Tyler seems to think that’s an acceptable answer and we start the next movie with our desserts. Setting her empty bowl on the coffee table, she curls up against me in the corner of the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. I chuckle watching her get more comfortable by burrowing into me. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her head. “You’re adorable,” I whisper to her. “Even if you put cheese on your ice cream.”
She half-heartedly slaps me in the chest, but makes no move to pull away from me. For the first time in weeks, I feel at ease and actually find myself not thinking about anything, and that’s probably the best feeling I could ever imagine.
By the end of the second movie, all three of us are fast asleep. I wake first and gently slide from beneath Samantha, laying her down on the couch. After clearing our dishes, I come back for Tyler, managing to pick him up without waking him and get him changed and tucked into bed without an issue. Sitting down beside him, I think of what I said to Samantha earlier about him being more her son than mine. He is my son and there is nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for him, but when it comes to it, he’s only known me for a couple months. Sam has told me often that Tyler knew about me the whole time and I don’t doubt her word on that, but there’s a big difference than being told about something and knowing something. I imagine that is especially true for a six-year-old.
I’m not blind; I know he’s already grown as attached to me as I’ve become to him, and that means the world to me. I’ve got a lot of missed time to make up for with both him and Samantha, and while I think I’m starting to make things right with her, Tyler seems to take a little more work. Maybe it’s just my guilt getting the best of me, that if I really wanted him to know me, I would have insisted in visitation over the last five years. I’ve got a chance now to fix everything and I plan on making the best of it.
Placing a kiss on my son’s head, I return to the basement to find Samantha still fast asleep. She really is adorable, particularly when she’s asleep. I need to make it my number one priority for the next several months to do whatever I can to keep her stress levels down; I don’t think any of us could handle a repeat of what happened earlier this week. The health of our daughter is just as important to me and I would be devastated if we lost her. It would destroy Samantha. Sighing, I take her in my arms and carry her up to our bedroom and settle her in bed. I chuckle at her little mumbles, even if I can’t make out a single thing she says.
Deciding I’m not quite ready for sleep, I head for my office. I had plans on how she and I were going to spend tonight, but her rest is more important. Maybe I’ll wake her up in the morning… Smirking to myself, I settle behind my desk and start in on some work. I’ve got several emails—as always—only a few of which I actually read. One is from my mother regarding Thanksgiving. I feel a twinge of guilt over the thought that, even though I haven’t run it past Samantha, I thought we’d have Thanksgiving here this year, just us. I doubt she’d object, considering how well she and my dad get along, but I need to remember to let my mom know one way or another. Another two or three are from my older sisters and if I seriously consider enlisting Claire’s help to pull some of the pranks we used to pull on them as kids for the links they’ve so helpfully sent me regarding DNA paternity testing websites, and tips on the best ways to get rid of a gold digger without losing one’s fortune.
I truly hate them…
I delete their emails without even opening them and move on to the one from Marcus. Among other things, I asked him to do a background check on Dr. Mark Reilly. If Samantha is going to insist on maintaining a friendship with him, I want to know who she’s spending her time with. Probably a bit paranoid on my part, but that’s just how it’s going to be. To my irritation, he’s squeaky clean. Not even a speeding ticket on his record. In fact, from what I can tell, he’s a model citizen.
“You would be a golden boy, wouldn’t you, Dr. Dipshit?” I mutter to the computer as I close out the email. The next one from Marcus is full of surveillance photos. Instantly I know it’s Frank Marone. The fucker. He’s in the middle of Pennsylvania for reasons unknown. It wouldn’t take much for me to get a couple guys down there and drag his ass back here to be questioned, but unfortunately, I don’t have enough on him to really do anything. Right now it’s all personal, even though I know the slightest bit of digging will bring something to the surface. Marcus is still convinced he’s involved with the kidnapping somehow and that investigation is going strong, even though there aren’t enough leads to set anyone’s mind at ease just yet.
I hear a board creak outside my office door and look up, smiling as I see Samantha shuffling around. “Hey, I was just getting ready to come to bed,” I tell her right before getting a really good look of her face. I’m on my feet in an instant. “What’s the matter?”
She’s pale, her eyes are wide with what I think might be fear, and as I approach her, I notice she’s shaking. Her lips are pursed as though she’s about to be sick and I lead her over to the couch, kneeling in front of her, putting a hand to her forehead to check her temperature. Her skin is cold and clammy, but she doesn’t seem sick.
“Samantha, you’re scaring me,” I say, trying to get her to look me in the eye. “What’s the matter? Is it the baby?”
She shakes her head very slightly. “No, not that,” she whispers.
“What then?” I demand, unable to hold back my patience any longer.
“I remembered something,” she finally says. My brow furrows at her words. “About the kidnapping.”
My heart skips several beats. “What?” I whisper.
She nods. “About the woman on the boat.”
I blink at her several times. “I thought you didn’t really see her?” I check, wishing I’d been able to keep the accusatory edge out of my tone.
“I didn’t,” she assures me. “At least not enough to identify her. But I feel like I should know her voice from somewhere. And I have no idea where.”
