Limitless Love: A Lotus House Novel: Book Four

by Audrey Carlan

  “Matisse? Kyle? What are you doing here?” I questioned, tearfully watching their body language, trying to vanquish any negative thoughts before they could rise to the surface.

  “Don’t be dense, Moe. I’m with Kyle.” She laid a hand over his abdomen and nestled in close. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Once he left your sorry ass, I picked up the pieces of his broken heart and made him mine.” She blinked flirtatiously.

  The weight that hit my chest was devastating. “No.” I shook my head, not wanting to believe it was true. My sister wouldn’t betray me like that. Not after everything I’d done for her over the years.

  Kyle smirked. “You knew I liked Matisse. Hell, I was fucking her the entire time we were married. Why did you think I always wanted her to come visit? So I could crawl between her sexy thighs while you were sleeping.” He snorted. “I had Matisse on every surface of our home before I left you to trade up for a better model. And look at her. She’s everything you could never be. Now it’s time to get her back the money she deserves. Excuse us while we talk to the lawyer.”

  * * *

  Vomit crawled up my throat, and I barely staved it off as I gripped the tile. My stomach churned with the vile memory.

  Breathe, Monet. Let it all go. That was the past; this is the present. You don’t want Kyle. He’s not the right man for you, and if you think back, he never was.

  I had pushed her, their betrayal, and every attachment I’d had to my sister to the darkest recesses of my mind the second she walked into our lawyer’s office with my ex-husband’s hand in hers. Except it didn’t work.

  Matisse was my father’s illegitimate child. I only learned of her existence when I was eleven years old and she was eight. For years, my father lived two lives. He had Mom and me, and at some point a couple years after they had me, my father wooed and impregnated his mistress. For a decade, he’d been unfaithful to our mother. Until that fateful day when Matisse’s mother died in a car accident. All our lives changed in an instant. My father admitted his transgressions, explained the circumstances to my mother and me, and apologized profusely. Then he asked my mother to take in Matisse and raise her as her own.

  My mother, saint that she was, took in his daughter and lavished her with love. My mother’s parents, on the other hand, had not accepted her. They were very old-fashioned and strict about familial ties. Matisse was not welcomed into their arms or their estate. She didn’t share blood with my mother, nor did my mother adopt her; therefore, she was not included in the will. The lawyer correctly pointed out that Matisse had no standing to challenge the will. This infuriated Matisse and Kyle.

  My hand shook as I lifted the coffee to my lips and took a sip. The smooth Columbian flavor settled over my tongue, and I sighed, thankful to be alive.

  Alive.

  Just the other night I was close to death on the cold black pavement of the parking garage. My knees and elbows throbbed with the beat of my heart at the memory. I practiced my yoga breathing as the visions took over.

  Kyle’s knees pressing into my lower back felt like an anchor holding me down.

  The forceful tug of my hair so tight, pieces ripped out from the roots.

  Blood oozing down around my hands, sticking to my clothes, and pooling around my body.

  The first bite of the knife as it pierced the skin of my neck.

  Screaming.

  “Help me! Please!” I opened my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs.

  “Monet! Moe! Please, please come back!” Someone was yelling. At first it sounded far away. The sound echoed down a long length, like it was traveling down a tunnel to reach me.

  “Mommy, Mommy!”

  Oh my God, my daughter. I looked around but couldn’t see anything but the garage. “Lily!” I cried out. “Where’s my daughter?”

  “Mommy! Please, Mommy!” I couldn’t see her. Kyle must have had her. He took her like he said he would.

  No. No. No.

  “Moe!”

  Hands around my shoulders. Fingers digging into my biceps.

  “Monet! Honey, please!”

  Hands around my neck. I can’t breathe. He’s killing me!

  “No, no, let me go. Don’t touch me!” I screeched until a burning sensation and a crash around my feet broke me out of my hallucination. Kyle had been here, holding me down, trying to get to me again. Only, he was gone, the dark garage replaced with the bright light of my kitchen. I blinked several times trying to rid my mind of the fear and anxiety ricocheting through me.

