by Elara Skye
“I—”
“And now,” the words cut past his lips, while he grasped her chin. Amelia’s breath hitched as she tilted her head back. “Pay attention.”
She gasped softly as he closed the distance between them, claiming her mouth. A quiet moan escaped her as Finn’s arms snapped around her slim waist. He pulled her into him, and Amelia arched against his body—surrendering to the embrace.
Finn took several steps forward, taking her with him, and she squeaked upon hitting the wall. Her breath continued to fan his cheeks as he deepened the kiss, growing more and more hectic as his tongue swept against hers. It coaxed and played with hers, relentlessly forcing the entire night’s mountain of composure and control to evaporate from her body. In a matter of seconds, her braid was mangled around the fingers that speared through it, and Amelia let out a soft moan as he tugged it back, tearing his lips away to trail open-mouthed kisses down her neck.
“Finn,” she stuttered breathlessly, her chest heaving beneath him as he kissed down to her cleavage. Finn balled the fabric of her suit at the arch of her back, pushing the edges of the blazer as low as he could get them. “Finn?”
“What?”
“Where’s your room?”
He paused, hot breath pluming over her skin as he looked up at her through lidded eyes. His lips never left her skin, but his hands found her hips, her waist—he gripped them as he straightened against her, his wetted mouth brushing over hers as he answered in between kisses, “Fifth floor.”
“Let’s go,” she managed.
Finn smiled, taking her hand and pulling her up the corridor. He realized then that they were near the hotel chapel—ironic, considering where they had their first Christmas Eve together—but that was hardly at the forefront of his mind. Nothing could beat Amelia’s smile as she tightened her hand in his. Her hair was an absolute mess, and the sides of her suit wrinkled where he balled it up. He’d really done a number on that braid as well, but it could take more.
The stairs weren’t an option, but the elevators were thankfully vacant—it was too late in the evening for anything else. Thank goodness Amelia hadn’t worn lipstick, her wreck of a hairstyle was enough to earn them some pointed looks from the staff. Finn threw an arm over her shoulder as one of them followed into the elevator. From there, it was a quick shot up the hallway and into the room.
The door slammed shut behind them as Amelia pulled her hand from his grasp, flitting off into the shadows of the suite. The room was dark, but there was fire in her eyes when she faced him. A devilish gleam ghosted her face as she smiled, tilting her chin as she unbuttoned her clothes. Finn grinned as he swept her up and tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed, pulling his shirt off afterward. The rest of their clothes soon followed, strewn all over the floor. Kneeling onto the bed, Finn pushed her wrists back as she tried to sit up, scuffling and warring through passionate kisses as she tried to flip him over.
Amelia’s efforts ceased with a gasp the moment he slid a hand between her legs—one finger inside, and then two. Her arms clasped around him instead, and he relished her touch as she he kissed her neck. Love and lust coursed through him as she writhed beneath him, her braid utterly destroyed, and her moans emboldened him to survey her with his lips—still thrusting in and out—until she took the opportune moment of distraction to force him back onto the bed.
In one swift movement, Finn found himself beneath her, watching as she removed the hairband and tousled her hair, allowing it to fall around her shoulders. His throat constricted at the sight of her in the moonlight, and he instinctively rose to meet her lips when she bent down to kiss him, positioning herself over him. Tendrils of pleasure shot out as she dropped her weight, and Finn caught the choked cry in the back of his throat, keeping it from escaping past his lips. With each rocking movement, he surrendered to the pleasure she brought him.
When Amelia’s grip finally began to weaken on his shoulder—she was close, he knew it—Finn turned her over, letting her hover above the bed, while holding her against him.
“Now,” he murmured against her lips before kissing her again, “I hope you’re paying attention.”
He dropped her onto it, and Amelia squeaked.
