”
I nod slowly, my voice sinking with the words. “Whatever you say.”
I hit a switch near my armrest, opening all of the doors. I prepare for Violet to take the passenger seat, but when she doesn’t, hopping directly into the backseat. She pulls her door shut with a resounding thwack, and I close the open window, pulling off, regretting every single fucking secret, every single untruth…
Chapter Thirty-One
VIOLET
Christmas Day
The interior of Heath’s car is warmer than I thought it’d be. I hug myself to fight off the chill before I realize that there isn’t any.
His seats are heated, the surface hot. I didn’t realize that backseats could have that capability, but this is a Sparrow we’re talking about. He’s one of those suits I thought I hated, one of the spoiled wealthy I could not stand. He flipped the script on me…just when I thought I was getting to know him.
I reminisce about the conversation with Marilyn before my night with Heath. I remember each resonating word.
“You’re in love with Heath,” she asked. No, not asked. Declared.
I balked. “No! Well, yes, but…” I stopped talking. I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“It’s okay if you love him, Vi. He loves you, too.”
“But… He does?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “How do you know?”
She shrugged. “He’s my brother. And I know him better than a book.” She grinned. “And a book is twice as hard to read.” She stroked my arm. “You need to tell him that you do. Don’t hold back with him. Or you’ll regret it.”
I listened to her advice. Soaked it up like a sponge.
Stupid me.
Twelve months couldn’t wash the feeling I’d first had with Heath away. Several states couldn’t make it fly by. I’m just as infatuated with Heath as the day we’d locked eyes.
And maybe he had me before then. The second I heard his voice, I think I belonged to him alone.
That soothing, calming voice in my ear that lulled me into security and then struck out like a coiled snake. I still don’t know if I can trust that voice…or the man behind it.
Fitzgerald Sparrow was known for years as an asshole, and judging by the way that Heath had been brought up, the same traits likely lurked beneath the surface for him, too. At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. Maybe, if I try hard enough, I can squelch the tingling on my skin that rises every time he looks at me. Maybe I can temper the flutter in my stomach that kicks up every time he puts his hands on my skin.
And maybe, just maybe, in enough time… I will forget him. Forget this constant craving. Forget this possessive need.
But right now, that’s impossible…because he’s currently speaking to me from the front seat of his car.
“I need to explain some things to you,” he says.
“I thought you said we didn’t have to talk.”
His voice is deadpan. “I lied.”
I cross my legs. “Shocking.”
An entire minute passes by without a word, and I am grateful for the silence. Well, the physical silence, at least. As always, we are communicating with our eyes. Our gazes clash on the surface of the rearview mirror, daring the other to back down, saying all of the things that our mouths dare not voice.
Heath speaks first.
“So, what? Is this going to be like it was those first few days back in New York? Not speaking? Not telling each other the truth? Is that the new plan?”
“What am I supposed to say to you?”
“Anything. Say what you feel, what you think.”
“What I think? What am I supposed to think?” I explode at him. “It seems all you did was plan. Plan and plot on what to do with me. Try to figure out how I was going to fit into your designs.”
His brown eyes blaze with latent heat, growing intense—outraged in a matter of seconds.
“I didn’t plan this, Keats. No matter what you think. I didn’t plan to make a bet about you. I didn’t plan to run my father’s firm. I didn’t plan on wanting you as my wife, Violet.”
He continues driving, his body frozen as he shifts gears. “But I do.”
On the last syllable, we pass by my brownstone. Sliding through my periphery, it comes and goes like an imagined ghost. Maybe I am imagining it. But to be honest, right now? I can’t even care.
For the first time in my life, I am shocked into utter silence.
HEATH
The words go flying out of my mouth before I can tether them down.
Violet’s eyes grow scarily wide, and her lips part in surprise. Her hair is wild and wavy again, thanks to the rain. Her skin is smooth, damp and dewy, and her lips –those fucking lips –are swollen and so unbelievably kissable.
She’s gorgeous. She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Even when she’s scowling…like she is at me this very second.
“How dare you?” she rasps.
“How dare you say that to me? After everything? After you tried to sucker me into some twisted scheme? I
don’t even know who you are, Heath.” She shakes her head, causing wisps of wet hair to go flying sideways.
