Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I’ve stepped out and now lean against the stone balcony railing. I laugh softly at myself, sipping Chianti. In the distance, the Atlantic Ocean merges with the shore. I’ll never visit the ocean again without Victor—even if I live here, within walking distance—for the rest of my life.
Seconds later, my thoughts fuck with me again. What if Vic was shipwrecked? I sip the wine and mutter, “You’ve officially lost it, Lux.”
A deep chuckle is followed by the sound of a voice that’s pleasing to my soul. “I told myself you’d go mad at some time or another, Little One.”
Barely capable of repressing the giddiness charging through me, I whip around.
From across the balcony that spans at least thirty feet, I set eyes on my Victor.
Oh, I did lose it.
This is déjà vu.
He’s so friggen fine. The first time I left Victor, a man I knew could hurt me more than anyone else, he came to me donning black slacks and a button-up. Those alluring blue eyes spoke to my soul. Except, we aren’t on the fire escape, and he’s not holding a bunch of orange fire lilies. He always had flowers as a peace offering, which is how I know I’m dreaming.
Shit, one time, he created a bouquet at my shop.
I should try to poke my palm. It’s a good way to measure if I’m dreaming or not.
But my gaze follows the angles of Victor’s face with those full eyebrows that accentuate his eyes.
So, I look down at my hands.
Nope. All there. In a dream, hands and feet are usually distorted.
I reconvene with step two, poking one finger against the other.
Doesn’t go through. But you’ve been tripping, Luxxie. So, what’s next?
Besides, I’m not saying anything. He ain’t either.
I slam my barefoot against the railing.
“Oh, shit,” I suck in air, eyes watering.
“What are you doing?” Victor starts across the massive area.
“Making sure.” I pause to grimace in pain and push away his comfort. “Making sure this is real. Don’t you dare laugh.”
Irritated, I push him away. “You-You left me, Vic.” The actions and words aren’t my own, but the sound of my voice is as familiar to me as my reflection in the mirror. Why are you saying bullshit, Luxxie? He came back!
“I need you.” That sole phrase exits the beast. While I fight Victor’s control to hold me, his touch ignites a fire in me, incinerating right alongside the animosity I had no idea was brewing there.
“You scared me, Vic. I always thought you’d come back until . . . until . . . you murdered my mother’s murderer. That broke me.”
“What?” He again looks at me in mild amusement and curiosity. “I’ve murdered—”
“No! You-you murdered Eugene Orson just in case,” I croak. “You shoulda waited! You didn’t expect to—”
“I’d no means to analyze the probability of my return, Luxury. So, yes, I prepared for the possibility.” Strong arms swoop around me, caging me against a stony chest.
The past events flood my veins, leaving me all hysterical. “You don’t just disappear without a word said. This has always been our problem! I’m sorry for nagging, but I was going crazy without you.”
“My decision scared you.” Victor’s hand cups my cheek, eyes smoldering with candor. “Will you believe me if I say I’ll never leave again? I’ve no reason to. I love you. This is where I belong, Little One.”
Each word absorbs into my bloodstream, digging down into my bones, guiding me home, back to him.
Sixty seconds float away, and before I can utter a word, he huffs.
“Flowers will not suffice. Gifts. Jewels. I can buy anything those warm brown eyes land on for your momentary satisfaction, but I know what you most desired, Luxury. I fulfilled that. They are fucking dead, Luxxie.”
He pauses as my eyes turn away.
Madeline’s death. “Vic, you need to know—”
“Can we be happy now, Lux?”
Victor’s fingers stitch through mine, and vivid images collide.
The killer.
The lover.
Pain.
Passion.
I imagine my lips brushing over his as I believe in him the way I did . . . until one spoiled second overshadowed any tragedy I’d ever endured. But I realize that Victor has crossed the ocean and circled the entire globe to vindicate a wrong. I won’t burden him with Madeline’s death. As sure as there’s a heart beating in my chest, she will die by my hand.
I press my lips to Victor’s in a kiss that rivals the moment the sun beckons a flower to bloom.
I start to unbutton Victor’s shirt, and he grips the collar causing the buttons to pop and scatter.
I take care of his undershirt. Beneath it, heavenly muscles and a new battle wound, one never touched by my lips, greet me.
Slowing down, I let my mouth savor the taste and the feel. I reverently love how Victor will fight like hell to save us.
He unbuckles the belt. The sound of leather cracking through the air sends me lurching from my short stature in an attempt to dive into his arms.