From there, there was nothing sweeter in the world than Amelia’s cries as he descended onto her, driving her into ecstasy—ensuring she would never forget how she held onto him this night. How he had and would always defend her, and then bring her home to love with every thrumming beat of his heart. Never forget how they entered back into a world of bliss, if only for a time.
Chapter Twenty
Amelia’s body ached pleasurably when she woke.
She never could sleep without pajamas—this night was no exception, even with Finn lying beside her. It didn’t matter that he was a living furnace, just like every other man she’d slept with—the chill of the hotel room still lifted her from the depths of rest. She roused on the neighboring pillow, while Finn continued looking utterly picturesque in sleep.
Obligatory appreciation aside, Amelia rolled over and grabbed at the nearby towel thrown over a chair. There was a fresh, clean robe hanging on one of the hooks in the bathroom, and Amelia planned to use it as a makeshift pajama top. Slowly but surely, she slid her legs out from underneath the sheets, throwing the towel over her shoulders as she dragged her feet across the floor, past one of the many intricate paintings hanging throughout the suite.
Nearest to the bed was the portrait of a woman in a field, wearing an opulent Victorian gown and standing with an umbrella in her hand. With the subtle, wispy swaths of paint, there was a gentle breeze feathering through the scene. Amelia first noticed the painting on her way to take a shower earlier that night and decided that it was her favorite—especially after a night of cutting looks and unfriendly faces. The artist had a talent of adding a refreshing kindness to the woman’s expression, and the touch of gentility made the painting a pleasure to admire.
Not so much in the middle of the night, however...
The bathrobe’s fabric was marginally warmer than the bathroom floor, and Amelia threw it over her shoulders in place of the towel, tying the belt before heading back to the bedroom. All in all, she was frustrated to be losing sleep like this—the day was a tiring rollercoaster in and of itself, and now it would take longer for her to warm up and fall asleep.
Amelia rubbed her eyes, making a sudden stop at the threshold. Something was out of place.
No...
Someone was out of place.
Her heart leaped into her throat as her gaze snapped the left. There, she saw a woman standing in front of the painting. The skirt of her dress faded into nothing around her knees, and moonlight poured over the rest her translucent silhouette—though it cast no subsequent shadow on the ground.
Amelia’s hands paled as she stood unmoving by the door.
The woman must have been part of the Ether—a spirit, it looked like—and if she made any sudden movements, Amelia might very well have dropped dead with fright. Daring to glance at the bed, she gathered the courage to hiss the angel’s name, but there was no response.
“Finn,” she tried again.
Amelia waited, groaning inwardly at his motionless body, which continued to lay draped beneath the sheets. She could throttle him at that moment for sleeping so soundly, without a care in the world. It wasn’t news that Finn was a heavy sleeper, but occasionally he skirted the edges of consciousness enough for her to wake him up—why couldn’t that be the case now, of all times?
Amelia inched across the carpet, still whispering his name, but he didn’t move.
Great. She rolled her eyes. If she could only get to the bed, Amelia could shake Finn awake.
A mirror hung nearby, angled toward the window. A cursory glance in its direction allowed a view of the woman’s face, prompting her to stop for a moment. Her features were distinctly visible in the moonlight, though it was strange that the woman cast a reflection in the mirror at all. Her kindly expression had vi
sibly rotted to a melancholy look, which was hardly akin to the way the artist had captured her. On top of which, the woman seemed transfixed on her depiction—lost in the world of the painting.
Amelia was close enough now to where she could see the tiny placard: A Portrait of Lady Rose Olfario, 1853.
Finn once told her that in death, humans were no longer bound to the world they knew, that they could go wherever they wanted. But what if there was a constant reminder of the world they knew in life, that kept them tied to it? Amelia wondered whether that meant that this woman had been standing in front of the painting since 1853.
“Hello?” Amelia whispered to her, stepping over to the window. The woman’s face was lovelier in person, but utterly inert. “Rose?”
The woman’s eyes snapped toward her, making her flinch.
