by RC Boldt
My ragged whisper of, “I love you,” follows. I plant another kiss as I memorize the sensation of his lips on mine. “I love you.” With each kiss, I commit his touch to memory. “I love you.”
Every grind of the root of his cock against my clit sends me closer to the edge, my breath panting in little gusts. Our mouths collide in a savage kiss that scrambles every nerve ending in my body.
Lust fills my veins until they’re burgeoning as our bodies meld together, his hips pumping harder and more insistent until he sends me over the edge.
My nails dig into his biceps, his mouth swallowing my keening cry while my inner muscles spasm around his hard cock. His harsh groan sounds against my lips when he punches his hips twice more before wet heat floods me.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck as our labored breathing fills the room. I smooth a hand along the curves of muscle in his upper back and along his shoulders. Raking my fingers through his hair, I close my eyes and vow to always remember how he felt. How much I love this man.
How much I always will.
Luca pulled me from being a spectator in my own life and showed me what it’s like to be on the field with every other player.
Even so, the foundation of my life has been toppled. Everything I knew to be true has vanished in a wisp of smoke. It’s up to me to rebuild. It’s up to me to ensure that my foundation is one that’s steady and firm. One that isn’t rocky and based on lies or half-truths.
“Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.”
Antonio mentioned the Franz Kafka quote in his journal, and it’s embedded itself in the recesses of my mind.
I love Luca Nicochávez, but it’s not the time for us. He’s navigating his way along the route he’s meant to take. His road is smoothly paved with little traffic to deter him from his destination.
If I’ve learned anything from this journey—one filled with startling revelation upon revelation—it’s that life has a way of veering off course when you least expect it.
Sometimes, your inner GPS misleads you, and you come upon a road that’s closed or a dead end you weren’t expecting. Rerouting is the answer, but it isn’t always the easiest one. It can mean a loss of time and perhaps a loss of patience, too. It can mean exploring a route you otherwise wouldn’t have.
I feel as though I’ve experienced more than my allotted share of rerouting and misleading directions. It’s time for me to compile all of my routes and start out on a new one with fresh scenery.
It’s time to discover, once and for all, exactly who I am.
71
Olivia
Standing back to survey the interior of the townhouse, I release a sigh.
I’m not sure what’s more depressing—the fact that I fit nearly everything of importance into my two suitcases, or that the bulk of the boxes the movers are packing up and shipping to me contain psychology textbooks and some of my favorite fiction novels.
My small purse is stuffed inside my laptop backpack along with Antonio’s journal. Heaving out a long breath, I murmur to myself, “I’m ready.”
“Well, it’s about damn time.”
I spin around, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. My sister leans against the wall, strings of a gift bag dangling from her fingers.
“Jesus, do you have an aversion to knocking? I swear I’m going to make you wear a bell around your neck or something.”
She grins. “Happy to see you, too.” Venturing over, she slings an arm across my shoulders.
My sister is driving me to the airport. My twin sister. Those are certainly words I never expected to use.
“This was outside your front door. We’ll need to Houdini it in one of your suitcases somehow.” She hands me the gift bag, and all oxygen is extinguished from my lungs because I recognize this bag.
A note is taped to the top of the bag, scrawled in bold, masculine slashes of ink. I trace a fingertip over each word lovingly.
To my professor,
My world’s more wonderful with you in it.
Do what you need to do.
I love you.
Luca
When I lift out the contents, the memory flashes in technicolor in my mind. I close my eyes, recalling the moment he’d given this to me. How stunned I was that he remembered me mentioning it.
“You remembered I had a music box that played this?”
And he’d responded with that trademark hint of arrogance. “’Course I remember. I remember everythin’ you tell me.”
Tossing the bag aside, I cradle the music box to my chest. Even though I know what to expect, my heart still stutters when I raise the top and the music plays. Unshed tears threaten to fall, and I blink them back rapidly, vying for composure.
Moments later, Camila wordlessly helps me fit it safely amongst my clothing in one of my jam-packed suitcases. It’s uncanny how she senses my need for silence, allowing me a moment to stifle my emotions and regain my poise.
In a hushed tone, she asks, “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I force a smile.
She gives a perfunctory nod. “Then let’s get you off to England.”
Thirty minutes later, she pulls up to the designated departure gate drop-off and helps me pull my suitcases from the trunk. Setting them curbside, I tug her close for a hug.
Just as I’m about to release her, she holds me tighter and whispers, “Don’t give up on your future, Livvie.”
