by S. L. Scott
SACRED
S.L. SCOTT
S.L. SCOTT
Copyright © 2017 by S.L. SCOTT
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To the AMAZING Team of Women Who Inspire Me and Challenge Me to Be the Best I Can Be:
Andrea J., Kristen J. Lynsey J., Marion A.,
Marla E., Melissa K.
THANK YOU!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Epic Romance
SOLACE
Prologue
Chapter 1
On A Personal Note
About the Author
Also by S.L. SCOTT
Prologue
Sleep doesn’t come.
One . . .
Two . . .
Three . . .
The nightmares arrive as if scheduled.
Four . . .
Five . . .
Six . . .
Squeezing my eyes closed won’t save me.
Seven . . .
Eight . . .
Nine . . .
I seek them out in the dark, looking up.
Ten . . .
Eleven . . .
Twelve . . .
And start counting.
Thirteen . . .
Fourteen . . .
Fifteen . . .
Nothing will change the past.
Sixteen . . .
Seventeen . . .
Eighteen . . .
I’ll change my future.
Nineteen . . .
Twenty.
Until then . . . I’ll keep counting.
One . . .
Two . . .
. . . Three . . .
1
Cruise Cristley
The low tick of the Omega wrapped around my wrist syncs with the questions that plague me every time I’m here.
Why am I here?
TICK
Why do I keep coming back?
TICK
What am I doing?
TICK
Do I care about her?
TICK
Is there more?
TICK
Is this it?
TICK
The answers are rapid-fire:
Need.
Necessity.
Fucking up.
Maybe. Not like I should.
I wonder.
I hope not.
TICK
TICK
TICK
TICK
TICK
Fuck.
Fuck.
I’m exhausted, but I’m not sure if the lack of sleep is the only thing to blame. I couldn’t sleep, so I texted, and came over. Two hours later, I’m leaning forward, the weight of my decisions worn heavy on my back. Debating what comes next, I rest my forearms on my legs just as I hear stirring on the bed behind me.
“What are you doing, Cruise?” Celeste’s voice is kinder when she rouses from sleep. I prefer this tone to her voice in the daylight hours. It’s less harsh, almost kind. “Why are you already dressed?”
“You know why.” I’ve become accustomed to the look I’ll find on her face when I turn around: disappointment. “Go back to sleep,” I snap, although I shouldn’t after what we just did. I hate the pressure she puts on me every time I’m here. She’s not a bad person. Her needs, unlike mine, which are just physical, run deeper. I shake my head that money is the word that comes to mind, like in a sad game of association, when I think about the depths of her mind. Feeling guilty, I whisper, “Get some rest.”
She pats the empty space next to her. “Come back and sleep with me.”
We’ve always been honest with what this is, what we are, but I know she wants more and just doesn’t say it outright. Walking to the nightstand, I purposely don’t look in her direction. Despite getting off, I’m in a mood. “We don’t sleep together. We fuck. There’s a difference.”
“We could,” she replies, confirming my instincts. “We could try the whole relationship thing. Not just for show, but for real.” The desperation I hear in her voice suits her pretty face. The softness almost makes me believe she wants to settle down and marry into the fantasy of normalcy. I know better than to fool myself into believing she or I are more than we are.
Tucking my wallet and phone into my pockets, I glance her way. “It’s not for show, Celeste.”
“Sure it is. You basically just said it yourself.” She sighs and lays her head down. She looks determined to get the answer she wants. She’s never been a woman to be denied by many, if any. “Do you think we’ll ever do more than fuck?”
“We go out sometimes. Why ruin that with complications?”
“I thought we were moving forward, but it’s clear we’re not moving at all. We’re stagnant.”
6:08 a.m. The time shines red on the expensive silver clock next to my keys. Sitting on the bed again, I know I should have just left. I wouldn’t be having a conversation I don’t want to have, especially at this hour. Angling to the side, I want to see her face this time, to study her reaction. “I never made any promises, Celeste, but you did. If I told you I know the truth, would you still lie to me?”
Her fingers find my leg and she digs her nails in as they slide, enough so I can feel them through my jeans. “What do you know, Cruise?”
“Rumors of you fucking others.”
Huffing, she rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Rumors. Fucking rumors.” Her English accent is thicker when she lies. It’s a tell I discovered early on. She lies a lot. She’s definitely lying now. “Why do you believe everyone but me?”
