Page 143 of Penalty to the Heart

“I was.”

“You also look like a kid.” He chuckles softly.

“Well, that’s because I was that too. I was barely twenty-two when that picture was taken.”

“Huh,” he muses.

“Huh? Are you surprised that I was young once?” I arch a brow.

“You’re young now, love,” he retorts, turning his back on all the photographs of my past.

“Hardly,” I rebuke. “Unfortunately, when you reach my age, society loves to remind you that you’re well past your prime.”

He tilts his head to the side, making no effort to hide how he salaciously scans me from top to toe.

“Society has it wrong. Because from where I’m standing, you’re more beautiful now than you ever were back then.”

My throat clogs again when I see the sincerity in his eyes, forcing me to turn my back on them in favor of grabbing the wine glass to chug its contents down.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asks behind me, the hairs behind the nape of my neck standing on end by his closeness.

“It shouldn’t bother you what I believe or cease to,” I mutter.

“But it does bother me,” he all but whispers in my ear, wreaking havoc on my senses. “It bothers me that you believe that the best is behind you,” he continues to whisper while brushing my hair onto my shoulder. A toe-curling sensation runs down my spine when I feel his warm breath touch my skin as his lips brush against my ear. “It’s not, Roxie. The best is still to come. With me.”

I swallow dryly while calmly turning around to face him, my chest slowly heaving at the sight of his eyes on mine.

“You’re far too exquisite to lock yourself away like this,” he continues, brushing my hair behind my ear. “It’s fucking mindboggling it’s lasted this long. What a waste. No… that’s not the right word. What a fucking tragedy.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling my blood rush in every direction he touches.

“I mean,” he coos, running the pad of his thumb up and down the slope of my neck, “it’s a tragedy you haven’t allowed yourself to enjoy all that life has to give. All the many pleasures it can offer you.” I swallow again as his gaze lowers to my heaving chest. “And you deserve to feel pleasure. To feel like you’re the most beautiful woman to enter a room. To feel desired. Like I fucking desire you.”

“Caleb,” I whisper, not knowing what to say.

“I’m not here, remember?” he taunts, reminiscing about the little game we played at the underpass.

“But you are,” I moan, my head flinging back.

“No, I’m not. Right now, neither of us is here. Only two people who desperately hunger for each other—one that has forgotten how fucking incredible she is, and the other who desperately wants to make her remember.”

“Caleb,” I sigh.

“Fuck, I love hearing my name on your lips. It fucking does something to me.”

“It does?” I ask absentmindedly, as if in a fever-pitched dream.

“Let me show you.”

His lips hungrily fall on mine with such desperation that all I can do is mimic its force. My fingers thread themselves into his hair as his hands firmly cup my ass just so my body is firmly pressed against his. I sigh into his feverish kiss, losing all will to think logically and letting myself feel instead of think.

That’s all I seem to want to do nowadays.

All I want to do is feel.

Feel wanted.

Feel cherished.

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