Finding Truth (The Searchers Book 3)

by Ripley Proserpina

  Champagne in an ice bucket, the Nora playlist currently blaring a song called Raise Hell, and Mardi Gras lights. Somehow his plan for mood lighting, romantic music, and celebratory drinks came across looking like a dude desperate to get laid.

  Matisse dropped his face into his hands and groaned. God, he hoped he had enough time to pack this shit up before Nora got out of the tub. This was mortifying. How had he missed the tiny baby Jesuses hanging between the colored globes?

  “I love it,” Nora whispered, and her arms encircled his waist. “Matisse. It’s perfect. I love the lights.” He twisted in her arms to see her face, and she gave him a wide, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

  Awkwardly, he bent to kiss her. She released him gently, circling until she stood in front of him so he wasn’t twisted like a corkscrew.

  “I can tell you thought about this,” she said against his lips, and the vibration of her voice made him shiver. “And that means the world.” A new song began on his phone, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, wrapping her up tightly.

  She had a towel tucked beneath her arms, and it was wet, soaking through his shirt, but he didn’t care. Slowly, he rocked her from side to side, and spoke the words from the song into her ear. “Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas. Je vois la vie en rose.”

  A sigh left her lips, and her fingers threaded through his hair. Urging her closer, to step on his feet, he took her hand and tucked it between them. “Je t’aime, Matisse Boudreau,” she whispered and rested her head on his chest, her damp curls beneath his chin.

  “I love you.” Pulling back, he waited for her to glance up at him. “I love you.” He wanted her to remember this day, and moment, because he would never forget it.

  36

  Nora

  When Nora first saw the room outfitted like a costume shop, complete with purple twinkle lights and golden fleur de lis, her first instinct had been to giggle, but then Matisse had dropped his head into his hands and shook his head from side to side, and all humor left her. She examined the room closer. Sure, the phone was blaring a song about raising hell, but it happened to be one of her favorite songs, and Matisse knew that.

  While his romantic gesture fell a little short of the mark, she could see the effort he’d made, and she loved it. The song on the phone changed, and she melted. It was in French, and she couldn’t understand it, but it reminded her of the last time he’d serenaded her, and she was filled with such love. Her throat tightened.

  “I love it,” she said, and the next thing she knew, he was slowly dancing with her. He whispered the song into her ear and told her he loved her.

  The edge of the bed hit the back of her legs, and she placed her hand on his chest, urging him to step away for a moment. Gathering her courage, she unhooked the towel, letting it drop to the ground.

  Matisse couldn’t have given her a better reaction. His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. One step forward, and he was pressed against her. He ran his hands over her back then a little lower until his palms skimmed her butt. Keeping his eyes on hers, he lowered his head. Her eyelids fluttered shut just as their lips touched.

  He kept his kisses light, like the touch of a feather. Slowly, each press lasted a little longer, his tongue tip touched her lip then retreated. As he guided her onto the bed, he never stopped kissing her. He hovered over her, hands holding him up, before he deliberately let his weight sink onto her.

  She spread her thighs, making room for him, and he groaned. He wore a pair of stiff jeans, and as he rocked into her she winced. These would have to go. Without realizing it, she’d wrapped his shirt in her hands, bunching it in her fists. His skin grazed her knuckles, and she released the material, diving for harder, softer skin beneath his pants.

  He wasn’t wearing underwear, and he hissed when fingers enfolded his length. Rearing back, he popped open his button and shimmied out of his pants before ripping his t-shirt over his head and lying over her again.

  “Your skin,” he whispered, lips sipping at her neck. He scooped her hair back, tucking it over one shoulder to make room for his mouth.

  Matisse was all lean muscle, and angles, but his skin was baby soft. He was a contraction of sensations. Her nails dug into his back, but there was nothing to hold onto, and they slid across his skin, scratching as she tried to grip him and pull him closer.

  He flexed into her, his length nestled between her folds, rubbing against her clit, and she jumped. At her shoulder, he chuckled, proud of himself, and pushed himself up. The purple and green lights made shadows on his face, reflecting the green she’d never noticed in his brown eyes, and hollowing out his cheeks.