“I didn’t say I believed the rumors. I only said I’ve heard rumors.” I stand and take my keys, the metal scrapping across the top of the white lacquered nightstand.
“Don’t leave.”
“I have to.”
“No, you want to.” Her voice rises to the tone that annoys me.
I reply without looking back, “Same thing.”
When I reach the doorway to her bedroom, I stop and turn around. “I don’t care if you see other people, but I don’t want it shoved in my face by some cocksucker who wants to one-up me.”
“Same goes for you.”
I can’t help the sardonic smile that fights through my irritation. She knows damn well I’m not fucking anyone else, but if it makes her feel better to throw that back at me, whatever. “Fine.”
Finding the front door is never an issue. The dark cover of the early morning is pretty much the only time I’ve seen this hallway. I know it without seeing her photos or furniture guiding me. Before I reach the front door, her voice rattles from the bedroom, “Will I see you this w
eek?”
One bolt unlocked, and I pause.
Two, and I know the answer. I just don’t want to say it while she’s naked pleading for more of me—time, attention, commitment. “I’ll text you,” I reply and walk out, shutting the door behind me. Shutting her behind me. This apartment building has the fastest elevators in the city, something I appreciate more every time I leave.
I push the button for the parking garage, and rest my back against the corner as the elevator descends twenty-three floors. Getting off shouldn’t be this draining, physically or emotionally. I rub my eyes, and then leave them closed until I reach the garage. My brain and body feel lethargic.
I hate it.
I eat well.
I workout.
There’s no reason I should feel this burned out. Something’s not right. My gut tells me it’s her.
She’s sucking the life from me.
Sex with her is not worth it given I feel this drained when I leave. Sooner than later I need to break the habit.
In the middle of the garage I realize sooner is the only answer.
Not two minutes later, I’m standing in front of her door and knock. Celeste has tried to give me a key more than a few times. I’ve never accepted the offer. The door swings open. “Well hello, handsome.”
I’m instantly reminded of one of the reasons we started fucking in the first place. She grabs me by the shirt and yanks me inside before I can protest.
Celeste is handsy and damn good with those hands. She’s also good with her mouth, but I can’t let her sidetrack me, which is easy to do when she’s rubbing her body against me like she is now. My back is against the door. I catch her wrists just as her fingers reach my zipper and right before she drops to her knees. “I want to . . . we need to talk.”
“Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?”
My stomach twists. She may not be the woman for me, but she was there for me when I needed someone. I can’t blame her. We’ve both been fucking around like we had no other choices in life. I have to take responsibility for my part in the mess we’ve made. “I let this go on too long.”
She’s smarter than most give her credit. I’m not most. I know how smart and sly this woman can be. “Let’s talk later, babe.” She starts to go down again.
“No.”
Being on the receiving end of her high-dollar glares doesn’t intimidate me. “What do you mean, no?”
I’ve never been on her bad side, but I’ve heard rumors there’s hell to pay if you are. So I soften my tone, trying to tell her with the respect she deserves. “We’re not going to do this anymore.”
“What?” She pushes off my chest, and steps back. Standing unabashedly bare before me, her hands go to her hips. “What are you saying, Cruise?”
“I’m saying that it’s time we call it quits. I’m not good for you.” The words echo through my mind. I’m no good for anyone, not even myself. “This isn’t going anywhere. You know it and I know it, so we need to stop dragging out the inevitable.”
Grabbing a blanket from the couch, she drapes it around herself. “Is it the rumors? Cruise, they’re only rumors.” Coming back to me, she twists my shirt between her fingers. “You’ve got to believe me. I want you. I’ve always wanted you, but you keep me out—of your heart and your head. You have this wall around you that’s impossible to penetrate.”
“Look, it’s not just the rumors. Although hearing that you might be fucking my brother hasn’t helped.”
“I’m not. I promise you.” Leaning her head against my chest, she starts to cry. “Cruise please. We are meant to be together. You just have to let me in. Ple—”
“I can’t do this.” I’m sure she could produce some tears if she really wanted, but I find dry eyes and a great acting job when I look down at her. I’m not the guy she’ll ever cry over losing. “I care about you. I do, but not the way I should.” Taking her by the waist, I maneuver her away from me, putting distance between us. “I’m not upset about the rumors. I should be upset if my . . .” What is she to me? “You should want someone to feel jealous. Fearful of losing you.”
