"Fine. I'll admit it. I'm sleeping with him. He's fucking awesome in bed, and it's fifteen kinds of idiotic, and I'm going to need a shit ton of parties this fall, because walking away from him is going to be a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be."
She's quiet. "So why did you do him?"
I laugh. Even in the middle of a crisis, Kelly can pull inappropriate off like no one I know. "I didn't mean to. It just sorta happened. I'm tired of living afraid of being hurt. And I honestly didn't expect to fall for him."
"Do you love him? Please tell me you don't love him—I can't put you back together if you do."
I roll my eyes up, but she's not actually exaggerating. For once. "I don't know. I don't think so. I care about him, and he makes me laugh, but I know there isn't a future. I'm okay with that."
"No, you’re not."
"Damnit, Kelly. Would you let me believe my own lies every once in a while?"
She laughs, and I can hear the soft voice of her current boy toy in the background. I'm distracting her from her own summer off, but god, I miss her. I wish she was here.
Except if she was, Atticus would never notice me.
The thought hurts, more than it should. "So when do I get a picture of him?"
"Who?"
"Mr Bossman."
She still doesn't know his name. I've managed to avoid telling her—but she'll pick that face out of the staff directory, if I show her a picture.
"I don't have any."
"Honey, you’re going to a wedding. You'll have some."
"Why are you so interested?" I snap.
My voice is sharper than I mean, and I feel her interest narrow in on me. "Why are you so determined I not see him?"
"It doesn't matter, Kelly. He's just passing through."
"So were most of the frat boys you've been with in the past three years, but you didn't sleep with them."
It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her—to spill all of it. That he's a professor, to show her his picture and let her squeal with me over his good looks and lickable dimples.
I close my eyes and turn the conversation to something safer. "That boy in your bed? He's number five?"
"Six, I think," she says, a satisfied little smirk in her voice. It's a personal challenge for Kelly to sleep her way through her father's staff each year. Six might be a new record for this time of the summer. "He's actually pretty fun. Has a whole new skill set his colleagues don't."
"If it's oral or involves knots, I don't even want to know," I say, and Kelly giggles.
We chat for a little while longer before I let her go entertain her current playmate.
I need to finish packing. I look at the nearly empty suitcase—aside from the dress I'm wearing for the wedding and the two scraps of material that make up my bikini, I'm not sure what to bring.
My phone rings, and I glance down at it.
The caller ID makes my blood run cold. I don't want to talk to him. I don't ever want to talk to him.
The ringing stops, and then—after a pause so small it barely counts—it starts again.
He'll keep at it for hours if I don't answer. Growling softly, I answer. "What do you want?"
"Why are you always so hostile? I'm just calling to see how you’re doing, and you bite my head off—how fair is that?"
I snort. "Do you really want to talk about things that are fair, Josh?"
"Did you get your dress?" he asks, changing subjects easily.
"Are you really calling to make idle chit chat?"
He's quiet, and I groan, rubbing my eyes. A headache is threatening, throbbing behind my eyes. "I don't want to talk to you. I don't know how many times and ways I have to say it—for fucks sake, I moved halfway across the country to get away from you! Why can't you take a hint?"
"Because you know I made a mistake. Eventually, you'll stop punishing me for it."
Tears sting my eyes. The urge to run hits me, so strong I suck in a breath. "I have to go."
"Avery," he says, and his voice shaping my name is so familiar—I've heard it so many times, when he's whispering it while he comes—that my knees buckle.
I hang up without saying anything else and throw my phone across the room. It bounces twice on Kelly's bed. Why do I let him do this? Every single time, I let him get in my head.
And I'm tired of it.
Atticus is working today, and I shouldn't disturb him. But I want to see him. Want his arms around me.
I want him to drive away the memory of my ex-fiancé.
My last grad school application beckons, and I snatch it up. Anything to distract myself from the thoughts chasing circles in my head.