  He dragged himself back again, and the smooth crown of his dick teased her entrance. When she thought he would thrust forward, he didn’t. Instead, he angled his hips to stimulate her clit. Shifting, he propped himself on one arm and trailed the back of his hand over her throat and sternum then pressed his hand, palm down, over her heart.

  “Am I here, Nora?” His dark eyes, purple and green and then gold, flashed at her. “Will you keep me here?” His uncertainty undid her, and she held his hand against her heart.

  “I love you.” She wanted him to have no doubt. “You have my heart. I’m not built to forget, or love less. You’re in here, and you’ll stay here forever.”

  His eyes closed, and with a slight repositioning, lined himself up again.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, and her eyes popped open. She hadn’t even realized she’d closed them, but she was drowning in feeling. Matisse, who seemed so confident, sure of his intelligence and attractiveness, needed her. He was waiting for her to show him she was ready, not just to make love, but for whatever came next. This moment would seal their future, tie them together, so that no matter what, it would never come undone.

  Holding his hand in place, she arched upward, and licked from the hollow of his throat to chin. He was salty. Her tongue rasped against his skin. Letting herself sink into the blanket, she did it again. This time, as she arched he thrust, pushing into her and seating himself deeply.

  He stayed there as she adjusted to his size, and she focused on the feel of him. When he retreated, she clenched her inner muscles, wanting to hold him there. Her action had the opposite effect. It made something wild inside him spring to life, and he reared back and slammed back inside her, pelvis grinding against her clit with a quick twist of his hips.

  The sounds leaving her mouth weren’t sounds she’d ever heard herself make before. Matisse was so tuned into her. If her breath caught, he smiled and repeated the motion. If she panted, he slowed, keeping her poised on the edge of an orgasm. It teased her, out of reach. Like a fire, it started with a comfortable warmth—a tingle in her stomach—but grew until she was inside the inferno, thrashing wildly. Still, she held onto his hand until he turned his palm in hers and slammed it into the pillow above her head. Now that he was deeper, sweat beaded along his jawline, dripping onto her face. When one perfectly clear drop landed near her lips, she licked it.

  Matisse’s eyes widened, and he moaned. “Fuck, cher. Nora. Tell me you’re close.”

  Watching him fight his orgasm was all it took for hers to engulf her. She shut her eyes, crying out as she convulsed around him. He continued to thrust, tiny tremors running through his body until he withdrew from her. He scooted down her body and lay his head on her chest.

  She felt him move, heard the sound of something snapping, and realized with relief he was throwing away a condom. Slapping her forehead, she groaned. “Thank God you’re smarter than I am. I lost my head. Didn’t even think about protection. I’m so sorry.”

  He kissed her breast, nuzzling the skin then settling back. “I’ll take care of you.” He yawned and wrapped an arm around her waist, throwing his leg over hers. “Promise.”

  Nora melted. His words rang with truth. Before these guys, no one took care of her. If she didn’t look out for herself then too bad. She didn’t have to do that anymore. If she dropped the b
all, one of them would be there to catch it.

  She wasn’t alone.

  Tears trickled from her eyes, and she rubbed her face against the pillow. Whatever shit she’d dealt with in her life, it was all worth it because it brought her Matisse and her guys.

  Matisse gave a little snore, and she smiled. Closing her eyes, she stroked his hair from his face until she fell asleep, warm and happy.

  37

  Matisse

  Matisse had the best dream, but when his eyes opened, and the first thing he saw was Nora’s breasts, he realized it had nothing on his reality. He slid forward, grasping her loosely, and kissed her nipple. Beneath him, she shifted and kissed him softly on his head.

  “Hey,” she whispered.

  He pushed himself up, giving his attention to the other breast before answering. “Hey.” Sliding along her body, until they were nose-to-nose, he kissed her lips. “You’re a very comfortable pillow.”