“And I’m not going to be a pawn in one of your little games anymore,” she says, her voice rising. “I’ll admit: I had my faults. Huge, glaring faults…and I wasn’t blameless. But that does not excuse you passing me around like some little toy, like some…some tiny piece in a competitive chess match with your father or David. What next? You going to put me on the streets? Prostitute me out to the highest bidder?” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. She shakes her head and sorrow replaces the anger. “How do I know that you won’t hurt me, Heath?”
The force of her sadness hits me like a blow across the face. Every step that I’ve taken under these circumstances, every move that I’ve made has been with her in mind. Making sure that she’s alright. Making sure that she’s safe.
It’s the thought that has kept me going…even when I wanted to give up. But I’m done rolling over.
I stop the car abruptly, pulling curbside and cutting the ignition. Jumping out into the pouring cold rain, I open the back door so that I can sit beside her in the leather seat. She scoots over as I enter, putting as much space between us as possible. I close the distance quickly, hovering over her so that she can hear my every word.
“I can’t promise that I won’t…” I grab the sides of her face, smoothing my hand along her silky skin. I take a deep breath. “I can’t promise that you won’t wake up some mornings wanting to smack me. I can’t promise that you won’t walk into the kitchen on some shitty day and want to chuck the fucking frying pan at my head. I can’t promise that you won’t think about plotting my death…” I grin. “What I can promise you is a husband who loves you. A husband who will spend every last aching breath making sure that each second of your life is better than the last. I can promise you a husband who will never stop making sure he’s worthy of you, whenever he can. I can promise you a husband who will never stop betting on us. On love.” I swallow. “Violet Keats… You are a part of me. A part of whatever wicked soul I once had. You are a part of whatever I once was, and whatever man I will grow to be.”
Violet closes her eyes, growing still. She is so quiet that I’m not even sure she is still breathing at this point. I continue talking.
“You are everything I never knew I needed. Everything I could have ever hoped for… I’m so sorry I did hurt you. I can’t say it enough. I’m not going to promise that I won’t hurt you, Violet… or that we won’t hurt each other.” I touch her pointed chin. “I’m going to promise that I’ll be right there to help you heal if and when we do.”
My chest heaves from squeezing so hard.
I’ve been holding onto the words I needed to say to Violet for so long that I was afraid that they had festered within me and died. She remains quiet, her eyelids still drawn downward. Her dark lashes create a shadow just above her cheeks, and I’m dying to kiss her there to feel them flutter.
I want to run my fingers through her flowing hair. Put my nose near her neck and just breathe. Undress her out of those wet clothes. Warm her up…the right way.
But in the middle of my fantasy, she responds. She finally opens her eyes.
“Is that it?” Her eyes are open wide, revealing pale blue hues with flecks of gold I hadn’t noticed until now. Completely innocent.
I nod. “Yes.”
“You want to make me your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Tequila?”
I stare at her, smiling. “If you’ll let me.”
She kisses me, pulling me against her, her tiny palms framing my face. I’m lost for words as I kiss her back, sucking her tongue gently between my teeth, and when I swallow her tiny moan, she pulls back, a tear forming in the corner of her eyes. I almost kiss it away.
I lift one eyebrow. “Is that a yes, Violet Keats?”
She grins with glistening eyes. “That’s a maybe.” Her smile widens. “Ask me again in three months. No Mr. Sparrow. No Mr. Tequila. Just Heath.”
I smile back. “You would have better luck with Mr. Tequila. He would have spelled out his proposal with his tongue.”
Violet blushes. “There’s no reason he can’t do a trial-run now, though.”
I kiss her lips, letting my mouth show her that she’s mine. And always will be. “No reason at all.”
I hold her hand to my heart, letting her feel its beat. Just for her.
One. Two.
Epilogue
VIOLET
One month later
“Tank! Get out of the kitchen!” I hear screeching through the air. The sound of doggy paws follows, running fast.
A sloppy grin comes careening around the corner, and I stop the gray and white beast of a dog with my hands, reaching out to pet his short fur.
I crouch at the knee. I’m thanked with a slobbery rain of puppy kisses, and when I finally stand, extracting myself from the lovable American Bully in my arms, I find the love of my life several feet away, smirking, his full lips spreading over his handsome face.