"So, I finished packing."
Atticus grins, looking around my apartment. It's still cluttered chaos, something that is driving me a little crazy. "Really?"
"Shut up," I say affectionately. "I did—everything is in my bag."
"What? You aren't gonna model your bikini?"
"Babe, you see me naked every day."
He kisses me, a soft kiss that tugs at my heart—he's been sweeter the past week. I'm trying to avoid thinking about why. "There's something about seeing a woman almost naked that is even more erotic than seeing her naked."
"Then you should love the shit I picked up at Victoria Secret."
His eyes sparkle, and I put a hand up. "How did things go with the appraiser?"
"He thinks it's real," Atticus says, the sexual hunger in his eyes banked by the discussion of his work. "It's hard to authenticate completely, because of age and the fact is that we don't know who was on Jean's crew. He ran so many ships. But age wise, the document is a match. And no one would fabricate a pirate's document in that day and age."
"Even though he was so revered in New Orleans?"
"He was, but not to a point that someone would forge a document about being on his ship. Maybe lie about it in everyday life, but in that day? No one wrote things down."
It's a good point. "So what does it mean?"
"It means we have a whole side of Jean that we've never even thought about."
"Do you have time to include it?" That's what it really comes down to. He has a finite amount of time to finish the paper.
"I met with the board today. They're deciding if I should be given another extension. Problem is, I'm on my last one. But this is so close to home—I know they don't want to miss an opportunity to bring local attention to UB."
I chew on my lip. "How can I help? What can I do?"
Atticus flashes me that smile that I love so much, the one that tells me how important I am to him. "Nothing, sweetheart. Finish the transcription, and I'll do what I can, whatever they decide."
"But first, we have our week," I say softly. I lean back, my head tilting up for his kiss.
Atticus
Avery is not a good traveler. She vibrates with impatience and nerves, flitting around the tiny loft impatiently. When she starts to check her suitcase for the fifth time in ten minutes, I catch her hand and drag her down next to me on the bed.
"Quit. I have to finish packing," she whines.
"You've packed. You've repacked. Fuck, you've re-repacked. You haven't forgotten anything. If you did, you don't have to have it." I smirk, rolling to pin her. "Frankly, as long as you have your dress and something sexy to wear to bed, I think we're set."
A smile teases the corners of her lips. "Shit. I knew I forgot something."
I laugh, and she pulls me down to kiss her.
I keep thinking it will get old, that being with her will lose the electric excitement. I keep thinking I'll wake up and not want her quite as much. But as she kisses me to distraction, I know it's not true. If anything, it's the opposite.
I shiver as she kisses her way down my body, and as her mouth engulfs me, my mind goes deliciously blank.
Later, she crawls up my body, settles next to me with a smirk. I'm still trying to breath, and she's laughing at me.
She leans over and nuzzles my neck. "Go to sle
ep—we have an early flight."
She curls on her side, and I wrap an arm around her, dragging her to me and fitting her back to my chest. Her ass wiggles once against my dick, and I clamp a hand down on her hips. "I thought you wanted to sleep?"
She laughs, a soft throaty noise.
"What's your family like?" I ask, playing with her hair. It's the first time I've asked—Avery doesn't talk about her family often. She doesn't talk about life back in Virginia at all.
"Daddy is an architect. He builds the most beautiful homes in Grovetown. Did I ever tell you that?" she asks, her voice sleepy.
"No."
"He's actually what got me interested in ancient cultures. He was always talking about them with admiration—he loves the architecture of Rome and Greece."
"You love him."
She startles in my arms and twists to look at me. "Why on earth would you think otherwise?"
Why? "Because you never talk about home. You rarely talk about your family. And most college students who stay in their dorm room—or loft—for the summer have family issues they’re trying to avoid."
Her gaze darts away. That fear that she's not telling me something shifts through me again. "You know why I stayed. I had to finish my grad school applications."
