Regret (Twisted Hearts Duet Book 2)

by Max Henry

  “Fuck, Cam. I’d be stupid not to tell you that I love you, too.” Her eyes fill with unshed tears as I take her face in my hands. “I knew that the second I walked back up your driveway in the dark, no light, to write you that damn note.”

  “No torch at all?” she asks.

  “No torch.” I trace her cheekbones with my thumbs, memorising everything about her in this moment. “I was so focused on you, on saying the right thing, that I didn’t care. Didn’t think twice about it.”

  She laces her hands behind my head and pulls me to her, but it doesn’t take much; I was thinking the same thing. Her kiss has more vigour this time, more urgency, as she runs her tongue across mine. Her taste, her smell, her touch—they all overload my senses as I bring the moment I’ve thought about to life in vivid colour.

  We’ve made it through the storm. We’ve followed the echoes and found each other in the midst of all that chaos.

  She’s my oasis amongst the rage and anger. My safe place.

  “Tell me,” I say, pulling away. “Where are you going?”

  “Huh?” Her hands slip to my chest.

  “The house—you sold it.”

  “We sold it.” I see the regret in her gaze, and yet what makes me proud is the determination that also shines through in her words. “I bought a place a half hour from here. Smaller, but everything I need.” She smiles, her gaze lifting to meet mine again. “And you know what? I’m actually looking forward to doing the whole redecorating thing again.”

  “Let me guess,” I tease. “White and grey?”

  She rolls her eyes with a smile. “What else?”

  I go to kiss her again, yet she pushes out of my arms, her eyes wide.

  “You have to come see this. The moving guys left it until tomorrow, saying they didn’t want the heavy furniture to break it.” She beckons toward the house. “Come.”

  Of course I go. I’d follow this woman into war unarmed.

  Cam darts up the steps and into the house, dashing left into the living room. She points to the same wall the door is on, meaning I have to swing around to see what she gestures to.

  For the first time in my life, I almost cry.

  Framed in ornate white wood is a large print photograph. The picture itself is monochrome, yet it’s the depth of the black that strikes me. A white sailboat adrift on a stormy black sea.

  “Do you like it?” Cam asks quietly.

  I can see that she looks at me in my periphery, yet I can’t tear my eyes from the silver nameplate mounted on the mat board that edges the picture.

  “The Duke and Duchess”

  In the boat are two tiny figures, clinging to each other in the middle of the vessel, a royal insignia on the sail.

  “Where did you find it?” I move closer, fearful that if I look away now I’m going to miss another important detail.

  “I went down a bit of a rabbit hole while I was looking up design ideas for the new place, and somehow I ended up on this website for a guy who sells bespoke pieces.” She snorts a little laugh. “It cost almost as much to freight it as it did to buy it.”

  “It’s priceless.” Because it’s us.

  She edges closer to slip her hand in mine. “You asked me if I believed in fate, Duke. I think this answers that—don’t you?” Cam lifts her free hand to gesture to the image.

  Fuck, it’s more than fate. It was a series of events that individually held no meaning, but that together, meant everything. It was the game board of our lives laid out for us to take. We were two pieces chasing each other along the path, yet never resting in the same square until six weeks ago when I broke down. All we had to do was the roll the dice enough times to make it to the end to be together.

  “Where are we going to hang it?”

  “We?” Her brow twitches as she looks up at me.

  All or nothing; dive into the black, Duke. “Everything important that I own is in that car, Cam. I came here with the intention to stay.” My heart kicks up pace. “Hopefully with you.”

  “You came back to live with me?” The panic is clear in her eyes, the worry that she’s misunderstood what I’ve said.

  “If you’ll have me.”

  “Duke ...” She tips her head to the side, giving me a “what do you think?” stare.

  “So what now?” I slip my hands onto her waist, loving how she feels back in my hold. How the hell did I have the strength to walk away from this? How crazy was I?

  “Now,” Cam says, pushing to her toes to place a kiss to my lips. “We go to bed and spend one last night here for old times’ sake.”

