by C J Burright
“You were hard to track down. Stalking you is harder than I imagined. But I needed to take this journey on my own, and you’re the one who inspired me to take that first step.” As if to prove her words, she took a halting step toward him. “So…thank you.”
“I’m glad you broke free, Adara. Truly.” He remained planted by the door.
Adara. Again, not darling or neshama. Cold cut her in tiny slices. When she’d told him to leave, he’d slammed the emotional door on her. Too late. She’d come to her senses a few days too late.
Half the lights shut off, leaving her mostly in shadow, but the hallway glow silhouetted Garret in gold.
“You apologized. You endured my concert. You thanked me.” He tilted his head, just enough to highlight his features in the hallway light. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Is there anything else?”
A fine trembling set in. She wouldn’t go back. If he shattered her, she’d hold on to the pieces until the grief passed. She’d tuck the memories of him away until she could look at them with fondness, the ache dull, not debilitating. She’d survive. She knew that now.
But she didn’t want her new life to be without him.
She exhaled, long and slow. “You inspired me, changed me. Brought me back to life and gave me the courage to let everything go. Can you—” She gasped for breath, the air suddenly gone from the room. She pressed the words out through her strangled throat. “Will you love me still?”
“Adara.” Her name was hardly more than a tortured whisper.
Before she could process what that might mean, Garret cut the final space between them and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her so tight she couldn’t get the breath she so badly needed. His breath heated the rim of her ear. “Chara. Love you still? Are you serious?”
She gulped a breath when he released her, her whole body shaking. “Seriously serious.”
He eased back and the typical Garret smile returned for a moment before fading back into solemnity, all humor draining again from his features. He grabbed her hand and tugged her out the exit and into the auditorium corridor.
A few fans still lingered in the hallway, but whatever they saw in Garret’s expression must have made asking for an autograph seem too risky. Quite right. A pirate on a secret mission was not one to interfere with, especially when he didn’t have his violin. Less than two minutes later, she was floundering in the back seat of a limo with Garret, his violin case between them.
The car pulled smoothly away from the curb, and she wriggled to a somewhat comfortable position. The red straight jacket dress didn’t make it easy. She smoothed her hair from her face. “I wasn’t expecting you to text me back tonight.”
Garret rubbed his bottom lip, still pensive, still absent of smiles. “I picked up my case to put my violin away and the lid popped open. My phone flipped out. I habitually lock the case, even when it’s empty, so I never forget when it matters.” He met her gaze. “And I always leave my phone at the hotel.”
“Serendipitous.” She dragged her fingers down the violin case’s smooth surface, petting it in appreciation. If it hadn’t flipped open at the right moment, he wouldn’t have noticed his phone and she’d be wandering back to her room, alone, clueless as to her next move.
His gaze followed her trailing fingers and his hand paused at his mouth. He growled low in his throat, so soft she wasn’t sure she misheard.
She went still. “Where are we going again?”
He lifted his finger to his lips in a sign for quiet and turned his attention out of the window. His knee jiggled a restless beat, as if whatever he held in check refused to be completely contained. She’d had enough silence for a lifetime.
Digging through her purse, she pulled out a pen and a lunch receipt. She wrote down the number that she’d committed to memory. Since her origami skills didn’t match his, she folded the receipt into a miniature paper airplane, aimed at Garret, and flung it across the limo seat. Its pointy tip stuck in his hair. She wasn’t above trying out third-grade flirting tactics.
He lifted his eyebrows at her and disentangled the scrap. Slowly, he unfolded the paper and his mouth twitched. He made a writing motion and held out his hand expectantly. She handed him her pen and waited as he checked his watch, scribbled something beneath her number, carefully folded the receipt into the tiniest origami boat ever, and set it on the end of the violin case. Leaning back in the seat, he crossed his arms and stared her down, his dark eyes deep and unreadable.
As if she’d resist his dare. She quirked an eyebrow and plucked the boat free. Her hands trembling only slightly, she opened the note.