I'm quiet, watching her, until she finally fidgets and looks up at me, defiant.
"What happened that pushed you away from Grovetown?"
The reaction shocks me. She rolls away from me completely, settling on her pillow, arms crossed under her. "Good night, Atticus."
I open my mouth. Almost push her to give me a real answer. She's tense, her entire body stiff with anticipation, as if she's waiting for a blow to hit her.
So I press a kiss to her shoulder blade, and the tension begins to melt out of her. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
Chapter 20
Avery
The smell of the ocean and the clamor of Jamaican voices welcome me, enfold me in a blanket of warmth that I hadn't realized I'd missed until I'm here, with it wrapped around me. I smile, and Atticus squeezes my hand. "You missed it, didn't you?"
I nod. "Yes. More than I expected."
We make our way through the terminal, headed for baggage claim and where my family is undoubtedly waiting. Without realizing it, my footsteps slow. I'm eager to see them—to see Amelia—but I'm also sad. This is the last time I'm alone with him for any real amount of time. I stop abruptly, and Atticus pauses, pulled to a stop by the grip on my hand. There's a little corner, a tiny alcove that is empty and semi-private, and I pull him to it. Even before we're there, his lips are on mine, demanding and gentle and hungry. I love the way he kisses me—it's addictive, like I'm the air and he can't get enough, or a feast after years of hunger. He doesn't so much kiss me as consume me, like I'm essential to his survival.
He kisses me like I'm the only girl he ever wants to kiss. If I'm not careful, I will let that thought take root—and I can't afford that.
He pulls back first, his gaze soft as his finger running over my aching lips. "What was that for?"
"Do I need a reason, Professor?"
He laughs, and I kiss him again, briefly. "Just—whatever happens with my sister and Daddy? Whatever they say—don't forget that kiss."
Something flickers in his gaze, and I look away. Thread my fingers through his, and we slip back into the stream of humanity.
As we round the corner to baggage claim, he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I'll remember that kiss. But you remember that tonight, you’re mine—I want you screaming 'Professor' while you’re naked in my bed."
My shocked gaze flies up to his, and he smirks, that sexy bad-boy smile that should have warned me away.
It still doesn't.
Atticus
She's trying not to blush, but I'd bet my left nut that she's wet, creaming in those black boy shorts she tugged on this morning.
The thought makes me hard, and I shift my carry on in front of me to hide it.
I see them before she does—the girl who looks just like Avery, with bright red hair. The older man with dark skin and deep eyes. Both of them watching her. "Avery!" the girl shrieks, and she's letting go of me, and then her sister has caught her in her arms. I stand back, watching as she's embraced by her family. I see the look her father directs at me, and I meet it head on. I know what he sees—my tattoos, my shaggy hair, my smirk. The obvious age difference.
I know, and I don't give a damn.
Her father doesn't bother me. Neither does her sister—it's the guy standing a few feet away. I'd almost miss him, except he's watching them. Avery leaves her sister's arms, and Andre embraces his oldest daughter, and the guy’s gaze follows her. Dread settles in my stomach, and I step forward. He's not watching the family, he's watching Avery. He's watching her the way Dane sometimes eyes a girl he wants to take home for the night, but it's a little different.
I claim her hand, and she looks up, half startled. She's starts to smile, and I shake my head, "I'm Atticus."
"Amelia, Avery's sister. Our father, Andre."
I shake her father's hand then look past him at the dude who has taken two steps closer, who is now standing almost at Andre’s side. "Who the hell are you?"
She gasps, and her hand releases mine as she takes a half step toward him. Jerks around and collides into my chest. "I'm Josh. Avery's fiancé."
Avery
I can feel the tension in Atticus—he's holding me, but it's like being held by a live wire. "Ex," I mumble and push away from him. "My ex fiancé."
Josh has the nerve to shrug. "Technicalities."
