“Hi there.” He kissed her neck, and she shivered. “You look so amazing naked. I feel as though I won the lottery having you here.”
“You did. Don’t you know? The Dahlia lottery.”
Cristian let go of her and walked to the empty space on the rug. Then was the first time she’d seen the scars on his leg uncovered. She stared for a second and then made herself look away before he noticed. Dahlia would bet he’d been through enough with people looking at his leg. His marks didn’t detract from his masculine beauty at all. If anything, they made him seem more primal, as if he’d been through a battle and come out the other side, which, she supposed, he had.
Cristian laid on the floor, facing her. She smiled. He remembered. She loved to ride him, preferred the position to any of the others they had tried. He held the condom out in front of him. “Put the condom on me. Please.”
“My pleasure.” And it really was. She took the foil package and tore it open. Seconds later, she knelt before him, running her hands once again along the length of him while she sheathed his cock. He groaned, closing his eyes. “You like?”
“You know I do.” He opened his lids. “You’re so fucking hot. Ride me, baby.”
Dahlia climbed onto him, inching his penis inside her ever so slowly. She was tight, years without made his entrance a new invasion.
Suddenly, she had to tell him, not because she expected the same. She simply wanted him to know. “It’s still only been you, Cristian. My one and only. Always.”
His eyes widened. “Dahlia.”
She smiled, finally taking him balls deep with a moan. Yes, coming together was so right. She’d finally come home. Her man was there. He was hers, and they’d be together. She was never letting anyone come between them again.
Dahlia moved upward, moving much faster on the pull out than the push down. His cock rubbed her clit as she did, sending a jolt of pleasure through her system.
“Yes, baby,” she whispered.
Cristian had always been made to be hers.
Chapter Seven
Cristian rolled over in bed, his cock hard as a rock. With Dahlia gone for the last three weeks—one of which he had also been absent. The time counted all the same—his desire for her reached a new level of desperate.
Tonight. She’d return tonight.
Her plane landed at nine o’clock. When she got home, she’d be too tired for dinner, only hopefully not too exhausted for him to ravish the fuck out of her. He dragged himself out of bed and then headed for the shower. First, he had a thousand business meetings to make it through and an assistant secretary to fire.
He needed to keep his eye on the goal. His woman would be home later.
****
The day dragged, every minute feeling an hour. He loved his work yet some days work was work, regardless of how much pleasure he took in the doing. Cristian’s leg ached. Hell, every muscle in his body felt sore. If he had time later in the weekend, he needed to manage to find a massage. Maybe he’d convince Dahlia to do one with him. A couples massage…
And afterward they could go to dinner. She was supposed to be home for almost a month, and there were endless things he wanted to do with her. Make up for some lost time…
He’d showered when he woke up. Still, the day had been hot and the air conditioning on the fritz in his office. Cristian sniffed his shirt. Shit, he stunk. He would need to shower before Dahlia got home.
They needed to get the air conditioning fixed at work or he’d end up doubling his water bill from showers alone. After limping up the stairs, he threw his clothes into the dirty hamper. The shower took a minute to make warm, and he thought again about having the plumber come out and install an instant hot in the bathroom. He’d held off doing any renovations on the place because he wanted to sell. Since Dahlia had returned, maybe the time had come to recommit to the house.
Cristian stepped under the spray. Thoughts of his love filled his mind. He’d set out to win her, decided the task impossible, and then she’d returned to him. How weird was life?
He’d only been back at work a short period of time so it was too early to take a vacation. They could, however, plan one for some day. He soaped his body and then rinsed. At least he wouldn’t absolutely stink when he got Dahlia into bed.
A bang downstairs caught his attention. He froze in the shower. What the hell? Cristian’s heart rate kicked and he grabbed a towel. What could have toppled over downstairs?
Another sound, a loud pop, sounded. Okay, something was wrong.
Cristian grabbed his robe and wrapped himself. Water still dripped across his body and his hair stuck to his head. He doubted he’d gotten all the shampoo out. He’d no sooner walked out of the bathroom when the smell of smoke assaulted his nose. The acrid scent made his nose tickle and he sneezed before he started coughing.
