Page 78 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

When he’s standing right in front of her, he slips a hand underneath her hair and around the back of her neck. Tenderly grazing his thumb along her jaw, he murmurs, “What do you need, precious?”

His touch and his inquiry are all it takes. The ache splits Jessica’s chest wide open. As she reaches out to grab a fist full of Khalohn’s t-shirt, a warmth the likes of which she’s never known spreads like wildfire through her veins. She pulls herself away from the doorjamb and into his chest. When she buries her face beneath his chin, he folds her in his arms, and she melts into his hold.

Instantly, she knows one thing with absolute certainty. More than ever before, she needs this. Wrapping her arms around Khalohn, she holds on for dear life, giving him her weight, surrendering to him completely. She doesn’t care how he found her. What matters is he did—and when he did, he didn’t ask her any questions. He picked her up and carried her away.

He picked me up, and he hasn’t put me down.

He hasn’t put me down.

“Khal,” she whimpers.

“Right here, Jessica.”

Hearing her name pass his lips makes the warmth spreading from her chest burn hotter. Knowing the lie is over, standing in the fullness of truth, she can hardly believe it. The devastation of her loss is rooted so deep, she can’t see the end of it. Yet, the feel of Khalohn’s arms around her—aroundJessica—it makes her want to hold on tight.

He picked me up, and he hasn’t put me down.

Me. Jessica.

He hasn’t put me down.

He holds her as they are for a few minutes. When she shows no sign of letting him go, he adjusts his grip, scoops her up into his arms, and carries her out of his office. As he reaches the sectional in his open living room space, he eases the both of them down into the corner, cradling her until she begins to relax.

“Precious,” he mumbles softly, touching his lips to her forehead. “We should get some food in you.”

“I’m not—I’m not hungry,” she whispers, curling into him further.

Gently rubbing his hand along her exposed thigh, he replies, “Something tells me it’s been more than a couple days since you’ve eaten anything. Please. Just a little something.”

She hesitates for a long moment, but Khalohn lets out a sigh of relief when she nods her head in agreement. He then presses another kiss against her forehead before slipping out from beneath her. Walking to the opposite end of the couch, he grabs the microfiber throw blanket, which has always been merely a decoration, and unfolds it. Jessica peeks up at him through her lashes as he lays it over her, and he catches himself staring.

There’s so much he wants to say. Even more he wishes to know.

But she’s here,he reminds himself.Everything’s different now.

For the time being, it’s all there is. This doesn’t stop him from leaning down to brush his lips against hers. It’s no more than a whisper of a kiss, but she doesn’t deny him, and that’s enough.

In spite of the fact that Khalohn told her he doesn’t cook, he makes her a small plate of scrambled eggs. After he brings it to her, he watches her eat them until they are gone. She doesn’t want to admit it, but her body is relieved to have some sort of sustenance in her belly. He said he guessed it had been a couple days since she’s eaten. The truth is, until the eggs, Jessica can’t remember the last time she had food. She’d lost her appetite right around the time Dr. Montgomery told her Beth’s lungs were too far gone, they were losing her, and there was nothing that could be done.

“I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss,” Khalohn starts to say, rescuing her from her thoughts.

Jessica shifts her gaze from her lap, locking in on his steady, blue eyes.

“I’ll just be in my office. You’re welcome to stay here or wander around. Make yourself at home. We’ll talk when I’m through.”

She offers him the tiniest nod, he stares at her for a second, and then he takes her empty plate to the kitchen and closes himself into his office. Jessica looks around the room, more than a little uncomfortable at the prospect ofwanderingaround. It isn’t that she expects him to give her a tour or anything; she simply doesn’t wish to get caught up in another fantasy. In the midst of her grief, something tells her becoming acquainted with his home won’t make him hers. Turning her neck, she looks at his closed office door, replaying what she felt when he wrapped her in his arms. It confuses her—the depth of her longing for a man she hardly knows.

Closing her eyes, the vague memory of the argument they had, what feels like a lifetime ago, flashes through her mind. In that moment, she felt so used. Frowning, she reaches for that anger, simply to examine it. Mentally grabbing hold of it, she remembers how his words made her feel like his property. Until that argument, regardless of their arrangement, he’dnevermade her feel any less than a woman. That night, she hated Bryn van Doren. That night, she was angry with Khalohn for being the man whoownedher. She was angry with herself for creating the persona he possessed.

I was angry, because I didn’t want to be owned by him. I wanted…more.

I wanted to mean more.

Jessica emits a soft sigh, opening her eyes to look down into her lap. Bryn is gone, and she’s in Khalohn’s home, sitting beneath a blanket he draped over her. She doesn’t know what it means. She doesn’t understand how he found her or what it signifies for him to rearrange his schedule for her. She doesn’t know why he stepped in to take care of her mother’s funeral, or why he’s being so gentle with her. All she’s sure of is she doesn’t have the strength to shoulder the world; she doesn’t have the fight to reject his handouts. This is themoreshe wanted. Not the money. Not the penthouse. Just the man—the man who causes that warm ache in her chest whenever he’s near.

She isn’t sure if she can trust if what’s happening is real. Maybe he feels sorry for her. Perhaps he feels guilty. In all honesty, she doesn’t have the strength to guess. Neither does she have the energy to figure it out. So, she sits curled up on his couch, with no interest inwanderingaround, until nature calls.

Rather than searching for a bathroom on what she assumes is the first level of his home, she gets up and makes her way back to his bedroom. Bypassing an elaborately spacious and decked out closet, across the way from an empty closet, she spots another full walk-in closet—albeitlesselaborate than the first—across from her final destination. She’s not the least bit surprised by his extravagantly beautiful bathroom. The countertop and the floors are dark marble—except for the surface of the platform on which his standalone bathtub sits, beneath one of the windows. The surface of the platform, along with the entire shower, is white marble.

---