I was her everything.
And she was mine.
I captured her lips in a rough kiss as I tried to tell her without words just how much she owned me. Her walls started to quiver around me and I lost it. She clawed my back as another orgasm tore through her body. I pumped and growled into her mouth, my lips refusing to detach from hers as I released everything I had into her. Suddenly, Gavin and Drew’s announcement crossed my brain and I wanted to plant my seed in Georgia. I wanted to have a piece of me inside of her, something that connected us forever. Something that we could share.
I swallowed the lump that had lodged in my throat at the thought of Georgia, hugely pregnant with my baby, walking barefoot on the beach. She took my fucking breath away, just like she always did.
“Fuck,” I moaned. I wanted to tell her I loved her, but forced myself to wait.
Forty-Five
Georgia
The cold air bit at my cheeks as I hustled from my car to Tristan's house—our house. It was still hard for me to get used to the fact that we were living together. The moving truck had come this morning and delivered the rest of my items from Kyle's apartment—mainly my beloved antique bedroom set that had been my parents.
I’d just come in from running errands and tossed my bag on the counter before searching out my sexy boyfriend. I found him in his office, laptop open, legs spread wide as he relaxed in his chair. He was talking to Gavin on speakerphone when I plopped myself in his lap and curled around his body. I shivered from the leftover chill from the February air.
I smacked a kiss on his lips as he rubbed his open palm up and down my back, while he and Gavin talked about an account that needed special attention. Something about security and encryption and more gibberish that flew straight over my head. Tristan snaked his fingertips under my sweater and dug his fingers into my hip, tickling me in a spot where he knew I was helpless. I whipped around on a giggle and grabbed his wrist. His sculpted lips turned down in a sexy pout.
“Hey, Georgia,” Gavin greeted me over the line.
“Hey, Gav. How’s Drew?”
“Bitching and moaning about pregnancy, but beautiful as ever.”
“Aww.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Such a fucking sap.”
“Hey, man, you just wait. Most beautiful fucking thing ever to see Drew carrying my kid. Takes my breath away every time I see her.” I heard Drew “aw” in the background before small kissing noises filtered through the phone speaker.
“Jesus,” Tristan groaned.
“Hey, Tristan,” Drew chirped. “Georgia, call me later, okay?”
“Yep.” I grinned as I pecked Tristan on the lips.
“Hey, man. Back to the account, before we were so rudely interrupted.” Tristan goosed me on the ass. I winked at him before slipping the mail off his desk and rifling through it as I made my way out the door. I sped through the electric and heating bills, something from the marina to do with Tristan’s boat, and then my eyes landed on Washington DC Department of Corrections. My heart thudded in my ears and my breath caught painfully in my throat. I hadn’t seen an envelope with this return address in years.
Exactly sixteen years.
My mind went blank as I warred with myself about opening it. I wanted to throw it away, burn it, and never see it again.
I dropped the rest of the mail on the floor and tore the envelope open, letting the ripped paper flutter to the floor. I unfolded the letter and read the first line before skimming the rest of the paragraph. I licked my lips as the letter danced to the floor, landing at my feet.
I turned and my eyes caught Tristan’s. His beautiful green irises stared back at me, concern etched across his face. I licked my lips nervously. I felt like my body would crumble.
I couldn't hold myself up.
I was falling.
Free falling back where I’d been sixteen years ago.
Pain cracked open my chest and my heart thudded hard and fast, so fast I thought I might have a heart attack. I blinked back tears and tried to take deep breaths. Tristan said something before hanging up the phone and shooting out of his chair toward me. I couldn’t hear a fucking thing. My heart roared in my ears. The roar of the waves outside the house was deafening.
Parole.
Eligible for parole.
A hearing.
Your presence for a statement.
My legs gave out just as Tristan reached me, his arms wrapping around my waist as we crumpled in a mess of limbs on the floor. I laid my head across his shoulder and inhaled his soothing, fresh scent. The now familiar smell of him brought tears to my eyes. I was thankful that he was here and with me. Thankful I had someone to soothe me.
He rubbed calming caresses across my back and begged me to tell him what was wrong. Finally, he gave up and his eyes darted to the letter I’d torn open on the floor. He snagged it and perused the sentences quickly.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he began sliding his palms all over my back, soothing me, shushing in my ear, rubbing my neck with deft fingers.
It was all coming back. A rewind of sixteen years. Except now, I had Tristan. Kyle was absent and in his place was Tristan.
I felt my stomach roll with sickness. I lurched from the floor and lunged for the toilet in the bathroom. I emptied the contents of my stomach and spent equal time sobbing and hyperventilating. My past was replaying just when I’d thought I’d finally embraced my future.
* * *
“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Tristan lifted me into his lap from my place on the couch.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumbled, eyes trained on the television in front of us, not seeing the show flashing on the screen. Another crime drama that Tristan was obsessed with. I looked, yet didn’t watch at all.
I’d been telling him all night that I didn’t want to talk about it. He’d stayed silent, we’d stayed silent, and on the rare occasion he’d mentioned it, even in passing, I'd had the same answer.
