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“We’re wearing too many clothes.” Lifting her, he strolled with her into the house.

In the foyer, he set her down, reaching for the hem of her sweater dress, drawing it off until she stood in front of him in nothing but a red bra and matching thong. Little white bows trimmed the edges, making her look like a Christmas gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap.

Teasing freckles sprinkled her smooth shoulders. Lowering his head, he sampled them with his tongue. Slid his mouth to where shoulder met neck, nibbled at the one place that made her whimper and arch. He intended to commit every spot that made her make those sounds to memory.

Her hands slipped beneath his sweater. “Get naked. Now. I want to feel your skin on mine.”

He stripped the sweater off in one move. “I can make good on that.”

Addison stilled, staring at the shirt he wore beneath. “You dressed up today.”

There was no use denying it. “Yes. It’s been pajamas for a while.”

“You look good all cleaned up, but I can see why you prefer pajamas. I liked sleeping in yours.”

“It made me so hard knowing you were wearing them. I wanted to strip them off you and bury my face in them and be surrounded by your scent.”

One by one, she released the buttons until his shirt fell open. “They smelled like you, and I slept better in them. Even when I met you, when you were all unkempt and wild-looking, I liked how you smelled.”

“I thought I’d imagined you when you showed up at my door and kissed me,” he said, stripping her until she stood in front of him naked.

When her palms skated down his stomach, his throat went dry.

“It’s your birthday. Tell me what you want.”

Her. He wanted her. He claimed her mouth, memorizing the feel and taste and texture of her. The sounds she made low in her throat, the way her nipples went hard against his palms, harder against his tongue. Memories he’d keep safe long after this was over.

Sinking to his knees in front of her, he brought his mouth to her, holding her in place even as she writhed against him, her fingers clutching at his hair.

He’d always remember her like this… so open for him, so unguarded. No one would ever come close to her. To this.

The woman who managed to make him feel alive for the first time in years was the sister of the man who’d left him to die. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make himself forget that.

Chapter 39

Oliver woke with a start. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, not that he was complaining. He felt happy for the first time in years. Exhilarated. And yet his head pounded and his body felt drained. He cursed the accident and Kyle. Even all these years later, he couldn’t function without a full night’s rest. Even if the reason he didn’t get that rest was worth every second.

But if sex with Addison was the reason for his exhaustion, he’d spend the rest of his life happily tired for just a few more nights with her.

What a cosmic joke. The one woman he wanted more than ache-free days—and she was a Yarrow. He’d spent years hating the name. Sometimes that hatred had been the only thing that had kept him going. Through the exhaustion, the pain, the desolation, it had pumped the blood through his veins. When he’d learned who’d taken his watch, all that hatred had crystallized into a plan. The world would be better off without Kyle Yarrow.

And now here was his sister, sleeping peacefully next to him, one hand resting over his heart. He couldn’t even bring himself to resent her. That was the worst part.

He watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing. Maybe a few more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt. They’d stayed up late baking his birthday cake, stumbling to the shower afterward covered in frosting, laughing. It had been a long time since he’d laughed like that.

What the fuck was he doing with Yarrow’s sister? Had he not been through enough?

When they finally slept, he’d dreamed she’d run toward a forest, faster and faster, until she disappeared into the dark between the trees. He’d wanted to follow her, but he’d been rooted to the spot, not even able to call out her name.

Soon, she’d walk away for good.

Not that it mattered.

He’d survived blindness, agony, months of eating through a straw. He’d spent years looking at his own reflection and seeing a stranger’s face.

He’d get over her too.

Chapter 40