LOVING ED: A Billionaire Romance (NIGHT OF THE KINGS SERIES Book 11)

by Shayne Ford

  His eyes move to the stash of photographs next.

  “These are a few pictures of you as a baby that she took. There are a couple with both of you. I snapped those.”

  He picks up the ribbons.

  “She always had long beautiful hair, and you loved it. Your fingers were always in her locks, twirling the strands of hair, and playing with the ribbons she had tied them with, so she kept them as well... She cut her hair a few days before she drown,” he says, with a different voice, the warm emotion of the memories replaced by gloominess.

  He pauses, a tremor claiming his chin and short fingers while my jaw locks. Biting the inside of my cheek I try to push my own emotions back.

  Right there and then, in those colorful ribbons and strands of silky, luscious hair, lies the message that she left for us.

  We both know that her departure was not an accident, and as I look at the man who I consider responsible for her death, I feel a pang of compassion for him.

  He lived his entire life, carrying the memory of that past. And in the end, it was the punishment for what he did.

  As I look at him, I feel as if both of us reached the end of a road.

  There is nothing I can do for this man, as much as he couldn’t do anything for me a long time ago, so this chapter of our lives is finally closed.

  I rise to my feet and hold my hand out, waiting to pick up the box.

  He places my mother’s hair in it as well and slides the lid on before he pushes out of his chair and hands it to me, his eyes lined with sorrow.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” he says as we walk down the hallway and near the exit door.

  In the doorway, I turn around and look at him one last time.

  “Thank you for keeping her memory alive,” I say, tipping my chin and motioning to the box.

  He only nods.

  With that, I spin around and walk away, not once glancing back.

  11

  THEA

  I have no idea what time it is and how much I slept.

  I had a dream about being snowed in and as I peel my eyes open and I see the wind puffing the sheer curtains, and the city lights pulsing in the darkness I know why.

  I forgot the balcony doors open.

  Suddenly swept by panic, I roll onto the bed and pull upright.

  He’s not back yet.

  Where is he?

  A sound comes from the shower, and then I notice his watch sitting on the nightstand, and I fall back into the pillow, my eyes swinging to the balcony again.

  For a moment, I feel relieved, but it doesn’t take long before I get washed with a bad feeling again.

  He was supposed to come back hours ago.

  I watch the lights for a good minute before the bathroom door opens and closes and the sound of footsteps resonates behind my back. The mattress dips as he lies down next to me.

  Coldness drifts from his skin, a scent of aftershave tickling my nostrils.

  I stay still, waiting.

  A few moments pass by. He doesn’t move.

  I imagine him lying on his back, naked like me, perhaps.

  Pondering over something, maybe?

  A long breath enters his lungs. A sigh? That tells me that something’s wrong.

  I start to turn to him, but before I get the chance, he closes the gap between us, lines my back with his chest, and wraps his arm around my waist, pressing his lips against my hair.

  He is naked, indeed, and I no longer feel the coldness of the sheets but the heat coming from his body.

  “Hey...” he says quietly while slowly cupping a breast. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “A little. I thought you wanted to go out,” I say, splaying my fingers on top of his hand.

  “We can eat here,” he says. “I can order something.”

  “Where were you all this time?”

  He stays quiet, his hot breath rolling over my shoulder, his lips planting kisses on my hair.

  “I spent some time on my own.”

  Tenderly, I stroke his hand as well.

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Not much different than what you said that it would be.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t seem surprised to see me there. He must’ve known that I’d show up one day, looking for him. He must’ve waited for me.”

  “How was he?”

  “Different than what I imagined.”

  “In what sense?”

  “For someone who’s harmed other people, he looked harmless.”

  “People change.”

  “Yeah... That’s what happened to him too. He even admitted to that,” he says, his voice carrying the slightest trace of frustration.

  I turn to face him, still wrapped in his arms.

  Clear eyes, beautiful lips, hair damp from the shower, and clean-shaven face enter my view.

  His gaze meets my eyes.

  He looks different as if he’s traveled to a place that affected him deeply, perhaps giving him a little closure.

  At least that’s what I like to believe.

  “What did you do all this time?”

  “I was downstairs... Reflecting. Reading.”

  My eyebrows tilt up as I toss him a questioning look.

  A bitter smile rolls on his lips.

  “My mom kept a journal... I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, trying to smile, yet his voice is dripping with emotion.

  We share a stare for a few moments before he dips his gaze to my mouth and gives me the softest, most tender kiss, his arms closing around my body like a cloak of love.

  My arms wind around his neck as well, hugging him tight.

  Within seconds, our bodies buzz with heat, a firestorm spreading on us, prompting him to peel off the covers.

  He flexes his leg, hitching it on my thigh as he seals me to his body.

  His eyes glint with a warm smile.

  “I missed you,” he says.

  His eyes are soft, his grin so tender.

  “I missed you too,” I murmur, fascinated.

  My hand goes up and down, stroking his back.

  He is hard between us, and I am wet between my thighs, and yet we can’t stop looking at each other, drinking each other in.