“Why are you here?” Her lips moved, but they didn’t match the words floating past them as a distant echo. “You shouldn’t be here. Come fix your hair.”
“My hair?” Amelia murmured, surveying her face. There was emptiness in her eyes, a faraway look—perhaps she was still in the world of the painting.
“Put on something light,” Rose said. “It’s warm outside.”
Sadness weighed heavily in Amelia’s heart. “It’s winter,” she offered a variation of Finn’s sentiments, “but you can go and find the spring if you want.”
“You need to fix your hair, dear.”
“You shouldn’t stay here, Rose.”
“Come look in the mirror.” The woman appeared stunned and sad. “Your hair is such a mess.”
“This isn’t a mirror,” Amelia said softly—though Rose wasn’t wrong about her hair—as she extended a hand in front of the portrait. “Look. Do you see my hand?”
Rose’s eyes fluttered as Amelia waved it in front of the canvas, a shaken look coming over her suddenly. “W-What is this?”
Amelia paused, tendrils of guilt twisting unexpectedly in her chest, as though she’d done something wrong. At that moment, she wondered if it would’ve been kinder to leave the woman alone.
“Your family,” she said, trying to reconcile the effort. “I bet they’re looking for you. Or maybe someone you love?”
“Someone, I love?”
“Yeah—do you have someone like that?”
“Love...” Rose repeated. “Someone I love...”
“Do you know where they are?” Amelia added softly, trying to help.
“I-I can’t move.”
“Yes,” she stepped forward, “yes, you absolutely can. You can go wherever you want.” Amelia glanced over her shoulder, out the window. “See the moon? You can go there if you want to.”
Rose’s eyes roved past Amelia, up to the glittering patches of dispersing clouds. Moonlight filled her irises, detaching her from the painting. “Is that the moon?” she breathed out.
It was the last thing she said.
Amelia blinked, and the woman was gone. She continued to stand there for a time, watching the darkness—as though something might manifest if she stared long enough. After a while, the only sound filling the room was her nervous breath. The apparition did not appear again, nor did any other come to replace it.
Finn barely moved when she finally left the painting’s side, keeping her eye on that corner just a little while longer. The bed sighed beneath her weight, and only then did he finally stir.
“Amelia?” he murmured sleepily, sliding his hand across the blanket. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. But you’re late to the party,” Amelia whispered as she took it. “Your room was haunted.”
Finn dragged her hand back to his lips, pressing a soft, slow kiss to her fingers. At first, he settled back onto the pillow, but then his eyes snapped open with realization. “What did you say?” He rolled over onto his elbows, moonlight washing over his chiseled body. “Where?”
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s gone now. I told her to leave, and she did.”
“Who’s gone?”
“The woman in that painting,” Amelia nodded to the corner, “she’s gone.”
“She was here?”
“Yes, her name was Rose. You didn’t sense that, or whatever?”
Finn furrowed a brow and sighed, plopping back onto the pillow. “I’m sorry. They come and go in one area sometimes; I would’ve crossed her over if she appeared sooner.”
“It’s okay.” Affection bloomed in her chest, and Amelia rolled over to kiss him softly, feeling the faint stroke of his breath against her cheek. Her hair curtained them both as she hovered over him. “I still love you.”
Finn opened his eyes and smiled, watching her for a moment. “Not that I’m complaining...” he murmured. “But that sure took you long enough.”
“You beat me by a few hours.” She shrugged. “Go back to sleep.”
“Sleep? Hm…” Finn hummed, sliding a hand over her waist. In a brisk movement, he pulled her to him, kissing her neck. “No, I don’t think I will.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“We should try this sushi place,” Amelia mumbled the next day. She stared at her phone screen, all wrapped up in the depths of her duvet, wishing they didn’t need to go anywhere at all.
In truth, she could barely keep her eyes open. Angels, unsurprisingly, required less sleep than humans to function normally, and Finn’s exorbitant mood and energy had followed him subsequently throughout the day.
