by Lynn Cooper
I continue relishing this internal revelation while he releases my hand and fishes a key out of the pocket of his blue and white-checked lounging pants. This morning, neither of us have bothered to change into regular clothes. I’m still bundled up in my fluffy, soft, pink bathrobe with matching bunny slippers, and he is still barefoot and shirtless. I don’t know how I am going to concentrate on this top-secret surprise when my eyes keep traveling over the hard slabs of his pecs and the deep ridges of his abdomen.
When he unlocks the four-inch-thick, cypress wooden door and it creaks open on sturdy, black wrought-iron hinge straps, I gasp at the room before me. Tretan flips the switch to light a crystal, tear-dropped chandelier. It illuminates and enhances the vibrant colors of the stain-glassed cathedral ceiling, casting a lovely aura across the wide, walnut-plank flooring.
The area is open and vast. A thickly-braided, oval rug lies in the center of the polished boards. The walls are all constructed of built-in bookcases much like my bedroom back home. Only these bookshelves are massive and completely empty.
Tretan places one hand at the small of my back and gestures with the other. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a lovely room.”
He frowns. “It’s not just a room, little dove. It’s your very own library, where you will be the head librarian for as long as you want the job.”
I wrinkle my brow in confusion. “Shouldn’t a library have books?”
“Oh, Nora. Have you been so captivated by this central space you have failed to look around the perimeters?”
Slowly I began to pivot in a circle, my eyes growing wide as I take in the darker, less lit edges and corners of the floor. My palms begin to sweat, and my ever-growing excitement flutters in my tummy like hummingbird wings. My mouth has gone desert-dry as I begin to speak. “Are all of these boxes filled with books?”
“Yes.”
“There must be hundreds here.”
“Five thousand. Most are rare, first editions.”
“That’s five times as many books as you would find in a small public library,” I say, covering my mouth to tamp down a squeal. After taking a few deep breaths through my nostrils, I calm down enough to remove my hand. “Being so valuable, we must handle them with the utmost care.”
He nods. “Some of them will need to be fixed up a little or even fully restored.”
I look up into his handsome face. “That’s what Fernando meant when he said you could fix me like you do everything else, isn’t it?”
He shrugs. “You’re making way too much out of a simpleton’s simple comment.”
“No, I’m not. The limo Fernando was driving when he found me is a classic Bentley that has obviously been restored. The railing on your bedroom balcony, the antique writing desk, the cabinets downstairs in the kitchen, even the bed we sleep in have all been carefully and painstakingly brought back to life by your hands. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong. You are just too damn observant to suit me. That’s all.”
“That’s not all. Why do you do it, Tretan?”
“Because I can. Because it’s important to me to take what’s been broken and damaged and make it whole again.”
“Like you’ve tried to do for me.”
“Yes. Tried but failed. You were my most precious project to date,” he says, cupping my cheek and brushing his thumb across my bottom lip.
“You didn’t fail.”
“I did. You’re still afraid of men. Of me. I thought if I could somehow erase what happened to you—if I could earn your trust and win your heart—l could make you fall in love with me.”
I swallow hard, afraid to ask but needing to know the answer. “Why would you want me to do that?”
He drops his head, pressing his forehead to mine. “Because for me, it was love at first sight. I fell for you the second I scooped you into my arms and carried you up the winding staircase to my bedroom. I fell deeper while tending to the cuts and bruises on your cute little feet. Deeper still while sitting by your side after your surgery. Deeper than the ocean while watching old movies and eating junk food with you. But having you return those feelings was and is too much for me to hope for. I don’t deserve your love.”
“I can’t think of anyone who deserves love more. Why do you keep punishing yourself? What burden is it you continue to carry? What could be so heavy it keeps you separated from everyone else? Please, tell me, Tretan,” I say, gently pressing my lips to his in our first kiss.
