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"Oh God," she repeats.
“Have you known Ms. Denneson long?” I ask.
“Yes. She’s…was my cousin.”
"Do you have somewhere you can stay?”
"No," she whispers as tears stream down her face. “My parents live in Nebraska. Her parents?”
“They are on their way.”
“Okay. Good…umm… was she in bed with the guy?”
“Yes? Why?”
“Uh…We’re members of the Chasteness Society.”
“The cult?”
“It’s not a cult. It’s a way of life. Not a religion; definitely no virgin sacrifices taking place. We are not supposed to be intimate with someone who isn’t our spouse. The group doesn’t care about sexual orientation, just that don’t do it until you get married. I don’t know why, but our mothers are sisters, they started it, and we just go along with it. Clearly, Kourtney didn’t fully believe in it. This is her first time away from her parents. They can’t know that she was in bed with him.
“It will be in our report, which will only come up a trial if we find a suspect.”
“Okay.
"Come with me," Rook says, leading her away from the door. “Let’s get some coffee or something.”
I finish up my part of the investigation and release the scene to forensics. When I get downstairs, I find Rook holding a sobbing Heather in his arms. I open the back of the cruiser, and they get in. We bring her down to the station to await her aunt and uncle. Rook doesn’t leave her side. I’m honestly not sure how much longer I can do this job. I need a vacation. In all my years on the force, I’ve only taken the required days off. I’ve never actually planned anything. Now, I plan on taking it very soon.
Only ninety days until I make Gwenna Halstead mine.
If I can make it through that, I can make it through anything.
Chapter Three
GWEN
Three Months Later
I can’t sleep. How can I? I haven’t seen Wes except for once since the night of Mitch and Kylie’s wedding. It was three weeks ago. It was a brief glimpse of him, and it wasn’t enough. I was dropping off a purse of Kylie’s that I borrowed, and he was there. His daily texts weren’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough but him. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough when I saw him. His only words to me were to remind me that there were only three weeks left, and then I was his.
Today is the day, however. I’m eighteen now. The clock on the nightstand reads 12:02. Of course, I don’t feel any different than I did three minutes ago. I’m restless. I fling the covers off of me and grope in the darkness toward the adjoining bathroom. I turn the shower on and step under the hot water. The room isn’t my own, nor the one I usually stay in when I’m here. I don’t know why Kylie put me in this one. I’m staying with Mitch and Kylie again because my parents discovered they love traveling. Alone. Together. They left two weeks ago. They were supposed to be home today for my birthday, and then they’d leave again tomorrow. I told them that it was silly to do that. As awful as it seems, I only want to spend today with Wes. Besides, I still have five months of high school left, and I wouldn’t want to deny them anything, especially when they lived their whole adult lives for their children. They were there for every sporting event, dance recital, and freaking cookie my sister and I sold. They’ve promised to be home before prom and graduation. That’s all I can ask for.
The water feels good on my skin as I wash my hair. I’m hoping the lavender-scented soap I love will help me sleep. I wash my hair and body and then get out. I wrap my hair up in a towel and dry off my body. I pull my hair down and drop my towels on the floor. I didn’t bring clean pajamas into the bathroom with me, so I pull open the bathroom door and expect the room to still be dark, but the light on the nightstand is now on. I know that wasn’t on; I look around the room and don’t see anything or anyone. I must be so distracted by thoughts of Wes that I forgot I turned it on.
Shaking my head, I reach for my lotion from the top of the dresser and begin applying it generously. As I am putting some on my chest, I hear a groan. I look up, and my eyes meet his. Wes is here. Standing in the doorway. As if he owns the place. Okay, not the place, me. He comes in and shuts the door. As he walks toward me, the world around us seems to still. I don’t know how I’m remaining so calm outwardly, but inside I’m freaking the fuck out.
“Wes?” I ask, needing to make sure I’m not dreaming or something.
“I’m here, tigress. I’m here.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, letting my hands fall to my sides. I’m standing in front of him, totally naked, my hair looking as if I were a drowned rat. No one has seen me naked since I was a toddler needing help bathing. No one. Ever. His eyes, the first on my body, feel so right that any self-conscious thought I had goes right out the window because he’s staring at me like he wants to eat me, and I will let him do whatever he wants to do to me. Three months of waiting has taken its toll on my heart and my body. I’m his in every way. If he wants to simply stare at me, he has the right to.
Instead of answering me, he takes a second to lock the door before stalking toward me. He puts the water bottles in his hands on the dresser and grabs my hips, pulling me flush with him. I let out a little squeak, but it gets eaten up by his mouth on mine. He’s kissing me, finally. It’s everything I had hoped my first kiss would be like. His lips are both soft and hard, and it feels every bit as needy as I am. I moan, opening my mouth to him. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I taste his toothpaste. His fingers knead my ass, and I try to get closer to him, but his stupid clothes prevent that. He rips his mouth away from mine. We are both breathing harshly.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Gwen. Do you know how hard I fought to stay away from you? Tell me you still want me. Tell me I get to have you for all eternity. This life and the next ones. Tell me that you are mine.” I stare at him and lick my lips as he pulls his shirt over his head.
“I haven’t changed my mind. I am yours,” I tell him, staring at his tattooed chest. I never would have thought the strait-laced cop standing before me would be tatted up. The wolf head made of Celtic knots is breathtaking, but then I notice the Claddagh over his heart. My name is in neat Olde English block-style lettering under it. I reach out and trace my fingers over my name. It’s fully healed.
