Looking around at the mess, I asked, “What did they want?”
He climbed to his feet, shaking his head. “I don’t know.” His voice changed, losing the ease of togetherness, slipping back into the bombproof fortress he wore when I first sewed him up.
He knows.
“Don’t lie to me, Art.”
My heart stuttered at the deception. It hurt. To have him lie blatantly to my face—after everything we’d been through it was like a ten-ton piano crushing my heart while playing a mournful lullaby.
“I’m not lying, Cleo. I have suspicions, but until I talk to Wallstreet I won’t know if they’re true. I’m not going to give you things to worry about that will only clutter your brain with more nonsense.”
I took a step back. “You think my amnesia is nonsense?”
He threw up his hands. “Well, it would save us a lot of fucking time if you could just remember, wouldn’t it?!”
I blinked at his sudden temper. Where the hell had that come from? From rage at having strangers violate his home? Or the inability to protect his sanctity?
They weren’t strangers.
Whoever had done this knew him. Knew me. Knew what they were looking for—regardless if they found it or not.
Lights suddenly came on, bathing the room in golden warmth. The mess was even more apparent, with strewn paper and a mangled letter opener that’d been used to jack open the locked drawer of his desk.
It’s open.
The drawer where he kept the letter or image that he held the night I spied on him.
His vow came back, loud and clear.
“I will have my vengeance. I will find my peace. I will ruin those motherfuckers and hope to God I will be free.”
Arthur saw me looking at the drawer. His face hardened as he took a step toward me. “Cleo… don’t.”
My eyes flashed to him then back to the drawer. I knew I should respect his privacy, but at the same time…
Screw it.
I bolted to the drawer and slid to my knees as I scooped up the jumbled papers below.
“For God’s sake!” Arthur stomped closer, towering over me with his hands on his hips. “You’re so fucking eager. When will you learn to be patient?”
I didn’t look up, too busy rifling through the stack of files with columns and printed digits.
Where is it?
My heart raced to find it. I had a consuming need to know.
“Never. I don’t want to be in the dark anymore.”
Arthur squatted on his haunches, pushing me away a little to press a panel in the bottom of the drawer. He pulled a small note free from the hidey-hole. “Here. Is this what you want?”
I snatched it, letting the other papers cascade down my lap.
I didn’t care I was being rude. I didn’t care I acted a little crazy.
All I wanted to do was read—read something that meant the world to him.
It was a poem.
Kisses on my fingers. Touches full of lingers.
Your heart has stolen mine; two souls beating in time.
Yet you push me away—rejection a cruel slay.
I beg you to kiss me. Take me. Claim me.
Make me yours and put my fears at bay.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I’d always loved to write poetry. I wasn’t very good, but I found vowels and consonants a lot easier to use than division and multiplication.
Art sat frozen beside me, staring blankly at the piece of paper.
Five long minutes ticked past before his beautiful face tilted to look at mine. “You wrote this?”
I nodded, biting my lip.
He exhaled in a rush, running a hand through his long hair. “What do you want from me, Cleo?” he whispered. “You’re too young. I’m not good enough—”
“Don’t say that. You are good enough for me.”
He shook his head sadly. “I’m not. You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’m destined for. Our lives aren’t meant to be together.”
Terrible fear crushed my heart and I grabbed his hand, pressing it hard against my chest. “Feel that?”
His eyes flared but he nodded. “Your heartbeat? Yeah, I feel it.”
“You leave me and that stops.”
Temper flashed in his gaze. “I won’t let you play silly games with me. You’ll survive without me.”
My anger met his. “No. You’ll see, Art. You’ll see that I was right and your heart beats for me. Mine, yours—they chime to the same beat. Wherever we end up in the world, whatever you do or whoever you decide to tie your life to, we’ll never be whole unless we’re one.”
I pressed his fingers harder against my heart. “It’s not stupidity or a young crush. It’s the truth. You’ll die without me. You need me as much as I need you.”
The flashback ended; a rogue tear dripped down my nose, staining the lopsided cursive on the note in my hands. “I was so cocky. So sure of us back then,” I murmured.