When she eases back, I peer at her curiously. But she only says, “I have a feeling it’ll be a good one.”
Honk! We turn to see a guy yelling out his window, “Hey! This is a drop-off, not a long-farewell lane!”
Camila’s tone is waspish. “If you’ve got a problem with it, get outta your fancy leased car ’cause you’re up to your eyeballs in debt, and tell me straight to my face!”
The man pales but attempts to sneer at her and fails. I can’t stifle a snicker.
“I need to go. Come visit?”
Her eyes meet mine. “I will.” With a little wave, she slips back inside her car and drives away.
72
Luca
I’m practically climbing up the goddamn walls, I’m so antsy. I hate having to lie low, but I know my superiors have valid concerns with putting me back in the field so soon after the trial. Penman suggested I resign myself to a damn desk job for a while or transfer out of the Miami office.
But that’s not the only thing that has me agitated. Even though I’ve never been one to run away when things get tough—with the way a bunch of the guys have been spouting off some snarky-ass shit about Olivia and me, and about her tie to Santilla—that transfer option sounds pretty damn good. But even that’s no guarantee that gossip won’t—or hasn’t already—spread to the other offices.
The suspicion in my colleagues’ eyes pisses me the hell off. If they knew the kind of woman Olivia is, they wouldn’t think of saying a word. Damn fuckers. I expected a hell of a lot more from them than this kind of unfounded prejudice.
Cracking open a beer, I pad over to the couch and set it on a coaster. As soon as I slump against the leather cushions, I detect the faintest sound coming from the sliding glass door, the lever going from locked to unlocked. Shooting to my feet, I grab my gun, flick off the safety, and aim at the door leading to the small backyard patio.
“Better fucking rethink this, asshole.”
“Easy, Luca. I’m not a threat.” A woman’s hands, held up in surrender, emerge from the darkened patio area as she inches forward.
My aim never wavers. “Yeah? Then why the fuck are you unlocking doors and coming in uninvited?”
Straight blond hair reaches her shoulders, and a plain black baseball cap is tugged over her head. Dressed in black yoga pants and a matching shirt, the only thing not black are her dark pink Chucks. She could be anyone’s younger sister. While I don’t notice any indication she’s carrying a weapon, it doesn’t mean she’
s harmless.
I pin her with a steely glare. “Who the fuck are you, and what’re you doing here?”
“Calm down. I’m just here to talk.”
“Most people call.” I narrow my gaze dangerously, matching my tone. “Or knock.”
She eyes me like I’m an interesting specimen and steps farther inside, removing the ball cap. Her features no longer marred by shadows, a small, hesitant smile spreads across her face. Dark black roots contrast with her blond hair. “I wanted to officially meet you.”
It takes me a moment to register her words because… Holy fuck. Her eyes… Her smile…
She steps closer and offers me her hand. “I’m Camila. Olivia’s sister.”
AN HOUR LATER
I eye her sharply. “You never did say who you work for.”
She laughs, and the similar quality of huskiness to Olivia’s has my chest tightening painfully.
“Uncle Sam and I had a bit of a falling out, so I work for myself now.” With a glance at her watch, she grimaces before rising from her chair. “I need to go. Early day tomorrow.”
I stand and shove my hands in my pockets. “You planning to stop by again?”
She pauses at the sliding glass door and shrugs before turning to peer at me. “Depends.”
“On?”
“On whether you decide to take a job with Interpol. I hear they’re searching for experienced criminal intelligence analysts. A tame job with normal office hours. No undercover work required.” An enigmatic smile tugs at her mouth. “And it’s very close to Manchester University.”
She slides open the door and steps through before tossing over her shoulder, “She may need space to figure things out, but don’t take that to mean that she doesn’t still need you.” A trace of a smile tugs at her lips. “And I think you need her, too.”
Then she slides the door closed and disappears in the night.
73
Olivia
One month after moving to England…
Me: Have you talked to Manny?
Camila: Not yet.
Me: The man isn’t getting any younger, you know.
Camila: Thanks for that news flash. It’s not like I thought he was Benjamin Button.
Camila: And he’s not going anywhere. He’s serving five years. I know where to find him.
Me: Anyway… When are you coming to visit?
Camila: Soon. If everything falls into place as I expect.
Luca: Not going to sugarcoat it. I fucking miss you.
Me: I miss you, too.
Luca: Yeah? Still miss me even though you’re around all those British guys with accents?
Me: Still. And I don’t care about accents.
Luca: I love you, Olivia. Not planning to stop anytime soon. You know that, right?
