“Right.”
Unless... The niggling beginnings of an idea began to flutter to uncertain life in the back of his mind. Unless there was a way to somehow link the concept of reversing the gravity of the traveling particles, which would prevent them from being destroyed and might possibly allow them to escape the pull of the black hole. But, it would likely only work long enough to transport a few people. Granted, the majority of the crew had been decimated during the last battle with the Grunsharri, when Zarah insisted that Wye could be saved. But, there were still too many crew members left alive. And Mirran was still losing a lot of blood.
Images began to swirl through his brain, playing like a movie. Each time he ran through the action, he figured out a little more. Closing his eyes, he began to type, hesitantly at first, but he quickly picked up speed. As the scene took shape in his mind, the words flowed faster, practically tumbling over his fingertips in their hurry to get out of his head. He wrote until the ideas slowed. The scene was nowhere near finished, but he at least had ahold of it now. He knew where he was going, and he knew who’d make it out. He also knew Eliza wasn’t going to be happy about it. But this was the only way. He felt it in his gut. Scrolling back, he saved and reread what he’d written.
Eliza’s mobile rang, and she glanced at the screen and sighed. Swiping, she answered it. “Hey, Barbara. What’s up?” She listened for a few moments, then said, “Nope. Still in Scotland. We’re not planning to head back to London until Saturday morning.” She was silent again, a bit longer this time, as her fingers flew across her keys. “I understand. I’m sure it won’t be a problem. I’ll let him know. Yes, I’ll keep you in the loop.”
When she hung up, she closed her eyes and stretched her neck, clearly trying to work out the increased tension in her shoulders. He got up and moved to sit behind her on the couch and pushed her hair out of his way and worked at the knots that had formed.
Her head drooped forward, and she moaned. As always, the sound of her pleasure-tinged voice settled heavily in his groin, but he tried to ignore his impending erection and focus on her.
“So?” he asked. “What are you going to let me know?”
She sighed and closed her laptop and pushed it aside. “The development team from STARZ wants to meet sooner than we’d originally planned.”
“How much sooner?”
Her muscles tightened again despite working his fingers and the heel of his hand into the worst of them. “Oh, you know...the week after next.”
“Relax,” he murmured. “It’s not going to be a problem.”
She snorted. “I feel like the regular loss of blood flow to your brain is damaging your thought process.”
“Nope.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I had a breakthrough. I know what needs to happen now.”
She turned to face him, nearly smashing her head into his nose as he tilted his head back to avoid the collision. Her eyes were bright and huge—more gold at the moment than anything else.
“Is that what all that speed-typing was about? Show me! I want to see!”
“Not yet. It’s not quite there—almost, but not quite. But, I’ll have an entire outline before you leave.” His throat thickened around the words. “And you’ll likely have a first draft by the end of the week.”
She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. “I’m so happy for you. I knew you could do it!”
He pulled her until she was straddling his lap and stared into her eyes. “I know I said I didn’t need a minder, and I stand by that. But I did need you.”
Her gaze softened, and her eyes looked a little shiny. She rested her hands on either side of his face and leaned forward, tenderly kissing him.
Chest aching at the ever-present specter of her departure, he wrapped his arms around her and yanked her flush against him. “Fuck, I love you.”
She froze in his arms then slowly sat up. “What?”
The blood had drained from her face, leaving her skin a sickly pale color.
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘I love you’.”
A strained laugh escaped her. “No, you don’t.”
“The fuck I don’t.” His hands tightened on her hips, but he forced them to relax.
She shook her head and scooted backward, off his lap, coming to stand motionless in the middle of the room. Her eyes were definitely glassy, now.
“Look, I get it. You’re coming off five years without knowing how to finish this book. And now, you do.” Her voice shook like she was having trouble getting the words out. “But you would have gotten there with or without me.” A trembling smile lifted her lips, but they fell just as quickly. As if the weight of the epression was too great to stay up. “And it’s normal to look at the new thing in your environment and decide that’s the reason you accomplished it. But that’s not love.”
Angus’ mouth fell open as he pushed to his feet, staring at her. “Don’t. Don’t fucking tell me what I’m feeling and why.”
Her eyes widened, but she stood her ground.
“I know the difference between gratitude and love. And yeah, I’m grateful you ended up in my life. And I’m grateful for your help. But neither of those things feel like love. Neither of those things feel like I’m not going to be able to breathe when you’re gone. And neither of those things are clawing at me, day and night, trying to figure out a way to keep you with me. You know what’s doing that? Love.” He swallowed hard, his throat thick. “Love and the fucking fear that you don’t feel the same way.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn’t move, and she didn’t speak.
