Lost In Between: Finding Me Duet #1

by K. L. Kreig

  Memorizing.

  Stealing pockets of time, stacking moment upon moment as fast as I can so I can pull them out later when Shaw is gone.

  The masculine scent of his skin that lingers with each inhale.

  The slow, even cadence of his breath in sleep.

  The feel of his muscular thigh pinned underneath my leg.

  The weight of his arm banding me tight.

  The rightness of my head nestled in the crook of his shoulder.

  The way my lips lightly graze his chest, tiny hairs tickling me.

  I will remember them all with crispness and clarity. I won’t let them fade. It’s the only reason I gave in to spending the night in his arms. I selfishly wanted my memorial pillars to be high and wide and so damn dense I’ll never see over or around or through them. I’ll see only them because I already know I’ll never love another man like I do him.

  I fell in eyes wide open, all right. I watched it unfold right before me, helpless to stop it. He’s my once-in-a-lifetime, and without a doubt, everything that’s happened to me was another brick in the road that led me to him. It was destiny, I’m sure. I’ve been wondering a lot lately if my father’s death, in particular, hasn’t paved my way to him.

  I would be married to Reid by now, if not for that. I wouldn’t have been working for Randi, if not for that. I would have never met Noah, if not for that. Is my father still watching over me from beyond, directing me where I need to go in life?

  “What are you thinking about so hard, beautiful?” Shaw’s thick voice, gravelly with the remnants of sleep, startles me, and I twitch.

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  I feel the hand that was just crawling up and down my arm slide into my hair. With a tug, I’m now looking into his questioning ocean blues. “Do you know that whenever you’re nervous about something you worry your fingers together?”

  I’m totally taken aback. Yes, I knew that. It’s an unconscious habit I picked up at nine when my momma put some nasty stuff on my fingers so I’d stop biting my nails to the nubs. But the fact Shaw recognized it is…wow. “Yes.”

  His gaze travels over my face, and I see concern creep in. “Do you regret spending the night with me?”

  “No,” I answer with no hesitation. None whatsoever.

  “Then what is it?” he asks, sweeping the back of his hand lightly over my cheek. “What’s got you wearing down the pads of your fingers so far you’re rubbing your fingerprints off?”

  “I…I don’t know exactly.” But that’s not at all truthful, and I face another defining moment of indecision. Let him in or keep him on the fringes. I take a deep, shaky breath. “I’m just not sure what this is.”

  His eyebrows pinch together. “What what is?”

  “Us.”

  A half smile plays on his lips. “I think other people call this a relationship.”

  We’ve never talked about it directly, but there’ve been enough innuendos by Shaw and his family to know he’s not been serious about a woman. Ever. So why me? “I didn’t think you did relationships.”

  He sobers, withdrawing a little. “I’m not sure I do, Willow, but I…I want to try. I’m trying to be as honest as possible here.”

  I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at his handsome face, thick with untrimmed scruff. His dark hair lays against the bleached, white pillowcase, and his eyes sparkle in the morning sun streaming around the cracks in the curtain. He’s relaxed and serene and even more appealing when he freshly wakes. I take another mental snapshot for my growing portfolio.

  “Why now? Why me?”

  I have to admit, in part I wonder if it’s because of Reid. He’s become extremely possessive since Reid showed up, and last night I thought they were going to come to blows over me right in the middle of the dance floor. The thought Shaw wants me simply so another man can’t have me feels worse than if he didn’t want me at all.

  His shoulder moves up, then back down. “I don’t know. Do I have to have a reason?”

  “Yes, Drive By.” I laugh. “You do.”

  “What do you want to hear?” he asks almost absently as his eyes follow the finger he feathers down my neck, over my shoulder, and down my bare arm. Chills, followed by a rush of heat, race after his touch.

  “The truth,” I tell him on a hush.

  “The truth.” He repeats the low words as if they’re almost foreign to him before speaking again in a slow, measured voice. “Well, the truth is…” He follows the same trail all the way back up, grasping my chin between his finger and thumb, holding me spellbound. Keeping me breathless. “You captivate me like no one else has before, Willow, and what I feel for you is...new for me.”

