Chapter 54

54

Aubree

From the dock, I stared off at the ocean that surrounded Boca Chica Island—a small piece of heaven just off Panama’s Pacific Coast. Red and orange streaked across the placid surface, mirroring the sky, as the sun began to set behind me. I never missed a sunset.

With Michael’s life insurance policy, I was able to pay cash for a gorgeous villa, set on over seventy acres of jungle and fruit trees, with a view of Islita Castillo off in the distance. I considered it a well-deserved treat, after months of grueling interrogations and court proceedings, for which I played only a small part as both a victim of kidnapping and a mourning widow.

Names had been given up by Michael’s connections and exchanged for pardons and reduced sentences. Michael’s dealings were investigated, his sacred office torn apart. The most heartbreaking part of it all had come during the confession of Brandon Malone, who detailed a grim and gruesome attack on Nick and his family. He spoke of the brutal torment his gang had inflicted on Nick’s wife and son, the night they’d been murdered, and my heart bled when he recounted how they’d eventually disposed of them at Michael’s command.

A gust of wind fluttered the note in my hand—the one I’d skimmed the night I’d awakened from being drugged. The last remnant I carried of the man I loved.

Or men, as it were.

In it, he spoke of a place he’d seen once. An island that was too perfect to be true, located just off the coast of Panama. In my new home, I’d found dense mangroves, powdery white sand, unspoiled coral reefs and hidden coves.

My own personal paradise.

I’d never planned to be surrounded by the very thing I feared, but such was life. Drowning and coming back had somehow put me at peace with the water again—enough that I found myself submerged in the silence of the ocean on nights when I felt most alone, dreaming of Nick’s hands coaxing my body to orgasm. My heart felt empty but at home in the private and secluded glass house, in the thick of century-old mango trees and exotic creatures. During the day, I picked avocados and bananas. At night, I watched the moon rise over the calm, placid waters.

A couple weeks after the ironworks explosion, when I hadn’t been under the microscope of investigators and specialists or bodyguards protecting me against retaliation, I returned to that abandoned mansion, where I’d been kept prisoner. I didn’t expect to find the envelope. Thought for certain they’d have found it as they dissected the house. There it lay, though, tucked inside the fireplace, where I’d left it, beneath the ash. When the noise around me finally settled, I’d read it in peace. Every word.

Nick had left me his bank account numbers—access to millions of dollars that I would never truly find the need to spend. I donated some of the money to local schools and a healing through the arts center in Panama City. He’d also given me instruction on what to say to the investigators and lawyers during the trials.

The chip held the greatest secrets. I’d taken the time to study the medical records and the heart wrenching diagnosis of his dissociative personality, thought to be a result of trauma, post traumatic stress.

There had also been two plane tickets, as though he might’ve changed his mind and come with me.

Darkness stole the light of day, and I reached down to my stomach, rubbing where the small bump had begun to show through my dress.

Yet another part of the man I loved, growing inside of me.

I whistled for Achilleus, my black Cane Corso, who bounded across the beach and wagged his tail, as he followed behind. Smiling, I clutched the letter to my chest, and made my way back toward the large thatched roof home just a few yards away from the dock.

Once inside, I set the letter on the granite countertop of the gourmet kitchen. The space had been designed with the most modern amenities— state of the art furnishings, mixed with a classic island appeal. Furniture had been imported from Bali, and local artists provided the breathtaking paintings hung throughout. Such an odd contradiction of civilization in an ancient world.

I ambled toward the bedroom, where a king-sized bed, handmade by woodworkers in Panama, sat empty, kempt by the maid who came by boat every other morning and shared stories of her family. She was a kind, older woman, who often brought me delicious meals. I’d never had much in the way of Latin food until I’d arrived there, and after the first bite, I didn’t know how I’d gone so long without it. Food for the soul.

One of the six bedrooms in the house, far too small for anything more than a twin bed, I’d converted into an art nook. There, I spent hours trying to capture his face—the shadows and dips from his prominent jaw and chiseled cheeks, and those eyes, slicing away at my heart while they came to life on the canvas.

Pulling my hair back into a bun, I stood in front of the oversized mirror, staring at my hardened nipples. The thin, red silk dress I wore had been tied loosely in front, allowing half of each breast to peek through the wide slit. I’d become a creature of simplicity, and if not for the caretaker who lived just a few hundred feet from the house, I’d have probably walked around nude most of the day, because I could.

A faint draft brushed against the back of my neck.