  “Old times,” I chuckle. “It was only a couple of months ago, Cam.”

  She smirks, tugging on my hand to lead me to her room. “It may as well have been a lifetime without you, Duke.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Cammie

  I bought that image thinking it signified the two of us trying to hold on despite the fact that the odds were against us and there was no way we could have ever made it. I thought it perfectly catalogued how we were doomed from the start. Who would have thought I would show it to the man I love and have him ask where we would hang it?

  “Cam.” Duke tugs on my hand as I turn left into the hallway.

  “What? Don’t tell me you’ve had an epiphany and you’re changing your mind about this, buddy, because I told you I loved you, and whether you realise it or not, that means you’re mine, for good.”

  He gives me that sexy little I’m-not-really-smiling grin that I’ve missed. “As much as I love to hear you talk a hundred miles an hour again, just shut up for a second, would you?”

  I lift an eyebrow, dropping his hand to cross my arms.

  “I just wanted to say”—he backs toward the door—“that I need to turn the car off.”

  “Oh, crap. Of course.”

  Duke reaches out to snag my hand again, tugging me flush against him. “So,” he damn near growls. “Get this sexy little butt into bed and be ready for me, because I swear to God, I’ll have that car off and locked in record time.”

  “Get to it, soldier.” I back out of his hold and give him a playful push on the chest.

  He laughs, turning heel and jogging out the door to sort the car. My pulse races as I turn in the opposite direction and hustle to my room, my sweater off by the time I’m through the door. The HQ still runs as I strip my off leggings and tank. Only when I unclip my bra does the engine finally shut off. Record time, my arse.

  I lie back on the airbed to wait for him, switching positions half a dozen times to try and find the most flattering and alluring one. The minutes pass, and I finally give in to check my phone. What the hell? How long does it take to walk back inside, shut the door, and then come screw me senseless?

  As much as I try not to worry, the devil on my shoulder gets the best of me, and I find myself tugging my clothes back on. Voices drift up the hallway once I round the bedroom door, both of them deep and definitely male.

  I reach the front door and sigh at the sight of his black truck in the driveway. “What are you doing here, Jared?”

  Both men turn to look at me with a frown. Weird. I feel as though I’m an intruder on my own property.

  “It’s all right, Cam. Go back inside,” Jared assures me.

  Weirder still.

  “You two talking out here like old friends doesn’t make any sense, guys.” I try a casual laugh, but it comes off as more of a nervous giggle.

  “We’re having a bit of a chat, Cam,” Duke tells me. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll be right in.” His tone says otherwise.

  I hesitate, hoping they’ll ignore me and carry on with their conversation, yet the two of them stare me down until I take a few steps back toward the door. What whacked up alternate universe have I just stepped into if these two men are having a discussion that doesn’t require me?

  Horny and frustrated, I stomp back down to the bedroom and sit on the end of my lonely airbed, cross-legged. My phone spends more time lit up than it
does asleep, given I constantly check the time.

  Five minutes pass, then ten, but it’s close to fifteen before I hear the snick of the front door followed by the click of the deadbolt and the faint rumble of Jared’s truck.

  Duke rounds the doorway, his head down, a hell of a lot less fired up and ready to ravage me than he was before my ex turned up.

  “What did he want?” I ask, straightening my legs out.

  “Came over to check how the move went, make sure you’re set to be out on time.” He sighs. “Dickhead doesn’t trust you to do anything yourself, does he?”

  “No, but that hardly constituted you two talking for twenty minutes,” I bite back.

  Duke’s fingers dab his bottom lip as he drops a short, “Huh.”

  “It’s a legitimate point,” I protest. “The least you can do is tell me the truth about what was said.”

