Twisted (Never After #4)(82)

He stiffens but stops in his tracks, and I move in front of him, craning my neck to stare into his eyes. My heart slams against my chest, teetering on the edge of a cliff, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, but I do know that I don’t want to be like my father, waiting until I’m on my deathbed to come to terms with my emotions and where I’ve failed the people I care about. And I don’t want to be like Julian’s mother, taking everything I can get from him and never giving anything in return.

I cup his face, his stubble scratching the palm of my hand.

He flinches, but he doesn’t push me away, his nostrils flaring as he stares down at me.

“You stubborn, silly man.”

Sliding my fingers up his jaw, I cup the back of his neck, lifting on my tiptoes while I drag him down until his forehead rests on mine.

“Don’t you know I’m yours?” I whisper.

His breathing is heavy, and his eyes close in a long, slow blink.

My stomach flips, and my soul bleeds, wondering if I’m too late. I should have just said it on the plane when he asked, but I wasn’t sure until this moment.

When it felt like I had lost him, even though he was standing at my side.

“It’s easy to get lost in something when you’re cut off from everything else,” he says, straightening up and pressing a chaste kiss to my temple. “Tell me again when we get back home, and maybe I’ll believe you.”

Then he grabs my hand and pulls me behind him to walk inside.





Chapter 34





Julian





Nobody is awake when we walk into the main building, most likely because it’s the middle of the night. I haven’t been back here since Sultans bought the place, after I convinced Ali we should be the ones who found the lost lamp and that we needed housing for the archaeologists to use as a base in between their excavation digs.

I had forgotten how much of a warehouse it felt like on the inside, but the tin walls and the high ceilings with exposed beams are warmed up by the furniture that’s now placed throughout. Plush couches and a few oversize bean bags are centered around a flat-screen TV, and high bamboo stools are placed beneath the kitchen island.

It’s an entirely open floor plan, no separation from the long rectangular dining table to the kitchen to the living room.

There are two small hallways, one on the right side that leads to two bedrooms and a bath, and then another hallway on the left with the main bedroom. No one uses that unless Ali or I make the trip, which until now, we haven’t.

There are three small cottages that surround the outside of the main common area, where the archaeologists can live comfortably and with a sense of privacy. It hasn’t been a cheap endeavor to find this relic, but it’s one that, if we do, will be worth the cost.

I walk Yasmin straight through the main area without showing her around, both because it’s the middle of the night and also because she’s whipped up a violent storm with her statement that’s raging through my middle and showing no signs of calming.

The largest part of me wants to take her at her word, wants to brand her and fuck her and breed her, just so she can never take it back. I have this indescribable urge to make her say it again and then tie her to me in every way that’s left, all the ways that would make it impossible for her to leave.

But she’s playing a game I’m not sure she’s mature enough to handle, so I won’t believe that things with us have truly changed until she spends some time with the boy. That way, I can watch and see her body language and decide whether she’s playing me for a fool or if she’s truly just as confused as I am.

The thought alone is enough to make me murderous.

However, it’s better to come to terms with reality now than to give myself false hope. I’ve never been someone’s first choice, and I’m not deluded enough to believe that God will show me any favor now.

Men like me don’t get into heaven and we don’t get second chances.

When we reach the bedroom, I lead her inside and finally let go of her hand. I point to the en suite. “Shower.” To the closet on the right. “Clothes.” To the mattress. “Bed.”

Her gaze follows, and she chews on her lip, nodding.

I point to her now. “Stay.”

“Woof,” she barks.

Amusement trickles through my frayed nerves, and I smirk. “Cute.”

“You’re not staying?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Work to do.”

She purses her lips, and I can tell she has more to say. I want her to say it, to convince me to let go of what I think needs to happen and just take her right here and now. But if I do that, then I’ll lock her in this room, kill the boy so he can’t even see her, and then take her home and make her promise to never leave.

And something tells me that would undo any slight chance we may have.

My mind wanders to the will I had made and stowed in my desk drawer back home. I know I’m not going to be able to go through with killing her. I’ve known for a while now and just haven’t allowed myself to think about the fact that when it comes down to it, the things that used to be important to me pale in comparison to her.

I don’t give a single fuck if I inherit Sultans.

Couldn’t care less about the lost lamp.