The Art of Persuasion: Book 4 of The Swashbuckling Romance Series

by Myers, Heather C.

  "You always have me, Isla," Becky tells me, and I can tell by her tone that she means it. "Just because we're two different people now doesn't mean that's changed. You know that, right?"

  I nod once. It's nice to know, really, it is, but I can't seem to trust her just yet. Not the way I used to. Not the way I want to.

  "The thing I've learned about love," she continues, and I can hear a slight hesitation in her choice. I know this is her choosing her words carefully, ensuring she thinks before she says anything. Not that she's ever said anything wrong. She isn't like me. It's one of the reasons I like her so much. She makes me think about things I've never thought about, look at it from a different perspective. "The thing about love is there's no guarantee. That's what makes it so thrilling and scary and the best thing that's ever happened to you. When it works out and you find this person who loves you - not for who you could be but for exactly who you are, flaws and all - that's when your life changes. It's a risk - even true love doesn't guarantee happiness; that's your responsibility and no one else's - but it's one that's so completely worth it. It's one few people take a chance on because they're scared, too. Or even worse, they sabotage themselves and their relationships because they don't think they deserve to be happy in this way for whatever reason." She pauses and looks me deep in the eyes. "Do you want to be with Matt?"

  I nod twice. I don't even hesitate. “More than anything,” I say, even though I don’t have to. Because Becky knows. She’s always known.

  I could never hide anything from her.

  Before she can respond, there’s a knock on the door. I furrow my brow and shoot Becky a look. She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head.

  “Isla?”

  Matt’s familiar voice grips my heart tightly in its grasp and squeezes, preventing me from responding.

  “It’s Matt. Are you busy?” A pause, and then, tentatively, “Can I come in?”

  Chapter 17

  “We need to talk about this,” Matt says. He’s barged into my room, even startling Becky, and his eyes narrow in on her with caution and suspicion. I’m actually surprised. Usually, guys soften when they see her. She’s petite and pretty and looks innocent. They tend to like that. It brings out the man in them, thinking they need to protect her. Matt looks at her like she can’t be trusted regardless of how she looks. My heart swells with love.

  Because I love him.

  I haven’t even gotten a chance to process that because of everything going on.

  “Who are you?” he asks, his voice tight. He’s trying to control his patience.

  I know how important this conversation is to him. I owe it to him. I need to tell him everything. I need to be honest and not afraid. Because he deserves nothing less.

  “A friend,” Becky says, slowly standing up. She’s not intimidating, but she’s pointed and direct. I can respect that. Matt can, too.

  “An old friend,” I correct. “A friend who’s not really my friend because she keeps things from me and has her own agenda and” – Matt gives me a look that says I’m rambling and I should make my point. I press my lips together and give him a reluctant nod. “Back in my time – forward in my time, I guess, if we’re speaking technically” – a cleared throat, another reminder that I’m babbling – “right. Becky was my best friend. We did everything together. She was getting married. We were celebrating when I came here. Scratch that. When she sent me here.”

  Matt’s eyes widen and he shifts his gaze to Becky, who’s still tall and tense. She doesn’t back down under his gaze and I almost smile – that’s the Becky I knew. But this woman in front of me, I don’t even recognize her. I don’t know who she is anymore.

  And that’s a tragedy. That’s the definition of heartbreak. Not a boy or a failed romantic relationship. Not unrequited love.

  The loss of a friendship hurts more than any of that. And it’s only then that I realize this. I realize I’ve been so angry at her that I never got to mourn the loss of our friendship. And it guts me like a fish at the worst possible time.

  "She used to be my best friend," I tell him, keeping my eyes on Becky even though I'm speaking to Matt. "I have no idea what she is to me anymore." I throw my head so I'm looking at Matt now. "She's the reason why I'm here, you know. Apparently, I was born in the wrong time. I was supposed to be born here but I wasn't." I shrug. "Happens sometimes, I guess."

  From there, I tell him everything. I'm biting and sarcastic and I'm mean. I can admit it. I don't mind admitting it. I don't know why I have this tumultuous relationship with Becky anymore. I don't know if it's warranted or if I should be over it. But I do know we aren't friends anymore. The power in our relationship has shifted. She's a guardian angel, so she's not my friend, she's like my mom. She's looking out for me, we're not in this together anymore. And I'm really, really mad about it.

  As usual, Matt is silent as I speak. He doesn't interrupt. He keeps his eyes focused on me. As usual, I've never been as seen as I am when I have Matt's attention. I feel like I matter. I feel important and special and what I'm saying actually means something.

  He turns to Becky with a hard stare. I wouldn't call it a glare, per se, but it's an intense sort of gaze that would pin me to my spot if it was cast in my direction. Becky, to give her credit, doesn't flinch under his gaze. She meets his stare with a look of cool indifference, with her nose turned up in the air. If anyone was born in the wrong time, it's her. Although, where was she born? What time does she belong to? Was she ever human or was she always angel? Maybe I can ask her those questions later, once we've both moved past our issues.