Me: I hope so. I love you, too.
Luca: Don’t hope. Just know it.
74
Olivia
Two months after moving to England…
Luca: I can wink with each eye.
Me: I can too, but sadly, it looks like I’m having a seizure.
Luca: LOL. That I must see.
Luca: Confession: I’ve been obsessed with HGTV for years now. Just wish I had more time to watch it.
Me: I think I just swooned. Tell me you’re a fan of Chip and Joanna Gaines and I’ll be yours forever.
Luca: Definitely a fan.
Luca: And that’s what I’ve been hoping for all along.
Luca: I hate cheesecake. The consistency makes me gag.
Me: Gasp! Who doesn’t like cheesecake?
Luca: Very funny, Professor.
Me: Kidding. And I don’t care for onions. Unless they’re fried onion rings.
Luca: I’m cool with that. I’m not a big fan either.
Me: Ahh, so maybe we have a future after all. :)
Luca: We’ve got a future, baby. I promise you that.
Me: Good afternoon from rainy Manchester! Unfortunately, this is what I’ll be tackling today.
I attach a very unflattering selfie while I sit at my desk beside a ton of textbooks.
Me: My boss asked me to work on a proposal to develop a new specialized course for our department. Since I have office hours today, this is the fun I have planned.
When he attaches a selfie, I nearly weep. God, the sight of him standing outside the DEA building in those dark sunglasses with that trademark smirk…
Luca: Morning from sunny Miami. About to head into the office. And we both know you’ll kick ass at creating that course. Tell me all about it after I get off work?
Luca: That’s me requesting a phone date with my woman, in case you didn’t know. ;)
A huge smile spreads across my face. This man makes me positively giddy.
Me: I might be able to pencil you in.
Me: By the way, I may use that photo you just sent as my laptop screensaver. Just because I miss you that much.
Luca: You’ll be in good company then. Kai gives me shit since I’ve got your picture as my phone background. That other one you sent me when you were standing in front of your psych department is my laptop background.
Me: And here I was, thinking I wouldn’t mention also having your pic as my phone background because I thought that would be *too much.*
Luca: Nah. No such thing when it comes to my professor.
Luca: Sorry, but I’ve got to run to an early meeting. Talk to you tonight, okay? Love you and miss you, baby.
Me: I’m looking forward to it already. I love you and miss you, too.
75
Luca
Two months after Olivia moved to England…
Heaving out a long breath, I lean back in my chair and stare at the computer screen.
For a split second, uncertainty flickers in my mind, but I shove it aside. This would allow me to use my skills and experience, and after all that’s happened, there’s no way I can turn down this position.
Olivia’s face comes to life in my mind, and my goddamn chest tightens so painfully it feels like I’m being stabbed right through the heart. Even though I know it’s futile, I grind the heel of my palm over the center of my chest, wishing it would erase how much it hurts. I miss her so goddamn much.
This opportunity could change everything for me, but I have no way of knowing if it’ll be a mistake in the end. If it’ll only drive more distance between Olivia and me.
But I need to do it.
When I hit the Submit button and a confirmation flashes on the screen, a thread of anxiety pulses through me.
I just hope this won’t backfire on me and send her running farther away than she already has.
76
Olivia
Three months after moving to England…
Luca: By my calculations, it’s 10 p.m. there. Already in bed?
Me: Is this your attempt at sexting? If so, it needs some work.
Me: And yes, I’m in bed, but I’m not alone.
Luca: Olivia…
Me: I have two thick published psychology studies here with me.
Within seconds, my phone lights up with an incoming call. As soon as I answer, the sound of his familiar husky voice has my lips curving into a smile.
“Woman, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“You know I’m just teasing you.” My smile fades, and my voice drops to a hushed murmur as yearning radiates through every molecule of my body. “I miss you.”
He lets out a groan. “I miss you, too, baby. So damn much.”
Settling the studies on my bedside table, I sink back into my pillows and trace my finger over the pattern on my comforter. “I could use a good bedtime story.”
Blatant affection paired with the smile in his voice sends a rush of comfort through me. “Yeah? Well, it just so happens I’ve got one for you. A funny one about Kai.”
I close my eyes. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
I don’t last very long into the story, but it’s become the norm for us on nigh
ts when Luca’s not caught up with work. He tells me a story at around my bedtime—which is five or six p.m. there in Miami—and I fall asleep before he finishes.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy his stories—that’s not at all the case. I’ve simply never been a night owl, and it’s a struggle for me to stay up this late, especially when I have early morning classes to teach.