Arthur caught my tear, bringing the captured salt to his mouth and licking it from his fingertip. “You were. The day I was taken to prison I remembered that note. I remembered you saying I would die without you, and I swear on my life I felt I was cursed because in that moment I did die. You’d gone. Everything I’d dreamed for—our future, our love, even the quietness we’d find when doing homework together—it was all gone.”
He bowed his head. “I was dead, Cleo. That note was the only thing that made me feel alive. But now I don’t need it, because you’ve brought me back to life.” His strong fingers spread on my chest, half cupping my breast in ownership while absorbing my heartbeats below. “This is mine. Mine is yours. I get it now.”
I shivered in his hold. “Then why are you still keeping things from me?”
His jaw clenched as his green eyes locked me out. “I swear I’ll tell you. I’ve promised countless of times. I just need—”
“More time,” I finished for him, hanging my head. Smoothing the tearstained poem, I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be patient.”
The part of me that had a compulsive need to tend and nurture every creature in pain sought to comfort Art. I didn’t want him to suffer anymore. If it meant I had to be patient in order for him to deal with this upheaval, then so be it.
Call it selfless or stupid, I would give him the time he obviously needed.
In a way that makes me stronger than him. So it’s my duty to protect him.
Tucking wayward strands behind my ear, he helped me stand. “Thank you. Now let’s go to bed. I’ll deal with this shit tomorrow.” Grabbing my elbow, he guided me toward the door.
I dug my heels into the tiles. “Wait. I could never sleep now. Shouldn’t we call the police? Gather evidence—that sort of thing?”
He grinned as if I were a silly child who didn’t understand the mechanics of the world. “Police aren’t welcome here, Buttercup. Besides, there won’t be any evidence that will make sense to them. I’ll get Grasshopper and Mo to have a look—see what they can find. And you will sleep, because I’ll be beside you keeping you safe.”
I huffed, unsuccessfully hiding my frustration.
Art didn’t say anything else, just propelled me up the staircase and down the corridor. The bedrooms looked untouched.
Thank God.
I didn’t think I could sleep in a room that had been defiled by burglars.
Striding into his room, he let me go to run both hands through his hair. “Shit, I’ve got sand everywhere.” Motioning to the bathroom, he said, “We’re having a shower, then bed. I need to rest so I can figure this shit out.”
Ripping his T-shirt over his head, he unbuckled his jeans and let them fall to his ankles. With another tug, his boxer-briefs were a puddle on the carpet and he strode toward me completely naked.
Damn him to hell.
My mouth went dry and all annoyance toward him evaporated.
His muscled stomach rose and fell, hypnotizing my eyes with every breath. The etched V of his torso guided my eyes to his thickening cock; wetness rushed between my legs.
I couldn’t look away from the mermaid on his thigh, dancing with every movement.
Silently, Arthur grabbed the hem of my yellow T-shirt, tugging it over my head. Biting his bottom lip, which made him so damn sexy, he lowered my zipper and peeled the denim down my legs.
The whisper of his fingers over my skin sent flutters through my core.
Dropping in front of me, he removed my panties, then placed a kiss on the top of my pussy. It wasn’t just sexual, it was a worship—an acknowledgment of everything we’d been through and everything still to come.
Suddenly, I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand the distance or emotional void. Wrapping my arms around his head, I held him against my stomach.
He stiffened, then embraced my hips with a fierceness that almost toppled me over. His touch was painful but needed. It shouted just how much I meant to him.
His breath was hot as he exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, Cleo.”
I couldn’t speak; tears tangled my words.
Arthur squeezed me harder, nuzzling against my flat stomach, kissing the burns and shiny scars that licked my midriff. “I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice caught, his body shuddering against mine.
I hated that he kept apologizing. None of this was his fault. It didn’t make sense for him to carry so much guilt over something he had no control. And to be honest, I hated his apologies. They kept all the wrongs he’d done in the forefront of our minds. I’d already forgiven him.