Arbor’s body hummed with joy. Killian was everything he had promised and then some. The image of him settling on the edge of the chair behind her, ready to eat her, would be forever seared into her brain. Sleek muscles, tattoos, and a balled up t-shirt on his knee. His wicked eyes. Damn. It was all right there, making her channel pulse with aftershocks. Those muscles were now pillowing her head. His scent, like spicy chocolate, surrounded her. He could ruin a woman. Killian was a top ten bucket list check mark for every woman. If she never slept or ate again, she’d be fine as long as she had this. In the aftermath of him, she felt invincible. His lips touched her forehead. Monstrous need clawed at her insides. Arbor stamped it down. Killian made her a bit insane with want. It was unhealthy.
“How did you end up inside Club Exile?”
Arbor toyed with his fingers, avoiding his gaze. Even though she was thankful for anything to concentrate on other than the desire to go at him like a wildcat, she was still uncomfortable with the topic.
“I had a dream.”
When she didn’t offer more, Killian shifted slightly. “About Exile?”
In spite of herself, Arbor chuckled. She was going to end up telling him every secret in her heart. Sheesh. The impact of him on her life. “No. It was one of those crazy bathroom dreams. I was at my aunt’s house and the bathroom was disgusting, but I had to go, you know?” She shrugged, not really expecting him to answer. “Anyhow,” she pressed on. “The room itself was huge, almost more like a living room than a bathroom. In contrast, the toilet was tiny and shoved in one corner. Since I didn’t have any other choice, I decided I’d be as quick as possible. Unfortunately, as soon as I sat down, my family began filing in and pulling up chairs around me, settling in for a long visit.” She suppressed a shudder at the memory. It was too late to back down now, but the knowledge didn’t stop her horror over admitting to a nasty-bathroom phobia.
“To make matters worse, my mom sat down next to me, blocking my path to the only form of toilet paper available. Of course, it was actually a stack of those horrible brown paper towels they keep in public restrooms. Not a single person in the room showed any sign they were interfering in a private moment. I was embarrassed and grossed out by the disgusting room. Then the situation got even worse; sewage water started dripping from the ceiling, right onto my head.” She shrugged again. “I have no idea why, but I suppose dreams aren’t meant to make sense. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I snapped. They all seemed genuinely surprised by my distress. Nonetheless, grumbling all the way, they filed back out. My mom still didn’t take the hint. She refused to budge. When I woke up, I had this awful lingering sense of disgust.”
The silence in the room after her story left her wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. Killian shifted positions, settling deeper into the mattress and trailing his fingers along her ribcage.
“You are the oddest woman.”
It was true, but still. “How so?”
She felt his shoulder lift in a shrug beneath her head. “You admit to things most women would rather die than say. I like it,” he added before she had time to feel self-conscious. “Of course, your answer doesn’t explain how you ended up in Exile.”
She went over the story in her head, realizing Killian was right. If a person didn’t over-analyze things the way she did, they’d miss what she knew as fact.
“No one ever notices me,” she explained. “It’s as if I blend into the background. I was walking past Club Exile, and I knew immediately I didn’t belong there. Several heads turned in my direction. I could see everyone attempting to figure out how I came to be on the same planet as them. The dream came rushing back to me. That lingering sensation of overwhelming frustration lodged in my throat. I couldn’t not go inside because I didn’t want to be invisible any longer. In some strange way, I knew you were waiting inside.”
His arms tightened around her. “You knew I’d see you.”
A derisive grin tugged at her lips. “If you’d passed me on the street, you would’ve looked right through me. It’s only because I was different from everyone else, you paused to look, but yes – in a manner of speaking, I knew it.”
In a flash, Killian came up onto his elbow. The intensity written on his face was almost frightening. “It wouldn’t matter if we were in a crowd of thousands or on another planet. I would see you. You’re the one who shouldn’t notice me. You’re the one who should’ve kept walking and saved yourself.” His features shifted. A smile spread across his face. “Not that I would allow such a thing to stand.” Killian tugged her beneath him as he rolled to settle between her knees. “What I lack in character, I more than make up for in attentiveness and willingness to please.”
* * * * *
The crowd parted, giving Arbor a clear view of one of the men on stage. His sandy blond hair and amber-colored eyes were even hotter in person than in the magazines and on TV. She’d never considered herself to be the kind of person who would be star struck, but damn. Lyric Wynters was a million times more of everything in real life. For a second, Arbor was scared of her heart. The way it longed for him to look at her was a step beyond frightening.
As if the universe decided to test her will, he leaned toward the microphone. His gaze lifted from the guitar in his hands and met hers. The place was so fucking packed Arbor could barely breathe, but she wasn’t mistaken. It wasn’t wishful thinking. He was looking at her. She’d been waiting forever to see Exile in concert. They were playing her favorite song. It was their signature piece and everyone was singing along, except for Arbor. Her throat wouldn’t work beneath his stare. Lyric smirked as he sang the words every woman would love to hear him say to them.
“It was your smile that doomed you to this lifestyle. Defiled. Exiled. I swear I’m worthwhile. Come live with me in exile.” She would. God help her. Arbor would do whatever he asked of her.