  I trembled hard as my vision wavered. A burning sensation sizzled against my bare feet. I looked around and found Mila, with tears running down her cheeks, holding a crying Lily to her chest. Atlas was standing in front of me with his arms out, as if he was about to wrestle a wild animal but was trying to calm it first.

  My body shook as if I was being vibrated from the inside out by a giant machine. Then my teeth started to chatter, and I couldn’t catch my breath.

  Atlas moved closer, his arms and hands extended in front of him. “That’s it, Monet. It’s just me. Atlas. You’re safe. We’re here for you, honey. And you’re safe. Kyle is not here. He’s not here. No one is going to touch you or hurt you.”

  “Mommy!” Lily cried out again.

  I looked down at the coffee splattered all over the ground, the porcelain cup shattered in tiny pieces everywhere.

  “I think I just had a panic attack,” I said right before blackness swept into my vision and blurred out the edges. Atlas locked an arm around my waist before I completely lost it. He led me to the couch and sat me down. Once I was seated, he kneeled and pressed his forehead to mine.

  “Breathe, sis, and watch me. Keep your eyes open and look at me. Inhale for four beats, and then exhale for four beats. Follow my breathing.” He used the same voice he used in the yoga classes he once taught. Melodic, tranquil. I followed along willingly.

  For a few minutes, we breathed together until I felt my heart rate decrease, the sweat on my neck and brow cool, and the trembling abate.

  “Mommy?” Lily said from across the room.

  I inhaled slowly and pushed back from Atlas. “Thank you. I’m better now.”

  “Flashback?” He stood and stepped away.

  “I think so, but it was more random and disjointed. Honestly, I’m not really sure what that was exactly.” The fact that it was on the heels of the memory of Kyle and Matisse at the law office made it worse. I knew between the betrayal of my sister and the attack from Kyle, I was no longer operating on a healthy level.

  “Mommy?” Lily said again in her small voice, a hint of fear and concern making it sound deeper.

  “Come here, baby,” I said, holding my arms out.

  She flew into my arms, and the pain of her embrace blasted through me, but I choked back the cry and instead gritted my teeth waiting for the pain to abate. Lily was more important. She pushed her tear-stained, stricken face directly into my neck.

  I petted her hair slowly and hummed the way I did when she was scared. Same as I’d done while rocking her as a baby. “I’m okay, honey. Mommy just had a bad daydream.”

  “Like a monster dream? Did you see a scary one?” She pulled her face back, and her blue eyes widened as she focused on me.

  “Yeah, baby. Scariest monster ever.” A tremor skittered down my spine.

  “And his name was Kyle?” she asked.

  Crap. I didn’t want her knowing what had happened and who had hurt me. That was the last connection I ever wanted her to make, not that she remembered Kyle anyway.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about Mommy’s monster, okay? Just know that sometimes mommies get scared too. But having you in my arms makes it all better.”

  My daughter offered a wide, toothy smile. “Can I have pam cakes?” she asked out of nowhere. It only took a child to bring things right back to the here and now, with her easy dismissal of this uncomfortable moment as if it’d happened last week and not within the past few minut
es.

  I chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Yes, love bug. You can have pancakes. Let Mommy get the floor cleaned up and I’ll make you some.”

  “No need, I’ve got this!” Atlas hollered over his shoulder. He was already in the kitchen, and Mila was already tossing away the last of the glass I’d broken.

  “Thanks, guys.”

  “Hey, it’s what families are for. We’re here for you, Moe,” Mila reminded me of the obvious.

  And thank God for them.

  * * *

  Sometime later, I woke to the mouthwatering smell of spiced meat cooking. Easing out of bed slowly, like an eighty-year-old woman might, I took one small, calculated move at a time. Being careful was paramount to healing. Maneuvering out of bed cautiously, I pressed a hand against my side and curved my body until my heels rested on the floor to limit the stretch of my back. Like yesterday, music was playing in the kitchen, only this time it wasn’t George Michael blaring. Atlas was playing acoustic guitar on the couch next to the kitchen.