  Is this his way of saying he’s falling for me? When I swallow, it hurts because a whole heap of emotion sits in the middle of my chest. It threatens to close off my airway.

  “Is that honest enough?” he asks, his smile wry.

  I want to ask about the contract and if he still means what he said last night. I want to ask if he’s falling in love with me, but I don’t want to shatter the moment, making him say something he’s clearly not ready to. So I nod, feeling tingly everywhere.

  “Good. Now, lay back down before I lose all control and fuck you until you pass out from exhaustion.”

  My eyes travel down the length of him, stopping when I reach the tent that’s now pitched in the center of his body. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” I whisper.

  His genuine smile takes my breath away. Again.

  “I agree, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk first, because after I’m done fucking you, you’ll be too tired to form sentences. And if you’re not, I’ll have to try again.”

  With a huff, I plop back down. Okay, so he pulls me down, because I was reaching for his tent pole. With one arm pinned between the bed and his side, and Shaw holding my free hand firmly against his chest lest it wanders, I ask, “Don’t you have work today or something?”

  “No. I, uh…I took the day off,” he says a little sheepishly.

  I tilt my head upward. “You took the day off? When? Can the CEO of a major corporation just take the day off on a whim?”

  “It’s my company. I can do whatever the fuck I want. Besides, there was nothing earth-shattering, so I pushed my meetings to next week. E-mailed Dean last night before I slipped into bed.”

  He’s trying to downplay this as not a big deal, but it so is. I know he works hard, twelve to fourteen hours a day, including weekends. Taking an unexpected day off means something. Why does that make me feel all fluttery?

  “For me?” I ask, hoping he says yes.

  “Yes, Willow.” He taps my nose playfully. “For you. I knew once I had your gorgeous limbs wrapped around me, I wouldn’t be able to make myself leave you naked and alone in this bed this morning. I was right.” He husks the last part.

  I beam. There’s no other way to put it. The smile on my face feels a mile wide and an ocean deep. It makes him laugh. He looks five years younger when he’s relaxed and lets himself go.

  I’m so fucking in love with this man I want to shout it to the world. I want to whisper it against his lips. But I don’t. I swallow it down and think on his words, what I feel for you is...new for me. I decide I’ll take it. I know it was sincere and a little hard for him to admit—that has to mean something. All of this has to mean something. Right?

  “You look happy,” he says thoughtfully.

  “I am.”

  “I’m glad. I like to see you happy, Willow. More than you know.”

  I’m smiling so damn hard the muscles in my face hurt, but then Shaw asks me a question that deflates me like an accordion and brings the reality of my life hailing down around me. The hits sting the same every time.

  “Why do you work for Randi?” I stiffen and try to pull away, but he holds me fast. “Willow, I’m not judging. I’m just curious. You’re a beautiful, smart, talented woman with a lot going for her, and I’m wondering what about life brought you to La Dolce Vit
a. I get the distinct feeling it’s not something you aspired to when you were young.”

  I blink a few times before I gently extricate myself from him. He reaches for me, but I’m not running again. I just can’t have this conversation while he’s touching me. I don’t plan on telling him the whole story; I’m not sure I can, but for some reason, I want him to know I didn’t have a choice, and I didn’t take the decision to work for Randi lightly.

  I lean against the headboard with a sigh, dragging the sheet up over my breasts. My entire body feels chilled, and it shakes with a shiver.

  “I’m sorry,” Shaw says, twining his fingers with mine, bringing them to his lips. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  He pushes himself into a seated position, leaning next to me. We sit silently for an eternity.

  “No. It’s okay. I want to.” But I fall quiet again. The unpressured time Shaw gives me to talk about my parents is a quiet blessing.

  “My mother has Alzheimer’s.”

  He stiffens beside me before slowly sitting up to face me. He looks positively shocked, but we’re both thinking the exact same thing.