The stage faded away and Arbor found herself sitting on a park bench with Exile’s song still playing in her head. A slight buzz lingered from the overpriced beer. She was going to feel like shit tomorrow. No doubt she should’ve gone home already. The stars seemed brighter tonight than usual. She didn’t want to go home. She was restless in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. The wind kicked up, causing chill bumps to form on her skin. A sigh rose in her throat. It was too cold to stay out much longer.
A warm weight settled on her shoulders, almost causing her to jump out of her skin. Her heart slammed against her chest. That is, until she tilted her head back, meeting the gaze of the man who’d wrapped her in his jacket, then it stopped beating completely. If Arbor thought Lyric Wynters was hot on stage, it didn’t hold a candle to seeing him up close.
“Thank you.” Fuck. She deserved an award for the delivery of that one line. He smiled. Angels sang.
“As long as you are well, I’m better for it.”
Arbor blinked at the ceiling. The lasts wisps of the dream hung in the air, already forgotten. She knew without having to look that Killian was gone. The knowledge didn’t help the pain in her chest when she glanced over, confirming it. Arbor caught a glimpse of the chair sitting at the foot of the bed. Her cheeks heated. Lord. She was going to hell. Lyric’s jacket was still hanging on the back. A smile touched her lips. She would see him again. The idea lulled her back to sleep.
* * * * *
Lyric paced the floor, hovering on the edge of insanity. The blood smearing his knuckles did nothing to calm his rage. Trey had let it happen. He’d taken his beating like it was his due. It was, and then again, it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be punishment enough. There was no black and white here, or anywhere, for that matter. A solitary person rarely held full blame for anything. This was no different. Every stick of furniture in his home was the same as it had been back then, but everything was different now. By the time Killian came through the door, he was almost scared of himself. One look at the man’s expression had his hands shaking even worse than they already had been. Their gazes met. There were
no words. Killian bent at the waist, bracing his weight on his knees and audibly sucking air into his lungs like a man who’d almost drowned. Lyric made it one step in his direction before Killian exploded.
Spinning, he slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a hole behind. Obviously, it wasn’t enough, because he did it again. Killian’s shoulders heaved as he flattened his palms against the hard surface and set his forehead between them. Lyric closed the distance between them. Setting his hands on Killian’s shoulders, Lyric squeezed. There was no comfort. He could feel the rage boiling just beneath the surface of the man’s skin. Killian’s voice sounded as wrecked as Lyric felt when he finally spoke.
“There’s only one reason for her to be here.”
Lyric tried to breathe past the pain. “I know.”
“She doesn’t remember.”
The words had the same effect on Lyric as Killian punching him in the throat. He couldn’t respond. Even though he’d known it, hearing Killian confirm his thoughts was too much.
“That motherfucker Trey.” Lyric nearly choked on the name. “He,” Lyric paused, squeezing Killian’s shoulders tighter for strength, but he was still incapable of continuing. In their greed, they’d opened the door and invited in the devil.
“I know,” Killian said, saving him from having to taste the actual words on his tongue. Alcohol and lust had led them here. They’d been happy in their lot. One bad decision had changed the future. Stolen everything. Killian pushed away from the wall, leaving Lyric no choice but to take a step back. Turning, Killian cupped his face, forcing Lyric to hold his gaze. Without a word, Killian touched his forehead to his. Lyric’s eyes fell closed at the contact and he took a deep breath. The memory of Arbor’s nude body, pressed between them, was killing him. All the times the steam of their shower surrounded them while she touched her lips to his chest; those memories were right there, sitting on his windpipe.
As if Killian was remembering the same thing, they touched palms. For a second, they simply stood with their hands flattened against one another before their fingers threaded. Arbor should be there, her hand between theirs. She’d always linked her fingers through his first, before Killian did the same. Lyric would close his fingers over their hands, completing the connection. Most people are one half of a whole. They live their lives incomplete until the day they find their soul mate—their other half. Killian and Lyric were two parts of a whole. They lived their lives incomplete, until Arbor. Lyric opened his eyes to find Killian staring at him.
“She’s strong.”
Lyric nodded, adding his own thoughts. “Heart, body, and soul.”
Killian’s expression turned fierce. “She’s ours.”
“Forever,” Lyric agreed.
Chapter Three
“How did I—a girl from Colorado, end up here—totally addicted? Last night, I let Lyric and Killian talk me into getting a small musical note tattooed on the inside of my wrist. It wasn’t until after the three of us were inside Epic Ink, each getting a different note on the inside of our left wrists, that they admitted if you play the combined notes they sound like ‘I love you.’ Shit. These men love me. Weak. I’m weak and so in love. The band is getting ready to take a break. They’re going back to New Orleans—where they own a house—for a while. The guys have asked me to go with them. It’s going to be hard to explain this one to my mom, but I’ve said yes. How could I say no? They want me to live with them permanently. No one is going to understand. Fuck them. They haven’t seen Lyric’s face when he sings to me or felt Killian’s hands. There isn’t a single person who’s heard their whispered words of love. Even if I lose everything, it was worth it. Totally worth every moment.”—June 20th.
