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Trap covers me with his body, turning his back to take the worst of the assault. We’re far enough from the front door that we’re spared the worst projectiles.
The heat is like a furnace. The house is engulfed.
Ursula is gone.
Trap recovers before I do. He half-leads, half-carries me to the passenger door of the Porsche. He helps me in and reaches across to fasten my seat belt. He crosses to his own door, takes his own seat, works his own belt. He keys the ignition and runs the windshield wipers to wipe debris from the windshield.
And then he turns the car around and guns the engine, racing for the gate—for the gate, for the highway, for the freeport, for home. I sit beside him, head back, eyes closed, hands clutched around the hard shell of the computer. And neither one of us says a word about the hell we’ve left behind.
42
TRAP
* * *
We pause on our way past the dining room. I grab a bottle at random—Belvedere, it turns out. I don’t bother with glasses, don’t waste time with ice. We both take a slug, grimacing at the burn before we go back for doubles.
The booze starts to work its magic immediately. Alix is steadier on the stairs. Her fingers relax around that computer, which she’s gripped all the way home like it holds the launch codes for nuclear war. When we get to the bedroom, she places it on the dresser, centering it with perfect care.
Her hands finally empty, she stands in the middle of the room, looking lost. She’s wearing that fucking blue hospital gown dress thing, and I want to tear it off her, shred it, cut it into tiny scraps. But I ease it over her head and carry it to the hamper. I can burn it tomorrow.
She’s shivering again. We both are.
I strip off my jeans and my Diamond Freeport shirt. The Labor Day picnic seems like it happened a century ago. I drop my boxers on top of the pile and take Alix’s hand to lead her into the shower.
She still has that fucking black band on her wrist. I can remember the punch to my gut when I realized how he used it, how I felt when I hit the button that called her to the library.
The library. I wonder if she’s going to miss those books.
I’ll buy her replacements. Ten thousand more. We’ll build the largest collection of books about art the world has ever seen.
As Alix shivers on the tile floor, I turn on the water. It blasts from the rainfall shower head like a liquid blowtorch. I move us under the flow and pick up the handheld.
Cradling Alix’s arm at the elbow, I blast the band with the full force of steaming water. I flood it until her wrist turns red from the heat. I give it a minute more, because I want to smash the thing into individual molecules. But I don’t want to hurt her, so I finally settle for unbuckling it and slipping it from her arm. I throw it into the far corner of the shower with all my fucking strength.
Watching its glass face shatter wakes something in Alix. She looks at me like she’s just startled from a nightmare. A smile starts at the corners of her lips. She spreads a hand on my chest, fingers wide, and I’m so grateful it hurts to breathe.
“Trap,” she says.
“Welcome home, Princess.”
“It’s good tobehome.” She looks me in the eye. “I missed you. Oh God, Trap. I missed you so much.”
Her lips are cold when I kiss her, but they warm beneath my touch, parting when she sighs. My tongue finds hers and my teeth find hers and I want her, I need her, I can’t ever let her go.
Her hands are flat on my back, pulling me closer. My chest crushes her amazing tits and I feel her muscles go stiff. Breaking off the kiss, I look down to see an angry red line across her ripening skin. She still hasn’t healed from her caning at the club.
Fuck Jonas Herzog. Fuck Ansel Herzog.
My fingers curl into fists, but I don’t want to feel this anger now. I don’t want revenge’s cold teeth chewing on my brain. So I shove down my fury, locking it in a box I can open tomorrow.
For now, I reach for the shampoo. The rosemary gel is slick between my fingers. I work it through Alix’s hair, building up the lather. She melts again, yielding up the pain from the mark on her chest. “Does that feel good, Princess?”
“It feels like heaven.” Her eyes are closed. Her lips are puffed from that incredible kiss. My cock stirs, pressing against her hip.
Eyes still closed, she reaches down between us. Her fingers are steady and sure as she strokes me. I’m instantly at full mast, which makes Alix laugh. “Looks like you missed me,” she says.
“More than you can imagine.” I’m just telling her the truth, but it sounds like something more. Like I’m making a promise. Swearing some sort of vow.
