After dinner, I helped her into her sweater and we stepped out into the crisp evening air. Hand-in-hand, we followed the sidewalk to the small park at the end of the street. I pushed her high on the swings, chased her over the grassy hills, relished in her laughter as I caught her at the bottom of the slide. My spirit danced as we played, rejoiced in this gift, my heart forever devoted to this precious child.
When Lizzie began to shiver, we returned home and went upstairs where I bathed her in her mother’s alcoved bathroom. I filled the tub with bubbles and her small bathtub toys and didn’t mind when her rambunctious play soaked my shirt. I let her splash and dunk until her fingers had shriveled and the water had turned cool.
“Come here, sweetheart,” I gently prompted, helped her safely from the tub, and wrapped her in a huge, fluffy white towel. I ran it over her damp skin and dried her hair, wondering how I’d become so favored that in less than a year, my life had gone from completely empty to overflowing.
“I love you so much, Daddy,” she professed as she peeked up at me through the towel wrapped around her head and body as I carried her to her room.
Leaning down, I kissed her forehead and pressed her to my chest. “I love you more than anything, Lizzie.”
Keen eyes probed my face as she whispered, “But you love Mommy, too.”
My feet faltered, frozen, amazed at my young daughter’s poignant perception, far from oblivious, always aware.
I should have known she would have noticed the change between Elizabeth and me in the last week, the newfound affection, the embraces, our timid touches.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded and met her hopeful gaze. “Yes, Lizzie . . . I . . . I love your mother very much.”
I’d never spoken it aloud to Lizzie before, afraid of getting her hopes up, worried Elizabeth and I would never reconcile, and that we’d go on as partners in Lizzie’s parenthood—friends as Elizabeth had somehow considered us.
Even if Elizabeth had claimed it, she should have known there was no chance that we could just remain friends.
She was mine, had always been, and I’d always been hers. Despite what I’d done, the wounds I’d inflicted, she had always been mine. When I’d lain with other women and she with other men, our hearts had been tied, our bond one that neither of us could ever escape.
I think I’d known all along that one day we would be together again, and as my mother had said, it would just take time and patience. When Elizabeth had realized it, I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe she’d realized it somewhere along the way as we’d shared our daughter, as she’d taught me how to be a father and what loyalty and commitment really meant. Maybe she’d felt it when my father died and her heart had bled so freely for me or perhaps in the embrace she’d met me with on my return—certainly by the time she’d kissed me that same night.
It’d taken every ounce of resolve for me to lie still, to keep from tugging her body against mine, to pretend that I remained asleep, to pretend that the warmth of her fingers hadn’t brought me to consciousness, to pretend that I hadn’t felt her mouth upon mine.
I’d been strong enough to give her that moment and allow her the space to deal with the emotions that could no longer be contained. I’d listened to her cry in the room above me as I tasted the salt of her tears on my lips, silently promising her again and again that one day I would erase that pain.
I tucked Lizzie into her bed, smoothed her damp hair from her face, and told her again that I loved her.
Yawning, she snuggled down in her covers as I pulled them to her chin and murmured, “Night, Daddy. See you in the morning.” The idea of her proclaiming that each night made me dizzy with joy.
“Sleep well, Lizzie.”
At her door, I watched as she drifted off to sleep before I flipped off the light. I left her door ajar and walked downstairs. I glanced at the clock on the microwave as I grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator.
Only ten o’clock.
Patience.
I’d waited for months—for years, really—I could wait a few more hours.
I slid the back door open, left it open a crack in case Lizzie woke, and dragged a chair to the edge of the patio. I leaned back to look up at the night sky that was a jaundiced haze with the glow of lights and tipped my beer to my mouth as I listened to the hum of the city—dogs barking at passersby, the whirr of the highway a few miles off, an ambulance blaring in the distance.
I wondered what Elizabeth was doing, hoped she was safe, and wished she were home.