Chapter Fourteen
Tretan Voss
I WANT WAY MORE than a kiss from her. My body clamors to take her and possess her right here and now, but I won’t risk ruining the bond we’ve built for the sake of satisfying a selfish need.
Taking a step backward, I reluctantly remove my forehead from hers. The absence of her heat makes me shiver. I’ve grown so accustomed to the warmth of her beautiful, brown eyes, her sweet, sexy smile and her voluptuous, enticing body in my bed. Losing my family nearly ripped me to shreds but, just the thought of losing Nora—my dove—annihilates me. Without her, I would simply disintegrate into a heap of grey ashes, never to be resurrected.
Clenching my jaw against the words I never wanted to utter again, I steel myself for what’s to come. This woman who has been through so much deserves to hear the truth. To know the man she is living with. To learn the monstrous deed he has done. Once she hears my story, she will run, and I will have lost her forever.
“Tretan?”
She says my name with such tenderness, I want to scream. Walking to the far corner of the room, I drag an antique Queen Ann chair in front of her and gesture for her to sit down. If I’m going to get through this, I need to pace. But I want her to be comfortable.
She sits and gives me her undivided attention as if what I am about to tell her is a damn gift instead of a curse. Telling her my darkest secret is a soul-crushing punishment, not a healing balm of relief. Although I am certain she believes it will be.
The only way I know how to do this is to start and not stop until it is all out. I take a deep breath, preparing to unburden myself.
“I was thirteen years old when I murdered my sister and five other girls.”
I expect Nora to scream or flee from the room, but she stays seated. There’s no horror or disgust etching her features, just a gentle, nonjudgmental expression that silently says, I’m listening.
Her calmness gives me courage.
“My sister’s name was Julia. She was a student at The Lady of Peace. It’s a private, all-girls, Roman Catholic school. My parents sent her there to get a high-quality education without the distraction of boys.”
Nora nods and smiles her encouragement.
“It was parents’ weekend, and we all drove up to see Julia. Dad had gotten us a luxury suite at the Omni Hotel. He was a lawyer and could easily afford it. My mom was so over the moon about the impeccable service, freshly-cut flowers, fancy, dark chocolates on the pillows and the complimentary champagne.”
I rub my hand over my face and close my eyes. Remembering the image of my parents so happy guts me. After that weekend, I would never see them like that again.
Swallowing hard, I say, “The night before we were to go back home, Mom and Dad had planned a romantic dinner for just the two of them. They told me I could order whatever I wanted from room service and rent whichever movie I wanted to see. I knew they wanted me out of their hair, and I was fine with that. Only, I didn’t stay in my room but sneaked out. I used some of my allowance money for a cab and went to pick up my friend Fernando.”
I clear my throat as another rush of regret threatens to choke me. “The plan was for us to go back to my sister’s school with some firecrackers I had left over from the Fourth of July. The whole thing was my idea. I thought if we tossed a packet of lit ones into the dorm room in the middle of the night, the girls would all come running out in their underwear. It was supposed to be a harmless prank. Just something to make a few teenage girls
give us a peek at their panties.”
Nora gives me a sympathetic smile, and I push on.
“I tied the fireworks to a big rock, lit the fuse and threw it through one of the bedroom windows at the back of the building—the one closest to the exit door. I figured once the girls came running out, Fernando and I wouldn’t have much time to get our eyes full before some old biddy teacher came to hustle the girls back inside.”
My legs go weak and I stop pacing. With my back to the front of a bookcase, I slide down it until I hit the floor. “I didn’t know the school had electronically-controlled bars that automatically came down to block the windows and doors in case of an attempted breakin. Somehow my breaking the glass activated them. The firecrackers starting popping like gunshots. The girls began to scream and scramble around. There was so much chaos, no one noticed the curtains had caught on fire. Because the school was on automatic lockdown, it took too long for them to get to the room that was ablaze. Julia and five other girls were trapped inside. They all died of smoke inhalation. The firefighters had tried to revive them, but it was too late,” I say, dropping my head into my hands as tears drop off my cheeks onto the floor.
