by Rie Warren
So there was a strange agreement made, an odd arrangement going on. Revenge would watch over Caleb and me.
Of course, I knew that meant he reported back to Saint, but he wasn’t doing it to invade my privacy or treat me like his property.
He just wanted to make sure we were safe.
I hoped we were.
****
Only a week after my first talk with Caleb about Saint, my son came back at me about the break up. If I’d thought the whole thing was laid to rest, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
He hung around the kitchen while I was making dinner, swinging off open cupboards like he was a tiny ape.
“Mary Mayfair says you shouldn’t’a broken up with Saint.”
I poured oil into a boiling pot of water before adding some pasta. “And just how old is the wise Mary Mayfair?” I asked tartly.
“My age!” He laughed from his belly. “You know that.”
The cupboard banged again, and he barely missed getting his fingers pinched.
“I like Saint.” Caleb hopped onto the counter and started kicking his heels against the drawers.
“I did too.” Swiping hair from my steamy forehead, I began cutting up sausage to go into my sauce.
“So I don’t care what Daddy thinks.”
I glanced at him, hoping we weren’t heading for a full-on tantrum.
I had to remind myself Caleb was only a little kid. He shouldn’t have to deal with all this crap.
“I wish it were that easy, honey.”
“But that Revenge guy’s okay?” He grabbed a piece of the hot sausage and popped it into his mouth. “The one you said’s checking up on us?”
“Yes. And Saint’s okay as well. It’s just . . . Caleb, there’s some history between him and your father.”
He crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest. “You should date Revenge instead.”
“I can’t do that. It’s not the same. Besides it goes against—”
“The bro code.”
“How do you know about the bro code?” I stopped chopping long enough to stare at him.
“I have it with Davis. That’s why he don’t talk to Mary Mayfair.”
I really needed to meet this Mary Mayfair once and for all.
Caleb’s tone mellowed, and he scooted closer and closer and closer.
His small hand curved around my arm, and he rested his chin against my shoulder so he could peer up at me with those eyes so pale blue they looked at once mystical and innocent. “Saint made you smile a lot.”
“I suppose he did.”
“Daddy never makes you smile.”
“No.”
“Ain’t that what matters? Being happy?”
I really thought my eyes were done welling up, but it didn’t seem so. “Have I told you you’re too smart for your own good?”
“Yeah.”
“And that you’ll always be my baby boy?”
He groaned, pressing his forehead into my shoulder. “Yeah.”
Then he wrapped both arms around me and hugged on me.
And I blinked at the lights to blind the fresh tears.
I was a damn lucky woman, and I’d thrown away something as precious as Caleb’s boyish sweetness because of my foolish pride and prickly nature.
I couldn’t downplay the very real complications caused by Reggie and Saint’s history, but neither could I just give up what I wanted most.
****
The next night, the only thing I wanted to do was throw up, but I was a grown ass woman, and my mind was made up.
That didn’t stop my knees from trembling or my hands from shaking as I opened the door to Thunder Road Bar with my acoustic guitar slung across my back.
I’d never put myself out there for any man, not like this. Not knowing exactly what I was doing or how I’d be received.
Saint was a good man. He was worth everything. He was one in a million—taking the time to get to know my son, taking time to break through my walls. Lord, making sure I wasn’t in harm’s way even after I’d cut him loose . . .
What if I was too late?
What if he’d moved on?
What if I’d pushed him too far?
I had to admit I wasn’t an easy woman to be with.
As soon as I stepped into the bar, I felt targeted. The rock tunes continued to blast out over the sound system, but almost everyone stilled.
Mercy’s eyes widened. Angel glanced from me to Saint. The Man Bun hipsters halted with hookahs halfway to their mouths.
At the pool table, Revenge pocketed a ball with a shot that rang through Thunder Road. His silver eyes shot to me just as intently and then his slow forming grin began.
At least I had his approval.
Aware that my steps rang out on the wood floors and Chase slowly wiped down the bar and Slade was slipping a giant shiny knife back into his sheath, I crossed the bar.
And Saint.
He’d been watching Revenge sink the eight ball until he had to feel targeted too.
He glanced up and straightened slowly.
A path parted for me, an aisle of people between him and me.
Color swept above Saint’s golden goatee, and he clenched his pool cue. His eyes flared with that always-heat between us before his entire expression closed in like a shut door.
I stood in front of him, glancing up with my nerves jangling like out-of-tune strings.
Utter silence surrounded us.
He swallowed in the way that made his Adam’s apple lurch up then down.
I missed his lips. I missed his smirk. I missed his carefree ways.
Right then he was stiff and still as a statue, and he wouldn’t look directly at me as if to do so would be to break.
“Would you come with me for a moment, Saint?” I asked, my voice tremulous.
He could say no. He could just ghost me.
I wouldn’t blame him . . . not a single bit.
“Where to?” Dark and raspy, the timbre of his voice shivered through me.
