Page 149 of Muddy Messy Love

“That’s nice,” I say, meaning it.

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Would you like to, uh, sit down?” He motions to a settee and duo of armchairs sitting in the corner of his office, but I shake my head. Right now, the adrenaline won’t let me sit.

Cole nods but stiffens a little, causing guilt to tighten my chest. I never realised how easy this man is to read, or perhaps I couldn’t see clearly through the faulty lenses I wore. “I won’t run,” I say, dumping my satchel on the floor. “I’m here to talk.”

Releasing a hefty sigh, Cole steps away from the door and walks over to the half-open window. There’s a slice of ocean visible behind the buildings across the road, at which Cole seems to stare while kneading the back of his neck. “Christ, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” I whisper as tears surge.

He turns to face me. “Aves, I—” Then squeezes his eyes shut beneath a tortured frown. “I screwed up.” He glances back up. “Please—” But then presses his mouth shut and shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t put that on you. I’ve caused enough damage as it is.” Defeated, he flops his arm back down.

“No,” I say, “I should’ve given you a chance to explain.” The flash of hurt on his face seems to glow in the late sun as it streams through the window, catching dust motes around him. “Hannah came to see me,” I add.

Cole’s jaw ticks. “She was under strict orders to leave you alone.”

“It’s okay. I read your letter last night. I wouldn’t have if she hadn’t come.”

Cole’s face pales. “You only read it last night?”

Sheepishly, I nod.

“I thought—” He shakes his head, then sighs. “Never mind.”

I know what he thought. He thought I’d read it long ago and didn’t care. He thought his heartfelt honesty and revelations made no fucking difference to me. And honestly, they might not have had I read them too soon, but now things are different.I’m different. I know more about him, myself, and this crazy, fucked-up world. I know I can survive on my own. But I also know I don’t want to, because I, too, love, like, and adore every luminous spark of this man’s soul. “Do you still feel the way you said in the letter?”

Cole’s gaze locks onto mine with warrior-fierce resolve. “My feelings aren’t fleeting. I thought I made that abundantly clear. You own my heart, Aves. Whether you want it or not.”

God, those words. That conviction.

My feet override any pride or doubt left in my mind, and I float towards Cole as my body begs to reconnect with his—as it begs to go home. I halt toe to toe with him—Chuck Taylor to Chuck Taylor—and our chests rise and fall in synchrony as we silently stare. Tentatively, I reach for his hand, where it hangs clenched at his side, and slip my thumb inside his grip, cradling his knuckles. The tingles I felt the first time we touched in the court’s foyer return with a vengeance, fizzing up my arm like a galaxy of tiny shooting stars. I shudder, and Cole sucks in a sharp breath. Again, his eyes fall shut, but this time, there’s serenity.

Home.

I slide my other hand up his lean, muscular arm, over the tropical jungle of tattoos, and watch as his throat bobs and his eyes flutter open to reveal pupils huge and hungry. “I need totouch you,” he says in that deep, gravelly voice that seems to vibrate along an energy cord tethered to my core.

“Do it,” I whisper, and then I’m hard against his chest, wrapped in strong arms with fingers threaded through my hair. Cole grips me like I might dissolve—like I’m merely an apparition born of his desperation—and then inhales me like I do him. A waterfall of tears erupts, purging tension from my bones as the weight of us being apart finally lifts, leaving in its wake a deep sense of peace and rightness.

Home.

“Say you forgive me,” Cole mutters against my hair. “Say this isn’t the last time I’ll hold you.”

Still choked with tears, I pull back, just far enough to look at him. “I forgive you. I want you in my life. Always and forever.”

Cole’s whole body appears to relax, and light fills up his face, making his glassy eyes glitter like silver-green gems. He cradles my wet cheeks, stroking away the tears with his thumbs. “Thank fucking Christ.”

A smile tugs at my lips as I cock a cheeky brow. “Language, Mr. Benedict.”

His laugh is a symphony. “Touché, Miss Masters.”

We smile at each other, exchanging the kind of jubilant, soul-deep, sparkly smiles that meld together hearts, and then he presses his forehead to mine, and we share each other’s air. “I’m going to kiss you now, Angel, and I can’t promise I’ll ever stop.”

I reach up onto my tippy-toes, licking my strawberry-glossed lips as I close in on his. “Do it.”

So he does. He crashes his peppermint-tinged mouth to mine, forcing my feet to shuffle backwards until my back hits the door. His weight presses against me, caging me in, and he continues to devour my mouth as if I’m the water he prayed for while lost in an endless blazing desert. We both groan.

God, his taste. His intensity.

We swallow each other’s shallow breaths and hungry whimpers as our tongues glide and our teeth nip. The fresh sea-salt breeze blowing in through the window tickles my bare skin as Cole lifts the hem of my top, splaying a warm hand low on my back. I love the way he holds me—how his firm hands dwarf my body and make me feel small, fragile, and completely his.

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