The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(85)

But it’s far from over.

My brother’s murderer was found guilty and convicted last month. The legal system is painfully slow, and moving here with Sam was the best thing I could’ve done—since I didn’t want to go to prison for murdering him. James was out on probation when new evidence put him away until his court date.

The redhead, Sadie, surprisingly provided that evidence. Apparently James’ Civic needed a new headlight, and instead of taking it to a shop to have it replaced, he’d ordered one from an online dealership. He never got rid of the old one, though. And Sadie turned it into the police.

They found trace amounts of my brother’s blood in the cracked headlight. It had been cleaned, but they were able to get enough to match it to Tyler’s DNA. And with the journal pages, the lawyer was able to prove it was no accident. James had deliberately met with Tyler that night for one outcome. It was premeditated, and the judge sentenced him to life without parole.

I know how these things work, though. I know that in just a few short years, James could be up for parole on good behavior and all that bullshit. But we’ll face anything else that comes our way.

Shaking my heavy thoughts from my head, I push in the apartment key and open the door.

And my heart thumps my chest hard, a dumbass smile sliding across my face.

Sam’s on her tiptoes, paintbrush extended above her head, working on her painting of the last stop of our road trip. She’s in her paint-covered smock . . . and nothing else. My eyes drift over her bare shoulders to the tightly cinched belt, and then down to the too-short bottom that reveals her sexy thighs and a hint of her sexy ass.

Her head whips around, her high ponytail following. The tip of it is covered in paint, and it leaves a slash of green across her collarbone and tatted stars. “You’re home early.”

I love it. I still love hearing her say home. As in our home. “Yeah, I had some things to handle, and I took the rest of the day off.”

Stepping out of my boots, I kick them near the door, then toss my coat over the couch along the wall. Above, a collage of framed paintings showcase black wiry trees. Sam and my paintings from high school.

I coast across the hardwood floor, drawn to her like a magnet.

She drops the paintbrush to the tarp and holds up her hands. “Wait. I’m covered in paint. You’ll get all—”

I strip off my jeans and yank my shirt over my head by the back of the collar. In under five seconds, I’m in my boxers—which I could give a damn about—and I’m pulling her against me. The chilly paint on her skin and smock touches my skin, and it only heightens my need to feel her.

She laughs, linking her arms around my neck. “I could get used to you coming home early.” Her eyes sparkle as they meet my gaze.

I sigh, mock heaviness in my tone. “And I’m really going to miss coming home to you in nothing but a smock.” I press my lips together. Since she’s nearly destroyed all her clothes with paint, she’s taken up painting in the nude. Which you will never hear a complaint from me about. Ever.

Her eyebrows pull together. “What do you mean?”

Bringing my hand between us, I open it, the key resting in my palm. “It’s early,” I say, my nerves strung tight. “But I couldn’t wait. Here’s your present, Sam.”

“Holy shit,” she says, and I chuckle. I couldn’t have asked for a better reaction from her, until she jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around me. “Are you serious? How?”

I shrug. “It’s not much . . . yet. It needs a lot of work. But I figure that just means we can turn it into our own studio.” Her eyes brighten with every word. She doesn’t hear work, or any other word, just studio. That’s my girl. “And it’s all yours. Leased for one year.”

“Ours,” she stresses. “It’s all ours. And now, as I’m officially your boss, I demand for you to take at least two days off from the shop and put time in with your real work.” She narrows her eyes, trying like hell to intimidate me.

I feel a smile curve my lips. “And if I don’t?”

She bites her bottom lip. On f*cking purpose. I groan and trap her lip between my teeth, and then inhale her sweet scent as I cover her mouth with mine. She pulls away and shakes her head. “No. You don’t get to do that or anything else until you promise you’ll at least spend two days there working on your art.” Now she’s serious.

I’d already planned to take time off and work there with her, but I just like seeing her fired up. “I promise,” I say. “And you have to promise to wear this”—I drop my gaze, taking in her cleavage popping over the top of the smock—“at least . . . hell. Fuck that agreement. I want you in nothing at all every day. And right now”—I lower us to the floor—“I want to peel this smock off your hot ass.”

I guide her back to the tarp and run my hand over the material, finding the belt tie, and pull.



Sam

“Wait.” I trap Holden’s hand over my smock belt. “I have to tell you something.”

His face pulls together and he pins me with his blue eyes. “Nope. I’ve been dying to get you out of this—”

“For all of five minutes?” I laugh. “You can wait five more.”

He groans and falls beside me on the tarp, resting his hand on my stomach. “You have no idea how painful those five minutes were.”