“Though I knew who you were, I did not recognize you.”
“And I didn’t recognize you. How? I saw so much of your life. We shared everything.”
“Through our dreams. How often do you look at yourself in a dream? How often do you see your own image?”
“True. It’s just all so surreal. And you’re insisting we’ve known each other for decades. I disagree.”
“How so?”
“I only know what you dreamed about. I only saw the snippets of your life that filtered into your unconscious mind. I never got to know the real you. Your hopes or interest or aspirations.”
“Right now I only aspire to you.”
As delicious as that sentiment was, he was missing the point. Clearly on purpose.
I couldn’t believe any of this was real. And I had questions. Many questions. I decided to start with one that had haunted me for years. “When you were in middle school, a bully took you down and punched you over and over.” The memory caused a sharp ache in my chest. “He just kept hitting you. Bloodied your nose. Almost broke your jaw. But you didn’t fight back. You could easily have taken him even though he was twice your size. By that point, I’d seen what you were capable of. You could’ve killed him, but you just let him hit you. Why?”
He dropped his gaze to the tumbler in his hand. “I take it that’s a no?”
“What? No. Not… I just think we should wait.” I pulled a thread on my hem and started unraveling the shirt. “I think we should get to know each other a little better. We could… we could keep this purely physical while we think about it.”
“It’s okay.” He set the tumbler on the table and stood to leave.
My heart jumped into my chest. Had I hurt his feelings? Was he mad? I couldn’t decipher anything from this impossible man. He was the hardest person I’d ever tried to read.
I stood and spoke to his back. “Roane, you don’t understand. My marriages were unmitigated disasters. I promised myself—”
He turned, and the uncompromising expression he leveled on me silenced me instantly. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t hurt or irritated or bitter. He was determined. “Marry me or lose me forever,” he said softly, his smooth voice evoking spasms of desire from somewhere deep in my core. They were the same words Houston had said to my grandmother that very night.
“That’s blackmail.”
“Coercion, but yes.”
“And by lose you forever, you mean…”
“I’ll leave. You’ll never have to see me again.” His gaze darted to the massive windows behind me as though he could see into the blackness beyond. Then again, he was a wolf. Maybe he could.
“You’re going to force my hand?”
“Yes,” he said without a hint of hesitation. Or guilt. His eyes held little warmth when he looked back at me. “You’ve left me no choice.”
How did this get so serious so fast? Wasn’t it just yesterday we were playing doctor on the kitchen counter? Quite admirably, I might add. And now he wanted to get married?
I’d been so betrayed in the past. By men I thought loved me. There were few things more disappointing than finding out you were nothing more than a means to an end. My first marriage lasted all of two months. We were both nineteen. I’d had a small apartment and a decent job while I went to school and he’d needed a place to live. But he knew my fathers had money and began manipulating me to get his fair share. On our wedding night, no less. Unfortunately, I saw his true nature only after the ink had dried.
My second husband was much cleverer. He took his time. Planned meticulously. Stole everything out from under me when I wasn’t looking. Clearly, I could not be trusted when it came to men with a penchant for saying exactly what a girl wanted to hear.
“Your marriages didn’t work because they weren’t with me.”
I shook out of my musings and stared at him. “That’s a bold statement.”
“And true.” He stepped closer and bent his head until his mouth was at my ear. His warm breath fanned across my cheek when he said, “You chose me. I have no choice in this. Do you think I want to beg for your attention?”
I leaned back to look at him. “I would never ask that of anyone.”
The half-smile that flickered across his face was anything but joyful. It held a deep sadness that left me winded. “And yet here we are.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.” He locked his hands behind his back. “I’ve waited for you for years. From the moment you changed me, I’ve been yours.”
“Roane.” I started to step closer, but he tensed as though he would step back if I did. Or maybe he wanted me closer. I had no idea. I simply could not read him.
He studied me another moment, weighing his options, then said softly, “Every breath I take is for you.”
My response, if I’d had one other than the gawk I’d fixed on him, would’ve been drowned out by the explosion that shook the windows and rocked the house.
Two
You know you drink too much coffee if:
You want to be cremated just so you can
spend the rest of eternity in a coffee can.
—Meme
An explosion ripped through the house, the concussive sound causing an instant ringing in my ears. Roane tackled me to the ground and covered my body with his as dust and particles of sheetrock rained down from the ceiling.
Once the rattling stopped, we exchanged horrified glances, then scrambled to our feet. Roane darted out of the room before I found my balance. As I ran toward the balcony overlooking the foyer, he sailed over the balustrade. I skidded to a halt and watched in awe. He landed on the first floor unfazed, bending at the knees to soften the impact, then sprinted into the kitchen while I took the stairs.
Thick black smoke billowed out of the back of the house, the kitchen drowning in the stuff. Then I heard the coughing.
“Annette!” I flung myself into the smoke-filled room.
Roane flung me back. Sort of. He picked me up with one arm and rushed me out of the house along with a short, curly-haired vixen named Annette Osmund. After planting both of us on the front porch, he went back in to open windows and… what? Put out the fire? Was there a fire? Was Percival in real danger?
I glanced at Annette and did a double take. She didn’t have an ounce of soot on her face. She had several pounds, and she was wearing them like a bear wears its coat. Either she’d been in the middle of her nightly skincare routine or her face had been at the epicenter of the explosion. Her curls sprang out in wiry coils on top of her head, and a trail of smoke wafted up off of them.
I wiped the lenses of her turquoise cat-eye glasses, making the situation worse, then hugged her to me. She didn’t protest, which proved how stunned she was.
Then it hit me again how loud that explosion had been. Smoke alarms screamed all over the house, and my thoughts turned to my grandmother. She’d been staying in a second basement apartment with an entrance right off the kitchen. Panic shot through me. I was just about to go back in when Roane emerged carrying another passenger: Ruthie Goode, my grandmother and the latest love of my life.