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I was drowning.
I was lost in the sea of desire, and he was my shore. I clung to him and everything he offered as if my very life depended on it.The strap on my bag slipped off my shoulder and I let it clatter to the ground at our feet.
Darius released my hand. I immediately seized the moment to twine my arms around his neck. My fingers found the damp strands of hair at the back of his head, threading, and fisting, and dragging him closer.
His groan punctured through me, a guttural sound of approval and want that shot a sharp spear of arousal through me.
“Fuck, baby.”
I flicked a tongue across his bottom lip, demanding entrance. I was met with a snarl and the hard yank of my hair twisted in his fingers. My head jerked back, exposing my throat to the teeth he dragged across the soft stretch of skin to my jawline. I was too aware of the many layers of clothes between us. He must have been too because he started unfastening the belt on my coat.
I let him.
He could have bent me over one of the patio tables and fucked me and I would have let him.
“I’ve wanted this … wanted you for so fucking long…” he broke off to dip the tip of his tongue into the hallow of my throat.
“Me too,” I breathed, working the buttons on his jacket.
I was about to invite him back to my apartment when his phone rang. It broke into our secluded piece of heaven and destroyed everything … again!
He was arrested the next day and I lost him for four years.
I always wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t answered that call, if Edmund hadn’t gotten into that fight with Ivan Volkov and if he hadn’t shoved Uriah Volkov’s son over a railing in the heat of the moment. I wondered what our lives would have been like if Darius had gone home with me, if we’d spent the night in my bed.
But it had and nothing was going to change that, except the knowledge that he was back. He was home again.
I pulled back the patio door and stepped out into the nippy morning. Darius peered over one shoulder, a plume of smoke evicting in a slow, sexy stream from between his gorgeous mouth.
“Morning, kitten.” He pushed away from the railing and went to stab his cigarette out in the ashtray.
“Morning.”
Hands free, he motioned me to him. My middle was caught the moment I was close enough and I was lifted onto the wooden beam. My knees were nudged apart to fit his sides. His arms secured me at the waist. At that height, his face was at my chest, which was exactly where he buried his face, right between my breasts. I felt myself smile as I held him there.
“Five AM is for serial killers and crazy people,” I murmured into the top of his head.
Warmth spread through the material of my sweater with his quiet chuckle. “Which am I?”
“You tell me.” I kissed his crown and yawned loudly. “Why are you out here? It’s freezing.”
He squeezed me tighter. “Taking my last smoke, thinking.”
I glanced at the crushed remains of several butts stabbed out in the ashtray. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t.” He raised his head and kissed my chin. “I just quit.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”
His shoulder jerked under my left arm. “We’ll see.”
“What were you thinking about?” I asked instead.
“Going back tonight.” His forehead settled on my shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I have missed so much time and so much has changed in four years. I don’t know if…”