I thought of the scar above her eye, the one that had twisted me in knots last night, made me sick with rage and starved for vengeance before her words from months ago had come to mind.
Nobody has ever hurt me as badly as you hurt me, Christian. No one.
Never had I hated myself more than then, knowing I had scarred her deeper than the disfigured evidence of abuse on her skin.
But somehow, her heart went deeper than that, deeper than my betrayal, and she had comforted me.
Breathing in the damp air, I drained my beer, stood, and went inside to get another.
Only eleven.
I dropped onto the couch, turned on the television, flipped through channels, and listened to a newscaster drone on. I sipped from my bottle, letting it ebb at my restlessness and soothe my impatience.
On my third trip to the kitchen, I heard the rattle of keys, the slide of metal, and a rush of laughter as it flooded the room. I popped the cap from the fresh bottle of beer and tossed it aside as I moved to lean with my forearm against the archway to watch Natalie wobble in, giggling with Elizabeth who was close behind. Matthew followed them in, shaking his head in what appeared to be slight amusement, his hands full of gift bags.
I couldn’t help but grin.
Matthew glanced in my direction and rolled his eyes when Elizabeth and Natalie fell into another fit of laughter and looked back at them with unquestionable affection. “I think our girls may have had a bit too much to drink tonight,” he said while setting the bags aside.
Natalie held onto the back of the couch and tried to regain her balance in the ridiculously high-heeled boots she wore, laughing as she accused, “You’re just mad ‘cause you were DD.”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his waist, kissed his cheek. “No, seriously, thank you for driving, Matt. I had a great time.”
She grinned up at him as he kissed her atop her head. “No problem, Liz. Happy birthday.”
Natalie laughed for what seemed no reason at all and swayed in the middle of the floor.
“Whoa there.” Matthew was immediately behind her, supporting her as he drew her back to his chest. He hugged her and splayed his hands over her stomach as he hooked his chin over her shoulder. “I think I’d better get this one home.” He nuzzled her neck and made her giggle before he motioned with his head in my direction. “You stayin’ here tonight?”
I waved my half-empty bottle in the air and nodded. “Yep. I’ve had a couple of these.”
Not that I was going anywhere anyway.
“Good.” No bitterness, no distrust.
Natalie tottered forward, hugged me, and stepped back to pucker her lips and squeeze my chin before she turned to kiss Elizabeth on her cheek.
I suppressed a chuckle. Matthew was definitely in for it tonight.
I shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Drive safe.”
“Sure thing . . . see you two tomorrow.” With a final happy birthday wish to Elizabeth, he wound an arm around Natalie’s waist and led her out the door.
In their absence was a charged silence. Elizabeth looked to the ground, fidgeting in trepidation.
I didn’t want her to feel this way, pressured or coerced, and I knew right then our reunion couldn’t be tonight. Even though we both knew she was mine, that I was hers, it was obvious she still wasn’t ready.
Patience.
“Did you have a good time?” I asked to break the tension as I crossed the room and gathered
her bags to take them into the kitchen. I gave her a gentle smile.
It’s okay, Elizabeth, I already know.
I set the brightly colored bags on the kitchen table and snooped through wads of tissue paper at the bottles of wine, soaps, scented lotions, and lingerie. Elizabeth spoke from behind me where she lagged at the archway. “Yeah . . . we had a lot of fun.” She giggled mostly to herself. “But my feet really hurt. I’m getting too old for this.”
Chuckling at her assertion, I poked around some more through her things. I wished I could have been there to see her open her gifts and somehow have been with Lizzie at the same time.
I pulled a bottle of red wine from a gift bag, inspected the label, and turned it toward her as I held it up. “Shall we?”
I knew we probably shouldn’t, that we’d both had enough to drink, but I didn’t yet have it in me to tell her goodnight.
Her mouth twitched at one corner. “You know Scott got that for me?”
I looked between her and the bottle and cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, then we definitely should.”
