Savior (The Kingwood Duet Book 2)

by S. L. Scott

  “Everything’s fine. I miss you.”

  He turns and in one smooth motion, he’s on his feet, our bodies inches apart. After kissing my head, he takes my hands and asks, “Want me to carry you back to bed?”

  I look down. I hate to burden him, but I feel . . . not myself these days. Embarrassed, I confess, “I feel so gross, Alexander. It’s like hospital germs are stuck to me. I feel dirty and I smell.”

  “You were tired when we got home, but let me help you. Let me bathe you.”

  “What?”

  “I want to be here however you need me. I want to make you feel good. Let me help.”

  “I was told not to take a bath for a few weeks.”

  “Then I’ll shower you.” His lips press to mine. “With kisses.” Sliding the bridge of his nose along my cheekbone, he whispers in my ear, “With love.” Dragging his hands slowly down my body, avoiding all wounds, but continuing—feeling me, caressing me, tempting me—my body reacts, goosebumps trailing behind the tips of his fingers.

  “You make me want things I can’t have.”

  “You have them. You have me whenever you’re ready.”

  Leaning my head against his cheek, I caress the other. “I love you.”

  “I love you.” He wraps his arm under the back of my knees and the other behind my back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You never do.”

  I’m lifted slowly and lean my head on his shoulder. Even if it did hurt, I would never tell him. I relish the closeness too much. “It’s been so long since you’ve held me.” I breathe him in. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

  “Not more than I missed you.”

  He carries me back to our room, and into the en suite. I’m set down as gently as I was picked up and he starts the shower. “Do you need help undressing?”

  “Would you like to help?” I might sound too hopeful, but I need his hands on me. I need to know he’s still attracted to me. Beyond the bandages. The obligation to take care of me. Does he still see me, the real me beneath the damage? Will he want me? The long journey of recovery is daunting. Do I have a right to ask him to take this journey with me?

  A smile appears—a little naughty, a lot nice—and he replies, “Always,” setting my soul on fire.

  Always.

  His hands cover my shoulders and he looks at me. “You’re beautiful. So goddamn beautiful, Firefly.” How did he know I needed to hear those words? Has the physical damage broken me mentally?

  I know he could never love another—broken physically or emotionally—he shows me his love, and I’ll forever give him mine as long as we both shall live.

  A deep breath is taken, filling his chest before he blows it out as if he’s losing control. Finding the hem of my shirt, he raises it. I lift my arms enough for him to weave it away from my body. It’s tossed to the floor while his eyes roam over every inch of my torso. Bandages are taped where I had surgery. They’ll need to be replaced after the shower, but the nurse is down the hall to help if needed.

  With his hands on my hips, he drops to his knees. The bruising extends across my stomach and on my arms, but he’s not looking at that. I don’t think he even sees it. Leaning forward, he closes his eyes and kisses my stomach. Tears spring to my eyes while my hands wind into his hair. “Alexander,” slips from my lips through a sob.

  “Don’t cry.” He looks up just as tears slide down his face.

  “I’m sorry.” He’s on his feet in an instant.

  “No. You will never apologize again. Do you hear me? You did nothing wrong. Nothing.” He cups my face and looks me straight in the eyes. “You did everything right. Everything you should have done from healing yourself with time, to carrying our baby inside you. I love you even more for that. He wielded the damage. You did everything you could to protect our baby.” The kiss to my forehead lingers, and I feel safe, almost free from the guilt strangling me since I woke up in the hospital.

  My hands slide up his neck, and I love being this close again. “I never stopped loving you, Alexander.”

  “I know.” He kisses me—really kisses me—and I’m finally home. We are home. “I never stopped loving you, either.”

  When we need air, I pull back, my hands sliding up his neck. He presses his head to mine.

  Dipping lower, he helps me undress and then undresses himself. He steps under the shower spray, and I see the tension ease from his shoulders. With his hand out to me, he coaxes, “Join me. It feels so good.”

