Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(69)

He didn’t look pleased or even proud. Instead he looked devastated by my admission. Maybe I had ruined him, but I didn’t think so. He was a glittering diamond, a flash on the surface and startling depth. I could look at him forever and never see every part of him.

“And to keep you,” he breathed.

“I was always yours,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “I thought you knew that.”

Then he didn’t hold back anymore. His hand reached for me, clenched in my hair. Held me, kept me. I could give him my body, my heart, but I would demand his in return. And he needed it as much as I did.

His eyes were bottomless, deep. And I could see all the way inside him.

He was dark and beautiful and mine.

“To touch you?” he said, voice hoarse.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. The tears burned tracks down my cheek, blurred my vision. I couldn’t see anymore, but that didn’t matter. I could feel him, his hand in my hair, his breath on my cheek. I could almost taste him.

“Never stop touching me,” I whispered.

And then his mouth was on mine, his hands on my body, my clothes falling away. A cat twined between our ankles until he pulled me into the bedroom and shut the door. He mapped my body with his mouth; he conquered my heart with the look in his eyes. A promise.

My reward.





Epilogue

MOISTURE QUIVERED IN the hot afternoon air, like breathing in steam. From outside the window I heard the shouts of vendors selling fruit and baskets and other things along the street. There was the occasional laugh of a child playing soccer in the square.

I had also been able to study the criminal justice systems of the places we stayed in. I planned to use that research to drive my thesis when I returned home and started graduate school. Their criminal justice systems were sometimes terrifying, other times more merciful than ours. I spoke to government officials and landed one heartbreaking tour through Klong Prem Central Prison. I took notes, while Philip possibly made international criminal contacts—that man couldn’t hide his nature any more than I could.

We had taken a circuitous tour of Asia, hoping to find some affinity to my heritage, the essence of my missing family tree from second grade. We’d landed in Beijing, then traveled to Tokyo, then Seoul. Now we were in a historic hotel in Bangkok, a place that Ronald Reagan and Charlie Chaplin had stayed on their travels. I had found beautiful art and amazing food—for someone interested in culture, in society, these weeks had been a gold mine.

This is where you come from. This is who you are.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick had been wrong about that. I hadn’t found anyone who resembled me, even the half of me that came from here. But she had been right as well—the search had brought me closer to who I was. I had found a family in Philip, had found a home in his arms—a heritage in every new place traveled together.

All the while my cat Misty stayed with Colin and his family, waiting for us to return home. Because I couldn’t deny that Chicago was home. It was where Philip had put down roots, where his family lived. And my country, my city… was Philip.

He shifted beneath me, coming awake in slow, satisfied increments.

I stroked his chest, tracing the black ink along his tattoo. And then I kissed him—right there on the hard-packed muscle and inked skin. I had used my mouth on Philip before, of course, licked and sucked him until he roared with the loss of control. But I had never kissed him here, in this almost innocent place, a few inches above his flat nipple.

He stiffened and shifted to give me better access, so I took the invitation and kissed him again, this time directly on his nipple, letting my tongue flick across him. Did women do that to men? He groaned and put his hand behind my head, keeping me close. He liked it.

I kissed again, this time lower—closer to the ridge of his abs. I was rewarded with the ripple of taut flesh, the clench of hard muscle.

“Why did you come back for me?” I asked softly.

He had left to protect me, the way he hadn’t been able to protect his mother or his lover. I knew that, but I needed to know what had changed.

“That’s how selfish I am,” he said roughly. “I’m taking you anyway.”

Except that wasn’t it, not really. Philip was selfish and arrogant—but he loved me. And that love would keep me safe, whatever that meant to him. “No,” I said.

“No?”

“Tell me the real reason.”

His eyes narrowed. “Because I realized no matter where I went, no matter what I did, no one would ever see me like you did. No one would ever see that deep inside of me—and still want to stay.”

My breath caught. “Is that what you thought? That I would see the heart and soul of you and then—”

“And be terrified? Yes, kitten. Of course. Barnes was right about that much. My soul is black. I travelled the whole f*cking globe and saw my likeness everywhere. I saw that pain was everywhere. Violence, suffering. I wasn’t causing it, not really. And the only way I could protect you was to stand by your side, shielding you, guarding you.”

“God, Philip.” He did so much more than protect me. He loved me, and that was what I needed more than anything. I placed my hand over his chest. “What you have on the outside—it’s hard and cold and sharp. But what’s underneath, you’re burning hot. You’re real and passionate and…loving, Philip. So loving, to your family.”