  “Your father…”

  I nod. The words are hard to come, even harder to push out. “Yes, I know what my father was working on when he died.” Which is all the more reason I carry around guilt like a two-ton weight I can’t shake.

  My father discovered a biotech drug that could possibly stop Alzheimer’s in its tracks if given early enough in the disease’s onset. Ironically, it was too late for my mother, but to know he was responsible for finding a possible cure for a devastating disease that impacts so many, saving them and their families the suffering my family has endured, fills me with unending pride. That he chose to take his brilliance away from not only the world but his family is a hard pill to swallow.

  “I don’t understand. Didn’t your parents have money? Life insurance? Stock? Retirement?”

  “My father was the sole breadwinner, and regardless of what people think, scientists don’t work for the money; they do it for the passion. He made a decent living and had some savings, but I had their house and bills to pay off, and it’s expensive to take care of my mother. My momma needs full-time care, and I ran through most everything after the first year. I just can’t manage on my other salary. And as far as life insurance goes,”—I pause, blowing out a long breath—“the policy is void when one takes his own life.”

  For an eternity, we’re quiet, before his voice breaks with sincerity. “I’m sorry, Willow.”

  I shake my head and look away. “Don’t be. It’s my fault.” The last part slips out before I can stop it.

  A palm slips around my cheek, and he turns me toward him so I can’t look away. Sympathy and annoyance are written all over him. It’s the same look everyone gives you when you say how you feel responsible for the suicide of a loved one. But unless you’ve been through it yourself, you have absolutely no idea how you’ll feel. What signs did I miss? Did they say anything I should have paid more attention to? Why didn’t they just talk to me? Why didn’t they love me enough to stay?

  “How is it your fault, Willow? He…”

  Yeah. It’s hard to speak the word out loud. It is for me, too. Overdose is just as hard and has all the same feelings attached to it as suicide does.

  “He was stressed. With work, with my mother. I should have seen the signs earlier. I should have…” I try my damnedest to hold my voice steady. I don’t.

  “No. Stop. Just stop,” he practically barks. His eyes widen and turn firm. “This is not on you, Willow. Your father’s actions are not on you.”

  This is the same speech Reid gave me for six months after my father died. Verbatim. It doesn’t lessen the guilt any more now than it did then.

  “You don’t understand.”

  Suddenly I feel completely unworthy of anything remotely good. Just like I did with Reid.

  Happiness.

  Peace.

  Love.

  Him.

  I pull from his hold and move to get off the bed, intent on gathering my things and taking a cab home when I’m being pressed into the soft mattress and covered by almost two hundred pounds of angry man.

  “Don’t,” he growls.

  “Don’t what?” I keep my eyes closed, terrified to see what he must think of me.

  “Don’t shut me out. I fucking hate it when you do that.”

  My scalp stings where he grabs a fistful of hair at the crown of my head in one hand. My cheeks pinch together between the fingers of his other. “Eyes on me, Willow.”

  I want to beg him to leave me alone, but I need him so damn much I ache everywhere. And it’s not a physical need. It’s entirely emotional. For once in my life, I want to let someone else lighten my load. I need to let someone carry me for a change instead of me carrying them. I just don’t know how.

  My lids flutter open, and my heart races at what I see.

  Unadulterated determination.

  “Yeah, that’s it, Goldilocks. Come back to me.”

  “Shaw.” I push against his chest, panic setting in. I’m raw and vulnerable. Close to a breakdown. It’s utterly terrifying to drop that wall all the way. My skin feels tight. I can’t breathe.

  The fingers around my face tighten, stopping just short of pain. “I’m not letting you go, so just stop with whatever shit is running through that head of yours.”

  “Why?” I choke out. “I’m damaged goods. Can’t you see that? I’m too much work. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

  He shakes his head as if I’m the stupidest girl in the world. “You don’t get it, do you? Because, Willow, you are the only woman I have ever met worth fighting for, that’s why. The only one.”