Desperation to make her understand propelled him to take a step forward. “It’s one thing if you don’t love me. But don’t tell me I don’t know what I fucking feel—that I can’t recognize my own emotions.” He lifted his hand to touch her, to wipe away the tears streaming down her face, but he dropped his arm before he made contact.
He turned toward the windows. It hurt too goddamn much to look at her, right now. In the window’s refection, he saw her turn slowly to face him, but she remained silent.
“We have something good here—something I’m willing to fight for.” His chest heaved and his heart thundered as if he’d just run a race, but he couldn’t say anything else. His words were gone. He bowed his head against the pane of glass.
If he’d had the energy, he might have laughed. Somehow, the professional high of figuring out the biggest problem of his entire career turned to ashes in the face of the reality that the woman he loved either didn’t love him, or found him impossible to believe. He wasn’t sure which hurt more.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Eliza was certain her still-beating heart had been ripped from her chest. It was the only thing that would explain the kind of pain she was experiencing. The look on Angus’ face when she’d laughed and told him he didn’t love her was etched in her brain forever. She’d see his expression every time she closed her eyes for the rest of her life.
She wanted to believe him. She wanted that more than anything. But, how could she? He didn’t even know who she really was. He didn’t know what she’d done. But no matter who he thought he loved, the truth was, she loved him. Somewhere between LA and Scotland, she’d fallen in love with him. And the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. And she had. But believing that he could truly love someone like her wasn’t possible.
Because he doesn’t know who you are.
She tried to shove aside that little voice in her head. When that didn’t work, she smothered it with a pillow as she walked toward him and rested her palms on either side of his waist. He stiffened briefly but seemed to relax slightly as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek against the center of his back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t move, but he didn’t shake her off, either.
Swallowing hard, she figured that was as much encouragement as she was going to get. “I han
dled that badly.”
His body jerked slightly beneath her arms as a silent laugh escaped. “Think so?”
Eliza sighed, and her arms fell away from him. “I didn’t mean to be hurtful. Or dismissive. I just...” She turned and walked to the other side of the room, unable to stand being that close to him without touching him. While he hadn’t pulled away from her, she wasn’t convinced he’d really welcomed her touch, either.
And who could blame him? He’d told her he loved her, and her response had been to laugh at him. For fuck’s sake. She was the absolute worst.
“So...what—you think I’m incapable of loving someone?” His voice was a gritty rasp that hurt her to hear it.
She didn’t want to meet his gaze, but she forced herself to even though her head suddenly weighed as much as several bags of concrete. She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Does this have anything to do with what you said at the pub?”
Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her head. “At the pub?”
“With Tansy and Donal and everyone? You said something about writers being difficult to have relationships with—because their heads are always in their stories.”
Understanding prickled along her skin in a cold rush as she realized what he thought she’d meant. She tried to gather her thoughts and explain herself. “No.”
“No?”
Hurt still clouded his eyes and broke her damn heart, and along with the hurt appeared to be growing anger. Not that she could blame him.
She took a breath and tried to collect her careening thoughts. “No, I don’t think you’re incapable of loving someone. I think you’re perfectly capable. And no, that’s not quite what I said about writers. I said that they live in the real world and their story world simultaneously, and anyone who’s in a relationship with them needs to be okay with that.” He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Besides, you weren’t even there. How did you—”
“I was standing behind you with the tray.”
“Someone might have mentioned that,” she groused with a sigh. “But I get it. They were feeling me out. Making sure I wouldn’t hurt you.” She bit back the words, “like Kelsey did” just in time. She didn’t know for a fact that’s what had happened.
“Eliza...” He reached for her then dropped his arms to his side.
She blinked away the burning in her eyes. “I think it’s sweet that they look out for you. You’ve got good friends.”
He nodded and was quiet for the longest time before he asked, “Who do you have?”
Her head snapped up as she said, “What?”
He took a step closer. “Who looks out for you?”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.” She was afraid she knew exactly what he meant, and she really didn’t want to go there.
“Who looks after you? Checks up on the people you date? Who do you go to when you need help? Someone to talk to?”
“I usually keep to myself.” She forced a smile. At least, she hoped it was a smile. “You’re an anomaly. Well,” she gestured between them, “we’re—this is an anomaly.”
His lips turned down, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. Her stomach churned. She didn’t really want to think about what he was seeing. Despite trying to slow them, her breaths were coming shallower and faster.
If it was possible, his expression seemed even sadder but, at the same time, more determined. “When you said I didn’t love you, you weren’t talking about me, were you?”
She didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything to say.
“You weren’t talking about my ability to love.”
This time, when he reached for her, he followed through, pulling her to him. She didn’t resist. Every part of her ached to be near him.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear then gently pressed her head to his chest. His heart thundered beneath her ear, and his hand trembled a bit in her hair. “I don’t know where you got the daft notion that you couldn’t be loved, but I want to pummel every fuckhead who ever made you feel like that.”
