Page 131 of Lost in the Moonlight

“I couldn’t sleep, even after you sent me away each night.”

“I know how to fix that.”

“Do you?” she asked, eyes twinkling with humor and a flare of heat that my body responded to automatically.

“Beds are good for two things. Sleeping and sex. I think we’ll do both.”

I twined my good hand with hers, tugging her toward the stairs just as my phone rang. My mother’s tone. I felt around in my pockets and came up empty. I turned to look down at Willow in surprise as I heard her answering it.

She talked with Mom for a second, letting her know we’d just walked in the door and that I’d call her back. Then, she shoved the phone into the pocket of The Tea Spot sweatshirt she was wearing.

“You’re answering my phone.”

She looked chagrined. “Someone needs to be in charge of it. She’s been worried, and she’s right—you’re really bad about picking up.”

“I answered every timeyoucalled or texted.” Her cheeks turned that delightful shade of pink I so adored. “Bedroom, Sweetness. Right now.”

I took off for the stairs at a jog, hauling her with me.

“Lincoln. Slow down. You’re still healing.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you? Sex is the best medicine. Heals all things.”

She laughed, but as soon as the bedroom door shut behind us, she was helping me remove my clothes and the stupid-ass sling. I sat on the bed and watched as she shed her layers.The weak sunlight coming through the closed blinds turned her into a hazy mirage, just like a Klimt or Seurat painting, and yet incomparably more stunning because she was real. Because she was Willow.

She moved to stand between my legs, beaming at me happily.

And in that moment, I knew what the painting of her in the cemetery was missing.

The Willow in the painting needed wings. She was a broken angel, growing back her wings and carrying a sword. A golden sword to avenge the wrongs of the world. The wings would sparkle. The sword would be full of gems. And the entirety of her would shimmer in the moonlight.

Banishing evil from the night, she’d bring the peace and serenity of daylight.

I settled my good hand on her hip, thumb moving in a lazy circle as I looked up at her.

“From the moment I saw you in the cemetery, I knew you were a work of art. But having you here, like this, naked, hungry for me…” My body reacted to the heat flashing through those gray eyes. “You’re a masterpiece, Willow. I understand Picasso now when he said art is a lie. Because I could spend the rest of my life trying to capture the essence of you, and it would never show the truth.”

She straddled me, sliding over me in one swift move that had me stunned all over again. Her mouth collided with mine, proving she felt the same insatiable need I did. The need to be joined. To belong. To be together.

“Don’t worry, we have forever for you to try,” she whispered in my ear.

“Even forever won’t be enough, but let’s get started on it anyway.”

And we tipped over into my new favorite place. My last favorite place. Joined with her.

Epilogue

Willow

YOU PICKED ME

Performed by A Fine Frenzy

I was futzing with the trayof my miniature desserts on a table below the painting when an arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me into a strong chest I knew as well as my own. It had only been twelve weeks since I’d moved in with Lincoln, and yet, it felt like we’d been together years already. We were working hard on that forever we’d promised each other.

He kissed the spot below my ear, sending flares through my body, shock waves of desire I had to rein in with other people in the room. I glanced toward the opposite wall where Lyrica and Trinity were talking, hands waving as they nudged a painting this way and that.

Trinity’s work was full of a beautiful and whimsical realism. Magnificent, even. But the art that spoke to me most was this one on the wall above the tray. Cherry blossoms filled the air like a misty fog, and between the floating petals, the face of an angel peeked out. Me, but not me. It wasn’t the face I saw in themirror every day, but it was somehow what Lincoln saw when he looked at me. The demon in the painting next to the angel was dark. I saw pieces of Lincoln in it, but also Aaron and Poco and even Ryan Jennings, who I’d never met but who’d still hunted me. I hated that Lincoln saw himself there, but I thought, maybe, every day, he moved further and further away from the demon and more toward the angel.

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