Atone (Recovered Innocence #2)(68)

I look up at him, startled.

“You dig at your neck every time you wear one of those flimsy blouses with a lace collar,” he explains. “No satin. Too shiny. Silk, like pale butter. Loose, not too tight-fitting, but with lots of cleavage, because I can’t get enough of your tits.”

To prove it, he palms one. I laugh.

“Just below your knees, for modesty. With sleeves,” he continues. “But it’s a trick, because you don’t wear a damn thing under it to drive me crazy and because you like the way the fabric feels against your bare skin.”

He steals my breath. I can picture it and the way it looks and feels and the way he stares at me in it, like he can’t wait to rip it off me.

“Roses,” he whispers against my skin as he crawls on top of me, dropping kisses down my body between words. “You’ll carry roses…because they’re old-fashioned…and simple. We’ll get married outside…in a garden…at sunset. We won’t need anybody there…We have all we need right…here.” He licks my navel and my legs fall open wider to him.

I reach down, sifting my fingers in his hair the way he likes. He licks my clit with the flat of his tongue and has to grip my thighs to keep me on the bed. He’s aces at oral. I didn’t think I’d like it. He’s my first. I’d done just about everything sexually before him, except this. Fuck me, he’s good. The U.S. Marshal in the next room must think he’s killing me in here. He does this thing where he hooks two fingers up inside me and thrusts. My hips come off the bed. I howl his name.

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth. “Bet you can’t wait to marry me now.”





Chapter 35


Beau


Later, when it’s quiet and she’s tucked up against me the way she likes, it hits me what all that shit was about the wedding. I haven’t done my job. I haven’t told her how I feel about her. I’m shit at the touchy-feely stuff. That was always a complaint of Cassandra’s. I clearly haven’t learned anything since then. Vera deserves to know that my world hasn’t been the same since she walked into it. That I spend almost every waking second thinking about her and reliving moments with her. That when she’s not with me I feel it, absently looking around like I misplaced something and can’t remember what the hell it was.

I’ve heard lots of talk about soulmates and the one, but I never really knew what that shit meant. I’m still not sure I do. Those terms are inadequate for what I feel for Vera. I suppose they’re close. And if I had to choose a label, the one would be closest, because I can’t imagine ever feeling like this again. I’ve never felt it before. Not in the same way, that’s for sure. I try not to make comparisons, but it’s like driving a car. If you’ve only ever driven a Mercedes and then you suddenly get handed the keys to a Porsche, you’re going to automatically compare the similarities and the differences. And it will be the differences that stand out the most.

So it is with the only two women I’ve ever slept with and loved.

My mom always used to say that relationships always work out better when the man loves the woman a little bit more. That was certainly true of my parents’ relationship. And I’m pretty damn sure it’s true of Vera and me. That’s okay if what my mom said is true. Although it’s hard to make that assertion with the way things are between my parents now.

Even though I wore her out pretty good, Vera still isn’t sleeping. I wish I could fix things for her. Losing Marie was a blow I’m not sure she can come all the way back from. She hasn’t been the same since Carter showed her that photo. Always before she’d eventually bounce back. Not this time, and it scares the f*ck out of me. I know a little something about grief and guilt and how the two wrap around you and squeeze until you can’t feel anything else. They eat at you until that’s all you are. I could tell her a thousand times in a thousand ways that it’s not her fault, but she’s never going to believe me.

I didn’t believe Cora or Vera when they told me the same thing. It wasn’t until I was able to work through the grief that I was finally able to let it go.

“We should have a memorial service for Marie,” I tell her quietly.

“Who’s going to come?”

“You and me.”

“There’s no point.”

“Of course there’s a point.”

“Who’s going to choose her casket and headstone? Who’s going to put flowers on her grave? Who’s going to visit it on holidays and her birthday?” Her voice gets a little louder with each question. Now we’re getting to the bottom of what’s been keeping her up.

“We’ll talk to the agents and see if they can help us with her arrangements. If we choose cremation, we can take her with us wherever we go. Then, when we’re settled, we can do something permanent for her and you can visit her whenever you want.”

She’s quiet so long I wonder if she might have fallen asleep. Or she’s plotting my death.

“You’re always way ahead of me,” she grumbles. “It’s annoying.”

I snuggle in deeper next to her. “But not as annoying as my snoring.”

“Definitely not.”

“I love you.”

There’s nothing from her for quite a while, and I start to get the feeling that I’m way ahead of her on this too. That’s okay. She’ll get there. Eventually. I hope.