Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(72)

That’s what I feel like. Haunted.

She’s a ghost who’s moved inside my head and won’t leave.

A sweet, mouthy, maddening little ghost. Who challenges me at every turn and sees the best in me, even when I’m shouting at her that she shouldn’t.

Especially then.

I’ve never met a woman I wanted to strangle, protect, scream at, cherish, fight with, and fuck, all at the same time.

It’s insane.

It’s frustrating.

Worst of all, it’s addicting.

I’m in the grip of a powerful addiction that I can’t shake, no matter what I try. No amount of denial, rage, or bargaining is going to get me out of this.

There’s no rehab for this obsession of mine.

There’s no withdrawal, either.

It’s simply a fact: without my fix of her, I’ll lose my fucking mind.

I draw a breath, pick up the bag from where I dropped it by my feet, and open the door.

Except for the guttering fire, it’s dark inside the cabin. Dark and warm, quiet and still. I stand there for a moment, breathing air scented of her.

Even her scent is arousing.

I’ve heard the natural smell of a woman’s skin described as sweet or floral, or something outdoorsy like sunshine or rain. But Riley smells different. There’s no food, flowers, or candy on earth that could describe it.

I can’t describe it, either, except to say that she smells like home.

And it’s already a disaster. I know it is. The whole thing. Her, me, what we’re doing together. If I didn’t already know, this short time apart from her proved it.

This time, because I’d already tasted her, being away from her drove me mad.

We’re the musicians on the deck of the Titanic, blissfully unaware as we play our violins that there’s a giant fucking iceberg right around the corner.

One of us is unaware, anyway. But she’ll make it onto a lifeboat. I’ll get her onto one, no matter what.

I’ll still be playing that violin when the ship goes down.

What started as revenge has turned into something far more dangerous. Something that will probably end me.

The worst part is, I don’t even care.

She came into my life at the moment when I thought I had nothing left, and filled every dark, empty space with sunshine.

Stupid, bright, horrible sunshine, which I fucking hate.

Except I don’t anymore.

Now all I want to do is lie down naked in the sun and bask in the healing glow of its rays.

Fuck. I can hardly stand to listen to myself. I’m goddamn pathetic.

I walk slowly through the cabin to the bedroom, my steps silent on the floor. Outside the bedroom door, I pause again to gather myself.

It’s so fucking hard not to kick it down and crash inside.

It’s almost impossible.

“Mal?”

My heart. Jesus, my heart. That voice of hers. So soft and sweet. So hopeful.

She’s in there, awake in my bed, waiting for me. She felt me, felt my energy like I can always feel hers. It’s nonsensical that we can feel each other through a closed door, but we do.

God, we fucking do. My chest aches with it.

I turn the knob and push open the door, and there she is.

Sitting up in bed. Covers pulled up to her chin.

Staring at me like I’m her reason for everything.

I drop the bag, cross the room, fall to my knees next to the bed, and pull her into my arms. I bury my face in her neck and groan.

She hugs me back hard, trembling.

We stay like that as the rain grows louder, peppering the windows, drumming a plaintive song against the roof.

“I missed you.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it makes my soul burn.

“I know.”

“Please don’t leave me alone again.”

“I won’t.”

“You’ll take me with you when you need to go to the city?”

“Yes. I can’t stand it, either.”

She burrows against me, trembling harder. “I’m sorry I made you angry.”

I groan again, pulling away to show her with a kiss that she never has to apologize to me, not for anything. She kisses me back with passion, making desperate little noises in the back of her throat.

Then I’m desperate. Desperate with longing. Desperate for her. I know there’s a clock ticking down the days until this thing between us will end, because men like me don’t get the fairy tale.

And women like her deserve a white knight, not a monster.

Not the dragon the knight is sworn to slay.

“What? White knights and dragons? What are you saying?”

Fuck. I’m delirious. I’m talking out loud.

“Nothing,” I murmur, taking her face in my hands. “Only that you’re mine. Don’t ever forget that. No matter what happens, you’re mine.”

She gazes into my eyes with her heart shining through hers, her lips wet with my kisses.

“You’re different,” she whispers. “What’s happened?”

I don’t bother hiding or denying this time. I let it all go and tell her the truth.

“I decided to give in to the addiction.”

“What addiction?”

“You, baby. You.”

She bites her lip. Moisture wells in her eyes.