  No words needed.

  All the emotions that I craved from him woven in his touch, and gaze, the way he looks at me and curves his lips into a lazy, melancholic smile.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, slowly stroking his cheek with my fingers.

  His grin spills in his eyes.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he mutters, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “You were right about my story. I didn’t miss a thing,” he says, still smiling, yet his eyes glint a pang of sadness.

  Warmly and affectionately, I press myself against him in response, my lips on his lips, my arms around his neck.

  We start to kiss, his skin loving mine, his fingers playing in my hair, our hands beginning to explore.

  His palm slides down my back and cups my backside, his fingers slipping down below, between my legs, yet not moving as all his focus stays on his kiss.

  His strokes are soft and warm as if he gets a different taste of me. As if he finds a certain kind of peace in me and lets himself carried away, far from his worries and his thoughts.

  Eyes closed, he drowns in me, breathing me in, and relishing every quiver–– every moan.

  With one smooth motion, he angles my hips and enters me, without breaking our kiss, without changing the pace of his strokes.

  Matching the rhythm of our kiss, he thrusts into me, burying himself deep in me, slippery wet from me, lighting up a fire inside me.

  “I love this...” I mutter against his lips. “The way you love me...” I say, my lips hungry for his.

  His hands slide down onto me, his touch pouring a river of love on me, his lips scorching mine like a mad fire.

  We made love slipped in a trance, our hearts open to each other, our minds entangled as
we experience the sealing of a mystical bond, an out of this world experience.

  It takes minutes before the climax sneaks up on us, and we come together locked in a timeless embrace... Something that I’ll remember for a very long time.

  THEA

  The bathtub water is warm, the candles–– white and orange, glowing around us as red rose petals float on the water.

  From a platter sitting on the side, he picks morsels of food and slowly feeds them to me, his arm wrapped around me, my head resting on his shoulder, the water covering us up to our chests.

  It’s one o’clock in the morning, the shining lights of Las Vegas exploding around us.

  Silent, he picks a piece of fruit dipped in chocolate and brings it to my mouth. The fruit is ripened and moist, the chocolate smooth and dark, making my taste buds tingle.

  His fingers stroke my neck as I indulge.

  “Good?”

  His voice is calm and mellow.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  He hands me my glass of wine and lifts his as well.

  We both take a sip before we set them back on the edge of the bathtub. He leans back, closing his eyes and stretching his body while I spend a moment studying his face.

  “Do you feel better?” I ask.

  Slowly he peels his eyes open, a soft smile curving his lips.

  “Yeah...”

  “No regrets?”

  A slight shadow touches his eyes before he starts to shake his head and clicks his tongue.

  “No. I had to do it.”

  He tips his gaze down briefly, pausing for a moment, as I wait for him to continue.

  “I didn’t come here for him,” he says, his eyes connecting with mine. “I wanted to find out more about my mother,” he adds, his gaze darkening for a moment.

  He glances to the side this time, scooping up the box that he brought with him from the meeting with his father.

  “With him, I knew there were only two possibilities,” he says somewhat distracted as he slides the lid off and fishes out a photograph. “He was either an arrogant asshole, and that would’ve been so much easier because I could’ve hated him as much as I wanted without feeling guilty. Or–– and that’s what I found actually, he was a man wracked with guilt and riddled with regret. This was my mother...” he says, handing me a picture.

  I dry off my hand with a towel before I pick it up and look at her.

  A young woman about his age now or perhaps younger looks at me from the photograph. It’s incredible how much he looks like her.

  She has that warm smile and gaze that he inherited from her and always charmed me. I set the photograph on the side as he hands me another one.

  A very pregnant woman smiles at the camera. Fashioning a baby doll dress with colorful print–– a mix of frogs, flowers, and bumblebees, she looks so happy, glowing.

  A different picture shows her before pregnancy–– a young woman in a scarlet swimsuit getting ready to dive in a lake. Her hair is tied in a red scarf with small white polka dots.

  “She was beautiful,” I murmur.

  His eyes linger on her too.

  “You two look so much alike,” I say, glancing at him, gauging his reaction.

  A warm smile creases his lips.

  “How was the woman you grew up with?” I ask.

  His eyes light up.

  “She was great.”

  A different grin tilts his lips, her memory bringing happiness to him.

  “I was lucky to be raised by her. She was different than most people I’ve known. She was much older. Fiercely independent, never been married. Her whole life she did only what she wanted when she wanted it.”

  “Pretty much like you.”

  He breathes out a soft chuckle.

  “Yeah... That’s an accurate assessment. She gave me free rein to do whatever I wanted and trusted me that I’d choose the right thing. I experienced complete freedom early on, although she never encouraged me to be a... player,” he says jokingly.

  “I bet that came naturally to you.”

  He laughs again.

  “It was unavoidable,” he says, humor tinging his words.

  “Because of your looks?” I ask teasingly.

  “No. I mean, yeah... That played a factor too,” he says jokingly. “But it was mainly a matter of circumstances and opportunities.”