I don’t even hear Nora get up. But I feel her crouch down beside me and wrap her arms around my shoulders. She whispers softly in my ear, “You are not a murderer, Tretan. You were just like a million other teenage boys. You pulled a silly, juvenile prank. No one was supposed to get hurt. It was an accident.” She takes a deep breath and keeps talking as if her words can somehow take away my pain. “If anyone is to blame, it’s that stupid school. The system was flawed. Nothing should have ever been designed to block all exits, entries and windows. It’s a fucking hazard. People have to have a way out.”
I shake my head and wipe the back of my hands across my cheeks. “I’ve heard everything you are saying before from the firemen, my priest, even a child psychologist, but it doesn’t change a damn thing, Täubchen. Six teenage girls died because of my stupidity. Six lives ended. Six families ruined. I did all that, but poor Fernando paid the price.”
“Why?” Nora asks, reaching out and brushing a lock of hair from my forehead. I take her hand, turn it over and place a soft kiss in her palm before answering. “He was the perfect scapegoat. Even though I told the police I was the one who bought the fireworks, lit them and threw them through the glass window, they didn’t believe me. I had a powerful, prestigious lawyer for a father, and Fernando was a poor Hispanic boy with a significantly low IQ.”
“What a crock of racist shit!” she says, furrowing her pretty brow.
“I finally convinced my father of Fernando’s innocence and my guilt, but he refused to corroborate my story to the police. He said I had brought enough shame to our family without adding a criminal conviction to it.”
“I don’t think I like your father very much,” she says. “His selfishness reminds me a little too much of my mother.”
I pull Nora into my arms. “My father paid in the worst way for letting Fernando take the fall. His law practice folded when the rumors about me spread. He began to drink heavy, losing what few loyal clients he had. My mother had a nervous breakdown and left him. Both of them turned their backs on me, saying they never wanted to see me again.”
“Where did you go? What did you do?”
“I stayed with an aunt and uncle on my mother’s side. Sandy was a homemaker, and Jack was a used car dealer. I worked for him when I wasn’t in school. I used to beg him to let me have some of the cars that were too banged up or in too bad shape mechanically to sell. Grudgingly, he did, and my restoration business was born. When Jack saw how much more money he could make off a restored classic than he could off a brand new vehicle, he gave me all the work I could handle.”
“I’m glad he provided you a purpose in the midst of your heartache and grief.”
“It gave me something useful to do instead of going crazy like my mother. It also helped pass the time until Fernando got out of juvie.”
“How long was he locked up?”
“Since he wasn’t tried as an adult but a minor on charges of involuntary manslaughter, he did three years. I would have gladly done that time for him. Hell, I would have served eighty more years if it would have brought them back,” I say, taking a shaky breath. “But you can’t bring back the dead. So I worked and saved my pennies. The day Fernando was set free, I went and got him. I bought this lighthouse and started my own business apart from my Uncle Jack’s.”
“What exactly do you do?”
“My men go on what I call search-and-seizure missions. Lots of the items they bring back have been stolen by criminals. I restore everything from rare books to paintings and statues and return them to their rightful owners. More often than not, they offer me a sizeable reward.”
“That’s wonderful,” Nora gushes, then turns thoughtful. “I’m just wondering how many things you’ll have to restore before you feel like you have fixed the brokenness of your youth.”
“That can never be fixed. My parents will never forgive me. My sister will never take another breath. Fernando will never get back those three years he spent locked up.”
She smiles sweetly and takes one of my hands between both of her silky soft ones. “Since those things are true and can’t be undone, you can longer look back into the past. All you’ll find there is broken glass. Let it all be dead and gone—the hurt, the pain, the hail and the rain—the time is now for moving on. I want you to move on with me, Tretan.”
I gape at her in disbelief. “Even if it was possible for me to do as you ask, I don’t deserve to be free from a debt I never paid.”
