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Taz
Raids always put me in a mood.
Maybe it was the roughness of it, or the unknown of it—I wasn’t sure. But as Storm hugged me from behind and kissed my shoulder, I knew I couldn’t take this out on him.
He was trying to help.
Sighing, I turned and gave myself into the need to be comforted. I pressed my forehead to the side of his head, and melted into him as his arms embraced me, tighter and tighter until I moaned.
He always knew what my body craved, what I needed, and I knew I couldn’t be an idiot and lose that. There were very few men out there who would care—who would be willing to put their comfort aside to ensure I was okay.
Storm had gone far above what a man, who didn’t see himself as mine would do for me.
But this moment, as he rubbed my back gently, giving me the room to fall apart in private, this moment told me so much about Storm, so much about the maturity and the feelings he had for me.
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I didn’t speak. Instead, I lifted my head and kissed him, as tenderly as I could.
I hoped he could tell what I was trying to say because the words were dead in my throat.
“I feel like we’re in a place where no matter what we do, we can’t go back.” Storm sighed. “I think I need to tell you who my father is.”
I blinked.
I knew there was something about his family he hadn’t told me about. Storm was wealthy, yet he chose to work like a regular person. I always had questions about that. But it hadn’t affected our friendship.
Nodding, I allowed him to take my hand and lead me over to the chair. He sat and pulled me to his lap.
“My father was Bumrakul Kasemchai—an art genius.” Storm’s voice cracked. “My mother Taina Kasemchai was a pop star. When they met, my mother was wealthy, could take care of herself which was unheard of in those days. My father was working his way through the art world—buying and selling, precuring rare pieces for elite collectors. Life was good.”
He paused.
I touched his right cheek then cuddled into him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“When I was eighteen and began paying attention to their lives, I knew something was off with my father.” He continued. “He was travelling more than usual, and it would always be under the cover of night. One day I went to school and people were whispering. When I did find out what was going on, I couldn’t stay. I had to run home.”
“What was it?”
Taz cleared his throat. “The art pieces my father had sold to a couple of my classmates’ parents were fakes. Then everything came crashing down. My mother tried taking me and running but my father’s duplicity soon caught up to us. She was coming home from a shoot, and someone ran her off the road.”
“I’m sorry. Did they catch the person?”
He nodded. “An art gallery owner who lost everything because all the pieces he had was from my father and—”
“Fake.”
“Yeah.”
I sighed. “Do you think this would make me change my mind about you? Is that why you told me all of this?”
“Partially.”
We stared into each other’s eyes.
“I told you—I’m telling you because I’ve had my eyes on you for a very long time.” Storm explained. “But I never once thought I’d have to warn you about my life because you’d never agree to be mine.”
“I still haven’t agreed to be yours.”
Storm frowned and pushed me from his lap. I turned as he breezed by me for the door, anger fully on his face and in his eyes.