  Tentatively, I step in under the water with him. “Ahh,” I moan, relaxing in the warmth. “So good.”

  Taking a bar of soap, he rubs it across my back and then lower. “How does that feel?”

  “Heavenly.” I love that I’ll smell of his soap. The clean scent makes me feel better.

  Kisses cover the curve from my neck to my shoulder, my body cherished by his hand and his lips simultaneously. My heart beats faster, loud enough for me to worry that it might echo. If he listens carefully, he’ll hear it beating just for him. One hand slides around my waist until his palm spans my stomach with a gentle pressure as he pulls me closer, my back against him. His hardness is pressed to me and I close my eyes remembering how good we were together and how much I missed the connection we’ve shared. He whispers, “You’re so tempting, torturously tempting.”

  Lost to the lust building inside, I say, “Maybe we can.”

  “No, the doctors were clear, but,” he says, his hand going lower between my legs, “it doesn’t mean I can’t make you feel better.”

  My breathing becomes ragged, already heavy in my chest, quickening the more he touches me. He lowers his forehead to my shoulder, and I caress him. His own breath blows across my wet skin, and he follows with kisses while his fingers pick up the pace. “Alexander,” I whisper, the name lost under the sounds of the water and his breath.

  The way my body coils reminds me of how tender my insides are, but I don’t have the strength to stop him. He feels too good. His body curls around mine and I know he needs this too. Slowly, I turn around and kiss him on his chest. Taking his erection in my hand, I slide up and down his length. When I open my eyes, his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. His swallows laden as he struggles to restrain himself. It seems he will never understand that it’s a turn-on when he lets go of the control he’s so desperate to hold on to and gives into me.

  His fingers circle and rub, tease, and taunt. My head falls back, resting against the glass as I hold in my moans by biting my bottom lip. His voice is strained when he says, “We shouldn’t.”

  “Are you able to stop? I’m not.”

  “Fuck, Sara Jane. I missed you.” Thrusting into my hand, I let him fuck how he needs, wishing he were inside me. His hips move erratically, and when he comes, I let him cover me.

  Dilated, lustful eyes narrow in on me and his hand picks up where he had paused. Closing my eyes, I’m lost in euphoria, feeling Alexander taking me to the edge where I shouldn’t be. I’m tethered to him, my body falling, my mind free from the demons as I let the star-covered abyss cover me. My head falls back as my mouth opens, my earlier moans turning into pleas. He kisses me, and I sink against him, needing his arms around me.

  He drinks in my tears and my orgasm as it connects me, once again, to the man I love. We both cry the words, “I’ve missed you,” as our hearts beat as one again.

  When our breath lengthens and slows, he says, “I should get you to bed.”

  “Stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I’ll always be there when you need me.”

  I kiss him. “I need you.”

  After we’re dry and the nurse has redressed my wounds, we climb into bed. I’m careful how I lie, and he’s even more so, lying next to me. Our fingers meet in the middle and entwine. Home. In the dark of the room, I whisper the words I’ve missed saying each night, “Good night.”

  “Best night.”

  He’s not wrong. I don’t need sex or an orgasm to feel good, to feel lov
ed. But we always connect deeply during sex, and I need to know nothing’s changed. Need to know he needs us just as much as I do. And I have my answer.

  My once Prince Charming is now my beautiful dark king.

  My king.

  13

  Sara Jane

  The room is dark, but I feel light. The troubles that have weighed me down lifted. Reaching over, I click my phone and the screen illuminates. 10:34 a.m. Wow. I haven’t slept that well or long in months. Turning the other way, I reach for Alexander, but the place beside me is empty. “Alexander?” I call, but nothing is returned.

  I remain there a minute, maybe two, my body weightless and relaxed. For someone who just had surgery, I feel pretty damn good. My handsome boyfr—husband made sure of that.