“You’ve been paying for that horrific accident since it happened. You have served Fernando’s sentence three times over in a prison of your own making.”
“It’s still not enough. After what I’ve done, how can I dare hope you might love me?”
“You don’t have to hope because it’s true. I do love you, Tretan Voss. You are the best man I have ever known. The kindest, most generous and protective person I know. Let me show you how much I adore you,” she says, pressing her breasts to my chest.
Chapter Sixteen
Nora Adams
MY PLAN IS TO take charge. To aggressively show my man how badly I want him. But the moment he tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, there is no doubt who is in control.
With a gaze hooded by desire, Tretan slowly dips his head. His lips hover closely above mine, making me tremble in anticipation as the heat of his breath blankets my flesh. His mouth is pure fire, coaxing and consuming me with incendiary flames of desire. His kiss touches me everywhere. A fierce, unquenchable need liquefies my body.
When he lifts his head, breaking the intimacy, I moan in protest. His eyes deepen to bottomless pools of topaz, intoxicating me. I crave his taste, wanting and needing more. “Why did you stop?” I ask on a whimper of frustration.
“I’m not stopping, only pausing to admire you, Täubchen. There’s no sight more beautiful than your eyes darkened with want and your lips swollen from my kiss.” His voice is deep, low and powerful, resonating through the most intimate parts of my body.
“Oh,” I sigh breathlessly.
“And that’s not all.”
“What else?” I ask, wanting to hear more of his sweet and sexy talk.
“If we don’t go back to the bedroom now, I will take you right here on this rug,” he growls, loosening the belt of my bathrobe and pushing it open.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck on the floor,” I say, burning with embarrassment. I’ve never engaged in dirty talk before, but Tretan brings out a carnality in me I have only read about in romance books.
With a feral glint in his eye, he grabs me. In each other’s arms, hearts hammering, mouths meshing, tongues tangoing, we tumble to the rug. I can taste the intensity and desperation of his need. It’s vast and matches mine.
I whimper my need, and he silences me with his mouth on my nipple. As he sucks the rosy
bud between his teeth and laps at it with his sweltering tongue, my legs tighten around his waist, pushing my pelvis flush against his. With only my panties and his lounging pants between us, his cock jerks forcefully, straining toward the union both of us desperately need. His animalistic, primal dry-humping sends a scalding river of lust straight through me, turning my sex to silky slickness.
“Nora, you’re driving me crazy,” he groans, lifting his hips and shoving his pants down. He makes quick work of kicking them off.
He is completely naked now, and the breathtaking sight of his monstrous manhood makes me moan with pleasure. Together, we move in a silent, sensual synchronization. He pushes the crotch of my panties to the side. I shamelessly grind my pussy against him. Loving my newfound brazenness, I continue to work my hips, sliding up and down the underside of his shaft until his steely erection lodges between the cleft of my sex-swollen lips.
“Oh God, Tretan,” I whisper. Hooking my ankles behind his taut buttocks, I writhe with every stroke of his hardness against my clit. Even as I abandon myself to it, my wanton behavior begins to unravel in self-doubt, giving me pause. As if he can sense my momentary hesitation, he says in a voice hoarse and raspy with passion, “I’m yours. Take everything you need from me, Täubchen. Don’t stop until you get it.”
I continue to rock against his rock hardness, reaching for release. But it’s not enough. I need more than this. I need him. His touch. His heat. His tenderness. “Please,” I plead.
“Ah, fuck, little dove. I’ll help you fly,” he says, pushing up onto his knees. With his powerful thighs straddling mine, he rips my panties in two, revealing the wet, eager folds of my sex.
There is no fireplace in the library, and the cool air flutters across my now bare, needy flesh. I suck in a sharp breath when I feel his fingers at my entrance as his thumb presses on my clit. Leaning forward, he kisses me deeply. The thrusting of his tongue keeps time with the firm rhythmic circles playing against that electrically-charged bundle of nerves.