  He plucked at the strings like a professional, playing something Latin-inspired, slapping his hand against the soundboard to add a bit of beat every few seconds. Lily was in the center of the kitchen being spun around in circles by long, muscled arms that I recognized instantly. I allowed myself the pleasure of watching Clayton interact with Lily. He was a natural with her. After she’d whirled too many times, he scooped her up and placed her on the counter close to the stove but not so close that she could harm herself on the burners or pots.

  “Now, Queen Lily, you have to pour the red sauce over the rice like so.”

  “Ohhh, and then it makes the rice colored. Why you want it red and not lellow or white?”

  “Yell-o? Yellow?” he repeated for her benefit.

  I knew it was coming even before she opened her mouth. Her small nose scrunched up defiantly and her eyes blazed. “’S’wat I said.” She placed both fists on her hips and looked very put out.

  Clayton bowed low. “Pardon me, my queen. I shan’t correct you again.” He mimicked an English accent.

  “No, don’t stop correcting her, or she’ll never learn the proper way to pronounce the words,” I added from across the room.

  “Hey, beautiful, you’re awake. I hope we didn’t wake you up with the noise.”

  I shook my head. “No, just resting. The meds take a lot out of me.”

  He nodded. “You hungry?”

  I smiled and slowly made my way over to the stove and placed my hand on his bicep. It flexed, either to impress me or on instinct. Something made me think it was the latter. Clayton didn’t have to go out of his way to impress a woman. He was literally God’s gift to womankind. His physique was unreal. Hard slabs of muscle everywhere I could see, and that wasn’t saying much since I hadn’t seen him naked.

  Of course, the thought of seeing him sans his clothing sent a thrill of arousal through my body that landed directly on my clit. A gentle pulse woke that bundle of nerves as I took in all that was Clayton Hart. Even with every bone in my body weighed down with medicine, his appeal still had the ability to affect me.

  The man was tall, very tall, and I was not a short woman at five foot six. He had close to a foot of height on me. He wore a pair of loose-fitting black track pants with two white stripes running down the side seams. His upper body was covered by only a white ribbed tank.

  “Did you, uh, just come from the gym?” I asked, my mouth salivating at the bulging muscles of his shoulders. His hair was spiked in every direction, making me think he hadn’t yet had a shower. I wondered if I got close enough if I could smell his natural musk. As soon as the thought hit, I mentally smacked myself and smashed it down. A relationship was so not what I needed right now. Painkillers, food, sleep, and my kid to be healthy and happy. That was on the menu tonight. And tacos, because Clayton was back again making dinner. Why was he here again? I couldn’t fathom why he’d want to be near me, especially right now. It didn’t make any sense. Not only did I look ghastly, I was cut up from hip to shoulder. My neck was a mess of visible stitches, a reminder that Kyle’s wrath wasn’t far. He could come after me again at any time. Then what? He’d definitely hurt Clayton. Mila. Atlas. None of them were safe here. Why was he here?

  All those thoughts slammed into my mind, adding to the throbbing at my temples. My head was still tender to the touch from its repeated tug of war with Kyle’s hand.

  A shiver of dread rippled along my skin, and I crossed my arms over my chest and held myself.

  Clayton watched the move and squinted before responding to my earlier question. “Yeah, I had a late client, but I didn’t want to take too long. I know the queen needed to eat at a reasonable hour, and you have medications to take that require food.”

  I opened my mouth to say something but then closed it. I tipped my head and planned to ask why he was doing all of this. Why would he want to be here cooking for a single mother who was attacked, but the words flew right out of my head as he watched my inner turmoil play out. Instead of responding, he hooked a hand low around my hips, avoiding my wounds, eased me near him, and plastered my front to his chest. I looked up at him, not understanding what was happening. Fearing it but at the same time needing comfort. This man’s comfort. Something I was learning might be unique only to him. He tunneled one of his hands into the hair at my nape and lightly turned my head so my cheek rested directly over his heart. Going with the flow, I looped my arms around him in a full-body hug.

