Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)(27)

I send her a text.

Divorced?

Her text comes back almost immediately.

O: Fuck off.

You at work?

O: Yes!

I’ll be there in ten

O: No!

I turn my phone off and wait. I was already in the parking lot when I sent the first text. I linger in my car for a minute, running my finger over my bottom lip. I know what she’s going to do next, so when I see her walking quickly out of the building, I smirk. She’s trying to leave before I show up. I jump out of the car and walk toward her. She doesn’t see me until the last minute. She has her car keys out and her heels are snapping on the concrete as she tries to make her escape.

“Going somewhere?”

Her shoulders jerk and she spins around.

“Why are you always so goddamn early?”

“Why are you trying to run away?”

She gives me a dirty look, her eyes darting left and right, as if she’s trying to find a way to escape me.

I hold out my hand. “Come on, Duchess.”

She tosses a quick glance over her shoulder before she places her hand in mine. I pull her toward me and her little birdlike steps skip to keep up with mine. I don’t let go of her hand, and she doesn’t try to pull away. When I look down at her, she’s biting her lip. She looks terrified. She should.



I stop to open her door then shoot around to mine. She’s wearing a red dress with white polka dots. The neckline dips low. She hasn’t looked at me since she got in the car; instead she’s focused on her feet. Red stilettos, red toenails peeking through. Nice. Her style is a combination of Jacqueline Kennedy and a gypsy — my beautiful contradiction. Her hair is twisted up in a bun, and there is a pen holding it in place. I reach over and slip the pen out. Her hair tumbles around her like black water.



She doesn’t ask where we are going. I drive to the beach and pull into a spot a block away. She waits until I walk around to open her door and takes my hand as I help her out. We walk connected, until we reach the sand. She stops there to slip off her shoes, using my shoulder to keep balance. They dangle on the tips of her fingers as she reaches for me with her free hand. I take it and we lace fingers. It is considered winter in Florida, so there is only a handful of sunbathers, most of them from the North and with white hair. The area of beach we are on belongs to a hotel. There are canvas-covered gazebos with lawn chairs underneath them. We find an empty one and I sit down and stretch out my legs. Olivia makes to take the one next to me, but I pull her on my chair. She sits between my legs and leans back against my chest. I put one arm around her and sling the other on top of my head. My heart is racing. I haven’t had her in my arms in a long time. It feels so natural to be like this with her. I say her name just to see how it sounds. She jabs me in the ribs with her elbow.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I say into her ear.

“Well, talk in that voice for one.”

I force myself not to laugh. I can see the goose bumps on her exposed skin. Obviously, my old tricks still work.

“So, you have a hand fetish and you get turned on by the sound of my voice?”

“I never said I had a hand fetish!”

“Really? So you just get turned on by the sound of my voice?”

She wiggles to get away from me, and I have to use both arms to hold her in place while I laugh.

When she finally relaxes again, I gather her hair and swipe it over her left shoulder. I kiss the exposed skin on her neck, and she shivers. I kiss an inch above it and her head tilts to give me better access.

“You shouldn’t — we-” Her voice trails off.

“I love you,” I say into her ear. She tries to jerk away, but my arms are still wrapped around her.

“Don’t, Caleb…”

She’s suddenly snapped out of her little daze. Her shapely legs are struggling to gain leverage so she can get away from me.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not right.”

“It’s not right for me to love you? Or it’s not right for you to love me back?”

She is crying, I hear her sniffle.

“Neither.” Her voice, which is high on emotion, cracks. Cracks my reserve, cracks my game, cracks my heart.

When I speak, my voice is husky. I stare out at the water. “I can’t stay away from you. I’ve been trying for ten years.”

She sobs and drops her head. She is not trying to get away from me anymore, but she’s trying to put distance between us. She leans forward and immediately I feel a loss. I’ve gone so many years without her, I refuse to allow her to try to space me out. I have her trapped and I’m going to take advantage. I wrap my hands in her hair, winding it around my fist, and then I gently pull back until her head is resting against my chest. She allows me to do all of this and doesn’t seem to mind the bondage.

Bondage. I’d love to give the love of my life a well-deserved flogging.

I kiss her temple, which is the only thing I can reach, and entwine our fingers, wrapping my arms around her. She snuggles against me and that familiar ache starts in my chest.

“Peter Pan,” I say.

There is five seconds of silence before she says, “When I’m with you, every emotion I can possibly feel comes spilling out. I drown in them. I want to run to you, and I want to run away.”