by Ivy Layne
Evers dove in after me, scooping me up and pinning me against the side. He kissed my neck, one finger toying with the strap of my raspberry bikini.
"What's this?" he asked, deftly untying the bow behind my neck.
"Umm, it's my bathing suit?"
Evers peeled the top down, flicked open the bow at the back, and tossed the bikini top on the flagstone at the side of the pool where it landed with a wet plop.
"Didn't I tell you the new rule?"
I shook my head, distracted by the pluck of his fingers at the bows on my hips holding my bikini bottom together.
"I've instituted a no-bathing-suits rule," he said, freeing my bottoms and tossing them to join my top at the side of the pool.
I thought he'd been wearing trunks when he came out of the house, but as I skimmed my hands down his sides, I realized somewhere along the way they'd disappeared.
"That's going to be awkward when people come over to swim," I commented, reaching to palm the his cock, curling my fingers around his hard length.
"The rule is suspended when we have company," he conceded, "but only then. Otherwise, this pool is skinny-dipping only."
I opened my mouth to make a smart-ass comment, but Evers' lips stroked the sensitive skin under my ear and words fell away. His fingers worked between my legs, chasing away whatever I'd been about to say.
Walking backwards, Evers made his way to the stairs in the corner, drawing me with him. He sat and pulled me to straddle his lap, filling me with his cock in one smooth stroke.
We'd found a lot of ways to have sex in the pool. A lot. This was my favorite.
Buoyant in the water, I rocked on top of him, his hands and mouth everywhere. Tasting, stroking as my clit ground into the base of his cock with every roll of my hips, over and over until I tumbled into orgasm.
Twice.
There's a reason the stairs are my favorite spot in the pool.
The second time I came, my nails digging into Evers’ shoulders, he followed me, his hands tight on my ass, his length filling me with each hard thrust, his groan of release music in my ears.
After, when I would have moved away, he tightened his arms around me until I draped myself over him, my wet hair trailing down his shoulder.
His damp lips nuzzled my ear. "Marry me."
"What?" I couldn't have heard him right.
"Marry me," he repeated, leaning back as I sat up to stare at him.
"Did you just ask me to marry you while we're having sex?"
"Not while. After." He braced his weight on one arm, his other hand on my hip, anchoring me in place. I pushed my hair out of my face, mouth gaping, at a loss for words.
"Are you serious?"
"Completely serious." He raised a finger to trace my cheekbone, his eyes level on mine, showing not a hint of levity.
He wasn't joking.
"Do you have a ring?" I asked.
"Not on me."
"Not on you? Does that mean you have a ring?" If he had a ring, he'd been planning this. If he had a ring, he hadn't asked by accident.
Evers sat up, wrapping his arms around me, and brushed his mouth across mine.
"I've had the ring for weeks. I was going to wait. Wait until things calmed down. Wait until all the shit with my dad is resolved. But I don't want to wait. I don't want to put our lives off because of other people. I love you. I want you to be my wife. I want to stop this back and forth with your condo. I want this to be our house. I want you to be mine."
"I am yours," I said, reeling.
I'd assumed we get here eventually. He'd already told me he planned to propose. Someday. I never expected someday to come this fast.
"We can have a long engagement," he said, a hint of concern in his eyes. "Weddings take a while to plan anyway. But I don't want to wait to put my ring on your finger."
Still trying to figure him out, I said, "What if I want to get married now? What if I want to go to Vegas and do it tomorrow?"
"Do you?" He shifted on the steps as if to stand, startling me into a laugh. My hands closed over his shoulders to hang on.
"No,” I gasped, “I don't want to get married in Vegas."
Evers settled back onto the step. "But you do want to get married? To me?"
I thought about teasing him over his clearly unplanned proposal. Then I thought about him buying the ring weeks ago, hanging onto it, probably debating the best time and place to ask. I thought about the words spilling out now, when we were connected, as close as two people could be. I wasn't going to tease.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, I want to marry you. I want to be your wife."
