Coming to a stop outside the house I knew well, the same street where I’d stood and watched Della with despicable shame, I couldn’t take another step.
My boots—complete with yet another knife tucked by my ankle and tramping socks protecting toes from blisters—froze to the pavement. I physically couldn’t open the white picket fence or stride up the pretty garden path.
The same path where David had hugged and kissed my Della. The same path where I’d carried Della from accidentally punching her the night I tore her from David’s bed.
Fuck.
The front door swung wide as Della bounded from the house, her blonde hair secured in a ponytail, her lithe body encased in sturdy jeans, dusky pink t-shirt, and matching hiking boots.
No dresses or stupid sandals.
An outfit to run.
A dress code of living in the forest.
We’re really doing this.
My stomach clenched for the fortieth time since I’d handed back the key to the apartment, done one final sweep of the place, tossed out the last of our accumulated junk, and made my way here.
Early afternoon and our lives were about to swerve into terrifying territory—not because we were homeless again, but because I was petrified of what would happen the moment our tent was erected and the stars announced our bedtime.
Would we sleep together tonight?
Was I ready?
Would I ever be?
She didn’t stop until she flew to the gate and unlatched it, granting me invitation to step onto another man’s property. “You came.”
“Of course, I came.” I scowled, unable to stop my stress from tainting my voice. “This is hard enough without you doubting me and acting surprised every second.”
She smiled, dipping her head. “You’ve been gone for six months, Ren. You’ll have to get used to me poking you at random times just to make sure you’re real. I missed you.” Stepping toward me, she ducked around the backpack I held in front of me, slotting her body into mine. “I missed you so much—you have no idea.”
My fingers tightened on the rucksack straps, desperate to drop it, but propriety still commanded I keep it as a barrier between us, even as my heart yearned to gather her close.
My temper softened at the pain on her face. “I have some idea, Della.” Ducking to kiss her swiftly on her cheek like I’d done for years—an innocent peck that was permitted—I murmured, “I missed you, too. Enough to make me face things I never wanted to face.”
She stared into my eyes, studying me. “In that case, I’m glad you left.”
“What?”
“I’m glad because if you didn’t, maybe you’d never have…”
“Been brave enough to admit it?”
She nodded.
My fingers clenched on the straps, begging to release so I could cup her cheek.
But then, I looked up.
And there he was.
David.
And all my tenderness vanished beneath seething temper.
Arms crossed, lips thin, eyes narrowed as he glared at me from the front door. He judged me in ways I’d already judged myself.
Paedophile.
Sick fuck.
Blasphemer.
It didn’t help that I agreed with him.
The urge to hit him all over again thrummed in my fists. Della noticed my quaking, turning to look over her shoulder. But as she twisted against me, I remembered what I’d promised her last night.
A hug.
A declaration.
A vow to this new direction.
She wanted me to accept this. Us. Well, I wanted to make him pay.
My fingers released the straps and, as the clunking sound of a survival-filled bag tumbled to the pavement, I reached for her in ways I’d never reached before.
My arms latched around her, holding her deep against me, forcing her to inhale me, feel me, accept me as my boots nudged against hers, and I hugged her so damn hard.
She made a noise of surprise as I deliberately slipped one hand to the back of her head and one to the bottom of her spine. Once I had such a dominating grip on her, I splayed my fingers through her hair, fisted the ponytail dancing down her back, and spread my touch along the top of her ass. In one seamless move, I pulled her hair down to tip her head up and pressed her hips shamelessly into mine.
She gasped as I held her prone and helpless, but I didn’t kiss her.
I captured her in ways I ought to go to hell for.
And I looked up toward the man watching my every move. The man who’d had what I never could. And I let go of everything decent as I waited for him to understand he’d never have her again.
Not a single touch.
Not another anything.
This wasn’t about me.
This was about some caveman insanity driving me to stake ownership in absolutely terrible ways.
My fingers tightened in her hair, fighting off the whispers that this was wrong, ignoring the man I truly was—the man who would never lay a hand on Della this way.
But then David’s eyes flared with surprise and darkened with rage, and nasty triumph spread devil-hot blood through my veins.
I couldn’t stop myself.
After all, I was only doing what Della had asked me to do. To lay claim on her. To prove, once and for all, that I was hers. What a shame that I lost sight of that and used a moment that ought to be pure as a weapon to destroy my competition.
And once David was fully aware how Della melted in my arms, submitted to my harsh hold, and feathered her breath with lust, I ignored him and looked down into the blue, blue gaze of my Little Ribbon.
She trembled hard, her chest panting, her gaze wild.
Images of her, young and innocent, tried to delete the pinpricked red cheeks and sinful invitation.
I shook my head, squeezing my eyes from the messy double imagery. I focused only on one Della. The one I held. The one who begged me to finish what I started.
And then, I kissed her.
Right there.
In public.
Where anyone could see.
And something brittle shattered between us.
Something that wasn’t wholesome but filthy and twisted and held shades of black and grey and red, red desire all wrapped up in punishment.
I was punishing her for making me need her this way.
And she was punishing me for making her wait so damn long.
The kiss started with a crush of lips and bruise of mouths, but it quickly turned from explosive to desperate.
My fist yanked down on her hair, forcing her mouth open as I struggled to hide that violent side of me.
She groaned long and low as I kissed her deep and dark, full of disgust for what I’d done and drowning with desire for what I needed.
My body tightened, tingled, tangled, and my mind went from a single thought to crazed with memories of threading my fingers through Della’s hair in simpler times. Of brushing back curls as she slept as a four-year-old. Of wiping away sweat as she battled chicken pox as a seven-year-old.
And fuck, I was appalled with myself.
I pushed her away.
I wiped my mouth.
I picked up her backpack, forgotten on the street, and shoved it into her arms.
She stumbled, blinking back passion, dazed with being taken, and licked her lips as worry and fascination and that strange light I didn’t like assessed me as if she didn’t know me but very much wanted to.
“What was that?” she breathed, stepping toward me, forcing me to trip back.
“What was what?”
“That kiss.”
“The kiss you asked for.” I cleared my throat, choking on yet more lies. “The promise I made to show you that I won’t go back on my word.”
David strode down the path toward us; Della rushed in a whisper. “That was more than that, and you know it.” She cocked her head; her ponytail messed from where my fingers had ruined it. “That wasn’t you. That was—”
David arrived in hearing distance with blond hair and distrusting blue eyes, and she cut herself off, smiling sweetly at him. “Hi.”
I wanted her to finish. I wanted to tell her that it was me. Just a me she’d never seen before.
But David looked me up and down, his arms crossing harder over his preppy-boy chest. Ignoring Della, he grunted, “Hello.”
My spine straightened, muscles tightened. “Hello.”