Say the Word(95)
He didn’t answer or even look at me as he climbed from the driver’s seat and walked around to open my door.
Shit.
***
I spun in a circle, taking it all in. The loft was gorgeous in an understated, luxurious kind of way. The entire space was white, with gleaming hardwood floors and lots of exposed wooden rafter beams crisscrossing the vaulted ceiling overhead. The kitchen was all stainless steel and chrome, a stark contrast to the warm earthy tones of the wood, and the walls were covered in a series of framed, black and white photographs from Bash’s many travels across the globe. I recognized famous landmarks and cities in many of the photos.
Dubrovnik, Sydney, Venice, Paris, Beijing, London, Amsterdam.
There were so many photos, the loft could’ve easily passed for an art gallery — except for the bed, of course.
King size, low to the ground, draped in a white down comforter, and scattered with huge black throw pillows that looked like they’d be heavenly to sink down into, the bed took up a big portion of the loft space. It was bathed in light from the setting sun, as it sat by a bank of windows. There was no headboard; instead, the space on the wall above the bed was taken up entirely by a huge canvas, at least ten feet across, which showcased the only color photograph in the entire apartment.
I stepped closer, bringing the vivid photo into better focus, and felt my breath catch.
It was a tree — our tree.
His lens had captured the huge oak at its most beautiful — in the heart of fall when the leaves had begun to redden and wither, drifting down to lay like fallen soldiers beneath the huge sentinel. The massive tree towered over the clearing, its graceful boughs backlit by a warm autumn sun and its leaves a kaleidoscope of orange hues.
It was beautiful — there was no question about that.
But as to why it was here, in Sebastian’s apartment, after all these years — I had no explanation.
I turned to him, the question on my lips, but froze when I saw his face. He was staring hard in my direction, a thunderous expression clouding his features. I felt my hackles rise immediately and whatever warmth I’d felt at the sight of the photograph began to dissipate.
“What?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring right back at him.
He stepped closer to me. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He stared at me with narrowed eyes. “You have no good reason to be going down there alone.”
“You have no idea what my reasons are or what I was even doing there,” I countered.
“Sneaking around in warehouses that are practically falling down? Spying on dangerous f*cking people with a f*cking iPhone camera?” Bash snorted. “Yeah, I’ve got you pegged, Nancy Drew. You’re looking for that girl — your friend. And you’re going to get hurt in the process.”
He was probably right, so I couldn’t really argue with that statement. But I could still glare at him.
Bash took a few steps closer. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you stumble into a situation you have no idea how to handle. And, Freckles, from what I’ve seen — there’s not much you can handle.”
“You’re a condescending ass!” I yelled, taking a step toward him. My entire frame trembled with barely-contained rage. I knew I wasn’t an expert investigator, but I was doing the best I could with the few resources I had at my disposal — and rather than acknowledge that, he’d chosen to belittle my every effort.
“Well, you’re a naive little girl!” he shouted back at me, the vein throbbing in his jugular.
“I hate you!” I spat the words, getting right up in his face.
His hands shot out, grabbed hold of my upper arms, and yanked me closer, crushing our bodies together so tightly the breath was stolen from my lungs. “Yeah, I hate you too,” Bash muttered, just before he closed the remaining gap between our faces and his lips crashed down on mine.
Once our lips met, there was no stopping us. It had been far too long since our hands had explored the secret places of each other’s bodies. An eternity since my fingertips had skimmed over his rippled abdominal muscles. Eons since his palms had slipped down my sides and beneath the bottom hem of my top. Forever since my shaking fingers had worked at the buttons on his shirt, or tugged his belt from its loops with impatience.
His lips were relentless in their pursuit, his kiss demanding as he stole my breath and pushed my control to its absolute limits. There was a small part of my brain that was screaming out that I should stop this, now. That this couldn’t go on, or I’d be triggering a scenario that would end badly for everyone involved — a conclusion doomed from its very inception.
But that part of my brain was quickly overridden by the wave of passion that swept through my system as I savored the feeling of finally, finally, having my lips pressed against Sebastian’s. I’d hungered for this moment — longed for it, wept for it, even prayed for it — for seven years, like an addict who needed her fix. Now, I was a junkie confronted with her greatest vice on a veritable silver platter; there was no way I could summon the strength to walk away.
And so, reason was lost. Inhibitions, shredded. Clothing, discarded.
Sebastian’s lips moved down to kiss my neck and his fingers dug into my flesh as they roamed the bare skin of my back, beneath my shirt. With one swift tug, he pulled the sweatshirt over my head and tossed it to the ground, his mouth only lifting from my skin for the fraction of time it took the material to slide past my shoulder blades. I wound my hands into his thick hair, luxuriating in the feeling of the smooth strands against my fingertips, and he raised his head to look at me.