“Nick?”
I made a sound, acknowledging her.
“Do you really think the man who killed your grandmother is the same man who tried to kill me?”
“And now he has Callie.” I agreed.
“Connected by death...” she murmured.
My hands paused in their ministrations. Moving so I was over her, my hands on either side of her body, I waited until her eyelids lifted and our stares met.
Her breathing caught, and awareness lit up her eyes.
“Connected by death, yes,” I told her. “But fused together by love.”
She looked off to the side. “I told you to stop saying that.”
“I won’t stop. I do love you.”
“I can’t say it back.”
“You don’t have to. I love you enough for the both of us.”
“Nick—”
I covered her mouth with my hand.
“I didn’t say you had to love me, so you aren’t allowed to say I can’t love you.”
We stared at each other for the span of several heartbeats, electricity crackling through the room, so strong I could almost hear it. The softness of her lips puckered and pressed a kiss to the palm of my hand.
My stomach flipped over.
Slowly, I lifted my hand away. Her lips were still pursed.
All my attention went down to her mouth. Need and desire made my fingers curl into the sheets.
“Your mom is waiting for us,” she whispered.
The corner of my lips turned up. “Is that really what you’re thinking about right now?”
Her throat worked against the force of her swallow. The smirk tugging at my mouth disappeared.
Slowly. So achingly slow, I lowered toward her, gauging her reaction with every centimeter.
I felt rather than saw her hands fist in the blankets, and her anticipation sent my heart into a gallop.
Just before our lips connected, I rubbed my tongue over mine, giving them a little bit of slip. Her body arched up, and I used the opportunity to slide my arm under her, holding her body firmly along mine.
I fell into her kiss, into her taste. Time froze, and nothing else existed except for the way our lips caressed. Changing the angle, I dove into her deeper, grinding my mouth over hers again and again until a growl vibrated my chest.
Her hands grasped my waist, tugging at the hem of my shirt until her fingertips dragged over bare skin and my entire body turned hot.
God, I wanted her. I wanted her in a way I’d never wanted anything or anyone ever before. I hadn’t been lying. We might be connected by death, but to my heart, she was life.
My heart only saw her, only felt her. The connection that drew us together no longer mattered because it was nothing compared to what would keep us from drifting apart.
When our mouths separated, the sweet, low suckling sounds of our making out ceased, and immediately, I missed the noise.
Her cheeks were flushed when I pulled back. Seeing the bright spots of color suffuse her skin made me feel like I’d finally done something right. “I think we should go home.”
“Our homes are in two different places,” she told me.
I shook my head. “Oh no, angel. Your home is with me.”
She looked away. “I can’t stay with you anymore.”
“Then I’ll stay with you.”
“We should talk to the police again.”
I nodded, glancing at the clock. “First thing in the morning. It’s late now. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
Abruptly, tears filled her eyes. “I’m so scared for Callie. I know exactly what she’s living...”
“Hey now,” I crooned, trying to hush some of her worry. Picking her up off the bed, I cradled her close. “We’re going to find her. She’s going to be okay. That girl has about a thousand lives. If she didn’t, her own clumsiness would have already killed her.”
Zoey made a sound—a cross between a laugh and a cry.
I didn’t put her down again until I buckled her into the Viper. I had no clue what tomorrow was going to bring, but for tonight, I felt like all I could do was hold on tight.
The hour was late. The day had long turned dark, and the moon, large and heavy, hung low in the starless sky.
The press didn’t care. They were waiting anyway, as if their sole purpose in life was to get photos confirming that Mr. Hollywood Royalty himself really was living with a beastly makeup artist.
The second the red Viper slowed for the gate blocking off his community, we were surrounded. Despite the tint on the windows, the flashing of the cameras was still piercing. Our names were being yelled over the purr of the expensive engine, along with question after question and requests for a statement.
“Son of a bitch,” Nick swore, slowing even more because the vultures were practically throwing themselves in the path of the car.
“This is exactly why I should have gone home.”
“They would be here regardless,” he spat. “And they’re probably at your place too.”
Slap! Slap! Slap! The sharp, abrupt sound made me shriek and cower in my seat.
Nick said a few foul words, but when his hand slid over my arms, which were covering my head, his touch was gentle. “Don’t be scared, angel. We’ll be through the gate in seconds.”
“Zoey!” a reporter yelled. “Zoey, roll down your window!”
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Every hard bang on the side of the car made me jump, despite the fact I knew what it was.
I was on edge. No. I was teetering on a cliff. He is back. He never actually left. He’s coming for me.
Nick’s palm slammed down on the horn, blasting out a warning that did nothing but fray my nerves more. Revving the engine of the sports car, he jerked forward, forcing back some of the crowd.
One of his hands settled on the back of my head, his fingers playing lightly with the strands of hair. I thought it would make the chaos inside me worse, but it didn’t.