8,064
She made a quick calculation, counting the minutes. Five full days plus a few hours. A rock lodged in her throat. Almost five days apart since she chased him away. Funny how so much could change in so short a time—lives remade, dreams created.
Relationships ruined.
The limo stopped and her door opened. The doorman held out a hand to her. She turned back to Garret, but he’d escaped out the other side, his violin with him.
She slid out onto the covered sidewalk. Glass doors led to a hotel lobby far fancier than the chain hotel room Gia had kindly booked for her. Several crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, flanked by white marble pillars. A flowerpot taller than her displayed an armload of flowers, settled between split staircases. No wonder Garret Ambrose tickets were so expensive.
Another doorman opened the glass doors and smiled at Garret. “Welcome back, Mr. Ambrose.”
Garret spared the man a nod and small return smile, latched onto her hand once again and tugged her inside, relentless as Gia. Still silent, still serious, he led her up the curving stairwell, all the way to the fourth floor, down the hall to the very end. He glanced at her once while pulling the room card from his blazer pocket, as if making sure she was still there, that she hadn’t run. Maybe she should run. It didn’t matter how well she thought she knew him, trusted him. With his hair down, the eyeliner and silence, the unreadable gleam in those dark eyes, all traces of band geek had vanished into unpredictably dangerous.
All in. She forced her shoulders to relax. She was all in, no matter what.
The lock clicked, and he opened the door wide. The room was almost as big as her house. Kitchen, separate bedroom, living room, big screen—no wonder he didn’t mind being on tour for years at a time. At least a dozen bouquets scattered around the room, most of them red roses. With tags. Fan gifts. She should’ve thought of that.
The door snicked shut and she pivoted. Garret lovingly laid the violin case in the corner. His gaze locked on her, he slowly shrugged out of his blazer and tossed it on a chair. Without looking away, he stalked toward her.
Adara willed her feet to stay cemented and ignored the itch to dodge him and run. Her heart beat so hard it vibrated in the corseted bodice and bounced through her fingertips.
He stopped so close that his toes bumped hers. For an eternity, he simply looked into her eyes in that way he always did, as if he could read every nuance of her soul.
Unable to take the silence another second, she delicately cleared her throat. “You left.”
“You wanted space.” His voice was low, soft.
“Since when does what I want you to do ever apply?”
A sparkle entered his eyes and he pursed his mouth, curbing a smile. “But I know when to stop, take a break, what lines not to cross. My stalker sensitivities are sharp.” The humor faded again. “You shut me out and I didn’t know how many nails you’d put in your door, how many locks I’d have to break or brick layers I’d have to demolish. I didn’t give up on you. I never give up. I thought you knew that about me.”
“But Tatum said you weren’t coming back until she was old and ten.”
His eyes widened. Chuckling, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
She let her death glare fly. “She’s eight, ten in two years. Two years, Garret. I thought you weren’t coming back.”
; “Two weeks.” He cocked his head, and his gaze swept over her face, hot and hungry. “I was giving you two weeks of respite, to reconsider, to reconnoiter before doing battle again.”
She shivered, chilled in a good way. “Reconnoiter?”
He tucked her hair behind her ear, his callused fingers gentle. “Exactly. I wasn’t through with you, Adara.” His attention landed on her mouth. “I’ll never be through. However, that doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to intrude on my business. There are consequences for crossing me.”
“You want me to leave?” Hard words to say, but she needed to know.
“Leave is not what I had in mind, darling.”
Darling. One knot in her neck loosened.
His eyes darkened and he curved his mouth into a slow, wicked smile worthy of any pirate. “I try to be a nice guy, but sometimes nice doesn’t measure up. Sometimes”—he pressed a soft, scorching kiss on her shoulder—“the only way to get your point across is through a more primal method.”
A rope of ice and heat coiled through her, warming her blood even as prickles danced over her skin. Every nerve thrummed to life, a hungry ache. She closed her eyes as he moved his mouth over her collarbone. “Not sure what you mean.”
