Page 107 of Ashes of Saints

I don’t know if she’ll be able to come back from this, but I’m going to do all I can to help her.

What a fucking mess.

While trying to deal with my own emotional reaction to discovering these tapes, I’ve felt a gaping big hole in my life. One that was only filled for a short time by the little girl with stunning green eyes.

I’m so fucking in love with her.

I miss her.

She’s not a little girl anymore. Aurora is a talented artist, a sexual woman, a smart and sassy friend. A snuggler, lover of scrambled eggs, and not a fan of sex clubs.

Even if she tried.

Being apart from her has been painful. The need to hold her in my arms and comfort her has been extremely difficult while knowing she’s hurting.

She’s ignored my messages, but the time has come for me to speak to her in person. Until I had the information, I stayed away, but I can’t keep this from her any longer.

I know she’s angry at me for not telling her who I was—that little boy—and that I betrayed her.

She’s right. I used her.

My plan was to gain her trust, get into her mother’s home, get the information, then leave her in pieces.

Instead, we went on dates and walks in the park. I introduced her to the guys and took her to the club. I stayed over and woke with her in my arms night after night.

I punched my best friend.

I’ve lied to myself as much as Aurora. I’ve fallen in love with the emerald-eyed, sexy little thing and there’s not much I can do about that.

Whether she can love me back is the question.

The responsibility for all this pain lays with Mary-Anne Whitlock, but our three lives have always been intertwined.

The nightmares, the pain, the deceit.

Aurora doesn’t know the entire story yet.

She will when I can force myself out of the car and upstairs to her penthouse. Then all I can hope is that she lets me help her through it, and together we can find a way to accept one another.

If she feels the same way about me.

And can forgive me.

“Okay,” I say. Durran and Eric turn, waiting for instruction. “Give me thirty minutes. If I don’t come down, you can head off.”

“Got it,” Eric says.

I climb out of the car and dart inside the building out of the rain. I straighten my jacket and stride toward her private elevator. Then press the button and hope she’s home.

The door opens immediately, surprising me. A woman walks out looking pale and emotional. She startles when she sees me.

Wait a minute. Do I know her?

“Parker Stone.” The woman shakes her head.

My protectiveness goes into overdrive. I step in front of her and glower down at her. “Who are you?”

She doesn’t answer.

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