It looks like London wants to argue, so I murmur, “Enough.”
London gives me a significant glance, as if she expects me to fix this. I have no idea how, but I’m grateful that she shared it with me, so I give her a firm nod. It’s helpful to understand why Holly is so bent on protecting her sister at any cost. She blames herself.
London stomps her way upstairs.
The housekeeper Emina hums from the garden outside.
We’re alone in the small kitchen, and I apply myself to an omelet to give Holly some time to compose herself. After a few minutes she starts to tear a small croissant into a hundred pieces. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “This house,” she says.
“This house.”
“I saw the locks. The security system.”
“We’re safe if that’s what you’re asking.” It’s not what she’s asking.
She glances toward where Emina walked out, without having to enter any secret codes. “I can leave anytime I want?”
“You can.” The thought of her walking out makes my chest hurt. “I would come after you, but I won’t stop you from leaving. I’m not making the same mistake again.”
Her breath catches. “I hope you don’t think—”
“You hope I don’t think what?”
The words come in a rush. “I hope you don’t think that’s why I’m doing this. What London said about the bicycle accident and the problems she had after.”
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s not because I feel guilty about London. I know she’s an adult. I know the addiction is an illness, not something I caused by riding my bike too fast when I was a kid.”
“I’m glad you know that. Because it’s the truth.”
“Like, yes. It messed me up as a kid, but I’m grown up now.”
I study her downcast eyes, the way the lashes brush her cheeks. I could study her for months, for years and not unpack every inch of her. The stories that London shares are my breadcrumbs, but there are no easy answers for a woman as complicated as this.
“That’s who your book was about.”
She looks alarmed. “What?”
“The book about the tooth fairy. It was about your sister. She’s the one in the human world while you didn’t belong. She’s the one who died.”
For a moment she looks stricken. Then she picks up a hard-boiled egg and flings it at me. It bounces off my shirt and rolls to the ground, harmless. “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me.”
“Fine,” I say, but I know I’m right. That’s how she was able to tap into the feelings of grief and guilt so well. That’s how she mourned the pain she caused her sister.
“Why are you agreeing with me so much?” she asks, suspicious.
“That’s my new strategy. I’m going to agree with you.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Yep.”
“And conceited and cocky and I don’t even know what else.”
“I could not agree more.”
Then she laughs, her head thrown back, the sound like water to parched earth. And I realize I’m officially screwed. I don’t just want her body in my possession. I want her heart and her soul. I want every morning with her in a comfortable kitchen where she throws a hard-boiled egg at me. But I’m cursed by family history as much as she is. I don’t know how to receive love any more than I know how to give it. It’s a hard truth that only those raised in abusive households understand, the certainty that love can only end in pain.
CHAPTER NINE
Elijah
Liam sets down a cut crystal glass in front of me. Water, the same as he has. The same as Josh. All of us want to have our minds clear for the meeting tonight.
“Now, let’s go over the plan,” Liam says.
“We did that already,” Josh says. “Let’s talk about the women in our custody.”
I take a sip without looking at him. “Keep your hands off Holly.”
Liam pulls up a chair and sits, looking stern and in command even in a metal cafe chair. Josh is sitting in the chair backwards, nice and casual. He acts like he doesn’t scan the perimeter every two seconds. Both of their stances match their personalities, one who gives orders, the other who loves to laugh.
I’m not sure what my stance says about me except that I can hardly take my eyes off Holly. I’m not sure anyone could blame me, not with how she looks in that goddamn swimsuit. I’m jealous of a few feet of fabric that cups her breasts, her ass. Even the slight curve of her stomach looks unbearably sensual to me. I want to taste every goddamn inch of her. She’s standing waist-deep while her sister swims deeper, and I can feel the pull of her worry from here.
“So the sister is fair game,” Josh continues. “That’s what you’re saying?”
“No one is fair game,” Liam says.
“Then why does he get the older one? That’s the whole reason we let them come down to the sea, right? Because she smiled and gave him those eyes, and he’s pussy whipped.”
Hell. “We let them come down to the sea because it could not be more safe with us a few feet away from them. You think one of these tourists is going to best us?”
And because there’s a chance it could be the last day on this earth. I don’t say that part, but they understand. It’s why a soldier goes fucking crazy on shore leave, partying and drinking and fucking. Because it might be the last time.
If this is my last day on earth, I want to see Holly splash around in the Mediterranean Sea. I get to see her bend over as she picks up a shell. And I get to punch Josh in the arm, because he’s looking a little too close.
“The sister,” he protests. “I was looking at the sister.”
London is undeniably gorgeous, like a model who walked off the runway. And she captures a lot of attention in her string bikini and platinum blonde hair. More attention than is really safe considering we’re supposed to be blending in.
But for me she doesn’t hold a candle to Holly’s lush figure and deep, deep eyes.
“Tonight,” I say. “It’s me and Holly.”
“Fuck Taggart.” That’s Josh.
“Holly thinks I’m doing this because I respect her and trust her and want her to be an equal partner.” She doesn’t know that Taggart made it a condition of meeting, that she had to be there for us to make a deal. “And hell, maybe it’s true. I let her swim in the sea. I bring her to the meeting. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
Josh snorts his disbelief.
Liam doesn’t take his eyes off the road behind us. He’s probably got a nice little catalogue of every car, make and model, that’s come by. Maybe license plates, too. It’s hard to believe that he ever unwinds, unless you’ve seen him with Samantha.
“She was worried about Holly,” he says. “London. On the drive last night.”
Guilt eats at my stomach. No, I haven’t really turned over a new leaf. Not the way I beat her ass last night. The skin became pink, and that turned me on. “I spanked her.”
The three words contain a confession much deeper than some kinky sex…