Knowing he was there helped.
The yelling grew duller, and the banging on our doors stopped as the car slid through the gates into the private community.
“What If they sneak through?” I worried, peering out the back window at the disappearing crowd.
“They’ll get arrested,” he deadpanned.
“Really?”
“Why do you think I pay so much to live behind these gates?”
“If those gates are so great, then why do you have another set in front of your house?” I muttered, glancing back once more.
He shrugged, his wide shoulders seeming even wider in the small interior of his fancy car. “I’m a cautious guy.”
I didn’t comment further as we waited for the gate blocking off his property to swing wide enough to drive through. A moment later, the garage door was lowering behind us, and he switched off the engine.
Instead of getting out, his arm reached for the back of my seat and his big body leaned close. “Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you those gates out there mean nothing could get through. We both know bad shit happens.”
“Sometimes unbelievable shit.”
His lips tugged up in a quick smile. “Right.” He agreed, running the pad of his pointer finger down the bridge of my nose. “But I can promise I’ll do everything in my capability to try and keep you safe.”
I looked away, uncomfortable because of the way his words made me feel.
“Zoey?”
“Why?” I asked, abrupt.
“What?”
“Why do you care this much?”
I could see his reflection in the passenger window, which I thought was sorely unfair because I was looking away to avoid seeing him. Despite a gallant effort not to look, every time he even moved an inch, my eyes focused in on the reflection. On him.
It was as if he knew I was looking because he kept his eyes straight ahead. It almost felt like he was staring at me, inviting me to look directly at his face and his answer.
How could he just say that? How could he feel it?
There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his tone. He didn’t look away when he said it, any of the times those words crossed his lips. Even now, when he knew I was turned away, he stared straight ahead, looking right into the glass.
Pressing my forehead against the cool surface of the window, I shut my eyes. “What even is love?” I wondered.
“I think it probably means different things to different people.”
“That was a rhetorical question,” I muttered. Did the man have an answer for everything?
“So you don’t want to know what it is to me?”
Damn him! Of course I want to know! I didn’t answer.
“Okay then,” he said, climbing out of the Viper and shutting the door behind him.
Glancing around, I watched his long legs carry him past the windshield. He didn’t seem bothered in the least that I rebuffed him.
He could at least try!
Making a sour face, I scooped up my bag from between my feet and reached for the handle to get out. The door opened before I could grasp it, Nick towering in the open space.
As I pushed up to exit, he crouched down. We would have bumped heads if he hadn’t grasped my shoulders, gently keeping me back.
“What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly breathless.
His hands dropped from my shoulders to rest on my knees. I couldn’t enjoy the touch because insecurity took over. Glancing down to where his hand covered my left knee, I wondered.
Can he feel the top of the prosthetic? Is he weirded out by the end of my leg and the beginning of the socket? Is he sitting there right now trying not to react when what he really wants is to pull his hand away?
I was different. Not in a good way.
Following my gaze, he looked down, then back up. He didn’t remove his hand. Instead, his fingers splayed so he could touch more.
Stiffening, about to pull away, I was stilled by his voice.
“You’re different.”
My eyes shot up. That’s what I just said!
“But in a good way.”
Wait—what?
“Nick.” Pulling my foot in, I tried to slip out of his hold.
His body moved with mine like we were magnets with the exact same pull and where I went, he followed as though it were the law of physics.
Settling his palm more firmly over my knee, he refused to let go.
“That day when you fell into the water...” He began. “And you clung to me like I was all you had in the world.”
“I-I was scared.” I excused myself, embarrassed.
“A piece of me fell right then.”
Surprise drew me up.
“The next day, when you came to work and told everyone about your leg...”
I blew out a shaky laugh. “God, I was so scared that day.”
“You were brave and stubborn.” The pride in his voice made my heart beat faster. When he smiled, all his face lit up. “Another piece of me chipped away.”
What was he doing right now? What was this he was saying?
“The night your place was broken into, I literally broke every speed law to get there. All I could think was, Not her. Anyone but her.”
“Nick...”
“When I filmed that kissing scene with Jessica and you had to stand there and watch...” He recalled. “I didn’t like it.”
I didn’t like it either. “It was just work.”
He repeated, “I didn’t like it.”
I looked into his jewel-toned eyes, almost challenging all his pretty words. “Jessica is very beautiful.”
“Jessica isn’t you.”
I looked away first. It was me who couldn’t take the challenge.
Nudging my chin with the backs of his fingers, he drew my eyes back to his. “You asked me what love is, and this is my answer. It’s piece by piece. Moment by moment. Including what’s happening right now.”
My brows drew together. “What’s happening right now?”
“You haven’t made me move my hand.”
We both glanced down.
His hand still covered my left knee. Proving his point, Nick flexed his fingers and rubbed his palm gently over the area. I knew he could feel it. The distinction between my body and the device.
