Page 87 of Muddy Messy Love

I believe him.

Emotions blast through me as if freed with a magical key. They rip from their chains, potent and wild, and fill me with frenzied need. The need to taste him, to touch him—to hold and have him.

I press my mouth to his, knot my hands through his hair, and crush him hard against me. I want to fall into his soul and fill every fracture. I want our hearts to entwine likeHigh Heart Symphony’s copper scrolls.

Cole meets me with equal passion—equal ferocity—and speaks one gritted breathless word against my lips. “Strip.”

So I do.

Seventeen

As I’m on theedge of sleep, visions of last night mist through my dreams. Our encounter on the studio floor that left our naked bodies dusted in terracotta. In the steamy shower where we washed it off. At the top of the stairs on the plush carpet when we didn’t quite make it to the bed. And finally, here, when we did.

My thighs clench together from the memories, sending ripples of bliss through my core. I roll over and snuggle up against Cole’s naked back, then nuzzle my face into his neck and inhale. He smells like sex and sin. But rather than wake him again, with a content moan and new hope for life, I drift back off to sleep.

“Avery?”

“Hello? Anyone home?”

The familiar shrill works its way into my consciousness, and I bolt upright.

What the fuck?

I pinch my arm to see if I’m dreaming, then grab my phone from the bedside to check the time. Eight a.m. and five missed calls from Beth.

“Avery Lee?”

Oh shit. There it is again, followed by the sound of high heels clacking up the stairs. I’m definitely not dreaming.

“Mum?” I ask, bundling the quilt up to cover my breasts, ensuring Cole has the rest.Please tell me this isn’t happening.

A blonde beehive rises from the landing like an unwanted sun, and I blink away the sting. “Mum. What are you doing here?”

She takes the final step up—adorned in pastel heels and a flowing yellow sundress speckled with tiny white flowers—then comes to stand near the end of my bed. Age is yet to conquer her pretty face but hasn’t spared her fragile neck, nor her arms, which lie crossed as she taps one foot. A predatory smile flitters through her eyes like a luminous lick of black fire. “That’s no way to greet your mother, Avery Lee.”

As my name passes her lips, I flinch. My mother is razor wire wrapped in daisies, and “Avery Lee” is a weapon used against me, delivered with enough secret spite to make me bleed every single time.

Cole stirs next to me, blinking in a sleepy daze. I stare at him in horror. “My mum’s here.”

Alertness registers, followed by shock. He twists the covers tight around his waist and sits up with tan skin gleaming in the morning light, tattoo vibrant as ever. “Ah…hello… Mrs. Masters, is it?” It’s the first time I’ve seen Cole nervous in front of anyone. Maybe except for me.

Mum slides her curious gaze over his naked form like a snake winding itself around a tree. Her blue eyes heat, causing me to grimace. “Unfortunately for me, it’s Mrs. Wilson at the moment.”

My face screws up. “You remarried…? When?”

Her eyes snap away from Cole and back to me, sharpening on impact. With a wave of her pale slender hand, she dismisses my question. “I see you’ve found a way to combat the loneliness. He’s a nice one too. Wherever did you find him?”

I clench my teeth. She speaks of Cole like he’s a shiny, hollow object procured at a fair. One she can lock in her antique display cabinet with the rest of her prized trinkets. I drag in a breath through my nose. “Mum, can we please have some privacy? As you can see, I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“Well, maybe if you’d returned my phone call, you would’ve known I was coming.”

“Phone call?” My temples throb in silent protest. Quiet, calm mornings are my best friend. Rude awakenings are not. Especially when last night was so…perfect. The contrast is cruel.

“I called you two and a half weeks ago, Avery Lee. You didn’t answer.”

I search my memory. Of course—the night I fell from the roof. With everything that happened, I forgot, and who can blame me? But to be honest, I probably wouldn’t have returned her call anyway. Nothing good ever comes from the mix of Mum and me. We’re an incompatible cocktail that leaves a putrid taste. “Does Beth know you’re here?”

“How do you think I knew where to find the key?” The silver key shines in her French-manicured fingertips as she holds it up, and I deflate. That stupid fake rock. How fast a saviour can turn saboteur.

---