“We’re not going out to eat right now,” he said as he sauntered out of the next room, tossing a pair of snow boots onto the bed, along with a fresh set of winter clothes.
Amelia sat upright, picking a boot up by its tongue. “What’s this?”
“That’s what you’re about to put on,” he said, bending over to pull on his pair. “Because we’re going somewhere special.”
“And where’s that?”
“Somewhere that’s going to brighten up that mood of yours,” he said, nodding to the clothes. “Come on, get up.”
“But I wanted to eat,” Amelia whined. “Also, you do realize you handed me snow boots, right? It’s freezing out there; humans can get hyperthermia.”
“It’s hypothermia—and yes, I’m more aware of it than you are. I promise the snow won’t be killing you tonight.” He pointed to the shoes. “Come on. I won’t be kept waiting.”
Amelia smirked, mumbling something about dying for his entertainment as she snatched the jacket up first.
Finn stood and waited by the door, looking altogether pleased as he watched her scuffle with a pair of jeans. And when they finally got around to the lobby, Amelia noted that it was as busy and elegant as usual, with more than a few familiar faces lingering throughout the space. Namely, they were guests who had attended the dinner. And while her and Finn’s presence didn’t go unnoticed, no one waved them down as they crossed the lobby—thank goodness. There were, however, numerous glances thrown in their direction, cast down to her gloved hand in his. Finn tightened it as they weathered the looks.
“Hey,” a voice appeared from behind them, and Amelia’s heart sank with recognition. “You guys headed out?”
They turned. Just as Amelia thought, the voice belonged to Daniel, who stood in place as they appraised him. The lobby was chilly, but the athletic wear he wore looked considerably warm. For a time, he appeared rooted in place, looking between them as reluctantly as he did at dinner.
Amelia retorted, “What’s it to you?”
“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute,” he threw Finn a hesitant glance, “alone.”
Finn turned, addressing her calmly, “You owe him none of your time.”
“And he won’t take up much of it,” she said, eyeing the curious way Daniel’s hands fidgeted in their pockets. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll be over there if you need me.”
“Will do,” she said, crossing her arms as Finn kissed her cheek and left. “What do you want?”
Daniel dithered, looking more uncomfortable than before. “He
doesn’t like me, does he?”
She knitted her brows. “He’s heard enough.”
“Okay, well, I just wanted to apologize, I guess.”
She blinked. “What?”
His voice was coarse and somber, as was his expression. “For everything that happened after...you know.”
“After you raped Sonja?”
Daniel visibly tensed. Amelia wondered if anyone else could see it. “Um. Yeah, I guess.”
Fury twisted in her, but she swallowed it down. They were in public, after all, surrounded by affiliates of the company. If either one of them should look bad in front of these people, it wouldn’t be her—not for any reason.
“Assuming that’s a genuine apology,” Amelia said, “and not just a ploy to avoid getting fired if I sign on with Hart, I can’t forgive you on her behalf.”
“I know. And I know it’s late, but I guess I’m wondering if there’s anything I can do.”
“Nope.” Amelia shook her head, turning to rejoin Finn. “Nothing.”
“Amelia—” Daniel stepped in her direction. “I know I don’t have a right to say this, but I know you didn’t talk to your dad these past few years. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”
She stopped, biting back the impulse to smack him. “Dad and I were inevitable. There are more important things you should’ve cared about back then—like Sonja, and how your actions affected her life.”
“How is she?” he asked reluctantly.
“I wouldn’t know. We stopped talking. And even if I did, you’re the last person I’d talk to about it.”
“I know I was a piece of shit, and I should’ve cared more. I do now, though.”
“Because of what I said yesterday about you buying me out?”
“No,” he responded calmly, as though he knew she’d suspect that. “The shares don’t matter to me. I’ll be quitting anyway.”
“What?”
“I’ll find work somewhere else; I’ve already started interviewing and gotten some offers.”