I grimaced and tears slipped down my face. “I’m so sorry, Jericho. I didn’t know I was the reason you almost died.”
“No!” he shouted, crawling across the floor in front of me. He held my face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe my tears. His eyes blazed with anger. “I should have gotten my ass up and gone to look for you. I took the easy way out, baby. I won’t make that mistake again.” His eyes fell to my lips and lingered. “By the way, you and that asshole are officially broken up.”
I nodded and knew what he wanted—something I’d been fantasizing about for decades.
Jericho curved his right hand around my neck and softly petted my skin with his fingers. I leaned forward and pressed my tear-stained lips to his mouth. That first contact was electric, awakening nerves in my body and sending a rush of blood all over. When our lips parted in the slowest kiss ever recorded, we tasted each other with a soft and sensual stroke of our tongues.
I held my breath, and when I pulled back, I was panting. Jericho closed his eyes and pulled his lips in, licking them as if he’d eaten something delicious. “You taste like peaches.”
“Will you give me a second chance? I won’t run out on you again. I’m not expecting us to be an item, but I want to reconcile and become friends again.”
He pulled my T-shirt forward and kissed the edge of my mouth, whispering against my lips. “Oh, we’re a thing all right. The friendship is a given, but this is going exclusive.”
“You don’t do exclusive.”
“Something you don’t know about me, Isabelle, is that I’ve never wanted anything more permanent than a roll in the sack. Not with anyone… except you. I slept with all those women, but you were the one who cared for me in the morning. You were the one I drank orange juice with at the table while you’d read me the newspaper in that terrible British accent. You were the one who gave me a kick in the ass when I needed it and always forgave me. I’m twisted around your heart like a vine, and I won’t let you go. And by the way, that whore wasn’t wearing your shirt. That was hers.”
Jericho stood up and rummaged through his dresser drawer. He turned around and tossed a T-shirt in my lap. “That’s the vintage Izzy Monroe shirt. You left it in the bathroom on top of the sink. I’ve never let another woman put it on. It’s sacred. Even though you weren’t here, wearing it made it seem like you’d never left. That’s some crazy shit, huh?”
I stared at the shirt in disbelief, pulling it to my nose and smelling it. He’d kept it all this time.
“First thing I’m going to do is go downstairs and kick Denver’s ass for making me think you’d cleaned me out. If you’re pissed at me for having sex with that woman, I get it. Looking back, I can imagine what that looked like; I had no idea you walked in on us.”
He turned around and cursed hard. “Fuck!”
“It’s in the past.” I climbed to my feet and wobbled a little before regaining my balance.
“Second,” he continued, “I’m going back to that house and picking up all your things. You’re staying here until we figure out what’s next.”
He took two steps forward and cupped his hand around my neck, claiming me. “Baby, I’m not going to leave you. And you’re not going to leave me, because we’re going to work it out. I don’t want you worried about me going off with another woman because that shit won’t happen. I’ve spent years choosing women who didn’t remind me of you. They embodied every quality you didn’t have. It was just sex.”
“But you’ve never been faithful to anyone.”
“I’ve never had a good reason to be.”
“And you do now?”
“Yeah, I do. I got my best girl back. Did I turn to drugs in Hawk’s basement? No. Lock me in a room with a naked woman and it’s the same deal. All I see is my weakness when I look at other women, but when I look at you, all I see is my strength.”
A smile touched my lips. “Maybe you should put that in a song.”
Jericho held my gaze with his pensive eyes. “Hawk’s dead. Just so you know.”
I nodded. “I had a feeling.”
“You’re a tough girl, Isabelle. Don’t let what happened harden you, but don’t let it weaken you either.”
“How do I do that?”
He turned his left shoulder toward me and pointed at his tattoo. “Balance. I didn’t fill in the guitar because I needed something to remind me. Not all black. Not all white. Not all full and not all empty. I’m not perfect, and I’ll always be without something. But that’s okay, as long as I don’t let one or the other consume me.”
I smoothed my fingers over the tattoo and looked up at him. “I thought maybe you just ran out of ink.”
He burst out laughing and wow, what a smile. Jericho didn’t just have nice lips, but his whole mouth worked in the most mysterious way. A sweep of his tongue, a casual smile, and the words he spoke. Not just in song, but in private.