His mouth closed over mine, and when he pulled away he murmured, "Thank God. I was starting to think you were going to say no."
"When have I ever said no to you?" I asked.
"Except for the time you threw me out and didn't speak to me for two months?"
"Well, you deserved that. And aside from that, when have I ever said no to you?"
"Never. I still needed to hear you say yes."
I kissed his jaw, loving the scrape of stubble against my lips, the beat of his pulse under his skin. "Of course, it's yes."
Evers stood, laughing as I shrieked in surprise, tightening my legs around his waist, twining my arms around his neck. Ignoring our wet bathing suits at the side of the pool, he walked us into the house, up the stairs to the bedroom.
Evers dropped me in the middle of the bed, my limbs splayed out, my wet hair everywhere. I started to sit up.
"Stay there," he ordered. "Just for a minute."
Crossing the room to his dresser, he opened the top drawer and pulled out a small, royal blue velvet box. He padded across the room, the planes of his body gleaming in the dim light. I could look at Evers naked all day. Opening the box, he pulled out a ring and slid it on my finger.
"If you don't like it—"
The solitaire sparkled, simple and beautiful.
"I love it."
Evers stretched out beside me, threading his fingers through mine, his eyes locked on the ring on my finger.
"Ever since I bought it I've been imagining seeing it on your hand just like this." He drew our hands to his mouth, kissing my finger beside the ring. “I never knew how much I wanted this until I lost you. Then it was all I wanted. You, beside me, forever.”
“I knew,” I said. “I just never thought you’d want it, too.”
“With you?” Evers asked, “Forever with you sounds like heaven.
Yet again, Evers was right. Forever with him was heaven.
Sneak Peek: Undone
Chapter One: Lily
My eyes flew open in the dark of night. I'd been dreaming of the lake, of moonlight playing on the water, of swimming at night. Of unseen hands pulling me under, water filling my lungs.
Most of my life I'd slept like a log. In the year since Trey died, I'd gotten used to this. To waking in the night, only the shadows on my walls for company.
I rolled over, fluffing the pillow under my head, trying to find a comfortable position. Sometimes I could fall back to sleep. Sometimes I lay awake until dawn.
The dream weighed me down, the dark water in moonlight. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to close my eyes again or give up and read until morning.
Sleep. I needed a full night of sleep, and it was possible the nightmare wouldn't come back. I could hope.
My eyes were sliding shut when I heard it.
A thump. A shuffle. Something being dragged, or someone walking in sock covered feet.
I sat up, throwing off the covers, then stopped at the edge of the bed, my feet on the carpet, leaning forward, straining for a hint of sound.
Had I heard something? It wouldn't be the first time a noise woke me. The house was isolated, on the edge of the lake and surrounded by woods. Between the wildlife and the wind, nighttime sounds weren't unusual.
This was different.
Since Trey had died everything was different.
I listened, breath held, and h
eard nothing but the faint echo of crickets outside.
I took a deep, slow breath and reminded myself that the doors were locked. The alarm was on. The house was secure.
The last time I'd thought I heard a noise, had been absolutely sure someone was in the house, I'd called the police and ended up feeling like an idiot. Deputy Morris was nice about it.
Castle Falls is a small town. Deputy Morris, Dave, had been fishing buddies with Trey. He was a friend. Sort of. Friend enough that he didn't tell me outright he thought I was making it up, but I'd known Dave for years. I could read between the lines.
If I called him right now he'd jump in his cruiser and head over. He'd search the house from top to bottom, and when he found nothing, he'd give me a sympathetic, worried look and ask if I needed help.
I needed all kinds of help, but not from Dave Morris.
There was nothing there. It was the nightmare, that's all. Stress. Too many nights of interrupted sleep playing tricks on my mind.
I'd almost convinced myself I was imagining things. I turned, ready to slide my feet back under the covers, when it came again. A soft, shuffling thump. Not quite someone walking. Something being dragged?