“Well, then.” He slowly licked the hollow of her throat. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
He grasped her hip with one hand, tunneled the other in her hair and kissed her…hard. Possessive. He swept her mouth with hot laps of his tongue, demanding a response.
Joy burgeoned inside, followed by a searing jolt of desire. Helpless to deny it, she fisted his shirt as the kiss went on, growing more frantic, almost desperate. Heat darted through her veins, an electric charge that hummed and tingled everywhere. A rising tide of pleasure weakened her knees. Her moan was lost in his mouth, and when his fingers trailed along her bare shoulder and down her side, raising goosebumps, she pressed even closer, but not close enough.
Adara tangled her tongue with his, tasting a hint of coffee. Despite her heels, she didn’t match his height. She stood on tiptoes, trying to get closer.
Seeming to know what she wanted, he dragged her against him, off her feet, and carried her a few steps to a chair, couch, coffee table. She didn’t know, didn’t care. Never breaking the kiss, he settled her on his lap, one arm latched around her waist.
Heat pulsed in every sensitive place of her body. She couldn’t breathe, needed out of her restrictive dress, needed… He abruptly ended the kiss, and she sucked in a ragged breath. “Something wrong?”
His smile was grim. “Testing my limits.”
No way. He was not doing this to her, not after everything. Knotting her fingers in his hair in case he tried to escape, she held his gaze. “Don’t throw your vow in my face, Ambrose. No more teasing. I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”
He gave her a lofty look, as if he hadn’t just knocked her socks off with a single kiss. “Your decision might be different tomorrow. You might run, and we both know I can’t catch you unless you want to be caught.”
“Not even, yakiri.” She glared through his silence even as a satisfied thrill coiled through her. She’d surprised him. Goal accomplished.
He cocked his head. “Is yakiri synonymous with devastatingly charming?”
“Look it up yourself,” she snarled. “I’m all in…no refunds, no returns.”
His entire face lit up and his dark eyes glinted, sly. “Prove it. Full commitment, Adara. Marry me.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Garret wrapped his arms around Adara’s slender waist, holding her captive. The sparks in her eyes screamed escape, but he wouldn’t let her run, not this time. If she wasn’t warm and solid and squirming in his arms, he might believe her presence was a dream, fragmented from his miserable minutes since giving her space.
Serendipitous, indeed. More like a miracle fallen into his lap.
Adara was always captivating, but tonight she annihilated quiet beauty and had gone for his throat. He slid a hand up her ribs, the embroidered design on her corset soft ridges beneath his fingers. Red and black and Gothic—almost as sexy as her wearing his shirt. Her hair gleamed, ebony silk, and the sweet, lingering coconut smelled like heaven. He breathed her in, every part of him awake and alive to her. Merely showing up with that sinful scarlet on her lips would’ve had him on his knees.
Each nuance of her was a hit to his senses and restraint. Despite the hunger coursing in a hot rhythm through his veins, he refused to lose control and surrender this auspicious advantage. He needed Adara’s full and complete commitment—right here, right now. Nothing less would do, no matter how his body ached in protest.
If persistence was easy, everyone would practice it.
She opened her mouth, closed it. Clearly, she hadn’t expected a proposal.
Neither had he. But his tongue and lips merely repeated what his heart whispered. “So it’s not the romantic gesture I envisioned making to you. I wasn’t prepared. I’ll do it right tomorrow.”
“Marry?” she finally managed.
“I didn’t stutter, darling.” He grinned at her annoyed look.
“There are a zillion details we’ve never discussed.” She leaned back and studied him, as if unsure he made husband material. After all his cooking demonstrations? Insulting. “I only want to take the matrimonial plunge once in my lifetime.”
“Me too.” He lifted his chin in challenge. Whatever she threw at him, he’d deflect. No more walls, no more excuses, no more life without him. “Only with you.”
“London hates me.”