It was gone. Not just shut down by the police, but totally freaking gone. The spot where Club Exile had been a week earlier was nothing more than an empty lot. It had taken Arbor all week to work up the nerve to go back. She’d wavered between non-stop cleaning and pacing the floor while staring at Lyric’s jacket. It was the perfect excuse. No one would think she was desperate. She needed to return it. Didn’t she? Surely that was why Killian had intentionally left it. At least, she hoped that was what had happened. Arbor ignored the tiny voice in the back of her mind, whispering he might’ve forgotten it as he snuck out in the middle of the night. Except it was on the chair sitting right at the edge of the bed. He would’ve had to get past it to leave. There was no way he’d overlooked the jacket hanging on the back. None of her obsessing over the situation mattered now. There was nothing but an empty lot. Not even a speck of rubble or a single hint a building once stood in that spot marred the pavement.
Losing her mind wasn’t an experience she was enjoying one whit. Blue ink slashing across a cocktail napkin caught her eye. The jacket wasn’t her only proof the night hadn’t merely been a dream. Trey’s number glared up at her from the top of her desk. What if she called and found out she truly was crazy? What if Trey didn’t exist either? Arbor backed away from the desk. Terror tore at her chest. The sensation caused something inside her to break. Being a pussy went against her nature. She’d never backed down from a challenge before now. Why was she allowing this to beat her? It chafed. Before she could change her mind, she was dialing the number.
It rang twice. “This is Trey.”
The surge of relief and happiness welling inside her at his curt answer weakened her knees. She had to clear her throat to make her voice work. “Um. You might not remember me.”
“Arbor?” he asked, cutting her off. His voice slipped back into the sexy tone he’d used on her the night they’d met. “How could I forget you?”
Relief made her giddy. A nervous chuckle slipped past her lips. “Oh. You’d be surprised, but I’m glad you remembered my name.”
“I can’t believe you called. You weren’t interested, as I recall.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m still not.” He snorted, but she pressed on. “But I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee with me. My treat, since I asked,” she added to sweeten the deal. Dead silence met her request. “Um. Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding as if he wasn’t a hundred percent sure himself. “Sure. I’d love to meet up with you. Is today good?”
“If you can make it, I’m not far from Toulette’s Café.” She let her statement hang in the air, leaving the time open for debate. She heard something similar to shuffling in the background, as if he was swapping ears and something brushed across the receiver.
“I’m about fifteen minutes away from there. Is that too early?”
Ten minutes ago wasn’t too soon as far as Arbor was concerned. She needed to set eyes on someone from that night. It wouldn’t be real until she did. Somehow, she managed to hang onto a calm tone.
“Fifteen minutes is fine.” Some tentative plans about meeting outside on the corner passed between them before they hung up. Arbor ran her fingers through her hair, doing her best to make it look decent as she ran out the door. If she was quick, she could make it there in under fifteen.
Arbor’s steps slowed as Trey came into view. Her mind had a hard time coming to grips with the image he presented. The blond hair, chiseled face, and muscular body were all the same, but everything else seemed wrong. His dark dress pants, white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, gun holster slung from his shoulders, and badge at his waist clashed with the memory of the grunge-wearing man she’d met at Club Exile. His eyes held a hint of wariness, as if he couldn’t decide what her motives were or he wondered what she thought of this version of him.
Obviously recognizing her reticence, Trey stepped off the curb and met her halfway. He smirked. It kicked her mind out of its confused funk.
“You’re even hotter in the bright light of day.”
Yep. There was the over-confident guy she’d met that night. “You’re…”
She wasn’t sure what. He was still an ass. Hotter as a cop. Any of the above. She couldn’t stop staring at him. Speechless. His knowing gr
in kicked up another notch, but he took mercy on her.
He held his hand out to her as if it was the first time they were meeting. “Detective Trey Murphy.”
Swiping her palms down her shirt, she cleared her throat, suddenly nervous. Finally, she forced herself to shake his hand. “Arbor Sinclair.”
He didn’t release her. Instead, Trey tugged until she had to either move closer or land on her face. Once Trey had her, he tucked her beneath his arm and steered her toward the front door of the coffee shop. A low chuckle caressed her ears.
“Don’t look so horrified.”
At his admonishment, she tried hard to rearrange her features into some semblance of anything other than what she was feeling. Why was she doing this again? Did she really care to hunt down some guy who’d snuck out on her in the middle of the night? It wasn’t like she couldn’t take a hint.
“I’m not,” she lied. Before he could call her on it, she added, “I invited you, remember?”
“Hmm. Well, about that, why?”
A surprised bark of laughter escaped her lips. “For the life of me, I can’t recall.”
Arbor Sinclair was easily twice as beautiful in the daytime as she’d been inside the darkly lit club. Her blonde hair caught snatches of the sun and glimmered in response. It took every ounce of Trey’s resolve to focus on her face. Luckily for him, she possessed eyes that were an odd shade of light green. They were amazing and he couldn’t look away. He thought that was really saying something, considering the too-tight shirt stretching across her gorgeous breasts and the cleavage calling his name. Everything about her was stunning and distracting as hell.
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