Stomping her foot, she says, “I’m not cheating, damn it. It was one tim— Oh God.” Her hand covers her mouth in horror, and then she rushes me. “Please, Cruise. I want you. I just needed to feel wanted by someone.”
“I’m not that someone.” I never was. I don’t need to rub it in though. “We’ve had good times together, Celeste. We’ll walk away as friends.”
“You’ll be my friend?” Her voice rises with each word. “I don’t need another friend. I need my investment to pay out. I’ve wasted so much time on you. I’m ready to be settled.” And there it is.
I try to keep my anger at bay. I’m not surprised by her admission, but it still pisses me off. “Investment? On that note, we’re done here. Do you prefer cash or check?”
“Fuck you, Cruise Cristley.”
I’m done. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay, fuck me.”
Her hand comes flying toward me. I can stop her, but why bother? She’ll feel better if I let her get away with it, so I take the pain. The sting of her slap resonates on my skin, leaving me feeling raw. I shoot her a glare. “That was your one time. I suggest you keep your distance from now on.” I turn and open the door.
“I hate you, Cruise. You’ll pay for this.”
“I already have.”
2
Cruise
I’m accustomed to the finer things in life.
I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but one arrived soon after.
Actually, maybe I was born with one. I don’t know.
I’m adopted.
My life before has been weighing on my mind lately. Who was I before I was adopted? Along with a lot of other stuff that seems to be plaguing me. I feel lost, listless, and have for a while now. Although I don’t go without, I feel like I am. Superficial stuff and belongings aren’t filling the void that’s grown the last few years.
My car shines under the fluorescent lights a few parking spaces from the door. As soon as I’m tucked inside my Mercedes S-Class Coupe, I can breathe again, feeling at peace in the silent, but familiar surroundings. I love this car. It was an unexpected purchase for me, so I’m told, but the feel of the fine leather and the slick steering wheel are pure luxury I couldn’t resist.
I drive out of the underground garage and start for the penthouse. There’s no traffic at this hour, so I take the long way and pass the park, my mind too unsettled to sleep anyway.
My thoughts tick back to Celeste. I could have said something nice so we parted on good terms, but the door slammed closed so fast, and I never broke my stride as I headed down the hall to the elevators. It wasn’t so much a lost opportunity as it was a new beginning for me, free from entanglements.
Thinking about how many hours I used to research online, searching for answers to help Alex find the answers he so desperately needed to feel whole, it makes me realize how many years I could have been searching for my own answers.
Who is the woman that gave birth to me?
Why did she give me away?
Was it a selfish act or best for me?
Was she poor, rich, blue-collar, blue blood?
Who’s my father?
Were they together? Apart?
Too young?
Not fit?
What makes someone give up a child?
Or was I taken?
Did Child Protective Services remove me?
I can’t keep going like this, my mind spinning aimlessly. My mother’s heritage is similar to Alex’s mom. They held the real money in the family. With each dying grandparent, my parents became wealthier and wealthier. As the youngest of five and the only adopted child in the family, I have a distorted view of the environment where I was raised. I’ve always stood out from the others. They are fair with blond hair. I’m olive-skinned with brown eyes, medium brown hair. I never stood a chance of fitting in, at least not visually.
My edu
cation was the best. I met Alex, this scrawny kid who had a chip bigger than his shoulder, at school. He was born to cause trouble. The day I met him was the day I met my people. Boy, did we cause trouble, but we rarely got caught. Too many good times to count. He’s more my family than my actual family ever has been.
Even the peacefulness of the sun peeking through the trees at sunrise doesn’t help temper my restlessness. I’ve burned enough of the daylight already and decide it’s time to go home.
When I open the door to the penthouse, Alex is sitting at a desk—eyes on the laptop in front of him. No other light in the room except the sunlight brightening the room as it rises. The yellow glow in the room is comforting, especially in comparison to the cold darkness of Celeste’s place. Closing the door, I ask, “Working late or starting early?”
Alex looks up. “I don’t know. What time is it?”
Glancing to my watch, I reply, “Six thirty-five.”
He leans back, putting his hands behind his head. “Sneaking in?”
“Ha.” I sit on the couch near the desk. “Am I grounded, Dad?”
That makes him laugh. “This is your one warning.”
“That’s more than my parents ever gave me.”
Standing up, he walks to the kitchen. “Coffee?”