In the mirror’s reflection, my eyes caught on the slight gap between the thick double doors behind me. Sliding the gun from the top drawer, I spun around, tipping my head to be sure, and crossed the room, where I threw back the door to peer outside. On the deck, the hammock swung ever so slightly in the breeze, but everything appeared to remain undisturbed.

Achilleus would bark, I reminded myself.

The only other person on the east side of the island happened to be Mateus, the groundskeeper, who had his own quarters. In reality, crime wasn’t an issue, but the investigations into Michael’s affairs had resulted in the implication and arrest of notorious gang members and political figures. I sometimes worried they’d come after me, seeking retribution.

Closing the door, I conducted a quick, half-hearted sweep of the house, and once satisfied with my search, I set the gun on the nightstand and climbed into my bed.

From the drawer of the nightstand, I nabbed a book—The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty by A.N. Roquelaure. I’d read the dog-eared page so many times, I’d damn near memorized it.

Sliding my fingers beneath the hem of my dress, I read in silence, skating my fingers down, between my thighs while the Prince proceeded to stake his claim on Beauty. I’d found some twisted enjoyment in the loneliness, night after night, fantasizing about Nick. My heart refused to move on.

Minutes passed, and my eyes grew heavy, my mind slipping in and out of that state of wakefulness and dreaming. Heat pulsed through my body, warming my skin, and my muscles went soft, drifting, drifting.

A whisper of touch traced my hipbone, as I lay on my side in bed. I let out a sigh and lifted my arms above my head, surrendering to the dream that bled into my consciousness. Fingers slipped between my thighs, pushing aside my panties, and I couldn’t tell if they were mine, or my illusion of Nick.

Pleasure radiated from my core, to my toes and fingertips, in delicious waves that had my hips rocking in slow, agonizing circles. God, it felt so damn good. I don’t want to wake up. I wanted to stay in the dream, forever in the state of ecstasy, with Nick’s ghostly fingers pumping in and out of me, in perfect sync with the cresting of my orgasm. As if he knew my body better than I did.

“Nick,” I whispered. “You feel so … good.” I fondled my breast, my tongue sweeping across my lips as the intensity built heat within my muscles.

“I watched you touching yourself. You’re so fucking wet, so tight.”

Oh, God, his voice was so lucid, so vivid inside my head, the sound of it alone nearly forced me over the edge, but his finger slowed again, and the haze of sleepiness lifted. Desperate, I focused, not wanting to lose the moment.

No, please. Let me have this! I needed this release.

My eyes flipped open. I lifted my hand, but the sensations kept on, and my muscles seized against momentary panic. Neither of my hands were anywhere near my pussy. One hand fondled my breast. The other remained above my head, something shackled about my wrist.

Yet, my walls still gripped what felt like long fingers inside me, milking them with each upward drive.

I let out a gasp.

“Come for me, Aubree.”

That voice! So rich and husky, it tickled my chest. The unmistakable sound of Nick.

It’s him. In my bed. He’s real. Not a dream.

Squirming against him, I fought the mounting pressure, the heat inside of me surging, swirling, promising the most exquisite release.

No! No!My mind protested, wanting to be sure the man lying behind me, coaxing pleasure like a fucking boss, was really him.

In a desperate bid between mind and body, I tried to will away the inevitable pull at my womb, the friction against my raw and hungry flesh, the string of tension in my muscles, telling me resistance was futile. My muscles turned rigid, quivering with the effort of holding back, fighting the climb. I wanted to turn and see his face, to make sure it wasn’t some slick psycho with a death wish, but the orgasm crashed over me, and all I could do was lay there, allowing it to paralyze me, take me beneath the surface.

Ripples of ecstasy zipped through my body, spreading like flames through my muscles, the chasing tingles making me dizzy. Gripping the sheets with my free hand, I bit into my arm, cursing against my skin. Back arched, muscles taut, my body acted of its own will, riding out the most intense orgasm I’d had in months.

While my mind demanded what the fuck?, I cried out, confessing what he already knew, as his fingers continued their unrelenting pursuit of a second orgasm, the wetness and tiny muscle contractions making quick and easy glides that created a slight suction with each pull. His thumb caressed my clit, dipping into the wetness, then smearing it across the sensitive, if not traitorous, little bud. My own moaning droned inside my head, and I squirmed, thrust, tensed against the flames building inside my muscles.