I don’t want to talk about it.
“Okay,” he soothed as his hand ran circles up and down my back. Diva jumped up on my leg and nudged her head against my hand.
“Hey, honey,” I murmured and stroked her soft fur. She purred and began digging her nails into Tristan’s thigh in appreciation.
“Ow.” His brow furrowed in the most adorable way. He tried to nudge her away, but she wouldn’t hear it. She’d found a new best friend in Tristan. He spent most of his time with Charlie—he was a dog person through and through—but he never turned down my high maintenance baby girl when she came calling after his affections.
“Be nice.” I lifted her into my arms and nuzzled my nose into the soft fur at her neck. I inhaled and stroked her as she purred. I closed my eyes and tried to stay in the moment. Tried to stop thinking about going back to DC and standing before the parole board, reliving my experience one terrible night sixteen years ago when my parents were murdered, because that was what it would be like. If there was ever anything I needed to put in my past, it was this. It was so easy for me to fall back into it again. I needed to guard my heart before the emotion and pain took over.
In the present, I was sitting on the lap of my gorgeous, open-hearted boyfriend, who wanted nothing more than the best for me. I sat Diva on the couch next to us and turned to him.
“Thanks,” I whispered as I tucked my head into his neck. I inhaled his intoxicating scent and sighed. My lips worked across the soft skin in the hollow where his neck met his shoulder.
“For what?” he asked. His voice had dropped an octave, his palms on my back rubbing a little rougher, his heart thudding a little quicker.
“For being here, with me.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers into the hair at his nape.
“Only place I want to be.” He pushed his hands into my hair and pulled my head away to gaze into my eyes. “You know that, right?” He dipped his head to lock me with his searing green eyes.
“Yes,” I wh
ispered and angled into his lips, taking his mouth with mine in a slow kiss. I explored his lips, savored the taste of him, the feel of his soft flesh against my own. I caressed his cheekbone with my thumb and committed his beautiful face to muscle memory. I feared that there was a tough road ahead for me and I wanted to call on these moments with him to get me through.
“I . . . Tristan, I . . .” I murmured against his lips, unable to finish my thought.
“Go on.” He quirked one beautiful eyebrow at me with a lopsided grin. He knew what I was thinking and he was teasing me. The bastard was teasing me just when I was feeling the most vulnerable.
“You’re a shit.” I pushed against his shoulder.
“I’m your shit.” His grin widened for a moment before he pulled me back to him and captured my lips with his. His kiss was rougher, needier, and I loved it.
“I love us.” I pulled away and locked his eyes with mine. “I just want you to know I really love what we have.” I worked my thumbs along the contours of his face. It was the best I could give him at the moment.
He stared back at me for a few breathless moments. He looked like he was warring with something. “I know,” he finally said.
“Good.” I pressed a kiss to his lips. The lips I relished in, savored and devoured in equal parts. He kissed me back, exploring my mouth with his tongue, his hands running up the inside of my sweater to settle just beneath my breasts. I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted to eat him. Discover every inch of his body with my tongue. Starting with those pouty, sculpted lips that I couldn’t get enough of.
I moaned and arched into him just before my phone rang out.
“Shit, I bet that’s Drew.” I pulled away from his lips.
“Let it go.” He tried to reattach his lips to mine.
“She’ll keep calling. There’s no escaping her.” I lifted off his lap.
A tortured groan escaped his throat. He flung his head back on the couch, his eyes squeezed shut. He looked utterly adorable.
“Save it for later because I want these—” I traced my thumb along the outline of his lips. “—all over my body tonight.”
“Christ.” Another groan as he scrubbed his hands over his face and into his too long hair. “You love to torture me.”
“It isn’t hard to do.” I winked at him as I walked to grab my phone.
“Vixen,” Tristan growled before not so obliviously readjusting the tent in his jeans.
Forty-Six
Tristan
She was a fucking vixen and she knew it. She loved torturing me, and I loved it. The only thing I loved more than her torturing me about being inside her was actually being inside her.
I was a masochist, without a doubt. At least when it came to Georgia.
I heaved a sigh and stood to try and walk off the excess energy. Charlie jumped up and gave his tail a wag.
“Outside, boy?” I gave him a scratch before opening the French doors to let him out. He ambled down the steps and turned the corner of the house. I walked back to the TV and turned it off, meaning to step outside to keep an eye on Charlie, until I heard Georgia’s voice.
She sounded sad and forlorn and I instantly knew why.
She was talking to Drew about the letter. Telling her what it meant. Her fears about reliving the past and that night when two strangers had broken into her house and robbed and murdered her parents, all while a twelve-year-old Georgia hid under her bed.
I clenched my jaw when I heard Kyle’s name. Why the fuck had Kyle been brought up?
Dammit, I loved living on the beach just as much as the next guy, but the constant roar of the waves made eavesdropping pretty fucking difficult. I found myself taking a step down the hallway with the intention of hearing better before I caught myself.
I couldn’t listen to this. This was a private conversation, and it hurt like hell that she was opening up to Drew and not to me, but I understood it. She’d hunkered off to our bedroom for a reason; she’d wanted privacy.
