Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(103)

He threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her hand, pulling her from the corner to his side. She knelt beside him, facing his profile, looking up at his face.

“It hurt,” she admitted. “Bad. So fucking bad.”

“I can only imagine,” he said.

“Mostly because it felt so real to me . . . you and me. I . . . I couldn’t understand how you could say the things you said to me . . . act the way you had with me . . . and for there to be another woman in your life the whole time.”

“It must have negated everythin’ you thought you knew about me,” he said, dragging her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it tenderly.

“It didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t let it. I separated you into two people.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think . . . I mean, there was the you who loved me that summer, and then there was the you who betrayed me. Two separate people.”

“You mean, in your mind.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Who were they?”

She gulped, wetting her lips. “My Erik.” She paused. “And the Governor’s Son.”

He stared at her, tracing the lines of her face with his eyes, hating the words “the Governor’s Son” as much as he always had, times a hundred.

“I’m sorry,” she said, covering their bound hands with her free one.

“Who am I now?” he whispered, capturing her sea-green eyes with his.

“I don’t know for sure,” she murmured.

“I do,” he said, using his free hand to cup her cheek. “I’m still your Erik. I’ll always be your Erik. No matter what.”

With a gasp and a cry, she released his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers, her lips finding his unerringly, as they always had.

With a growl of arousal, he pulled her onto his lap, cradling her in his arms as he kissed her back. His tongue sought hers, and he reacquainted himself with the pliancy of her pillowy lips, the soft texture of her tongue, the sweet taste of her mouth. Here was his beautiful girl, back in his arms, and his heart thundered with the goodness of it, while another part of him hardened lustily with desperate want.

This woman on his lap, in his arms, had haunted his dreams—asleep and waking—for six long years, and having her back in his life so suddenly was rousing feelings in him that had lain dormant for years. Now awakened, they were hungry and urgent.

He’d never wanted anyone so much in his entire life.

She drew back from him, resting her forehead against his shoulder, panting softly against his neck.

“How does this work?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her as he whispered into her ear.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to see you. I want to catch up, to know you again. I want . . . I want to date you. I want another chance to be with you.”

“Erik . . . it’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple,” he argued. “I haven’t moved on with my life. I’ve been stuck, waitin’ for you. Now you’re here.” Then something terrible occurred to him, and he leaned away from her, waiting until she looked up at him. He searched her eyes with something close to desperation.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Have you moved on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you with someone?” he asked her, practically choking on the words.

“No.”

“Ava’s father?”

Her breath hitched softly. “No . . . He’s . . . It’s, um, it’s complicated . . . But he’s not . . .”

“He’s alive?”

She clenched her jaw, then nodded.

“Do you still see him?”

She took a deep breath, wriggling off his lap, sliding her body about foot away from his. “He’s not in the picture . . . as Ava’s father.”

“But he is in the picture?”

“Not the way . . . I mean . . .” She pursed her lips, then sighed. “I’m not ready to talk about Ava’s father, Erik.”

The last thing he wanted to do was push her away, but he could see that was what was happening.

“Okay,” he said, regrouping quickly, recalibrating his expectations. “I only need to know one thing.”

She looked up at him expectantly, her eyes locking with his.

“Are you free, darlin’? If . . . if we wanted to be together again . . . are you free to be with me?”

Whether she intended for it to happen or not, a blinding smile appeared on her face, and she nodded at him as her eyes swelled with fresh tears. “I am.”

He reached for her cheeks, cupping them tenderly as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

“That’s all I need to know,” he said, closing his eyes as his lips claimed hers once again.





Chapter 22


Heaven and hell.

Laire had heard these words said together in contrast at least a few times in her life, but never, before this morning, did she truly, personally understand the chasm that lay between them.

The heaven of it was that her first love—her only love—had been suddenly and miraculously restored to her last night. To learn that Erik Rexford—the Governor’s Son—was still and had always been her Erik made her shake her head with disbelief, even as a smile of bliss spread across her face and tears of gratitude burned her eyes.