  “And looks,” I add, still teasing him.

  Another chuckle rolls off his lips.

  “Okay... That too. But she always taught me how to be on my best behavior.”

  “It’s just that it didn’t work all the time,” I mutter, grinning tauntingly as I pick a chocolate-dipped strawberry from the platter.

  A smile crawls on his lips.

  “That aside, she taught me great things about life, and yeah... in many ways I am like her.”

  “Doing things your way, avoiding to be tied up with someone...” I murmur, chewing slowly while studying his expression.

  He looks at me, quickly noticing the trap I set for him.

  A sly smile curves his lips.

  “Pretty much...” he says, teasing me.

  “What if...”

  I pause.

  He cocks an eyebrow, giving me a questioning look.

  “What if you do get tied up with someone at one point or another?”

  “I guess we’ll see,” he says, sliding his hand down onto my shoulder, winking at me as he curves his lips into a lopsided grin.

  “Would it make you happy?” I ask, not feeling like smiling.

  His grin withers away.

  “What do you mean?”

  I remain silent for a moment as my mind sifts through a few snippets from the past, processing them in the light of the newly surfaced information.

  I’ve always sensed this struggle in him, and I already told him that I knew what his problem was. What I didn’t know was that his fear of closeness and commitment was rooted in something more profound than I thought. It wasn’t a quirk of his personality.

  There was a reason for it.

  His parents abandoned him, and he was raised by an adoptive mother who instilled in him his love for independence, a positive trait by all means, but to him, it must’ve been more than that. It was a way to protect himself, a matter of survival.

  He learned to create emotional space around him, get involved with people without getting too close to them.

  And so far it worked great for him.

  I realize that feeling him close to me once in a while was more than a struck of luck. It was fantastic and completely unexpected, but could it be a long-term thing?

  “Would it make you happy?” I ask again, a slight tremor in my voice, a soft shiver going through my body.

  He registers it as well while he ponders over the answer.

  “I’ve never had the chance to test it,” he says as if I needed reassurance, but he doesn’t understand.

  This is not about me.

  I don’t want to share my life with someone who does it out of obligation or not to hurt me, thinking that it’s the only way to show me love.

  It wouldn’t work long-term.

  My gaze shifts away from his face as doubts fill my mind.

  “What’s the problem, Thea?”

  His voice is sober, and lost its warmth, prompting me to swing my gaze up to him again.

  We lock eyes, and I’m aware that he’s waiting for me to put it out there, but there’s no way I’d bring it up. It’s part of our future and the unknown. There’s no point in doing it. Besides, I could be wrong.

  I shrug.

  “Nothing... I was wondering what would really make you happy?”

  “Why is that important to you?” he asks, his voice slightly warmer.

  A soft grin rolls on his lips as well.

  I shrug again, avoiding his eyes.

  “I just wanted to know.”

  “Do you want to make me happy?” he asks playfully this time.

  His trick works.

  It
makes me raise my eyes and smile.

  “Yes, I do want to make you happy, but it takes more than that.”

  He lifts his hand and brings it to my neck as he shifts his position and turns to me, the last inches of space erased between us.

  His lips trace my temple and my cheek, my jawline and my lips.

  “How would you like to make me happy?” he breathes into me.

  I muse for a moment, all warm from his touch, and smile beneath his lips.

  “I can think of several ways to make it worthy for you.”

  He moans quietly against my lips.

  “Mmmm.... I like the sound of that, Miss Porter. How do you know it’s not already worthy for me?”

  I lean back slightly to see his face.

  His eyes flicker with enchantment as he gets a glimpse of my puzzled face.

  “How could it be?”

  He flashes a lustful grin.

  “You are the most insightful woman I have ever met, and I’m sure you know a thing or two about me.”

  I bring my hand to his face, my smile falling from my lips as our eyes connect again.

  “I don’t want you to pull away from me again, Ed.”

  He tips his chin down, his eyes still holding mine.

  “That is not something I can guarantee...” he says seriously, but then he smiles as if it was a joke. “Sometimes you drive me crazy, and I have to pull away.”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  “I never said you did.”

  “Seriously, Ed.”

  “Seriously, baby,” he says as he stretches a flirting grin. “This is not about you making me happy. Nobody can make me happy other than me.”

  “I don’t want you to––”

  “Shhh.”

  He cuffs my wrist as I begin to gesture, a feather-like kiss coming to my lips.

  “Don’t think about it, Thea,” he says softly. “You don’t have to think so much about what will happen, or fear it for that matter.”

  He gives me another soft kiss, his lips tasting good against mine.

  “What do you think it will happen, Ed?”

  His eyes narrow, a knowing smile growing on his lips.

  A few moments of silence tick by.

  “What do you think it will happen in the next few weeks?” I ask again.

  He weighs his words for a moment, his gaze diving deep into my eyes.

  “Nothing,” he says quietly, sounding as if he’s hiding something, a secret I cannot grasp. “We’ll live a little...” he adds, the memory of Aiden’s words coming to me.