"Bags," I mutter. "We need to get our bags." I turn away, ignoring my personal life imploding at the baggage claim, ignoring the look in Atticus' eyes—hurt.
I should have told him. If I had thought, even once, that Josh would be here, I would have.
We gather the bags, and, sooner than I would like, we're tucked into a limo. I'm wedged between Atticus and Josh, and both men vibrate with tension. As soon as we're seated, Atticus pulls me into him, draping an arm over my knees. One finger plays idly over my skin. I hide my smile. It's a statement—that I'm his, whatever else Josh might say.
I'm surprised I don't mind.
Atticus
I want to beat the shit out of him. I don't know who he is—and frankly I don't care about specifics. I can put enough together to know that this shithead is the one who hurt her. He's the one who broke her and made it so hard for Avery to trust.
"Avery, you didn't mention you'd be bringing a guest," Andre says coolly.
"I said a plus one, Daddy."
"A heads up would be nice. We don't have anywhere at the villa for Atticus to stay."
Fuck that. "I'll stay with Avery. If that's a problem at the villa, I'll rent us a room at the hotel. Not a big deal."
From the way Amelia's eyes grow wide, it's a bigger deal than I think.
The ride is short, but uncomfortable. Josh is radiating his anger like a blanket of heat, and I couldn’t care less. All I really want is to get her somewhere quiet and private and find out what the fuck is going on. Who this guy is.
"How did you meet Avery?" Amelia asks, and Avery shifts next to me. I kiss her forehead and smile. "At a local coffee shop. She has a slightly unhealthy addiction to coffee."
A smile fills her voice. "It's not unhealthy."
"Five cups yesterday, sweetheart. That doesn't exactly qualify as healthy," I say, grinning.
She flushes. "You shouldn't be keeping count."
"You never drank coffee when we were together, Ava."
She freezes, and I want to kick him. "A lot of things have changed since then," she says.
I feel his gaze sweep over me. "I can see that."
Avery huddles into me, and I can feel her breaking apart. Flight or fight is about to hit her, and I've got to get her somewhere safe. If she has to fight someone, I'd rather it be me.
We pull up to a villa, and I'm out almost before we stop, pulli
ng her into my arms. "What room?" I demand.
Andre hesitates, but Amelia answers quickly. "Upstairs—third floor, the yellow room."
I nod at her, deciding then and there that I really like Avery's sister.
Then I pick her up and carry her upstairs.
It's a sign of just how upset Avery is that she doesn't protest.
Avery
Atticus strides through the villa—which is pretty, what I can see of it—up the stairs. The first two rooms are not what he's looking for, but the third, painted in shades of yellow from soft to vibrant, is ours. He breathes a sigh of relief, kicks the door shut behind him, and drops me on the bed.
I scramble away from him, and he lets me. His face is closed, blank, and I wonder, almost desperately, what he's thinking.
"Who is he?"
I flinch.
"My past. He and I met before eighth grade—Daddy brought Lucas Porter in and they formed a partnership. Both were doing great on their own, but together, they took over most major architecture in Virginia. Josh became one of my best friends."
"He obviously thinks he's more than that."
"He was. We started dating after our sophomore year. It just sort of happened—we fell in to each other. He was my first love, my first kiss, my first everything."
Atticus swears, softly, and I look at him. Maybe he didn't need that much honesty. "He proposed before our senior year. Every one of our friends knew we were going to spend our lives together. It was everything I ever wanted."
"What happened?"
"I spent a year at home, putting together a wedding that was going to be the biggest gala Grovetown had seen in years. Josh spent a year at Virginia Tech. On the day of our wedding, he told me that he wasn't ready to be married. That I just wasn't what he wanted." Years of pain and betrayal fill my voice. "He left me in a fucking white dress in front of everyone I knew."
Atticus
I can hear the pain of years in her voice, and I reach for her. She flinches, and I want to kick Josh's ass. Want to bury him so deep, he never crosses her mind.
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