  “And you’re a heating blanket.” It was true. A layer of sweat stuck to his skin. He’d fallen asleep without turning on the air conditioner, and the room was stifling.

  With a grunt, he stood and reached for her. Before she could act shy or think about it too much, he tugged her off the bed and into the bathroom. As soon as the water was a comfortable temperature, he lifted her into his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and flicked the shower curtain closed.

  Water soaked her hair, and she let go of him to flick it behind her back. “Don’t slip,” she warned, right before she kissed him. It was a helpful warning. He hadn’t had sex in the shower before, and there was a lot to think about besides the tempting warmth between her legs. He’d just positioned himself before he remembered protection. “Sorry, cher. I forgot—”

  Her legs dropped, and her hand wrapped around him, silky and wet. With strong strokes, she gripped him, and soon his knees were shaking and he was clutching her hip with one hand, and the bar with the other. Nora’s lips were everywhere she could reach—his shoulders, his sternum. Her small blunt teeth pinched his nipple, and he was done. Embarrassingly quickly, he came, halting her hand when she would have continued pumping him. As soon as he caught his breath, he was on her, slipping a hand between her legs to penetrate her with one finger.

  She gasped, hips canting as she rode his hand. He used his palm, pressing the heel onto her clit. With each thrust inside her, he rubbed. Slowly, he added a second finger, curling them inside her and making a flicking motion. Both her hands clamped onto his wrist, holding him in place the second she began to come. He swirled his fingers inside her, loving the way her muscles contracted around him. Carefully, he withdrew, and with his eyes on hers, he circled her clit one last time.

  Her head dropped to his chest, shoulders heaving as she caught her breath. “I love you.”

  Holding the back of her neck, he reached with one hand for the shampoo, pouring it onto her head and then running his fingers through the strands. “Turn around,” he directed, placing her in front of him so he could suds her hair then rinse it free of soap. Saturated, her curls hung all the way to her waist. He held one out before letting it fall back in place. “Beautiful.”

  He finished and added conditioner. Facing him, she gathered her hair over one shoulder to wring out before she picked up the soap and cleaned him. She couldn’t reach his head, so he washed his hair while she tended to his body, fingers tracing his muscles to linger on his stomach. “I love you,” he told her, kissing her wet shoulder and the back of her neck.

  Her smile was blinding, and it stayed on her face, even after he shut off the water and handed her a towel. How long could he keep it there?

  His phone rang, and she frowned. Damn.

  Since arriving, he hadn’t thought about anyone or anything but Nora. His messages, however, showed a lot of people had been trying to get in touch with him. First, there was a message from the security company. Whenever someone set the house alarm, each of them got a text alert. Alarm armed.

  His alerts showed both. After the notification the alarm had been set, half an hour later he’d received. “Alarm activated. Police notified.”

  A flurry of texts came from Seok, Ryan, and Apollo. All of them asking him to call then asking him to reassure them he and Nora were safe. What the hell had happened?

  Nora had dressed in a sweater and jeans, but when she saw his face, she dropped her socks. “What is it? What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered, and he dialed Seok.

  “What happened?” he asked as soon as Seok answered.

  “Are you okay?” Seok spoke right over him.

  “We’re fine. At the hotel. What happened?”

  Seok let out a breath and yelled to someone. “They’re fine. She’s fine. They’re still at the hotel.” To Matisse he said, “Someone broke into the house. Trashed it.” His voice shook a little at the end, and Matisse covered his mouth with his hand, rubbing his stubble.

  “What did they do?” For Seok to be upset, there had to be significant damage.

  “Holes in the wall, drawers and closets tossed. The computers are gone, the TV. Your bike.”

  “Was anyone there? Anyone hurt?” he asked.

  Nora paced and cracked her knuckles. “Is everyone okay?” she asked, and he held up a finger.

  “No one was hurt. Cai was with Tyler, and Ryan and I took Apollo out for dinner. We weren’t gone forty-five minutes before I got a call from the cops.”

