Page 71 of After Our Kiss

“Then she saved your life.”

“Yes, and that's why I've written a dedication in my book for her.”

“That's right!” the other woman crowed. “You can pick up Felecia Quail's true story of her time on Horror Island this Thursday, and we'll have—” I'd parked my car and cut the engine.

Multiple publishers had begged Georgia to sell them the rights to her story. She'd refused them all. “I'm done living that,” she'd said. “I'm ready to start something new.”

Unlocking the main gate to the complex, I climbed the stairs to the third floor. Georgia had requested that wherever we lived was up high. That, and it had to have an open-air patio. I would have worked five jobs if I'd had to in order to give her all of that.

Cracking the front door, I stepped inside. It was a large, open floor plan apartment that we'd moved into. Bright yellow counters, white walls, and hard wood floors—her friend Chelsea had called it “stylish” and I'd just shrugged.

The only reason I lived here... was becauseshedid.

Georgia was facing away from me in the kitchen. She'd tied her long hair up in a tail. The blue eye on the nape of her neck watched me. Once, that image had brought my guts into my throat; I'd been shaken to my core. But now, seeing it, I was reminded of the plaintive wish the woman I loved had made to me.

If I'd run with her nine years ago, what would be different?

I'd spent so much of my time living as a martyr, thinking that every minute of distress at my father's side was worth it if there was a chance he could lead me to Emily. The bitter irony was that I'd never discovered a thing.

Lonnie was the one who'd found our sister.

The memory of everything I'd done in the name of the greater good was a constant knife in my chest. It kept me awake at night, tossing in my own stressful sweat. I'd have lain there anxiously, if not for the sweet, strong woman at my side.

Whenever I woke in distress, she'd wrap herself around me. Her hand would link with mine, our pinky fingers curling into an unbreakable knot. Georgia had helped me see that living a life full of regrets helped no one, least of all myself.

She turned at the sound of my foot on the floor. Blatant fear swam in her eyes. It didn't last more than a fraction of a second, gone as she recognized me. As brave as she was, her muscle memory would take years to shake off her instincts.

I knew I was responsible for much of her latent fear. The relief in her smile healed some of my shame. “Conway, hi!”

“Sorry, I have a habit of walking quietly. Didn't mean to scare you.” Dropping my things on the kitchen island, I circled it, hurrying to scoop her into my arms. “You look so sexy with your hair up,” I said, wrapping my hand in her ponytail.

She thrust her chest out, hands gripping the counter behind her. Tiny goose bumps rippled up her arms and neck. “That feelsgood.Tell me more about how sexy I look.”

Breathing in the perfume of her warm skin, I shut my eyes. Her pulse flapped like a sparrow's wings against my chest. When I leaned in, her breasts brushed over my muscles—her nipples were already hard.

My cock raged to life in my pants. The growl slid out from between my teeth, filling the air of the kitchen, joining her constant, and quickening gasps. I thought about how easy it would be to turn her around with my fist in her hair.

How quickly I could rip her clothes off, forcing her legs apart. Her pussy wet... needy.

What a gorgeous red her ass would be if I spanked it. She'd scream and moan and nothing would get between filling her with my fat cock and me.

Would she argue, worried the neighbors would hear? I didn't care—Iwantedthem to hear. I wanted everyone to know Georgia belonged to me.

No. She doesn't belong to you.

This wasn't a bare room in the middle of an empty house. This was the real world, with jobs, bills, and police waiting for me to misstep so they could throw me in prison along with my brother. And I probably belonged there.

“What is it?” she asked, watching me as I broke apart from our tangled limbs. “Ever since we've left the island, you haven't... we haven't...”

Fucked. We hadn't fucked. I'd barely touched her.

Hanging my head, I bent over the counter. “I know. I'm painfully aware.”

“Is it me, did I do—”

“No!” Whirling on her, I made tight fists. “Don't think that for a second.”

“Then what's going on, Conway?” She reached for me and I stepped back. The pain that stained her blue eyes was poisonous. “Talk to me. After everything, surely you can tell me what's wrong.”

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