“Not far.” I braved a quaky smile. “Just to the courtyard for a few minutes.”
Locking those deep green eyes on me, he nodded curtly. He handed his pool stick to Revenge. He swept an arm aside to let me go before him, and I imagined the crowd closing in behind us.
I wondered if his pulse raced as fast as mine.
To be this close to him after fasting, after denying myself.
My ears burned, and I had to be blushing.
I was so scared I was too late. That maybe I’d misjudged everything.
He opened the back door for me, and we walked outside. Into the sultry air blanketed in the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
I wanted to give Saint something. Give him something back. To show him with a song that I was sorry. To show him all the feelings I could put to music more easily than simple words.
Chapter Twenty-Three
SAINT
I ALMOST DROPPED MY pool cue when Honoré appeared in the bar.
Part of me didn’t believe she was really here—that I was just imagining shit. But everyone stared at her, not just me.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her when she approached. I tried to wipe every warring emotion off my face—didn’t wanna show any hope. And I tamped down the brief flare of anger that she thought she could just sashay into my place and not dredge up a whole world of pain I’d been trying to get over.
Did I really need to be tortured more?
Still, nothing in the world could stop me from ushering her out to the courtyard when she asked to speak to me privately.
Standing with her outside, my heart jumped around in my throat. I glanced back to see all the usual assholes with their faces practically stuck against the windows . . . nosy bastards.
Even though Honoré had made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with me, her and Caleb’s situation remained dicey as fuck. That was why I had Revenge keeping close tabs on her. But hearing a report from him that everything so far was
hunky dory wasn’t the same as seeing her myself. Taking care of her myself.
Touching her.
Making love to her.
Being part of her life.
I drank in the sight of her, like it might be my last. With her hair loose as she bent over the guitar case she’d set on a picnic table, I couldn’t see her face all that well. But I knew her from memory. The slightly upturned nose, the slant of her cheeks, the wide ovals of her unearthly blue eyes . . . the curve of her pink lips.
She opened her case, removing the well-loved guitar she strapped over one shoulder.
“Can you just stand there?” She pointed to the fountain where water tinkled out, just a few paces in front of her as she popped up to sit on the edge of the table.
I moved where she wanted me, but I’d have been happier just to have her in my arms again. I was piss-scared and hopeful and too fucking afraid to let that hope take root because it would suck so hard if she was just here to lay into me or get me to tell Revenge to back off.
It looked like she had something different in mind though.
With her sounding less certain than I’d ever heard, she said, “This is a little song I like to call “I Fucked Up Big Time”.”
I wanted to chuckle, but I was too spellbound. She looked so beautiful, and nervous. The moon made a pale glow of her light loose hair and, as she started strumming, her luminous eyes seemed to melt as she gazed directly at me.
My jaw worked and my face tensed and . . . she started singing.
“You found me in hiding
Hiding behind a dark veil
You found me in hiding
When I was too scared to feel”
The smoky tone of her voice captivated me like always, but the lyrics . . . my heart started pumping so hard I thought she should be able to hear it thundering away.
“Too scared to feel
I just pretended none of it was real
With love always out of reach
Taught myself not to reach at all
To reach would be to fall”
She gave me another searching look before she dipped her head and hummed with the chords she plucked.
Moving a step closer, I just wanted to touch her.
She came to another verse:
“Didn’t trust you
Didn’t trust you not to hurt me too
Bitter scared coward
Didn’t trust you
Then something inside flowered”
And her gaze fixed on me.
“You found me in hiding
Hiding behind a dark veil
You found me in hiding
When I was too scared to feel”
All the air left my lungs, and I didn’t know how she could keep singing.
“But with you, I’ll heal
With you, I can’t help but feel
With you, I know love might be real”
Tears streamed from her eyes, and my throat was pinched tight. Her voice broke at the end, but she kept ringing out chords on the guitar.
This was Honoré. Right here. For me.
Unbelievable.
“Honoré . . .” My voice broke too.
Taking the last step to her, I pulled the guitar from her grasp. Placing it on the table, I tugged her into my arms.
Every bit of emotion I’d been stamping down rushed over me. Our lips met with a tide of longing, and I couldn’t suppress the aching growl that reverberated from my chest.
“God, Honoré.” I tore my lips away long enough to look into the beauty of her eyes.
To make sure she was really here.
To see if she was mine.
Her hands clasped the sides of my face, and our mouths came back together, tongues enticing back and forth. I grasped the back of her neck with my fingers tunneled beneath her hair. She tilted against me, molded to my body with a greedy moan of her own.
There was no way to get close enough, not like this.
I reluctantly ended the kiss with fingers closing around the tresses of her hair to angle her head so I could take just one taste of the sweetness of her neck.
She trembled lightly, and I released her enough to put some distance between us.
“What’s the song really called?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t have one yet.” Her fingers caressed along my jaw. “Will you forgive me?”
Fuck. I wanted to. But what if she ran away from me again?