  I held on as tight as I could and breathed him in. His natural scent enveloped me with notes of the mountains, pine trees, and something richer. Frankincense, perhaps. A full-body sense of peace coated my high-strung form. After the flashback and panic attack, the meds taking their toll, and my body hurting everywhere…he knew what I needed. A simple hug from a safe, secure man who I knew would never do anything to harm me. I relished the heat of his body and the serenity I allowed in at that moment.

  Clayton didn’t miss a beat. He wrapped a thick forearm around my waist and held me close, making sure to steer clear of my back wound. The other hand curled around my shoulder and into my hair, where he massaged the back of my neck and head. I groaned, turned my forehead against his sternum, and breathed through the bliss of his hands working out the tension in my muscles. I hadn’t realized how sore I was after the attack because I’d been focusing on the knife wounds and abrasions. As he worked out a particularly painful knot, I did the unthinkable, acting so far out of character I wouldn’t have believed it was me if I hadn’t caught myself doing it.

  I bit him. Nuzzled his chest until my mouth encountered a chunk of muscle, his pec, and I sank my teeth in. Through the tank. Right into his flesh. I probably left a mark. Holy mother of God, I’m a twisted woman. What in the ever-loving hell is wrong with me? How could I do this? Acting like a horned-up teenager when in reality I just got so overwhelmed with the sensual nature of his embrace, the warmth of his arms, a carnal response bled out of my system.

  Right as I was about to apologize profusely for my stupidity and callousness, Clayton groaned and thrust his hips against me, showing exactly how he felt about that lapse in judgment. When I felt the hard shaft wedged against my pelvis, the budding arousal I’d had turned into embarrassment and panic. I moved back a few inches as quickly as my body would allow, but Clayton wouldn’t allow me to go too far. His hand stayed firmly at the back of my head, and he dipped his chin low, leveling his face with mine. Our gazes met and an undeniable energy speared through us as if we’d been struck by lightning. I felt the magnetism, the push and pull between our forms, as we stood close together. It was wrong, but my goodness did it feel so right.

  Clayton whispered close to my ear, tickling the wisp of hair there. “You can’t move back right away. It wouldn’t be decent. Feel me?”

  Did I feel him? Was he insane? There was a steel pipe between us. Of course I felt it.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” I whispered, remembering that little ears were not that far aw
ay, although at some point she must have jumped off the counter, because I heard her laughing at Atlas somewhere behind us.

  Again, I tried to back up, but Clayton tightened his grip on my hips. “Don’t you dare take that back. It was the single best hug I’ve ever had in my life. Besides, you reacted naturally. Never be afraid to respond with me.”

  “But…” Mortification simmered around each breath I took, making it hard to respond. I’d never acted like that with any man before. Clayton seemed to bring out an entirely new side of me—one that was more willing and confident. Then again, it could very well have been the drugs. I figured that was a much better reason for my extreme lack in judgment.

  “I liked it, beautiful.” He licked his lips, and his nostrils flared. “A fuck of a lot, in case you didn’t notice.” He gyrated his hips in a small circle, allowing me to experience every blessed inch of his proof. And it was a lot of inches. A lot. More than enough. Oh sweet baby Jesus, I’m in a heap of trouble with this man.

  “We can’t…” I gasped, remembering how messed up I was, how I still had my ex after me, and that everyone near me, including Clayton, was in danger.

  He chuckled. “No, we can’t. Wrong place, wrong time, but not the wrong person. I’m here, Monet, and I intend to see this thing through.”

  I frowned. Thing. “What thing?”

  He smirked, and I swore his face was more handsome when he gave off the cocky vibe in spades. “The spark. The chemistry we have. I want to let it play out and see where it goes.”

  For the love of God, why did this have to happen now? Last year was the right time, when I’d felt confident and strong, and he didn’t want me then. Now I was broken and wounded. Worse, I’d been branded by my ex, who wanted me dead. Everything I knew and felt about myself and my ability to judge men and relationships was broken. Just like me physically. I didn’t know what was up, down, or all around, let alone how to handle a “thing” between me and the sexiest man alive.