She took a shuddering breath and tried to swallow back the rising tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.
“I get that you’re afraid. That you have some kind secret past. And I get that it haunts you. And if I’m not missing my guess, you lost some people in your life because of it.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re even used to seeing everyone in your life through that lens. They’re either already gone or on their way out.”
He wasn’t wrong. Sudden weakness surged through her body, and if he hadn’t been holding her, she would have slumped to the floor. She stared down at the rug beneath their feet, tracing the pattern with her eyes.
“I need you to hear me. Truly hear me.” He waited to speak again until she looked at him. “I don’t care about what came before. I care about now. I love you. I love who you are at this moment.”
Her eyes burned, and she blinked away the gathering moisture. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to just trust him and tell him everything. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything. More than that, she needed it. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She couldn’t bear to see the look in his eyes. Couldn’t bear to see the moment he realized that everything they shared wasn’t all that special.
Nearly everyone she’d ever known had already seen it. Already seen it and judged her. She hadn’t been good enough for them. She sure as fuck wasn’t good enough for him, and she knew it. She needed to explain that to him, once and for all.
He smoothed his hand up and down her back. “I’ve seen the way you respond to me. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Your emotions are always clear on your face, and even though all I see is fear and sadness, right now, I’ve seen more.”
She lifted her hands and rested them on his waist. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, but the urge to push him away was almost as strong.
“I’m not saying that you love me, but I know you care for me. I’ve seen it in your eyes.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve felt it in your touch.”
Her arms circled his waist, and she pulled him closer. She was powerless to stop herself.
“I love you. Not Libby Perkins—you—Eliza Burrows.” He tightened his arms around her. “I’m not going to push you. But I’m not going anywhere, either. Unless you want me gone. But even then, you should know that I’m going to fight for us.”
She looked away. She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. Tears were once again sliding down her cheeks, dampening his shirt. My god, she was a never-empty snot machine.
He tilted her head back. “Tell me why you’re cryin’, lass.”
“Because I love you.” She sniffled. “I tried not to.”
“I tried not to,” he repeated and laughed quietly, swiping at her tears. “Ah, isn’t that just what every man longs to hear from the love of his life.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. How was he always able to do that? Make her laugh through her stupid tears? Make her feel like just maybe they had a chance?
He stared into her eyes, holding her motionless in his gaze. “And what’s so bad about falling in love with me?”
She had to tell him the truth. She owed it to him. He deserved her honesty. “Because when it ends, it’ll end horribly. Losing you will hurt so much, I’m not sure I can survive it.”
He shook his head. “It’s not going to happen.”
“You don’t know that. I—”
“Actually, I do.” He captured her lips, chasing everything else she was about to say from her mind. He raised his head and smiled down at her. “Do you want to know how I know?”
She nodded.
“I know, because we’re the ones writing this story. We’re in charge of how it ends. And I fucking love you enough to rewrite it until we get it right.”
Eliza’s breath caught as he kissed her again, harder this time. She slid her hands up his back, und
er his knit shirt, loving the play of shifting muscles and warm, firm skin beneath her palms. Loving him.
He stroked the length of her body, touching everywhere he could reach before burying one hand in her hair and cupping her ass with the other, pressing her against the hard, thick ridge of his cock.
Her cunt swelled greedily as desperate arousal flooded her body. Desperate didn’t begin to cover what she was feeling. She’d experienced so many emotional extremes in the last thirty minutes, she needed to escape them all—to get away from everything—to just lose herself in him.
He shoved his thigh between her legs, and she rocked, almost violently, against it. She need more. She shoved up his shirt, baring as much of his chest as she could as she pressed hungry kisses over his skin, sinking her teeth into his muscles, wanting him as frenzied as she was.
He groaned as she bit him again, and his hips jerked. Tightening his fist in her hair, he yanked her head back, and she almost came at the delicious pinpricks of pain and the fierce, heated expression on his face. She squirmed against him, needing more.
More pain.
More pleasure.
More escape.
More Angus.
Still holding her head immobile, he kissed her again, his lips bruising, punishing. She loved it.
When he pulled away, he studied her face, his bright, dark eyes seeming to see everything she hid. She clutched at him, needing him closer, hating this space between them.
“Please...” She tugged at him, but he still held himself slightly away from her. “Please, Angus...”
He lowered his head to skim his lips along her neck. “Please what?” he murmured against her, each word a faint, heated caress. “What do you need?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but anything she might have said came out as a trembling shudder as he nosed aside the neckline of her top and traced her collarbone with the tip of his tongue before dipping into the sight indentation there.
Pulling back, he waited until her eyes were focused on him again. “I think you need to fly.”
Rewritten (The Bound Series Book 7) Page 19