“This is love to me, Zoey,” he whispered. “It’s you.”
My heart tumbled, crashing into my stomach. Honestly, I kind of wanted to puke. But not because I felt sick.
Oh. So that’s what he’s been doing.
He’d been fitting himself inside my heart.
She couldn’t say it.
She didn’t have to.
The fact Zoey felt it was more than enough for me. Not that she would admit that either, but again, she didn’t have to.
It was adorable the way she’d run off to her room as though she could hide herself away. Zoey was good at hiding, but I wouldn’t let her hide from me. Not anymore.
Fuck, life was short. It was unpredictable. It was hard.
One had to tread carefully with Zoey, understandably so. But if I let her set the pace completely, my arms would wear out from treading and I’d drown.
Discovering the man who killed my grandmother was still out there, still killing, and had set his sights on Zoey should have given me a sense of panicked urgency, an unstoppable drive to hurry the hell up and catch the bastard before he destroyed any more lives.
I did feel that way... but there was something else.
The desire to slow down.
The need to steal moments with Zoey away from all the chaos and danger. The urge to wrap her up in my arms and make certain she understood that even though we were brought together by death, I needed her in my life.
If I didn’t take these moments with her, all we’d have was trauma.
I wanted more. I wanted to be the one to give her more.
Maybe it was selfish. But if a man wasn’t selfish with his own life, was it really his? Who else could I live for? The Moth? Allowing that psycho to dictate every moment we spent was power I refused to relinquish.
I took a shower, made sure the bodyguards were in position around the property, and set the security alarm as added precaution. Then I shut off my phone and let myself in her room.
The sound of running water from the adjoining bath floated around the partially closed door. Light spilled out, stretching across the carpet in a wide beam. The only other light in the room was from a small lamp clicked on by the bed.
“Zo,” I called out, pushing open the door.
“Agh!” she exclaimed, jolting in surprise. Leaning against the counter, pressing a hand against her chest, she leveled me with a scolding stare.
I laughed.
She was wearing a fluffy headband with bunny ears. It was a complete mismatch to the scowl on her face. Shaking her finger at me, she blubbered, “You think that’s funny?” around the toothbrush hanging from between her lips. Toothpaste made a ring around her mouth and started to drip down her chin.
Still chuckling, I came forward, swiping at the mess with my thumb.
Her eyes widened so big I thought they might fall right out of her face. Shrieking again, she spun, ducking her head.
“Get out!” she demanded, pulling the toothbrush out of her mouth.
“No.”
Her back stiffened, and she spit the water from her mouth into the sink, aggressively grabbing the hand towel beside her. Even after she was finished, she stayed rooted in place, back turned, face down, body so stiff it probably hurt.
Guilt pricked at me, weakening some of the resolve I had when I first walked in.
But then she shifted. Just enough that the ponytail she had her hair in swayed, the end of it brushing the back of her neck.
Tenderness washed over me like a tidal wave in a surging sea.
She was dressed all in pink. I never realized how girly it was until I saw it on her body. Her tank top was cot
ton and a racerback style. The burns to her left arm and the brand she always kept hidden were fully exposed.
Sensing I was looking, she reached around to lay a hand over what she could.
Shifting my eyes downward, I looked at the pink shorts hugging her tiny ass. She was tall and slender, barely any meat on her bones at all. But she still had a shape, a shape those running shorts accentuated right down to the white stripes down the sides.
Her skin was creamy and pale, untouched by the sun and outside world. It was the first time I’d ever seen her prosthetic entirely, the first time she wasn’t covered up.
It was mechanical and looked to be mostly made of metal. The foot surprised me the most I think because there wasn’t one at all. It kind of looked like... a paddle. No, like the insert of a shoe that had been created out of metal instead of something padded. Another similar-size paddle layered over it but arched up to give support to the metal rod making up the ankle. The skin above the prosthetic was covered by what looked like the top of a sock.
“You’re staring.”
“Because you’re letting me look at you.”
“I’m not letting you. You barged in.”
“I knocked.”
She made a rude sound.
“Turn around, angel.”
“No. Go to bed.”
The grip she had on her arm was turning her fingers white.
Sighing, I scooped her up. She was so surprised she fell backward, right into my arms.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, smacking me on the shoulder. “Where is your shirt?” she hollered when her hand met bare skin.
“You told me to go to bed. I’m not going without you.”
She hit me again. “Put me down!”
I sat her on the bathroom counter, moving in so I was between her legs. Instantly, her forehead fell onto my shoulder, her arms remaining at her sides.
“What are you doing, Nick?”
“Pushing you out of your comfort zone.”
“My whole life is out of my comfort zone.”
I made a sound, tugging on her ponytail. “No. You’re scared as hell, and that keeps you from grabbing things that could make you happy.”
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