For some reason, my teasing seemed to relax her, and I saw the strain drain from her eyes and melt from her muscles. She shook her head and laughed lightly as she crossed the room and hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter.
I swallowed and tried to orient myself, to maintain control.
She was so beautiful. Many times I’d seen her sitting on that counter, chatting with Natalie and laughing, but never dressed like that.
I tried not to stare as I dug through the drawer next to the sink for a corkscrew, though I couldn’t help but steal glances. She leaned forward with her hands holding the edge of the counter, her long, slender legs exposed all the way to her thighs. She swung them slowly, and the backs of her black heels thudded rhythmically against the cabinet beneath her, the swell of her breasts peeking out the top of her white blouse—a near irresistible temptation.
She wore a shy smile as she watched me opening the wine, her head tilted to face me, blond curls falling to one side. I poured two glasses, handed her one, and whispered, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth.” I clinked my glass to hers.
She sipped while looking up at me. “It’s not my birthday anymore.”
I closed my eyes, struggled to breathe, and took a step away to put some distance between us.
It was clear what was simmering just under the surface, what hung in the air. I knew I should end this and tell her goodnight.
Instead, I glanced over at her, smiled, and found an excuse to keep her for a few minutes more. “Tell me about tonight?”
I watched the movement of her mouth as she told me about her party, her friends, family, the things that were said, and the things that were done. I watched as she brought the glass to her lips again and again. Time ticked on, topics changed, drifted to old college stories, the places we’d been, the fun we had shared. We laughed, we teased. I refilled her glass, refilled mine, opened another bottle, listened as her words began to slur just as my mind became slack.
I was too relaxed, felt too good—loved the sound of her voice. I was drawn, edged closer, wanted more.
I found myself facing her and standing between her legs. I set my wine aside and pressed my palms onto the countertop. My thumbs gently brushed the outside of her thighs, her calves grazing my jeans as they slowly swished back and forth. Her mouth was seductive, her eyes dark.
Needing to see her, I reached out and pushed away the veil of hair obstructing her beautiful face. She leaned her head into the movement, inviting the contact. I ran the back of my hand down her cheek and over her lips, breathed her name. “Elizabeth.”
She trembled as she hesitantly lifted her fingertips to touch my face and then cupped my jaw. Our breaths filled the room, heavy and hungry. Her eyes flickered over my face, resting on where she touched me. Under her touch, my skin burned like fire. She looked back at me almost in awe, as if she’d forgotten the power of our connection—forgotten that together we felt like this.
We’d been fools to think it could ever be contained.
“Elizabeth…” I whispered, this time a petition.
Please.
I needed her and was desperate to feel her.
Don’t be afraid.
She brought her other hand up to hold my face and wet her lips.
As she leaned in, I inched closer, tilted my head, and gently brushed my lips against hers, kissing my girl for the first time in over six years. Her lips were soft, just as I remembered, tasted like wine and the potent sweetness of Elizabeth’s spirit. My heart leapt and tangled with hers as her fingers tangled in my hair. Our mouths were tentative, cautious, and slow.
I wanted more.
My tongue tested, and I groaned into her mouth as the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue brushed across mine.
Yes.
Hit with a wave of lust, I sank my fingers into the bare skin of her thighs and tugged her to the edge of the counter, my mouth aggressive against hers.
Mine. Finally she was mine.
Her hands created the worst kind of desire as they roamed my body, over my shoulders and down my back. She drove me to the edge of sanity as she pressed her palms into my chest and down my stomach, then snaked her hands under my shirt as she wrapped her legs around my waist.
I was gone, losing all control in a fog of alcohol and lust and pent-up desire, my body starved for hers for far too long. Her flimsy skirt was bunched over her hips and her black lace panties pressed against my jeans as my mouth sought out every exposed inch of her heated skin.
Still, I wanted more.