  “We’re on our way,” Matisse assured him. “Is it livable? Do I need to get another room here at the hotel?”

  “No,” Seok answered. “Just come home.”

  He hung up, and Matisse slid the phone into his pocket. “Someone broke in,” he told Nora, studying the room. Jumping into action, he reached for his suitcase and unzipped it. He scooped his clothes from the floor and dumped them into the luggage. “No one was hurt.”

  Standing on the bed, Nora unhooked the lights and rolled them, placing them carefully in her bag. Not much was unpacked, so within minutes, they were set to go. Matisse shrugged into his coat, put a hand into the inner pocket to make sure he had his car keys and found the USB he’d saved Dr. Murray’s research on.

  He took it out, staring at it as it lay on his palm before he curled his fingers around it. It was too much of a coincidence—one he wasn’t willing to discount. If Murray could remotely access his computer, he could toss their home.

  “Ready?” Nora held the door open, her bag over her shoulder as she zipped her coat.

  He touched her cheek and dipped his head to kiss her. “It’s going to be okay.” A steady tremor ran through her body, and his anger built at the person who’d upset her this way.

  “Let’s get home.” She kissed him once more then nudged him out the door.

  Short legs be damned, Nora double-timed it to the car. Soon they were back on the road and tore along the streets toward their house. The closer they got, the more anxious Nora became. Her fingers, held tightly in his hand, trembled, and her knee jiggled. A few times, she started to speak, but cut off mid-sentence. Focused as he was on getting home as fast as possible, he didn’t ask her to elaborate.

  They turned onto their street. Nothing looked different. Cars were parked in driveways. There were no fire engines or SWAT team vans. Nothing to give away the fact that someone had violated their home.

  One unmarked car sat in front of the house, but that was it for first responders. Nora jumped out of the car before he shut it off, but she waited for him at the steps, her eyes on the door.

  Seok had spent months searching for a door for this house. Eventually, he’d found a heavy, wooden door, circa 1880, at an architectural salvage warehouse. But his search wasn’t over. No. It took a year before he found the hardware for the door then another month of sanding off the rust.

  It had stood the test of time but met its match when someone took a booted foot to it. One panel was kicked in, splintered and hacked, while the entire door hung off one hinge. “Holy
shit.” It had taken an incredible amount of force to shatter the solid piece.

  “Seok,” Nora whispered. Tears spilled from her eyes. Quickly, she wiped them away and sniffed. “Let’s go.” Straightening her shoulders, she strode up the steps, glancing once more at the door, but then through. “Guys?”

  “In here!”

  Matisse stumbled to a stop, frozen by the destruction that was his home. Seok had been kind when he’d said it was tossed. It’d been tossed, yes. The couch was flipped, the coffee table flipped, the bookcases upended.

  But it’d also been ripped, and smashed, and crushed. Pages from Seok’s art books fluttered in the breeze, shooting through the open door. Foam spilled out of a couch cushion, and an upside down end table appeared to be missing a leg.

  This wasn’t a robbery. It was a warning. And from the daggers shooting out of Seok’s eyes, he knew it, too.

  The police officer standing across from him was familiar, but it took him a moment to place him. Detective Vance. What was a homicide detective doing at a burglary?

  Glancing over his shoulder when Seok’s gaze shifted, Vance gave them a solemn nod. “Hey, Nora.”

  “Detective.” Her voice shook. “Did something happen?” Whipping her head around, scanning the room she asked, “Where’s Ryan and Apollo? Is Cai okay?”

  Flipping the notebook he held closed, he held up both hands. “Everyone’s fine. Department alerted me to the address, and after our conversation, I thought I should come by.”

  “Thank you,” she answered, and went right to Seok, smashing herself against his chest. “I’m so sorry, Seok. So, so sorry.”

  “Shh.” He rocked her from side to side and rubbed his cheek against her head. His black eyes closed. His body deflated as the tension visibly drained from his shoulders. “It’ll be fine. It’s nothing we can’t fix.”

  “The door.” Matisse could barely make out her voice, muffled as it was.