Couldn’t live with that. Not one more time.
I paced back a step. “What about Ripper?”
“I can’t keep letting him ruin my life, and I don’t want him to ruin Caleb’s.” Then a teasing glint sparkled in her eyes. “Besides, I’ve got Revenge to protect me.”
I scowled at her heavily.
“What?” She reached out to stroke my forearm. “You’re the one who assigned him as my personal bodyguard.”
“Didn’t think you’d take too kindly to me lurking around.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I wouldn’t let myself be won over by her cajoling. “You’ve gotta be sure, Honoré. Because I cannot go through this hot and cold treatment with you again. You put me through the worst kind of hell these past two weeks.”
Her cheeks burned pink, and her eyes blazed fire. “Do you think it was a cake walk for me?”
“How the fuck would I know one way or the other? But you sure as hell have no problem breaking it off with me at the drop of a hat.” I couldn’t stem the raw anger—the hurt and frustration—from running over.
She scoffed, mumbling, “Fight on my front yard with my ex is a drop of a hat.”
I barreled right on regardless. “You’ve done nothing but try to push me away. And to begin with you just used me to—how did you put it? Oh yeah, something like clean your pipes.”
She gawped at me, and I noted the windows at the back of Thunder Road were now curiously empty.
Good. Didn’t really need an audience while I finally had it out with the woman once and for all.
“And you know what’s worse? What really goddamn takes the cake? None of that even fucking mattered because I goddamn fell in love with you!” I roared.
My outburst must’ve shocked her into silence because she just stared at me.
I’d shocked myself too. Hadn’t planned on admitting that. Probably figured I’d just carry the truth with me to my grave one day.
Her eyes were still wet, and she looked half infuriated and half disbelieving. “After what you just said to me you really expect me to believe that?”
Blowing out a deep breath, I loomed over her. “Fuck if I know. You make me goddamn insane. You act like you can’t get enough of me one moment then treat me like a second class shit-head the next. Not to mention you’ve got a psycho for a baby daddy!” I flipped my hands up in the air. “So I don’t know why I’m in love with you, but I am.”
She listened to my tirade that sounded more like a confession of hate than anything else, and I could’ve kicked myself for blurting out all that crap like that.
But then her face softened, and her voice lowered, and she whispered, “You love me.”
I wished I could take back every horrible thing I’d just said to her.
Dropping my belligerent stance, I coasted my hands down her arms to link our fingers together. “I love you. You’re so frigging talented. You’re devoted to Caleb. And you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Jesus. I love you, Honoré.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
HONORÉ
IT WAS THE STRANGEST admission of love I’d ever heard, and I would’ve doubted Saint if I hadn’t seen all the emotions charging across his face. The undiluted anger at me, the tense sternness, the softer hope and almost-fear.
My fingers twisting around his, I felt utterly weightless. Then those tears I’d cried while singing to him came back full force.
I broke.
I completely broke down.
“I love you too.” I barely got the words out between sobs.
He�
��d cracked open some dam deep inside me, and everything flooded out in a torrent of wracking tears.
“Hey there. Hey, baby.” Wrapping his arms around me, Saint held me tight.
He held me like he was trying to keep me together. To stop me from falling completely apart.
I hung on tenaciously, weeping against his chest as my whole body shuddered. I’d never let go before. I never cracked open.
“I need you, Saint.”
“I’m right here.” His deep voice rumbled against my wet cheek, the most comforting sound in the world. “Not going anywhere. Not even if you try to kick me out again.”
I cried and cried for all the years . . . for all the times I’d had to stand up to Reggie on my own. For all the times he’d disappointed or hurt Caleb.
For the past two weeks away from Saint, and for all the love I’d never let myself feel.
“I’m here. I’m right here.” He just kept repeating, not caring that I soaked the front of his shirt or that I must’ve seemed totally unhinged.
He just kept rocking me, and I felt so naked, so bare.
Broken and then mended. Eventually.
When my sobs quieted, and I just sniffled a little, he tipped up my face.
Fingers stroking my cheek, he said, “You don’t have to be so tough all the time, you know?”
“I’m used to doing it alone. I always had to be in control of everything, Saint,” I admitted in a choppy whisper.
“You’re not doing it alone anymore, baby.”
Drawing my arms around his back, I let myself wallow in his strength.
“You think for one second I don’t need you just as much?” His voice husked out beside my ear.
“You do?”
“Why do you think I got so pissed at you?” He clenched me tighter. “Need you so much, thought it was really over between us. You goddamn scared me, Honoré.”
“I won’t do it again.” Leaning up on my tiptoes, I kissed him languorously, the taste and feel of him again filling me with fast hot desire. “I’m sorry.”
“Could you say the love thing again without crying so I know you really mean it?”
Oh, Saint. In that moment he wore an unfathomable puppy dog look.
“I love you, Saint Baptiste.”
Quick as a flash, the puppy dog look was gone. In its place, predatory passion.