Pen Pal(51)

Wearing only his jeans, Aidan sits on the toilet with his elbows propped on his knees. “Going out to the house tomorrow.”

“Is that an invitation or are you just informing me of your future whereabouts?”

A faint smile curves his lips. “It’s an invitation, smartass. Which you already knew. What’s the answer?”

“The answer is yes. Which you already knew.”

“Don’t want to assume anything.” He glances at my ring finger, then looks away. “Don’t know your schedule.”

Tell him. Just tell him about Michael. Tell him what happened. He deserves to know.

Does he? There’s no commitment here. And I’m not the only one holding things back. I barely know anything about him. Hell, I don’t even know how old he is!

I go back and forth mentally for a few seconds, arguing with myself, until he startles me by asking, “How old are you?”

I laugh uneasily. “God, that’s strange.”

“What is?”

“I was just thinking I don’t know how old you are when you asked me that.”

“I’m thirty-five.”

“I’m thirty.”

We gaze at each other. He murmurs, “What else were you just thinking?”

Buying myself time, I slowly set the wineglass on the edge of the tub. I sit up and look down at the bubbles, shimmering in iridescent clumps, clinging to my knees and breasts.

“I was thinking about my husband.”

Aidan remains silent. I can’t even hear him breathing. I feel him waiting, though, feel the new tension in his body as clearly as if his muscles were my own.

“Actually, that’s not exactly it. I was thinking I wanted to tell you something about him.”

I swallow. My pulse starts to race. I don’t know why this should be so difficult. I told Eddie the handyman my husband was dead and he’d never railed me up the ass and called me his bunny.

When I draw a shaky breath and squeeze my eyes closed for a moment to gather my courage, Aidan orders softly, “Eyes on me.”

I look at him. He stares back at me with unwavering intensity, his eyes fierce.

“Is he hurting you? That’s all I want to know.”

There’s something wild in his gaze, a dangerous glint that makes me shiver. I draw my knees closer to my chest, wrapping my arms around my shins. “If I said yes, what would you do?”

His answer is hard and instant. “Kill him.”

My pulse flying and my eyes wide, I whisper, “Aidan.”

He stares at me, waiting.

Finally, I say, “Is that what you did to your father?”

He replies without flinching or looking away. “Yes.”

I exhale, close my eyes, and drop my head to my knees.

His voice lower, he says, “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”

Sounding unconvinced, he adds, “I’m not a danger to you. I’d never hurt you.”

“I know.”

“But you’re hiding.”

“I’m…fuck, I guess I am. I’m just processing. Give me a minute, please.”

We sit in silence broken only by the occasional sound of water dripping from the faucet. Then he kneels next to the tub and takes my face in his hands.

He says urgently, “I’m older now. Smarter. Had a lot of time to think about what I did. And if it comes to it again, I’ll be better prepared.”

My heart hammers against my sternum. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just tell me you know how to get away with murder.”

“Pretend whatever you want. The reality is that if I find out a man put his hands on you in anger, he won’t ever be able to do it again.”

He kisses me gently, pressing his mouth to mine in an unspoken promise. I wrap my hands around his wrists and kiss him back, opening my lips for his tongue when he slides it inside. He probes deeper, angling my head to take what he needs as I shiver in the cooling water.

Then he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to mine.

“Kayla. You answer me now. And tell me the truth. Is he hurting you?”

Tears welling in my eyes, I say, “No.”

He pulls away and gazes at me, frowning. “Then why are you gonna cry?”

“Because I just realized I’m crazy. I’m literally, certifiably insane.”

“Why would you say that?”

A lone tear crests my lower eyelid and meanders down my cheek. My chest aching, I whisper, “If I were sane, I wouldn’t think you threatening to kill someone for me was so beautiful.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes burning. Then he stands, pulls me to my feet, and lifts me out of the water. He carries me, dripping wet, into the bedroom and lays me on the mattress.

Without a word, he kneels between my legs, spreads my thighs open, and leans down to put his mouth on my exposed sex.

When I moan and arch, he reaches up with both hands and encircles my wet breasts, squeezing them gently before thumbing over my nipples.

I guess this is his way of telling me we can be crazy together.

I sink my hands into his hair and sigh. His beard scratches my thighs. His delicious hot tongue delves deep inside me. The rough pads of his fingers glide back and forth over my rigid nipples, and soon I’m panting and moaning loudly, rocking my hips in time with the motion of his tongue.