  “The truth,” Duke says, stalking into the room, “is we spent less than two minutes talking about you moving house. He then spent somewhere around five telling me why you’re not worth my time, probably in an attempt to sabotage any chance at you being happy.” He drops to his knees at the edge of the mattress. “Which leaves about thirteen minutes, if I’m counting right.” I notice why he touched his lip; the skin is split, fresh blood dotted around it. “I guess I wasted about ten of those calmly and coolly reminding him that he’s got no business being involved in your life anymore, because well, you know, you’ve sold the house, so that’s the end of that.” Duke lifts an eyebrow as I reach out and touch the flesh under his split lip. “Final three minutes, babe?”

  “Yes?”

  “I spent those reminding him all the things there are to love about you, that I appreciate, and that he’ll miss out on because he wasn’t man enough to be there for you when you needed him most.”

  “Duke,” I whisper, touching his lip. “What did you do?”

  “Got rid of the competition so I could mark my territory in peace.” He knocks me on my back, promptly tugging my leggings off. “Told him I had better things to do than waste my time on him, and that he could stick around if he wanted, but that I wasn’t into that kind of kink.”

  “You did not,” I counter.

  “How do you think I got the split lip?” Duke wrestles my sweater off next to find I never put my bra back on. “Fuck, Cam.”

  “Well,” I say, lifting my eyebrows as I stretch out beneath him, “according to you this is all yours, so have at it, soldier.”

  “Fucking ’ey, it’s mine.” He ducks down to suck one of my nipples into his mouth.

  I moan at the exquisite feel of his hot lips on me, and at the word replaying through my mind: mine. There’s something carnal about the way Duke says it. As much as I’m an independent woman, it makes me want to submit to this man in every way—I love that.

  “Don’t leave me again,” I say, threading my fingers into his hair. “I couldn’t survive if you did.”

  He crawls over me until we’re face to face. “I’m not going anywhere, babe. Not unless you’re coming with me.”

  And I believe him, because after all, he came back. It broke my heart at the time. Hell, it still tears me apart when I think about how I felt hearing him leave that night. But I can see his reasons clearly now. The storm has passed, the clouds have lifted, and the sun is shining brilliantly what we have. I never would have been able to see how bright our future is with the clouds of regret forever over our heads. We each needed to settle our pasts, accept our losses, and come into this with a clear head to give it a fair chance.

  I run my hand through Duke’s hair as he lays hot kisses between my thighs, thankful that we’re here, however hard the road was.

  A few short months ago, I sat in my living room wondering if there ever was such a thing as love. Wondering if I would ever really know how that felt again, or if I was doomed to vanquish the emotion to the furthest reaches of my memories.

  Today, I can say without a doubt that I believe in love again.

  EPILOGUE

  Duke

  “What the fuck have I done, Cody?” My hands ache with my frustration. I clench them into fists to save from tearing the fabric in my hands to shreds.

  “I can’t believe you were in the army, bro, and you still can’t get a Windsor knot right.”

  “There were ways around it.” I jut my chin out of the way as my little brother wrestles my tie into submission. “How much time do we have?”

  “Plenty.” He tugs the tie tight, and then pats me on the shoulder. “Stop stressing. You’ve literally got to walk out the door and you’re there.”

  Still. Doesn’t keep me from panicking that I’m going to fuck this up.

  Cam didn’t want a church wedding.

  She gave me one of her signature lectures about how she’s not religious, and so having one wouldn’t make sense, somehow, putting in one hundred words what she could have said in twenty.

  I christened the kitchen counter with her the second she shut her goddamn mouth.

  Turns out the things that used to drive me crazy about her drive me crazy for her now.

  “Ready?” Cody slaps me on the shoulder.

  “I think so.”

  He laughs at the clear panic on my face. “Bro, you do realise you’ve been married before, right? This isn’t your first rodeo.”

  “No, it’s not. But it’s my first with Cam, and I want it to be perfect for her.” I check my reflection, making sure the collar of my shirt sits perfectly beneath the lapels of my dress uniform jacket.

  I can’t deny the pride that chokes me every time I lay eyes on the medals displayed on my chest. I only wish there could have been more, because that would have meant I was able to do more.