  Finally, he says, "Why me? Why did you send her to me?"

  Becky softens and she clears her throat. "Because you were the perfect catalyst for her," she replies and it's clear how honest she's being in her tone. "Because she's the perfect catalyst for you. Isla is my best friend even if she's furious with me. She deserves nothing less than the best and the best is you. You make the perfect team."

  "You're saying we're destined to be together?" I ask with a wrinkle to my nose. Matt clears his throat or groans or something. I can tell he's offended by my insinuation so I work hard to rectify it as soon as possible. Because it's the last thing I mean. If only he knew what I really mean. "Not that I, I'm just not a destiny kind of person. I like being in control. Most of the time."

  "It's difficult to say," Becky finally replies, looking between the two of us. "If I say yes, you might feel as though you have no say in the matter and feel forced to be together. If I say no, you might think that this is a completely serendipitous moment. A happy accident. Honestly, it's a bit of both. Honestly, it's whatever you choose to make of it. Destiny can get you guys to meet but can't get you guys to fall in love. Can't force you to like each other. That's on you. It's whatever you choose to make of it." She looks between us again and a small smile touches her face. "I think you guys have some things you need to discuss. I'll take my leave." Her eyes find mine and she stares at me, straight through me. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

  With that, she sweeps off, through my door. It closes, latches shut, leaving me and Matt alone. The silence gets heavy, like a thick fog that inhibits sight and also fills up lungs do it feels like I'm suffocating. We haven't spoken since I saw Corsa on his lap, kissing him the other day. Or was he kissing her? Does it even matter? They were kissing.

  "Isla, we need to talk about Corsa," Matt says and I'm surprised how calm he is, how cool and collected he seems. How is he so easily holding it together while I'm bursting at the seams, one move away from coming undone?

  "We really don't have to," I say, looking at my hands, then out the window. Anywhere but at him.

  "I want to," he says, and I can tell he's trying to control the impatience that's threatening to spill out into his tone. "I need to. You need to understand the nature of of our relationship."

  "I don't though," I say, shaking my head and rubbing the back of my bare neck. "I really don't. Why is it so important
to you that I do?"

  "Because you're important to me," he says. "And I don't think you realize what you saw."

  "She was on top of you," I tell him. "She was kissing you until you pushed her away."

  "I think she's the murderer," he says. "I think she's the one that's been killing the other girls. I was trying to get information out of her."

  "It's hard to get information out of her when your mouth is on hers," I point out and push up my brows. I should apologize for being trite but I don’t.

  "I didn't want to kiss her," he insists. "She kissed me."

  "Matt," I say and I finally look at him, I finally acknowledge him. "You don't have anything to explain. There's nothing going on between us. It's okay. I'm not your girlfriend, your partner, your wife. I'm nothing. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want and it's okay."

  "That's bullshit," he says. "That's bullshit and you know it. There is something going on between the two of us. And if you don't think so, you're in goddamn denial."

  Without warning, he leaps from his position and is suddenly on top of me, pinning me to the bed and pressing his lips on mine. I'm so shocked, I remain stiff underneath him for all but three seconds at the most. Then, my body begins to respond. My hands find his hair and my legs curl around his hips and he presses into me hard and intently. His lips pry mine apart so he can claim my mouth with his younger and it's just like a few nights ago, when we were drunk and our teeth clunked against each other like we were inexperienced teenagers. But now, it's better. It's better because we're both sober, we can both feel what's going on between us fully and wholeheartedly. We can't run away from this. We can't claim it was a mistake or pretend to forget about it in the morning. This is real. This is intentional. This is not a mistake.

  We have to break apart for air, and when I do, I suck it up like I've been underwater for so long and my lungs are screaming for life.

  "I am in love with you," he tells me, his voice husky with lust, his eyes dark with it as well. But his tone is genuine. I believe him. I trust him. "You've made me your fool. You've stolen my heart and I don't want it back." He lets out a breath through his nose. "I've wanted to say that for so long..."

  "What stopped you?" I ask. I'm breathless and flushed but I don't care because Matt and this moment are all that matter to me. "Why wait?"

  His hand has found my collarbone, exposed due to the shifting of my tunic, and his fingers lightly dance across it, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

  "Because should you choose to stay here, in this time, I refuse to be the reason," he replies. His eyes follow his fingers and the intensity of the gaze burns in a pleasant way. "I knew I loved you the moment I saw you for the first time but when I found out who you really were, where you're really from, I didn't want to be the reason you gave up everything. It had to be because you wanted to, not for some romantic notion that everything is going to be perfect and everyone gets their happy ending. Because I can't promise you that." He stops and finds my eyes. "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you even now. But I needed you to know. And I've been wanting to kiss you again badly."

  "I" - I stop, catch my breath. I don't know what to say. No, that's not it. I do. I just need to get the words out. "I love you, too, Matt. I love you, too."