  Pushing up, I look around for any signs of him as my eyes adjust to the dark. I push the button beside the bed and the curtains start sliding open. “Alexander?” His watch and phone are missing from the other nightstand, something I remember cataloging when I used to sleep here and wake up alone. Those were the nights he would disappear on me, before I knew of penthouses in the city and CIA-like operations. That was before I knew all of my friends were hiding an entire life from me, a life that changed mine forever.

  The pain in my side is increasing the more I’m awake and the more I move, the last dosage two hours ago not working as well, so I get up and head into the bathroom.

  When I come out, I take my robe from the closet hook and leave the room. It’s weird to be back, not as traumatic as I thought, considering the bad memories made here and the ghosts that haunt the halls. I reach the stairs and am tempted to sit, hoping the pain eases, but I need the nurse, so I start down, slowly, holding on to the railing. After a few steps I see April in the living room. The sight of her gives me pause. I’m not sure why, but something feels off. Or maybe I don’t like surprises when it comes to this place. The familiar edge I used to feel returns.

  April looks up from a magazine, surprised to see me, and stands. “Sara Jane?” She rushes toward me. “What are you doing out of bed? You should be resting.”

  She’s in front of me instantly and rests one hand on my lower back while the other holds my free arm. “It’s only been a few days, sweetie. I could have gotten you anything you needed.”

  “I’m looking for Alexander, and my nurse.”

  Checking her watch, she replies, “Your nurse has your medicine scheduled for noon. Are you in pain now? Should I go find her?”

  It seems odd to me that she knows so much about my schedule, but I brush it off, hating that I let my feelings for this house affect the way I receive her kindness. The nurse is around, so it’s nice that April wants to make sure I’m taken care of. Trying to turn me to go upstairs, I stand my ground. “Oh no, it’s fine. I can wait.” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to ease the pain. “Have you seen Alexander?”

  “He’s working in the office.”

  “Here or downtown?”

  “I don’t know of an office downtown. He closed the other one.”

  For some reason I like that she doesn’t know about the penthouse. I don’t like that I had no idea what Alexander’s been up to since I left town. Although given what we’ve been through in the last few days, it does make sense. “Okay,” I reply. When she realizes I’m not going back to bed, she helps me down the rest of the stairs. Once we reach the bottom floor I thank her.

  “I’m happy to help, and I have too much time on my hands.”

  I make my way through the living room and down the dark wood-paneled hallway. The last time I was here I overheard Alexander’s father praising him that he done well when it came to me. A sickness I only feel when it comes to his father corrodes my stomach and I stop, hoping the bile won’t rise anymore. I swallow, attempting to cleanse and soothe my throat, but the memories always remain.

  The door is closed, and I’m unsure whether I should knock or walk in. I’m unsure of what my place is in the manor. The one thing I am sure of is where I stand in Alexander’s life. I open the door and peek in. Even though his brow is furrowed as he stares at the papers on the desk, I’m so glad he’s here. I’m so happy he stayed in the manor even if he didn’t stay in bed. “Hey,” I say before barging in.

  He looks up, smiles, and says, “Hey there, sleepyhead.” Coming around to greet me, he holds me by the shoulders and kisses my face—my forehead, my cheek, my chin, my lips—where he lingers. When he pulls back, he touches my cheek gently. “The swelling’s gone down. The bruises won’t last much longer. How are you feeling?”

  I quirk a half-smile. “How many times can I say I’m happy to be alive before it gets annoying?”

  “You being alive will never be annoying and is always worth celebrating.” Closing all space between us, he whispers, “Let me be the first.” Our lips meet in a gentle embrace.

  I whimper when our mouths part and giggle that I whimpered out loud. When I peek up, Alexander’s eyes flame bright like blue fire, his hunger for me singeing me. He leans down, his cheek brushing against mine, his lips caressing the shell of my ear. My breathing deepens, and my knees feel weak as the heat of his breath warms my skin. “Never leave me again.”