  “Come on then.” Cody stands off to the side with his hands slung casually in his dress pants. The smile on his face chokes me up worse than I already am.

  He’s proud. Fuck, he wasn’t proud when I went to war, let alone when I came home alive.

  “You’ve done good, Brother,” he says with the barest twitch of a smile. “You’ve done good.”

  I give him a slap on the shoulder and a tight nod as I pass by and head out to kick the day off.

  True to form, Cam and I planned this wedding in mere months. Our whole relationship has been a whirlwind of sorts, but I think my mum summed it up best when she said, “You’ve simply got lost time to make up for.”

  Who would have thought that when I returned to New Zealand a mere fraction of the man I was when I left, that somewhere out there in this great country, a woman was enduring a personal hell of her own, a woman that would one day be mine?

  I shake my head in disbelief as I make the short walk out of the old stone house and down the manicured lawn to the spot where our family and friends wait. Hushes sweep the guests when they spot Cody and me making our way to our spots at the “altar”.

  Cam’s father gives me a slow nod as I pass by, that simple gesture meaning so much more than he’d ever know. I went old school, asking him for his daughter’s hand, and he gave his blessing, telling me that I should have come into her life a few years earlier.

  Fuck, if I could have, I would have, without a doubt.

  A murmur sweeps the crowd, people turning their heads to look at where Cam will make her entrance. My gut twists into a tight fist, my heart picking up its pace.

  “She’s here,” Cody helpfully whispers in my ear.

  “I know, jackass,” I hiss back at him, assuming the position. “She’s early.”

  My baby couldn’t wait, either.

  Music begins to play, but all I can hear is the repeated whomp-whomp of my heartbeat as I wait on my future wife.

  I haven’t seen her for two days while she stayed at her Mum’s to go through the final preparations. It’s the longest we’ve been apart since I returned to her house with a boot-load of possessions and a heart full of hope.

  Two days too long. Two days I’ll never get back.

  But as she rounds the
hedge to walk through the archway, it’s two days’ worth the sacrifice.

  She’s fucking perfect in every way.

  And so fucking mine.

  Mrs Duke Harwood.

  Cammie Harwood.

  Fuck that sounds good.

  Keep reading for a preview of

  my standalone contemporary romance.

  ONE

  Things to google while you wait in a hospital corridor: Who picked mint green as the universal colour of choice for health care providers? My leg taps at the same speed as my thumb while I spell out the inane question. I’m pretty certain the device in my hand is the only thing that’s stopped me from accosting the poor nurse for the thousandth time as she passes by. The way my mood is going, I’d probably find myself kicked off the premises for harassment.

  Not an ideal situation for the only available next of kin.

  The answer to my question flashes up on my screen, and I read it—well, I skim it—as I shift on the uncomfortable plastic seat. Something about a calming mood, influencing the patient’s psyche. The friendly orderly who stopped to check on me a half hour ago had suggested I move to the family lounge, but fuck that. It’s no more of a lounge than a decorated twelve-by-ten tank to contain the hopeful in. Nope. Instead, here I am, camped out in the sterile, bleach-tinged hallway, watching the trauma patients as they pass by.

  I haven’t spoken to Kath in seven years. Does she still go by Kath? Or is she Katherine now she’s older, more refined? Strangely enough, it hadn’t been the first question on my mind in the five minutes we had shared before she lapsed into unconsciousness. My head had been busy circling around the one thing she did manage to say as the doctors and nurses flew around her.

  “Childcare. Number’s in my phone.”

  Childcare. Since when does she have a kid? Mum left that interesting titbit out the last time my estranged sister came up in not-so-casual conversation.

  I’d ring like she asked, find out the truth, but I don’t have her phone. Chances are it’s crushed somewhere in the mangled steel that barely resembles her Audi. She bought the sedan shortly before we’d stopped talking, citing their impeccable safety record. I guess you could say the vehicle held up its end of the bargain, considering I’ve been told a dozen times over that it’s a miracle she survived the accident that took the other driver’s life.