Fuck you! Fuck you!My mind screamed inside its cage while another orgasm exploded through my body, sending flashes of light behind my eyelids.

“Oh, God, Nick. I hate you. I fucking hate you.” I wanted to sob into my pillow and wallow in the betrayal I suddenly felt, but those bullets of pleasure shot through my veins, a blast of cool tingles extinguishing the flames in pulses that had me smiling, in spite of my frown—a true contradiction of absolute bliss and fury tangoing inside of me.

“I can’t tell you how much it excites me to hear you say my name again.” His fingers slipped out of me. “I missed your taste.” A growl rumbled inside his chest, and at the grip of my throat, I nabbed the gun from the nightstand, crossed my arm over my body and pushed the barrel beneath what I estimated to be a chin.

“Achilleus X?”

“Hello, Pistol Lips.” His grip loosened, and I rolled on top of him until straddling his body, where his erection pressed against my ass, and pointed the gun at him.

As he pulled back the ski mask, those sickeningly kissable lips stretched to a grin. “Didn’t your parents teach you to lock the doors?”

Magnificent blue eyes that I never thought I’d see again forced the angry tirade burning inside of me to die on my lips. Nick. Achilleus. Alec Vaughn. The same man rolled up into one exquisite package, gazing back at me with the kind of expression that had wetness pooling in my panties and my ass arching against his cock. The kind of thrill that only came with dreams, because what else could explain why I hadn’t fallen into a pile of desolation and tears at the sight of him?

“What … what are you?” Words tumbled out of my mouth as I mentally searched for some coherence. “I get it. I’ve lost my mind.” I rubbed a hand through my hair, a twinge of panic crawling up my spine. “Oh, shit, I’ve lost my mind. I’m seeing ghosts.”

Ignoring the gun, and my distress, he reached out, fingertips dancing along ridge of my dress. “Fuck … I’ve never seen you in red, but I can’t imagine you wearing anything else from now on. Do you always sleep in a dress, or did you know I’d come for you tonight?”

That voice. His voice. Like a trained dog, my thighs clenched at the rush of excitement that hit my core. My stomach knotted, as a chill climbed my spine, begging an encore to what he’d accomplished only moments ago.

Surely, I had to be dreaming. I’d dreamt that very scenario at least a dozen times, both during the day and at night, where he came to me, holding me prisoner and molesting my body for hours. I’d become the weird chick with the twisted kidnapping fetish, who fell asleep to erotic stories of being swept away, imprisoned by dark fantasies I’d never given thought to before Nick.

His touch lingered on my cheek, and if not for his stare, I’d have covered it with my hand to preserve the sensation. If he was there, really there, then, “Why didn’t Achilleus bark?”

His brow kicked up. “You named your dog after me, I’m flattered. Apparently, he’s not trained to kill intruders, particularly those armed with treats.”

“That was quite an exit you made.” A new burst of anger ran through my body, battled by the excitement of having him there in my bedroom, where I’d planned to hold him prisoner, if I didn’t happen to kill him first. I hated him for making me feel the way I’d felt for so many months, but hell if my body could stay mad at him. A part of me wanted to leap into his arms. “I thought you were dead.”

His gaze fixed on my lips as his jaw shifted. “I escaped. A door in the sub-basement led me to a tunnel that let out through an abandoned building two blocks down.” He glanced down at the gun I kept locked on him in my refusal to believe he was alive. “Still want to shoot me?”

He’d survived. Alive that whole time?

The confusion inside my body spun like a tornado, casting out random emotions that didn’t make sense. So out of place, affecting my words and my reactions. Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Disbelief. Absolute chaos twisting beneath my skin.

I wanted to scream at him, yet could only muster a smile. I wanted to kiss him, but my finger twitched at the trigger. My heart felt cold, crystalizing inside my chest with the sting of mistrust—that I’d wake to disappointment. My hands heated with the burn of a slap waiting to crack against his cheek.

I lowered the gun. The pain of so many nights, thinking I’d lost him. Nearly losing myself.

“Your body is happy to see me.” He shoved the two fingers into his mouth and licked them, admittedly casting a spine-to-pussy shudder. He had the audacity to smile again. “Still sweet as ever.”

Rage and excitement burned in my blood.