  It takes a special girl to open a boy’s eyes to what’s right in front of him, Willow. But when he realizes it, he’ll fight to the death for her and only her. Don’t settle until you find that man.

  He turns into just a blob as my vision blurs with emotion.

  “You with me now, beautiful?” he asks in a softening voice.

  I nod, twin tears rolling down into my ears.

  He’s hard and tender in the same breath when he says, “You deserve happiness, Willow. Let me do that for you. Let me take away your sadness and replace it with joy.”

  I’m not sure I can accept it. That’s the real issue. “Why?” I still don’t get it. He could have any woman he wants, yet he’s chosen one with a jungle of shit to wade through.

  “Because you are worth fighting for,” he repeats again. Shaw shoves his knee between my legs, opening them wide. “And I will tell you that as many times as I have to until you believe me.”

  Before I know what’s happening, he’s slipping inside on a muted groan. I’m wet and ready for him. I’m always ready for him when he’s near me. My body reacts involuntarily, hips rolling with each lazy thrust.

  With the hand in my hair anchoring me, the other wanders, reverently worshipping me in small, tiny strokes like I’m porcelain and will break if he squeezes too hard. Slanting his mouth over mine, he lavishes me with sweet affection before whispering, “How long has it been since someone has taken care of you instead of the other way around?”

  I choke in a sob. Since I was twelve.

  “Too fucking long I would guess. That ends now. With me. Let me take care of you. I want to take care of you.”

  He’s so adamant it nearly breaks me. “I don’t know how.” My voice is haunted. Like my soul.

  His pacing steady, he frames my face and gazes at me with flat-out devotion. “I want in, Willow. I’m not stopping until you let me worship you and take care of you like you deserve. Until you let me show you how much you mean to me. How worthy you are of everything good. How you’re worth fighting for.”

  His movements are calculated, his kisses are tender, and his quiet words of worth wrench tear after tear from deep inside. It’s cathartic, leaving the smallest pockets of room for happiness to fill
them up instead of sadness and self-loathing. By the time he skillfully makes us peak at the same time, I start to believe him.

  And when he rasps on a broken breath, “You are extraordinary, Willow. Extraordinary just the way you are,” into the column of my neck, I let myself weep.

  God, this man.

  Shaw Mercer dominates his world with commanding force, but with one soft breath, he just ruled my heart.

  Banding my arms around him tightly I hang on for dear life. I hang on to what I’ve unexpectedly found with him, praying what we have is real and will be able to stand the tests that undoubtedly lie ahead of us.

  Because in any relationship, there are always tests, and I know we haven’t even begun to take ours yet.

  34

  I have a dozen to-dos on my calendar this Monday morning that shouldn’t wait, but they have to because my first and only priority is Willow.

  She’s strong in so many ways yet so fragile I think she may shatter into pieces with one wrong word. She has a tremendous amount of responsibility on her plate yet shoulders it with grace and elegance and not one ounce of resentment. She does what she needs to do to survive, and I respect the hell out of that, regardless of if I hate it.

  Somehow, I convinced her to spend the entire weekend with me until last night when she insisted she sleep at home. I didn’t want to let her go. I wanted her dreams to run wild with me so I could hear my name mumbled in her sleep. I wanted to watch the sun play in her hair and run my tongue down her spine in the morning before reaching her wet center. And I wanted her to wake up moaning for me when I slipped my fingers between those ready thighs like I have every other morning for the past three days.

  And oddly, I wanted to come home tonight to her sitting in my chair, a smile on her face and nothing else. I want to cook for her, cuddle with her, buy her anything her heart desires, travel the world with her.

  I want things I never thought I’d want.

  A future.

  I had the most incredible three days with a woman ever. Willow opened up about a lot, letting me in slowly. I treasured every single morsel she gave me, desperate for more. We talked about her business, her passions, her goals, her dreams. I learned how she put her Broadway plans on hold to be close to her mom and how when she was little she actually wanted to be a ballerina instead of an actor. She even took me to see her mother—albeit at my insistence.