I yanked at the top of her blouse, exposed the rosy bud of her perfect breast, and took it in my mouth.
More.
My hands rushed up over the silky smoothness of her legs, my thumbs running desperate circles on her inner thighs as my fingers dug into her supple skin.
Elizabeth moaned and tore my shirt over my head.
More.
I panted into her mouth as I slipped two fingers under the edge of her panties and into the warmth of her body.
She gasped, bracing herself on my shoulders. I pulled back just a fraction, searching her face while my fingers searched her body.
Do you want this?
She answered by attacking my belt and rushing through my button fly.
I found enough sensibility to whisper against her mouth, “Not here.” My mouth crashed back to hers as I pulled her from the counter. She wobbled as I set her feet on the floor. I held her up, my hands on her hips as I pushed her backward and pressed her against the opposite wall, kissing her hard. She ground out my name, strung it along, and sent my heart crashing in my chest. “Christian . . . please.”
I spun her again. Frantically I kissed her as I backed her through the family room. I fumbled through the buttons of her blouse as we stumbled up the stairs and toppled to her bedroom floor.
Somewhere inside of me, I knew it should be different from this. I knew I shouldn’t be pushing her panties down her legs and her skirt up her waist. I knew her blouse shouldn’t be left hanging open, her bra stretched beneath just one breast, my jeans shoved down to my thighs.
I knew I shouldn’t thrust inside of her, frenzied, moaning at how good she felt.
I should have heard something in her small cries of pleasure, buried somewhere below the surface. Even in the shadows of her darkened room, I should have read it in her face as she came, found it in the horror in her eyes that followed.
I knew the beauty of Elizabeth shouldn’t be wasted, that she should be savored and cherished.
But I was too distracted, too consumed by her skin, by her softness, by her heat—by everything she finally was giving me—what I could no longer live without. I drove into her fast and hard, a quick release. I cried out into the darkness of her room and collapsed on top of her, gasping for air.
I kissed her closed mouth and ran my hand through her knotted hair, wishing I had thought to tell her I loved her long before n
ow.
I murmured it against her mouth.
She silently nodded in return.
Chapter Sixteen
I opened my eyes and squinted against the low rays of early morning light streaming in through the slatted blinds in the otherwise darkened room. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the heel of my hand into my left one in defense of the sharp, stabbing pain that felt as if it were splitting my head in two.
I tried to sit up but the room spun and pinned me back down. Blinking, I tried to orient myself. Memories of last night flooded in and swept over me in waves of nausea and shame—the kitchen counter, the bedroom floor.
Oh my God came as a cry from deep within my soul.
Heat blistered my skin, his bare chest scorching my back where we touched, his arm slung over my waist. Deep, heavy breaths sounded against my ear and spread out over my face, his pulse a steady thrum.
Oh my God. I pressed my hand to my mouth to stifle a cry.
I tried to untangle myself from his grip without waking him. I froze when he tightened his hold. Unintelligible mutterings spilled from his mouth, and I held my breath as I slipped from his grasp and stood from the bed. I held my head in my hands to combat another rush of dizziness.
Christian groaned and mumbled, rolled to his stomach, and buried his head in my pillow. The sheet covered him to his waist, dipping to reveal the edge of his black boxer briefs and exposing the defined contours of his broad shoulders that tapered to his narrow back.
Oh my God.
With weak knees, I steadied myself with my arm against the wall. I looked down at myself in disgust, unable to remember how I’d ended up in a tank top and underwear, unable to remember how I’d made it into my bed.
How could I have allowed this happen, allowed him to treat me this way? I should have known he was just the same and that he would never change.
In my shame, I stumbled to the bathroom, shaking as I wrapped my trembling body in a black robe that covered my legs to my knees. I knotted the belt and then clung to the bathroom doorway as I stared back out at the beautiful man sleeping in my bed.
The Regret Series Complete Collection Box Set: Lost to You, Take This Regret, and if Forever Comes Page 38