The urge to smack him and kiss him was too much! A sharp sting hit my skull as I ground my teeth. The hours of pain, tears, disbelief, grief, anger, acceptance. For nothing. Nothing. “All that time you were … and you didn’t …”

Numbness webbed from my heart to my limbs, tingling in my fingertips, and I felt light—the way one does in dreams. Was I dreaming? I still didn’t know for sure. Tears threatened, the rims of my eyes itching to unleash the dam of anguish I’d held back for so long. The times I cried after the explosion, I’d had to pretend they were tears for my bastard husband.

“Asshole! Do you know what this has done to me?” I thumped my fist against his chest and leaned to push off from him.

He shot upright, to a sitting position, and captured both my arms.

“Let me go!” I twisted my wrists to get loose, frustrated when his grip tightened.

“I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to steal you away with me.”

Breaths heavy, I stilled, silently staring at him

He released my arms, the playful glint in his eye turned to a sobering stare. “I had to keep my distance. I wanted to keep you safe. But, more importantly, I had to know that … what you felt for me in those weeks wasn’t some fucked up Stockholm bullshit. Every day, I came up with new excuses why I should stay away.” His gaze swept across the room down my body while his palm slid up and down my thigh. “I ran out of excuses.” At my silence, the corner of his lip kicked up. “I told you that you’d destroy me, Aubree. You’re my pain and pleasure. Both the prick of a needle and the buzz that dulls the ache. My addiction. I can’t stay away from what I need.” He squeezed my thigh, gaze locked on mine. “I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

The angry storm calmed inside of me. “I read the medical record. So, you … you’re—”

“Yes.” His warm palms continued to massage my thighs. “Of two minds, you could say.”

“Are you a danger to me?”

His mouth slid into a grin, his gaze dipping downward. “Only when you’re dressed like this.”

I ignored the telling goosebumps popping up on my skin and lowered my eyes from his toward my stomach, where only a small bump passed beneath my fingertips. Tears filled my eyes when his hand covered mine, and I lifted my gaze back to his.

His brows pinched together. A deafening silence lingered for what seemed like an eternity, before his jaw twitched to a smile and his eyes carried a shine. “Ah, fuck, Aubree.” He pulled me into his body, clutching me against him so tight I could hardly breathe in his embrace. His lips crushed mine in a kiss so sweet, so passionate, it stole my breath. “A baby. My baby.” The wonderment in his voice eased the tension in my stomach.

Through a smile and tears, I nodded. “There’s no one else but you, Nick.”

“It’s only you for me, Pistol Lips.” Rubbing the back of my nape, he smiled. “I don’t know how the fuck I survived so long without you. I was losing my mind, trying to stay away.”

Pressing against his chest, I sat up from him, staring down at the lines in his face, the dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. I stroked my thumb over his lips, and he kissed it. “I told them everything you asked. About Achilleus.”

“And Alec?”

“They don’t know anything about any Alec. It never once came up. In neither the investigation nor the trials.”

“Good. DeMarcus must’ve kept that information to himself.” His gaze fell to my thighs as he stroked them, distracting my thoughts. “And as far as they know, I perished in that fire.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Alec?”

“Because you’d already shown me that you were willing to love the dark side of me. All of me.” His jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “Telling you everything would’ve kept me from going through with it in the end.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t tell me why you’d kidnapped me. Why you kept me?”

“I was afraid of you, Aubree. You’re evidence of my pain. Pain I needed to purge from myself. Alec wanted to save you. I wanted to destroy you. We saw you in two different lights. He saw the truth, while I was too blinded by my pain to see anything more than the lies.”

“But … you’re the same person. How is it possible to feel two different emotions?”

“That was the insanity I lived with night after night, while my bed remained empty, without you beside me. How could I hate you and love you at the same time? It was a duality that drove me crazy.” The softening of his eyes spoke of some inner torment. “I chose to remain in denial, even as I had you right there, knowing there was something deeper than my hate for you. It was madness.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Aubree. I can’t change what I am, what I’ve had to do to cope with this pain. I couldn’t imagine a life beyond Lena and Jay. I didn’t want to. You forced me to see a future beyond my vengeance. And I fought it every damn day that I watched you with Culling, made up reasons to hate you, until I couldn’t deny it anymore. I had to save you.” His fingers curled around my hips. “Falling in love with you wasn’t part of the plan, though.”

“I have to show you something.”

His grip fell away from my thighs, and I slid off the bed, giving a quick wave to follow me into the next room.

Once inside the hallway, I halted my steps and turned to face him. Staring into his eyes, I lifted a hand to his cheek, tracing my fingertips over the stubble there, and kissed him. “I want to help heal your past, Nick.”