I didn't know, but I'd have to find out.
I stood slowly, my palms clammy, heart racing. My robe lay at the foot of the bed where I'd tossed it hours earlier. I pulled it on, tying the belt firmly. My hair flopped in my face from where I'd gathered it loosely on top of my head for sleep. I twisted it into a messy knot, crushing the curls, just wanting it out of my eyes.
The house was quiet, but this time I'd heard something. I had. I wasn't making it up. I wasn't imagining things. I'd heard a noise from inside the house.
Picking up my phone, I stared at the screen. Just call Dave, a little voice whispered.
I unlocked the screen and pulled up Dave's number, then stopped. Dave's face filled my mind, the expression as he stared down at me the last time I'd called in the middle of the night. His patience would have been sweet if it hadn't been tainted by condescension.
He'd suggested I take Adam and move home. Get some help from my family. He laid a hand on my shoulder, intending comfort, and said that it was okay if I wasn't prepared to live on my own. It was okay to need help without Trey. Then the suggestion, voiced so gently, that perhaps I was just lonely.
Like I'd call Dave in the middle of the night because I wanted some company.
Did he think I was that pathetic? I guess he did.
I wasn't pathetic.
I was scared.
Phone in hand, I turned on my bedroom light. I'd known I was alone in the room, and still, I was relieved to see the familiar white walls, my watercolors, and my messy bed.
In the hall I turned on the light, flicking switches on my way to Adam's room. Trey had insisted our son sleep as far from us as possible. I hadn't minded back then. My little guy was a bear to get to sleep, but once he was down he was out. Trey joked that Adam slept like me. Like I used to. Before. Now I hated the distance between our rooms, but Adam didn't want to move.
I left Adam's light off, easing into his room, padding silently to his bedside. He lay face down on the mattress, the quilt shoved to his feet, his cartoon pajamas twisted around his torso.
He slept like a rock, but he moved constantly. Every now and then I'd let him fall asleep in my bed, but I always moved him to his own. I'd woken too many nights from a kick to my kidneys or a small toe in my ear. He slept hard, but he was never still for long.
Tousled blonde hair streaked white from the summer sun spread across his navy pillowcase. I ran my fingers through the silky length so like Trey's. So unlike my own dark curls. He'd need a haircut soon.
I straightened and went to the door, closing it behind me. If I'd been alone I might have ignored the sound. Might have tried harder to convince myself I was hearing things. But I had Adam, and Adam's safety was more important than anything.
At the top of the stairs, I stopped, the darkness at the bottom a cavern hiding whatever had made that sneaky, shuffling sound. I waited, ears straining. Nothing moved in the shadows below. Nothing that I could see.
I flipped the light switch at the top of the stairs, illuminating the empty hall below. The empty hall and the alarm panel on the wall at the base of the stairs. The alarm panel with its blinking green lights. Green, not red.
Green.
My heart kicked in my chest, my breath strangling in my throat.
I'd set the alarm. There was no question. I'd set the alarm. I never forgot.
I'd grown up in the suburbs, not the country. I’d never liked the isolation of the house Trey had built for us. Even when he was alive, I set the alarm every night. I never forgot.
Those green lights glowed up at me, making me wonder. Making me doubt. I never forgot, but had I? Could I have? I descended the stairs slowly, racking my brain.
We’d had dinner early. Chicken fingers with honey mustard for Adam, along with two hated carrots. Leftover lasagne for me. After, a bath for Adam. Pajamas for both of us. Then, curled up on the couch with his favorite stuffed monkey between us, we'd watched half a movie. Curious George. Again. Adam was crazy for Curious George, and we'd watched the movie every night for the past two weeks. Then bedtime for Adam. A story and a back rub later, Adam had fallen asleep.
I'd gone downstairs, set the alarm, and made a cup of tea before bringing a book and the tea up to bed.
I'd set the alarm while I was waiting for the water to boil. Then I'd walked through the first floor, turning off the lights, the alarm panel glowing red. Armed.