  This time, I lean up so I can kiss him, and it's glorious the way out lips fit together, the way our bodies mesh well and create friction and heat. I like the way his hair feels between my fingers and the way the words 'I love you' come out of my mouth.

  His hands press flat on my back but that only lasts a minute. He wants to explore me. He wants to touch me in the way only he's allowed to touch me. And he does. His left hand cups the back of my head and his long fingers bury into my hair. His grip on me is tight, with just enough pull to make it hurt. I feel a throb in my pelvis. It's both painful and pleasurable.

  God, I want him. I want him so bad.

  His other hand is digging into my hip but I like it. I like when he holds me tight like he's afraid to let me go. I like when he's sure and certain and he knows I won't break. He doesn't see me as fragile; he sees me as strong and capable. He can push me to my breaking point and I'll still be begging him, pleading with him to give me more.

  His kisses are violent and territorial. Not soft and tender, though I'm sure they can be. Matt has the ability to be anything he wants and I would love him for whatever he chooses to be. I'd thank him for whatever he chooses to give to me but I wouldn't be satisfied and I would demand more.

  I feel his weight bury me deep into the bed and without thinking, I wrap my legs around his waist and push myself into him. He hisses out a groan - it's a satisfied one, I'm sure - so I press myself against him so we're connecting with all body parts through our clothes on a superficial level. I've never felt my pulse pump blood throughout my system before. I've never felt such passion for anyone before, not even with Jim Carrey and he's been my favorite actor since I was seven.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” he tells me, breaking apart. He’s trying to catch his breath but he’s trying to speak at the same time, and it’s hard for him to do both things at once. He opens his eyes so they look at me, penetrate me, but not in a way that pins me to my place. It’s a penetration that allows me freedom, if that even makes any sense. I feel comfortable under his gaze. He still sees me so clearly and – well, I’m not sure how he feels about me, but I know he cares about me. I can see it in his eyes.

  “What?” I say. I’m not as attractive to him while breathless. I’m almost positive my cheeks are red and I may be wheezing out my words instead of actually saying them. “Are you okay?”

  He smiles at me – a smile that slithers across his face like a snake, crinkles his eyes, and makes them shine and sparkle, and I’m robbed of my breath because the man is so damn beautiful, I can’t stand it – and nods. “I am more than okay,” he says. I’m not sure if they say okay a lot around here; it sounds foreign on his tongue, but not unpleasant.

  “Then what’s up?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

  He furrows his brow, unsure of my diction, but seems to understand enough that he explains his thought process. “I want you,” he says. “And not just now, in this moment. I want to be with you. With only you. I want to know you – all about you. I want to be yours. I want you to trust me with your heart. I want to be with you always.”

  I feel myself blushing. A smart retort is dancing on my bottom lip but I bite it back. I don’t care that what he says is cheesy. I don’t care that it’s more romantic than I’m comfortable with. I don’t think he’s trying to manipulate my feelings or trying to get something from me. I allow myself to believe his words because I deserve this. And Matt does, too.

  I smile back at him – a big one. I feel my eyes soften, shift, while looking at him, and I know my feelings are reflected in my irises. I hope he can read them there.

  “I want you, too,” I say, and I mean it. “In exactly the way you’re talking about. I want you, too.”

  He seems especially pleased at this revelation, as though he can’t quite believe it, but won’t deny it. Won’t question me. He believes me, too.

  Before I can blink, his lips are back on mine and my eyes slip close. Time fades away and all I can think about, all I can taste, smell, breathe, hear, and see – even with my eyes closed – is Matt. Matt surrounds every part of me and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Chapter 18

  Bliss.

  This is bliss.

  I am in love and I'm not scared. Well, actually, I'm terrified, but I'm not guarded anymore. I'm my true self. I'm... Happy.

  It must be the early hours of the next morning. I'm on my back, trying to stare up at the ceiling above me but it's hard to make anything out in the darkness. My eyes are at half mast and I think I'm dozing because every now and then, I'll open my eyes and more light will seep through the window, even though the curtains are drawn. I have a slight ache in my pelvis from last night, which makes me smile because sex has
never made me blissfully happy before. It's made me feel confident and secure of myself, but never happy like it did with Matt. Now I get why they call it making love. Before, I thought it was so dumb, too cheesy, to label something as fun as sex as that. But I didn't get it. I didn't get that it could feel like this. Now, I do. Now I know.

  It's something I want to feel for the rest of my life. And that's the scary part. Because now that I get it, now that I know what love is and, more than that, now that I've admitted to Matt and to myself that I'm in love with him, there's no going back. I now have something to lose. And I honestly don't know who I would be if I don't have Matt around me, in my life, in some capacity.

  I turn on my side to face him. He's sound asleep, his perfect nostrils flaring every time he takes a breath. Short, shaggy brown hair has fallen into his face so I brush it away with a sweep of my fingers. It falls right back where it was, causing me to smile at my futile attempt.