Page 45 of Desperate People

Lucy is all woman.

Solid. Heavy. Real.

She’s fire and velvet, fierce and warm.

She’s so fucking real. Alive.

And in my arms, where no one—no one—can hurt her.

Her cheek rests against my shoulder as I carry her into the house, and for a second, I let myself pretend this is normal.

That this is our life.

That she’s always been here.

That she’s always going to be here.

And I want that desperately.

Because after tonight, I’m not sure I’ll survive if she’s not.

And all the demons in Hell won’t help the motherfucker who tries to take her from me again.

Because next time our paths cross? Nothing will stop me from eliminating that sonovabitch.

But I’m not hunting right now. I’m here. With her.

Fuck, I like how she feels in my arms.

She doesn’t fight me.

Just curls in, soft hands clutching my shirt, warm breath brushing my neck.

My heartbeat thunders beneath my ribs, deep and steady like the rumble of an incoming storm.

I hold her tighter.

Because for the first time in too long, I’m not thinking about firewalls or threat maps or faceless bastards sending her cryptic threats.

I’m thinking about Lucy.

Just her. Only her.

Thinking about how she smells—clean, sweet, a little like almonds and something sharper underneath. Like diamonds and sunshine.

Thinking about how her body fits against mine like she belongs there.

Beauty queen with a heart of gold and an attitude that makes me want to hiss and growl whenever anyone gets too close.

Sexy, sweet, and so damn soft it hurts.

My sweet thing. My Diamond Girl.

I walk inside with her wrapped in my arms and I don’t say a word.

Not one fucking sound.

Through the foyer.

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