I move to sit beside her on the couch, pulling her into my arms. “Why do you feel like that?” I say softly, needing her to get this out before she forgets.
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
I sigh. “Okay,” I say with strained patience. “Why did you suddenly come to this conclusion?”
She sighs in return. “I woke up from my nap earlier after a bad dream, but I couldn’t remember the details. Then just now I woke up again and remembered her voice, but I can’t connect it to a name or a face.”
“Do you think it’s someone you know?”
“I’m really not sure. It’s not someone I come into contact daily. Maybe someone I met a couple times.”
“Old or young?”
“Young, I would guess from what little I was able to see of her.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, wanting to encourage her without making her feel like I’m interrogating, despite how desperate I am for information about this. “Did she have an accent?”
She shakes her head. “No.” Looking up at me, her eyes are watery again. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more, but—”
“Don’t apologize,” I chide gently. “You have no idea how helpful this is. And try not to force yourself to remember. If it’s going to come, it’s going to come on its own. Okay?”
She nods jerkily, still looking scared. “Okay.”
Carefully, I stand up, Samantha in my arms, and carry her back to bed again. I hate seeing her like this, especially when she’s normally so strong and can handle nearly anything, even me. Once again, I vow to kill whoever did this to her. Though I hadn’t planned on taking advantage of her vulnerable state, the moment I lie down next to her, she looks at me as though she’s silently begging me to make her forget her dream or the kidnapping or everything that’s happened since. Whatever it might be, I can’t say no to her.
I lean in and kiss her, slowly at first until I feel her relaxing finally. She sighs into my mouth, allowing me to deepen the kiss and she slides her fingers into my hair—ther
e really aren’t many things in the world that feel as good this simple action—pulling me closer to her. Gingerly, I move on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. Unfortunately for us, it won’t be long before we’re unable to do things like this due to her pregnancy, though with Tyler, we discovered some other, very interesting positions that I certainly wouldn’t mind recreating when the time comes. For now, though, this is where I want to be, kissing every inch of her exposed skin, running my fingers all across her body, and feeling how she moves beneath me, the sounds she makes. It’s these moments when I can truly let everything slip from my mind and concentrate on the one thing that matters in my life. Samantha has always had the power to make me forget everything around me, to erase all of my stresses, frustrations, sadness, and anger. I’ve never felt this way with anyone else in my life, no matter how hard I tried to recreate it after she left, and I know now I’ll never have it with anyone else in the future.
Without realizing it, we’ve both shed our clothing and I’m kissing my way all over her body, loving the little gasps she emits when I press my lips to certain places. Her fingers are twisted in my hair still, holding me against her, guiding me to where she most wants me. The very tip of my tongue trails a path to the apex of her thighs and it’s so reminiscent of the first time we were together that I very nearly stop. She’d been so nervous that night, so uncertain about her ability to be what she thought I wanted her to be. My goal that night was to put her at ease and to show her exactly what she’d come to mean to me in the very short amount of time that we’d known each other. She overwhelmed me—or rather, what she made me feel overwhelmed me—and that night, I’d felt as though it was my first time as well with my repeated thoughts of how I had to make this good for her, make it right for her.
I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into that night or that something so basic as sex could make me feel the way I feel I do when it’s with this girl. Before her, sex was a way to get release and to feel good for a little while. There was no emotional attachment involved, at least on my part. Not even with Lucy who I considered to be my first love before Samantha. It took meeting her to realize what I had with Lucy was puppy love at best, lust at worst. Samantha terrified me. She was the first person in my life that really made me want to be a better man. I still strived to be what she needed me to be, even while we were apart, and I’m still not sure I’ll ever be enough for her.
Right now, though, all I want and need is to make her forget, to show her how much I love her and that I’ll keep her safe from everything, even her dreams if I can. Very slowly, I sink into her body, pressing our hips together as closely as they’ll go. Once we’re there, I take a few moments to let the sensation wash over me—her warmth, the way she squeezes around me—and move a hand to push her hair away from her face so I can see her better. Even in the darkness, I can see her face is deeply flushed and her eyes are closed.
Well, we can’t have that… “Open your eyes, Samantha,” I demand softly. “I want to see you.”
Slowly, her eyes open and I’m momentarily taken aback at the emotion I see in them. So much love, all directed towards me, and I wonder how much of that I actually deserve. Bending my neck, I kiss her languidly, hoping to convey how she makes me feel.
“I love you,” she breathes against my mouth.
I grin a little. “I love hearing you say that,” I reply. “And I love you too.”
With that, my hips begin to move, trying to reach the deepest part of her possible. I think if it was an option, I’d stay here for the rest of my life. Nothing else matters right now. Pressing my face into her neck, I slide one hand beneath her, lifting her bottom slightly to get a new angle, and I swear I see stars at the sensation. I remain pressed against every part of her I can be, moving only my hips to bring us both to a state of bliss we can only reach when we’re together. I don’t need her to tell me that’s how I make her feel; her body does it for her. And when her arms wrap around my back, fingernails digging into my skin as she tenses, I know I’ve achieved my goal. I increase the speed of my movements minutely, watching avidly as her face contorts and her mouth opens in a silent cry as her release washes over her. My lips and tongue meet hers again and I kiss her deeply as I try desperately to get where she is right now.