How was it green? My mind reeled at the thought. Only Trey and I had the code, and Trey was dead. The alarm had never malfunctioned. If it had, the police would have come.
Someone must have disarmed it. But who? And how? Even if someone had the code, the siren would have gone off when the door opened. The only way to disarm the panel silently was from inside the house.
That thought sent ice through my heart. No. I'd walked the house. No one had been inside. No one. It was impossible.
Not impossible. It's a big house. So many places to hide.
I pushed the voice away. I was not going to get hysterical. There had to be a simple explanation. Maybe the power had gone out while I was sleeping.
Backup battery.
Sleepwalking? Could I have sleepwalked to the panel and turned it off myself?
At the bottom of the stairs, I stopped, turning away from the green glow of the alarm panel. The front door was closed and locked, the windows on either side dark.
Taking a breath for courage, I strode forward and flicked every switch on the panel by the door. Bright light flooded the steps outside and the path from the driveway. Beyond the path, the lake gleamed black in the moonlight, just like my dream. The lights from the dock glowed, warm and welcoming.
No one was there. No one on the lake. No one on the dock. No one on the path.
I peered into the darkness. Most of the first floor was a big open space surrounded by towering plate glass windows. Trey had designed the house with the help of a renown modernist architect. I'd hated it from the start.
This part of Maine is filled with classic New England architecture. Colonials. Saltboxes. Cape Cods. Georgians, Federals, and even a few Victorians. Painted siding. Brick. Shutters and front porches.
This place, with its flat windows and sharp corners, fashioned of metal and concrete, looked like it had been dropped from another world. Or California. Here in Maine that was the same thing.
Modern and aggressive, it jutted out on the peninsula, intruding into the lake, breaking up the shoreline. The house Trey built demanded attention, asserting itself when it should have blended with the trees and the water.
I hated giving my address to anyone who didn't already know it. Oh, that house, they'd say. Why'd you go build a thing like that?
If I had a dollar for every time I'd heard that I could afford to burn the thing down and move away.
I c
ould have afforded to move away even without those dollars. I stayed put. This was home. It was familiar. Adam's memories of his father were here. I couldn't bring myself to drag him away.
For the first time, I was grateful for the open design. One flick of a switch and I could see everything. Almost everything.
The kitchen, empty. The dining area, the sitting area, empty. The doors to the decks, all closed and locked.
I crossed the empty room and flipped more switches. The deck lights flashed on. Empty.
There was no one here. I was imagining things.
My nerves were shot like Dave said.
I turned on the balls of my feet, phone still clutched in my hand, ready to write the whole thing off as a delusion. An overreaction.
Just two more rooms to check, and I could assure myself that I might be crazy, but at least Adam and I were alone.
I'd barely turned when a sharp crack filled the hall. Something metal clattered. Rolled.
The mudroom. It had to be. The only things down that hall were the powder room, the mudroom, and beyond that, the garage.
And the back door.
When Trey died I'd sold his guns. I didn't like them in the house with a little boy. Adam, at four, was already climbing like the monkey he loved so much, and there was nowhere I could hide the guns that he wouldn't find.
Trey had never wanted a gun safe, saying what was the point of having weapons if you have to work that hard to get to them? I wasn't a great shot. I hadn't enjoyed target practice like he did, but I would've given anything just then for the weight of his Glock 9mm in my hand. For anything other than my phone.
I looked over my shoulder at the kitchen. I didn't have a gun, but I had an exceptional collection of knives. I love to cook, and my knives are my indulgence. Japanese, handmade of layered steel, they were as much works of art as tools. And each one was wickedly sharp.
Moving on the balls of my feet, I ran to the kitchen and slid open the knife drawer, pulling free my longest, sharpest blade. The handle fit my palm as if it had been made for me. I could debone a chicken like nobody's business, but I'd never thought about using the knife on a person. I didn't know if I could.