  “I won’t.” My fingers run over the hard muscle of his upper arm, and my head falls against his chest with an ache in my heart for how much this strong man is hurting inside. “I promise.”

  Like my wounds, I need to heal his, wanting to bring him back to life, back to the man he’s forgotten he is deep inside. Exhaling some of the heavy, I look up at him and he smiles down at me. I turn in his arms, and we drift apart when I walk to the window to look out at the gardens. “Tell me about work.”

  “Work.” He sighs as if the word itself annoys him.

  When he doesn’t continue, I ask, “How have you been managing with your father . . .” Our eyes meet and scorn swims inside his pupils. I’m not sure if I should have mentioned his father, but I need to make sure Alexander is taken care of like he takes care of me. “Gone?”

  “Work never stops. I’m doing exactly what I never wanted—running Kingwood Enterprises.”

  “What do you do now?”

  Taking a file in hand, he flips it open. “Get rid of it all. I don’t care about it. I thought it meant something since my mother’s money helped build it, but it has my father’s fingerprints on every surface. It’s as dirty as he was.”

  “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I was cur—”

  “You have a right to know what’s happening with it.” The file drops to the desk and aggravation that subject causes with it. That cocky smirk of his youth decides to turn up the wattage, and for extra fun he raises an eyebrow. “To the rest of the world, you’re Mrs. Kingwood.”

  “And to you, Alexander?”

  “My universe.”

  “You say the most amazing things. What did I do to deserve you?”

  “Some don’t see me as a positive in your life.”

  “That’s because they don’t see the real you, the you I see, the you I know so well.”

  “The real question is what did I do to deserve you?”

  “You saw me for who I was on the inside.”

  He laughs. “You’re too good for me. If you only knew what I really thought the first time I saw you.”

  Elbowing him playfully as I pass by, I reply, “Oh really? Do tell.”

  “I’d scare you away, and I like having you around.”

  “I don’t scare that easily if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I have.” Taking my hand gently in his, I stop and look back at him. “What is it?”

  “I want you to know that things have changed. I work all the fucking time trying to get Kingwood Enterprises broken apart and sold. I’m looking at a few more months to settle it all so I can move on and never look back. In the meantime, you’re back and you are my priority. I can hire managers and lawyers, but I don’t want to miss a minute of my life with you. Not after all the time we’ve already lost.”
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  “Thank you.” He takes my hand and leads me to a chair, but I continue talking, “I felt I had lost you to the search for answers regarding your mother. I realize now I hadn’t. I just had to share you. I understand why it’s so important to you. As much space as I take in your heart, there will always be a part of you that will need her.”

  He sits next to me. “I don’t need her. I want answers though. Still. That’s what will fill the hole she left inside me.”

  “Can we talk about April?” I ask, hoping he’s open to chatting about her.

  “Sure,” he replies, standing and making his way around to the other side of the desk.

  “I remember you saying she was going to get an apartment after rehab. What happened?”

  “I was visiting with her before she got out of rehab and, I don’t know . . . guilt.” He drops his head into hands. “I feel guilty for her life turning out the way it did. My father did that to her. Then I feel guilty because my mom died. It feels traitorous at times to even talk to April much less help her.”

  “But you are. You have a big heart, Alexander, and your mom would be proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” he says, catching me in a yawn. “Let’s get you back to bed. You shouldn’t be wandering the halls.”

  He bends down and lifts me like he did last night. “We need to start feeding you something more substantial. You’re losing too much weight.”

  I’ve lost more than weight over the last few months:

  My hope.

  My schooling.

  My best friend.

  Myself.

  My baby.

  Our baby.

  Being in Alexander’s arms now I see how much I’ve gotten back, though some things will always remain lost in a past I’m trying to forget. It’s better that way, for all of us. I rest my head on his shoulder as he carries me down the dark hall and through the living room. Once in the bedroom, I’m set down on the bed and my feet dip under the blanket.