In a white apron, collared shirt and black slacks, he is the crowning jewel not just in his elaborate kitchen, but at the entire party. Brett and Elsie’s joint Bachelor-Bachelorette party just two days before their wedding is nothing without the chef-du-jour.
My man. Mr. Party Host. Mr. Hot-Cock.
Mr. Cooks-like-a-Five-Star-Chef-and-Looks-Too-Good-to-be-fucking-True.
He looks down at the overly happy animal in my arms. “I’m guessing this is my sous chef.”
I can’t help but laugh, my fingertips still scratching behind Tank’s ears. “Sure. If you want a side of drool with your dishes.”
Heath glances at the gravel gray dog, who barks with delight at my touch. “Lucky bastard,” he growls, his eyebrow lifting.
“Jealous?”
“Very much so. Hell, I haven’t gotten a chance to touch you like that all day, Ms. Keats. It’s hard when I’m slaving away in the kitchen. But I see I’m not the only one whipping up his own creations.”
A secretive smile splays on his full lips, a hint of something devilish in his stare. I don’t get to prod any further into Heath’s cryptic riddle because Marilyn comes rushing into the kitchen, her blue gaze scanning the room, before, at last, landing on the pretty Bully pup at my feet. She frowns down at the animal, and he lowers his ears, knowing instantly his mistake.
I cover a smile with my hand.
“Tank Barkington Sparrow.” Her voice is a high-pitched scold. “You come here right now and stop causing trouble.”
I tug the too-cute troublemaker by his collar towards his puppy-mother, escorting both out of Heath’s large kitchen.
Cooking isn’t the only thing Heath does well. And before Marilyn showed up, he was just about to show me his first notable feat, the “I-want-to-fuck-you” look written all over his beautiful face.
I sigh as soon as we’re out of sight, on some level secretly grateful that Marilyn’s here. I pull her to a quiet corner, just as Tank takes off again, his heavy nails scratching against the cherry mahogany-hued hardwood.
I grab her tiny elbow, leaning in.
“You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“What?” She hisses. “No, Vi. Of course not.”
I huff. “Because he’s been giving me a weird look all day. This strange staring thing.”
“Probably because you look seriously edible,” she declares, tilting her head.
I look down.
I did try to look nice tonight. If not for the party, then at least for Heath. In a red velvet number and matching shoes, I’d wanted to look the part for a star-studded event like tonight.
But it was hard. Especially when there were so many beautiful people in the vicinity, from TV to tattooed wealth and more. And especially when my waistline was widening.
My body was slowly changing every day. I exhale, the nerves singeing from my fingertips to my toes.
“Just tell him,” Marilyn whispers. “He’s going t
o be happy to hear this.”
“Is he?” I hiss back. “He’s just moved all of his stuff back. He’s finally settling in as head of the firm after your father officially retired. We’re finally making headway on the Jackson case. I don’t know if he’s ready for this…”
Marilyn raises one perfectly waxed brow. “Don’t know if he is ready or you?”
“Okay, yes. I don’t know if both of us are ready.”
That much was true. With my ex-husband Jeffrey, having a baby was more of a business decision than anything else, a plan to move forward when the “time felt right.”
With Heath, everything felt fucking right…and it scared me half-to-death. I hated to admit it.
When you loved someone so much it hurt, when all the pieces of you became complete the moment your “person” came into your life, you couldn’t imagine that somehow the universe wouldn’t conspire against you.
Because you were too in love, too damned happy and too cursed for so long for the world to let you have your Happily-Ever-After.
It’s an irrational fear, I know…that suddenly feels too real. My chest squeezes.
As it does, the sound of Wham!’s Careless Whisper comes floating from behind the closed doors of Heath’s massive kitchen. I roll my eyes, glancing over at Marilyn who giggles.
His taste in food? Phenomenal. His taste in music? Sometimes made me suicidal.
Clearly, I wasn’t done teaching him the right eighties classics yet.
I grin at Marilyn. “I’ve got to go. Who knows what we’ll hear next?”
I spin back into the kitchen, my gaze scanning over the small feast he’s created, the myriad of sauces and soufflés he’s managed to whip up in a couple of hours. My mouth starts to water. I can’t tell if it’s because of the meal…or the man, and I glance appreciatively at both, watching as Heath grins, his deep brown eyes never leaving my face as he swipes a finger through a thick brown sauce, bringing it to my face.