I collapse against her, unable to do anything else at the moment, holding her to me. It’s a few minutes before either of us are able to move again and I pull back just enough to look her in her eyes. She’s staring at me wide-eyed as though she can’t believe how incredible that felt. Again, I’m thrown back to our very first time together; that’s the exact expression she wore then. I don’t want to move away from her, don’t want to be separated from her again, but eventually I do move, pulling her to rest against me.
“Feeling a little better?” I murmur against her forehead.
I feel her shoulders tremble and I know she’s laughing. She turns her head, resting her chin on my chest, and bites her lip slightly. “What do you think?”
Snorting a laugh, I run my hands all across her naked back. “I think every time I make love to you is better than the last time and that if it gets any better, you might actually kill me.”
Rolling my eyes at the smug expression on her face, I chuckle and she snuggles further into me. “I think you’ll survive,” she murmurs through a large yawn. “I love you.”
I rearrange us to sleep a little more comfortably and reach for the blanket we’ve kicked off the side of the bed. “And I love you,” I tell her. “More than you’ll ever know.”
I watch as she falls asleep with a smile on her face.
––––-o––––-
Over the next couple days, life is good. Samantha has returned to work at the bookstore, I’ve returned to work myself, and our free time is spent with our son, preparing for the arrival of the new baby, and planning our wedding. The plan is to have the ceremony out by the lake, regardless of the winter weather. The idea of marrying her with snow falling all around us seems absolutely picture perfect to me and I was thrilled when Samantha agreed. We agree that the actual ceremony might need to be slightly rushed so none of our guests suffer from frostbite, and we’ll have to dress accordingly, but I think it will be well worth it. Every time I look at our first wedding portrait hanging over the fireplace in our home, I can’t help but wonder how she’ll ever top how incredible she looked that day and I’m eager to see what she comes up with. Then again, she could wear long johns, three layers of pants and shirts, a parka, and a ski mask and she’d look amazing.
Aside from work, I’ve busied myself with working out clues from the information Samantha was able to give me about the woman from the boat. The scarce details are frustrating, though I have no intention of ever telling her that; I think she feels terrible for being unable to give me more to work with and I’d be the biggest asshole to walk the face of the planet to make her feel even worse. This is all really starting to scare me, though. She’s convinced the woman is someone she knows or has come into contact with recently, and the not knowing is killing me. It’s one thing for one of my own people betraying me, but someone who has access to Samantha being the cause of this is truly becoming a frightening prospect for me.
It’s not until Thursday night that I get any sense of resolution with the kidnapping, though even then what I learn doesn’t seem to actually solve anything. Samantha called me at work sounding very odd. All she would say was that she and Tyler and the baby were fine, but she and I needed to talk tonight. I tried to convince her to tell me over the phone so I wouldn’t have to wait hours to find out what was going on, but she brushed it off saying it had to wait until we were together. My mind went into overdrive. The last time she sounded like this, she told me she was leaving me. I’m trying not to think like that now; I trust her not to run from me again, just as I couldn’t run from her. It still doesn’t set me at ease.
I waste no time leaving work, barely acknowledging anyone I come into contact with as I rush to my
car to get home. Tyler is occupied watching television. Samantha is sitting beside him, though it looks as though she couldn’t be any less interested in watching cartoons. She doesn’t even realize I’m there until touch her shoulder; she jumps and yelps at the contact, and I’m getting even more nervous.
Tyler glances at us briefly, telling me hi and giving me his big smile before going back to his TV show, and I look at Samantha again, nodding my head towards the basement staircase to indicate we should talk privately. She doesn’t hesitate to join me, taking my hand immediately. I lead her through the house silently, trying to ignore how her body is shaking with nerves. We enter the bedroom and sit down together on the edge of the bed without me releasing her hand.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.
“I figured out who the woman from the boat is,” she whispers in a rush, her eyes huge as she looks at me.
“What?” I exclaim. “Who? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Because I needed to tell you in person. I need to know you’ll believe me.”
I furrow my brow deeply. “Of course I’ll believe you,” I tell her. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She hesitates for several long moments, looking around the room as though trying to find enough strength for this discussion. I can’t imagine why she would react this way, unless it really is someone close to us, and even then scrolling through my mental list, I can’t think of anybody she might name. Looking back at me, she takes a shuddering breath, lets it out slowly as a tear slips from her eye. Her next words are enough to knock the wind right out of my body.
“It was Natalie.”
17
I never thought three words would be so difficult to speak, especially in this context. I can barely meet Matthew’s gaze; rather I stare into my lap where I’m twisting my fingers around themselves as my mind runs through all the scenarios of how I imagined this conversation might go for the hundredth time since I came to this conclusion.
Young Revelations (Young Series) Page 24
