Page 33 of Redemption

Just a reminder not to scare Carys. Her scream would break your cover. Keep a light on in the room so she sees you.

Irritation makes my jaw clench. Kim’s going to be a thorn in my side, reminding me of my shortcomings at every turn. Under different circumstances, I might have sat in the dark, but I’m not an idiot. I close the message without responding. Maybe if I don’t engage with her, she’ll stop treating me like a loose cannon. After I enter the room, I decide maybe I will respond after all.

If you hear her screaming, it won’t be from fear.

Satisfied, I slip my phone into my pocket and turn on both bedside lamps, but I leave the main lights off. No point in flooding this tiny place with light. If Carys booked the hotel, she’d have sprung for a suite. She’s not going to be pleased with this shoebox, whether or not it’s a standard European size.

The lock flips, the door cracks, and my heart thuds. Outside the doorway, Carys speaks in low tones to Jay. If she peered in now, she’d see me. The anticipation of being with her makes my cock twitch. I’ve missed having her close enough to touch. Conversations that can last as long as we want, or cover any topic we want, because no one is looking over our shoulders. Other than our brief meeting in jail a few weeks ago, I haven’t been able to come near her. My last memory of holding her tight is when I turned myself in. Not the most pleasant recollection.

Her head is down when she enters the room, and she pushes the door closed. Her forehead falls against the old wood. Her hands are braced on either side of her, as though she’s shoring up her strength to keep going. Probably a long day of travel for her on top of countless hours of uncertainty. Still, I drink her in.

From the edge of the bed, I observe her for a beat. So sad, but so fucking lovely. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” My voice is gruff.

She jumps and gasps, then whips around to face me. Surprise and shock register on her features before she takes the three steps from the door to the bed and tackles me. As soon as my shoulders hit the mattress, she straddles me and buries her face in my neck. Her lips tremble against my skin, and I ease my hand along her narrow back.So good. She presses her forehead to my temple, and a strained noise escapes. Then her body is wracked with deep, unexpected sobs.

“Hey.” My tone is gentle. “Hey. What is this about?”

She clings to me and cries, and I hold her, unsure if I should say more or say nothing. After not being allowed to touch her for so long, she seems fragile—tiny—in my arms. I run my hands along her body, categorizing everything from her arms to her ankles. I savor the feel of her, lingering on her cast, forcing down my fear and anxiety that anyone got to her. I wasn’t there, and someone hurt her. Is she crying because she was afraid? My gut clenches. I should have ignored Zahir’s directive and contacted her anyway.

“I wasn’t—” Her voice hitches. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to do this again.”

My heart softens, and the tension in my body leaks out of me. Her tears aren’t from fear; they’re relief. I squeeze her tighter and let my joy seep in. Maybe I don’t deserve to have somebody love me like this, but I’m not giving her up. She’s my home. Wherever she is, that’s where I intend to be when my prison term is done. Having her secured in my arms is the best thing to ever happen to me. No matter what, we’ll be together.

Then I remember I have to ask her to leave, and we’re probably going to fight. If I was a better man, I’d meet the conflict head-on. Tell her straight up she can’t stay.

But I haven’t been this close to her in months, this free to touch her or revel in her curves and the lines of her face. I haven’t been able to brush away her tears with my lips. I wasn’t there when she broke her wrist or when she was too tired to get up with Lucas at night, when she needed the release only I can provide. Most of those, I still can’t do and won’t be able to do for years. Three years is better than never. So, I’ll cling to that glimmer of hope while I give her what I can now.

She sits up and wipes her tears with her palms, then searches the room for tissues.

“Behind you,” I say, gently. “On the nightstand.”

She climbs off me. My urge is to dig my fingers into her hips and will her to stay where she is. The better man in me might emerge if she isn’t flattened against me. For months I’ve been keeping my longing for her at bay for fear of going insane. When she’s not so close, rational ideas return. I have to tell her to go.

In the tiny en suite, she calls out to me, “I’m such a mess. God, this is not how I pictured seeing you again.”

I chuckle and follow her into the bathroom. She’s the sun I rotate around, unable to stay away, even when I should. She’s puffy from crying, and her mascara has smudged under her eyes, but she’ll never be anything but beautiful to me. I frame her face and kiss her. Tenderness for her is an ache in my chest. When I pull away, she searches my eyes, the questions she’s not asking float across her expression. But none of them stick. Maybe she can sense she doesn’t want the answers.

“We can do this,” she whispers. “There’s no one telling us we can’t be together anymore.”

In the instant I have to set her straight, I can’t do it. It’s not in me to hurt her again so quickly. Then she rises on her toes and her lips are on mine. Slanting to deepen the kiss, her fingers dig into my neck. Our tongues tangle in a dance we’ve done a thousand times. The reasons I should step back and suggest we talk first fade away. Reason and ration can wait. There’s nothing I want more than to drown in her. I’m going to let myself sink in; sink so far in I’ll have to use superhuman effort to haul myself out. We’ve got tonight, or however long Lorcan and Kim give me before they pound on the door, and I’m not going to waste a moment of it second-guessing myself. Carys is mine, and I intend to remind her that, at least in some ways, I’m worth the wait. I’ll be worth the wait forever.

Chapter Sixteen

Carys

Hewalksusbackto the bed, and we’re shedding clothes at a frantic pace, desperate to be as close as possible. When I’m naked, the only thing still covering any part of me is my cast. Most of the time, I don’t even notice it anymore. It’s amazing how I got used to the awkwardness of hauling the dull ache around. I suppose the physical ache matched the constant longing in my heart.

He runs his fingers along the plaster, and his head is bent over my arm. He kisses above it and every finger on my hand. “I hate that this happened to you. That I wasn’t there to protect you.”

I don’t want to fight so I don’t tell him I’m not sure if even he could have prevented anything. A broken wrist was probably the best outcome given the circumstances. A bomb and a gas leak are volatile and unpredictable. Could he have smelled the gas? Sure. Known about the bomb? Extremely doubtful.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’ll heal.” I run my hand along the top of his head, and my palm rests on the back of his neck.

He glances up so our gazes connect, and there’s so much love and sadness in his icy-blue depths that my breath catches. “I’ll find the person who caused this.” He brings my cast to his heart. “And I’m gonna rip their fucking heart out.”

His words shouldn’t make my knees weak; he means them. I don’t want any more trouble. While I understand his need to balance the scales, we’ve got a baby in Cape Verde. I’m not willing to raise Lucas in the world we both grew up in. Saying any of that is another route to a fight.

“I don’t want to talk.” I skim my knuckles over his cheek. “I want to be so close to you that I don’t realize where you end and I begin.”

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