I ran a hand through my hair and gave a rough yank before turning around and heading out the door to keep an eye on Charlie.
I ran my hands along the wood grain of the deck railing and let my thoughts run wild. I didn’t know if Georgia would go back and make an appearance for the hearing, but if she did, she would be back in DC, and back with Kyle; the one person she’d always relied on to get her through this shit when it came up.
It’d been sixteen years, would she still fall into old habits? I had no doubt that Kyle would try and convince her to stay with him and use every manipulative tool at his disposal. While I certainly wanted to fight for her—she was worth it to me, she was worth everything—it was against my grain to fight for someone. If she didn’t want to be with me, I wasn’t going to lower myself so far as to beg her to stay. If Georgia was going to fall back into her old life, then so be it.
That thought terrified me more than anything else, but I knew it would be hard for her to stay. Every fucking day, I saw it on her face. The battle she waged between her old life and our new one. I held my breath every time her phone rang. Gritted my teeth when I saw Kyle’s name flash across the screen. Deep fucking down in my pain-ravaged heart, I was afraid this time would be the time he finally convinced her to go back, because deep fucking down I didn’t have faith she would stay.
I didn’t have faith she would break the mold for me, and I knew I wasn’t fucking worth it—knew my past was colored with poor decisions. That was a real kick to the gut; I didn't deserve her. I’d done so much I now regretted, I couldn’t be surprised when she finally came to her senses and walked away.
I ran another angry hand through my hair and called for Charlie. I needed a beer and to plop myself in front of some mindless TV show to get this endless cycle of negative thinking off my mind. Or maybe do some work. Gavin and I had a big account that needed some attention. The CEO was a bastard who wanted his hand held through the entire process.
Charlie trotted up the stairs and we headed back into the kitchen. I tossed him a treat and then padded down to the spare room I used as an office. I closed the door behind me and settled into my desk chair for a long night of throwing myself into the comfortable mundane-ness of codes and numbers.
Forty-Seven
Georgia
“Hey, love.” I heard Silas’s voice loud and clear over the phone.
“Wrong person.” Tristan grinned. “But it’s great to hear your voice too.” A sexy smile tipped his mouth. I wanted him to hang up on my best friend immediately so I could attack those lips. It had been a few days and I still hadn’t spoken to Tristan much about the letter but my mind had been consumed by it. The nightmares had returned; the previous two nights I'd woken up in a cold sweat, memories of that night playing on repeat in my mind. It was the first time I'd had a nightmare since coming back to the beach and now here I was, thrown back into the darkness.
I tried to keep my mind off the parole hearing during the day by marketing the rental. I’d posted it on some websites and had a local realtor who specialized in summer rentals walk through. I had inheritance and life insurance money in the bank account, but I'd been taking so much from it over the last year that I needed to start renting this house and get some funds going back in.
“Here she is.” Tristan handed the phone to me. I placed a peck on his cheek and then put the phone to my ear.
“How’s it going, baby girl?” I heard the grin in Silas’s voice from across the phone line. I pictured his brown eyes dancing, his blond hair styled just perfectly. My mood instantly lifted.
“It’s okay.”
“That doesn’t sound like okay.”
I sighed and picked at the frayed edges of a hole in my jeans.
“Spill, love.” Silas hit me with the sternest voice he could muster. It worked like a charm.
“I got a letter.” I turned to frown at Tristan. I really didn’t want to get into this at all. He rubbed my leg. I’d only just gotten it a few days ago, spilled my guts to Dre
w last night, still hadn’t spoken much to Tristan about it, and yet here I was. I heaved a sigh and lifted off the couch, headed for the kitchen and a bottle of wine.
Tristan followed me in and took the bottle from my hands, mouthing that he’d take care of it. I smiled at him thankfully before I started in on the letter I’d received and how I was feeling. Tristan tried not to hover, although he rubbed my neck every now and again when I was especially tense. That was until the wine seeped through my veins and had tingles lighting up my body.
I relaxed as I finished my story, telling him I needed to go back to DC for the hearing in May, a few months from now. My best friend listened patiently, murmuring and offering comfort when necessary.
“I wish you were here,” I finished dejectedly.
“Me too, love,” Silas answered.
“So enough of this sad stuff. Can we talk about you? How’s Justin?” I took a long draw of my wine.
“Well, we’re moving down there.”
“What?” I squeaked.
“I’m letting the lease go on my place. Moving in with Justin in the spring.”
‘Oh God, Silas! I’m so excited.”
“We can’t be apart, love. Not good for either one of us.” Silas laughed.
“Definitely not. So I guess that means you two are doing well?”
There was a long pause.
Too long.
“Silas?”
“I have something else to tell you.”
“Okay . . .”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Okay . . .”
“You may want to kick my ass.”
I groaned. “Silas, please just tell me.”
“Justin and I sort of . . . eloped.”
My heartbeat thudded in my ears. I shook my head in confusion, my wine glass suspended halfway to my lips. I couldn’t have heard that right. Silas—my commitment-phobic best friend—married? To someone he’d been dating for just a few months?
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