His fucking house was on fire. “Mother fucker.”
He had no doubt the blaze was arson. Duke’s buddies had finally made real the threat they placed. How they had gotten through what was clearly worthless security he’d find out later. He had to make his way out of the house before the place burned.
Cristian wasn’t dying in flames.
He was determined to live to be old and pass away in his sleep with Dahlia by his side. Not because some psychopaths burned his home.
Cristian limped as fast as he could toward the stairs. His leg had been better. He’d stopped using the cane, and mostly didn’t obsess anymore.
Only he would give anything to have full use of his leg again. The hallway was filled with dark, black smoke. Whatever controlled burn Duke and his people used hadn’t been applied to his house. He barely made his way to the staircase before he had to turn around and rush into his room. The smoke suffocated, and he could see the red flames downstairs tearing into his home. He wasn’t getting downstairs and out the front door.
After closing his bedroom door behind him to shove away what smoke he could, Cristian got low to the floor. His bedroom had a small balcony attached and he was going to make his way there and possibly jump. His leg already hurt thinking about the fall.
Cristian gritted his teeth and crawled toward the door. He wished he had spent more time studying what to do in the event of a fire. Staying low. Stop, drop, and roll. Lots of key phrases flooded his brain and none of them particularly mattered as he inched toward the balcony. Finally, reaching his destination, he got the door unlocked and walked outside.
Sirens sounded in the distance and several of his neighbors had gathered in front of the house. Seeing him, a woman started waving frantically. What did she want him to do? On his balcony with his house aflame wasn’t exactly time for a chat.
Nice to see you too, Mrs. Brown.
If things weren’t so dire, he’d roll his eyes.
“Hey,” she called up to him. “There is a man dead in a car out here.”
His gut clenched. The security guard. At least he knew what had happened. Damn, he was sorry for even involving anyone else in this mess. “The fire department is coming.”
Great. Cristian turned around and stared at the smoke-filled room behind him. Yeah, he wasn’t able to wait for help to arrive. The structure wasn’t going to hold very much longer and the balcony would be the first thing that went along with him standing there.
Goosebumps broke out all over his skin. He faced a moment, a primal event. Relief Dahlia had taken a late flight warred with the horror of how upset she would be when she found out about what happened to the house. His love would blame herself for the fire, and he was absolutely not tolerating her misplaced guilt.
First, he had to jump off the balcony.
Hauling his bad leg over the side first, he gripped the metal railings hard. Thank goodness he was still strong, because if his upper body gave out before he’d lowered himself a bit he would be seriously screwed.
He followed with the other leg, the bad one shaking slightly yet his grip never faltered. He needed to dangle. Just the same as gym class. If
he did a pull up, he’d be sixteen years old again.
Only he wasn’t planning on coming back, simply getting his lower half farther enough to the ground. If he broke something in the fall, it was a leg and not his neck. Amazing how he could think so clearly. When the adrenaline wore off, he would freak out.
Whatever hospital he had to spend the night in better serve booze. Bribe an orderly to bring him some whisky…
He wasted time and he knew why. Anticipation of how much the fall would hurt his leg had to be worse than the actual event. He hoped.
Cristian let go and plummeted a story and a half to the ground.
He’d been wrong. The actual fall hurt a hell of a lot worse.
****
The taxi couldn’t make it onto the street. Police barricades blocked their way, and through her too exhausted from too much travel muddled brain, Dahlia knew something was wrong. She sat forward in her seat.
“Hey, would you please let me out here?” She handed the man the cash she’d reserved for the trip and then grabbed her small carry-on bag on the way out of the car.
The taxi driver muttered something about traffic. She hardly heard him. Grey smoke pushed its way into the sky and the fire trucks blocking the street seemed to be focusing on a house about midway.
Where her house stood. Her heart rate kicked up and she took off running, her breath coming in and out in hard gasps. She threw her suitcase to the side on some neighbor’s lawn. The house was ablaze. Her house. Where the love of her life was supposed to be waiting for her.
