Time (Laws of Physics #3)(72)

My heart was pounding like mad.

And she was suddenly gone.

Opening my eyes and leaning heavily against the door, I heard a faucet run in the other room. The bathroom, my brain told me. I gave myself a minute to calm. The whole thing, from first stroke to finish, must’ve lasted less than three minutes, but I felt like I’d sprinted a mile. Eventually, my heart slowed, and I bent to gather my jeans.

“What are you doing?”

I lifted my eyes and did a quick double take. Mona had taken off her shirt and pants, leaving her in—no lie—a matching tiger-print underwear and bra.

Weakly, I straightened, unable to tear my eyes away. I choked on a spike of raw hunger, a powerful, visceral, scorching ache thrummed below my skin, everywhere. She advanced, and I held a hand out to stop her, wanting—no, needing—to see her this way.

Messy ponytail, eyes hazy, red swollen lips, neck flushed pink, black lace along the top curves of her breasts leading to the white, orange, and black animal print. Her chest rising and falling. The same black lace was at the waist of her underwear, and I think I blacked out a little as my eyes moved down her long legs.

“What?” she asked, her tone breathless, but also vaguely uncertain.

I blinked, my eyes cutting to hers. “And thus, I die.”

She grinned, looking happy. So happy. “Come on, tiger.” Like before, she crooked a finger, daring me to follow. And like last time, I had no choice. I would follow her anywhere.

“Take your pants off and come to bed.”





We were naked.

I’d just taken her from behind—at her direction, and careful to keep my hands only on her hips, though the temptation had been strong to roam and stroke and grab as well as smack her glorious ass—and now I was sure I’d relive this day in my dreams every night for the rest of my life.

Tangled together, her head rested on my chest and her body pressed along mine. One of my hands was on her bottom, the other covered hers where it lay on my ribs. We were quiet. Neither of us had spoken for several minutes, each navigating our own thoughts, and I was reminded of that night in Chicago. The last night.

The first night, my brain corrected. I smiled, because it was. It was the first night we’d slept together and the first night she’d listened to my heart. I’d been so frustrated, but I’d also been concerned, determined to give her the space and time she needed to figure things out.

Just like now, except much less frustrated.

Mona stirred, her leg sliding higher on mine. “What are you thinking about?”

“Chicago.”

Her arm on me tightened. “After The Blues Brothers?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.” I felt her smile against my chest, her hand curling on my body. “I wanted you, very badly.”

I chuckled. “You have no idea.”

“Uh, I think I have some idea. I mean, I was lying there trying to figure out how to cross dimensions and locate one where I didn’t have to lie to you, one where we could be together.”

“And now we’re here.” I dipped my chin to my chest as she lifted her head, our gazes meeting. “So I guess you did.”

Now she smiled, her attention flickering to my left cheek and then back to my eyes. “Yeah. I guess I did.” Resettling, she snuggled closer, inhaling deeply. “And your heart is just the same.”

I bit my bottom lip, liking her compliment, and thinking back to Aspen, to the night she’d asked to listen to my heart. It had been a critical night for us, the first time she’d heard “Hold a Grudge,” and she’d given me her letter, but I’d—

I frowned. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What was in the letter I burned?”

Mona was quiet for a beat, and then she busted out laughing, shaking her head and turning to hide her face in the crook of my shoulder.

Another automatic smile claimed my mouth at the sound of her laugh, but—suddenly, given her reaction—I really wanted to know. “Hey. Tell me.” I rolled to my side, making her roll to hers, and I pushed my fingers into her long hair, angling her chin to give it a soft kiss. I then moved to her lips. Whispering against her mouth, I beseeched, “Tell me.”

She grinned, her eyes bright. “I told you in Aspen, when you burned it. It was the truth.”

“About what? About what happened in Chicago?”

“About how I felt. About what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

“Uh, interdimensional time travel, and—” Her hand on my ribs slid down to my hip and then up to my chest. “This.”

Not following, my eyebrows pulled together. “What? Me naked?”

“Yes. Always. But mostly—” Her fingers over my chest flexed. “—this. This is what I wanted. This heart.”

I swallowed around a sudden thickness and tightness and depth and breadth and gaping cavern of inescapable craving, tripping headlong into her, knowing I’d always be her fool. This time, I welcomed the notion.

“My heart is yours, Mona.” I kissed her nose, my voice like sandpaper. “Always.”

Her brilliant eyes moved between mine, glassy with emotion. She feathered her fingers into my hair, her touch gentle, cherishing.

“And my heart is yours, Abram Harris,” she whispered. “Infinitely.”