“She doesn’t. She’s just stuck in protective older sister mode. Big difference.” He kissed her neck, and the way her breath caught made his entire body throb. “She only wants me to be happy.”
“You aren’t the problem. It’s me she doesn’t—”
He hushed her protest with another kiss, her delectable mouth soft and pliant and driving him insane. If he didn’t coax a yes from her soon, he wasn’t sure he could keep from crumbling. Adara, here, asking him to love her in that dress. It was enough to sabotage any lifetime goal. But he couldn’t cave now, not with all his desires so close to actualization.
Garret lightly bit her bottom lip, licked it and smiled as she shuddered. Progress. “London is off the excuse table. You tracked me down despite her disapproval, didn’t you?”
“Hold up.” She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you hadn’t talked to her.”
“I haven’t.” He went for an angelic expression and tightened his hold. Dress or not, she might still outrun him if he let go. “But after I discovered you were here, I called Bob. He told me everything.” He pressed on through her growl. “You defied London for me. She might be ticked about it but she’ll respect the fact you did it, anyway. Secretly, of course. I, on the other hand, am openly admiring. Next insufficient excuse?”
She blew out a breath, which did nothing to ease the tension vibrating beneath his hands. Until she relaxed, he had to stay alert, battle onward. “We haven’t even talked about, you know, important issues.”
He cocked his head. “Such as?”
“I don’t know what people discuss before getting married!” She flung her hands. “Kids? The future? Houses? Jobs?”
“Flimsy, neshama.” Garret pulled her closer, needing her next to his heart. “I want two, three, maybe seven kids. Maybe none. Adoption’s always great. I want my future to be with you. You’re my home, and while I prefer my house to yours, I’m flexible with habitation site. Whatever you want to do, you do. I’ll be right behind you.”
She sagged against him and rested her forehead in the crook of his neck, shooting a triumphant thrill straight to his gut. “You always make everything sound so simple.”
“It is simple.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “I want my life to be with you. Everything else is workable details.”
Her eyes darkened, a sign she vacillated, a sign the battle raged on. Forget niceties. If she wanted a full-on war, he’d gird up to win her. He added a
snarl to his voice. “Adara, I—”
“Yes.”
He paused, blinked.
“One kid, and we’ll see how it goes.” She nodded, as if finally figuring out how amazing life would be together. “Your house…because I love it. My minutes are yours, but I adore my job, so you’ll have to share.”
Joy rushed through him, making his heart pound so fast and hard that he had trouble drawing enough breath to speak. “Done, done and done.” He swung her into the air and spun, only to set her on her feet just as fast. Done, but not yet official. He wanted something solid, tangible proof to remind her of this moment should she ever need it, more than an origami boat. Grabbing her hand, he dragged her toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Where to now?” She wobbled and clung to his hand for balance.
Garret paused at the door and kissed her so fiercely she wobbled again. “We can’t legally get married tonight, so we’re doing the next best thing while in Ireland. We’re handfasting.”
* * * *
Outside Garret’s hotel once again, Adara looped her arm through his, hyperaware of the silk braid kissing her wrist. The handfasting had been both simple and lovely, and the reverend’s wife had kindly created bracelets with the colors they’d chosen for the ceremony. Garret had chosen red for love and courage. She’d chosen silver for creativity and inspiration. He’d also insisted on black for the simple reason that it reminded him of her.
As if she’d protest.
“I wasn’t going to renege, just so you know.” Informally married in less than an hour. When it came to Garret Ambrose, everything seemed to click into place with only his smile.
“With your history of running, I wasn’t taking any chances.” He squeezed her closer. “Especially since you run faster than me.”
“Not in this dress.”
His gaze trailed over her red prison disguised as clothing again, more leisurely than the quick acknowledgment he’d made in the auditorium. Gia had been right. He’d noticed, although he hadn’t mentioned her painfully plucked eyebrows. Next time at the salon, she’d leave her eyebrows as is.