Barricades stopped her from progressing forward, and she kicked them aside. Rules didn’t matter. Not with so much at stake.
Dahlia ran hard, her shoes were too tall. Heels weren’t right for covering distance so she kicked them off too. A police officer grabbed her arm.
“Miss. You can’t go over there. It’s not safe. The house is still on fire. The area is not secured. You need to stay behind the barricade.”
“That’s my house.” She didn’t know if she spoke so much as she panted. “My husband. Where is my husband?”
A flurry of activity happened with her words and before she knew it she found herself sitting in the rear of a police car, still barefoot, on her way to the hospital. No one had any news on Cristian. They had lots of questions about the whys of her house being targeted for arson. A police officer sat next to her, taking notes.
By the time she got to the ER, her heart threatened to explode with worry.
She ran through the doors and came up short. There, behind reception, sitting, coherent and from the way he flung an arm in the air, arguing with the doctor. Dahlia let out a hysterical laugh, which earned her some looks from the folks around her in the waiting room. She didn’t care. Let them all think her crazy.
Maybe she was.
How could she ever have thought she could do without him? Living had been simply breathing, walking through life, without Cristian. Never again.
The police helped to shuffle her through the wait, and before she could say his name, she stood by his side.
“Dahlia.” He practically sighed her name. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been trying to make someone call you. I didn’t want you walking into that fucking mess.”
She reached out to grab his arm and interrupted his words. “I know you’ve been working really hard to show me you care. To make me see you support my dreams. I can feel your love in my heart. I need you to know, to really understand, that I see everything. I’m here for you, too. I’m in our relationship for the long haul. I won’t leave when things become hard. Oh, Cristian, for the brief moments I thought you were dead.” She couldn’t find her words because emotion from the last half an hour threatened to choke her. “Listen, marry me. Will you? Please. Let me show you for the rest of my life how much you can trust me.”
“Dahlia.” A single tear slipped from his eye. He brushed the wetness away. Her sweet, strong, Texas guy never cried. “I do trust you. I know we’re not perfect, we’ll never be. I think if we can try to communicate better there’s nothing we can’t make it through together.”
“I agree.” She touched the side of his face. “So will you?”
“Yes, Dahlia. I will. You’ve always been mine. Even if you forgot for a little while.”
The doctor came by then, scooting her to the side. She heard things about broken bones and casts. Other than being completely horrified about his pain—the man had been through enough—she knew they’d be okay. They’d get past anything. And everything would be right. Not perfect, only as long as they were together, all would always be exactly as it should be.
****
Two years later…
Dahlia ran through the front door of their still-in-boxes house in Austin, Texas. She’d been gone for two days, the absolute maximum she was willing to be away from home. The hour was late. Her plane had been delayed. Snow in the mid-west drove her crazy. Give her Texas any day of the week.
The house was quiet.
“Hello?” she called out, stepping into the living room. Cristian had seriously cut his hours since he was officially consulting and working for himself. She was used to finding him in the kitchen when she got home. He loved to cook.
Especially for Braden, who loved when Daddy made spaghetti with butter. Not gourmet, by any means. Still, a favorite for a thirteen-month-old. What she saw when she stepped into the living room made her heart expand. Daddy and their little boy were both asleep, on the couch, boxes all around them from the move, with Braden’s sweet dark head pressed on his daddy’s chest. A Dr. Seuss book had been strewn on the side of the coach.
She leaned against the wall and watched them. When she thought about how close she’d come to not having any of the best parts of her life, she almost couldn’t keep herself upright. Between their own miscommunications, huge mistakes, and the arsonists who were serving life sentences in jail for murder, Braden and their new life almost hadn’t happened.
As if sensing her presence, Cristian’s eyes flung open. “Hi, love.”
“Hi, baby.”
He extended her hand. Cristian had always been her Mister Right, even when she hadn’t recognized how right he’d always been—for her.
Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Royce
ISBN No. 978-0-9964874-8-1
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