Page 93 of Beautiful Ruins
“I . . . I’m sorry, Ro.” I swiped at my tears. “I’ll leave.”
“Goddamn it.” He slammed the wrench against the side of the car, the clang reverberating in the garage. “I’m not angry at you, Sades,” he growled, his voice cracking. “What do you want me to say? That I fucked up? That I failed you? Fuck, Snake’s out there somewhere doing God-knows-what and all I can do is just sit here and wait for him to strike.”
His words hung heavy in the air between us.
“Rowan,” I said, my bottom lip trembling. “What happened with Marcus, it wasn't your fault. You can’t?—”
“Don’t.” He cut me off sharply, turning back to the car. “Just don’t.” He buried himself in the engine once again, his movements jerky and agitated.
The silence stretched between us, broken only by the clink of tools and Rowan’s ragged breathing. I wanted to touch him, ground him somehow, and reassure him that Marcus was no longer a threat to me because of him. How could he not see that what he’d done to protect me was more than anyone had ever done for me in my entire life?
His brother had been too selfish to stay, to live his life with me. But Rowan? He was willing to kill for me. Willing to risk his soul for me. He couldn’t see what I saw. Couldn’t see that I was still standing—still breathing—because of him.
I stepped closer, closing the distance between us until the heat radiating from his body seared against my skin. “Don’t push me away, Rowan,” I pleaded. “Let me carry some of it.”
His jaw tightened. “I could have lost you,” he choked out, his voice raw and strained. “I can’t get the image of that bastard—Fuck.” He threw the wrench at the wall. It lodged itself into the plaster before clambering to the concrete, leaving behind a gaping hole. His chest heaved, hands tugging at his hair as though he wasn’t quite in control of his movements. “I should have been there, Sades. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.” His shoulders slumped, the rage in him giving way to something far heavier—guilt, maybe. Or grief.
“But you didn’t lose me,” I whispered, stepping up to him and cupping his face in my hands. “I’m right here, Ro. You don’t get to push me away. I’ve done enough running. I’m not going anywhere. Never.” My fingers trembled as I gently turned his face toward mine.
His eyes searched my face with an intensity that made mybreath catch. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Sadie. The things I’ve done, the man I’ve become—you deserve better than this. Better than me.”
I shook my head, desperate to break him out of the prison of self-loathing he’d built around himself. “That’s not for you to decide,” I said, brushing my thumbs across his cheeks. “I know exactly who you are, Rowan Knight. The good, the bad—all of it. And I’m still here.”
His hands came up slowly, almost unsure, until his fingers wrapped around my wrists. For a moment I thought he might push me away again, but he leaned into my touch, eyes closing as a single tear escaped from the inner corner of his eye and settled on the tip of his nose. I kissed it away, the sweetness of his skin mingling with the saltiness of his pain.
His hands tightened around my wrists, not painfully, but with a desperation that spoke volumes. The war behind his eyes was raging—the need to push me away warring with the desire to pull me closer.
“Firefly,” he breathed, my nickname a prayer and a plea all at once. “I don’t want to push you too hard. Just tell me what I can do.”
I pressed my forehead to his. The scent of motor oil and sweat filled my nostrils, achingly familiar. The rusted-out frame of Logan’s old car caught the light. It had become a shadow from the past neither of us could outrun. So, we just stood there, breathing each other in, our silence louder than any words.
“I just need you, Ro,” I murmured, finally breaking the silence.
And that was the truth. Marcus was no longer breathing. He’d never lay a hand on me again, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to glance over my shoulder. I was free. Rowan had set me free.
Ever so slowly, he leaned in, pausing barely a breath away from my lips. “You make me fucking crazy. I don’t know which way is up anymore, Sades.”
My fingers tangled in his hair at the back of his neck. “I’m here, baby. I’m safe because of you. Whatever comes next, we’ll deal with it together.”
With that, he nodded and closed the distance as though that was all the permission he needed to breathe again.
Rowan’s lips found mine, hard and insistent. He tasted of salt and longing and years of unspoken words, all pouring out in a clash of teeth and tongues. He slid his hands from my wrists, down my forearms, then to my waist, pulling me flush against him. Everywhere his skin touched mine, left a trail of goosebumps.
Our kiss deepened, desperate and searching, each of us trying to make up for all the lost time in that one moment. Rowan backed me up against the workbench, tools and—what sounded like—cans crashing onto the concrete floor. He lifted me onto the bench, shoving items out of the way without breaking the kiss. His rough hands skimmed up my sides, leaving trails of grease on my skin.
I didn’t care. All I could focus on was the feel of him, solid and real, as he pressed in between my legs. When we finally came up for air, both panting, Rowan pressed his forehead to mine, his warm breath fanning my face.
“I love you,” he whispered, his words catching in his throat. “I’ve always fucking loved you, Firefly.” The words cracked him open.
Finally, he was giving me the parts of himself he’d spent a lifetime trying to bury.
I pulled him closer, pressing my mouth to his again, my hands roaming over his broad shoulders. Rowan’s callousedfingers slipped under my tank top, leaving a searing heat along my skin.
He yanked the thin fabric of my tank top over my head in one clean motion. It landed somewhere in the cluttered garage. My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the button on his jeans, my movements hurried and frantic. The button popped, and I shoved his pants down over his toned arse, enough to pull his cock free.
Rowan slid a hand up the inner side of my thigh, shoving the flimsy cotton of my pyjama shorts to the side. He groaned as his fingers skimmed over my slick flesh.
“Fuck, you’re killing me, baby.”
