Her statement had pleasure rumbling through me like the roll of distant thunder, her body pressed closed to mine.
“Come here. I have something for you,” I whispered, brushing a piece of hair from her face.
Slowly, she turned in my hold, lips full with that adoring smile.
She yelped when I suddenly lifted her against me, laughed as I spun her around and then propped her up on the edge of the island. I was quick to wedge myself between her knees.
Right where I always wanted to be.
I gathered her left hand in mine and brushed my lips over the intricate weave of diamonds and platinum she boasted on her ring finger.
It was no replica like she’d requested the morning after our wedding.
It was the real deal.
Her grandmother’s wedding ring.
It was part of the evidence that had been found stowed away in Martin Jennings’s safe. Proof he’d been responsible for the assault on her.
Yet another charge the scumbag had fallen to. He’d been so full of pride and pretention, so narcissistic, he’d kept it like a prize in the safe in his office.
Shea gazed down at it when I pulled back. “It’s so beautiful.”
I kissed it again. “Even more beautiful on you.”
She just smiled, tilted her head, like her awe of me went as deep as mine went for her.
Still was hard to make sense of. Someone wanting me for me.
All bullshit and money and fame aside.
She didn’t want it.
She wanted me.
“So what’s this surprise?” Shea’s eyes suddenly glimmered with mischief, a flash of excitement.
I fished my phone from my back pocket and thumbed into the file, keeping one hand on her side. I quirked a smile up at her as I turned the speaker as loud as it would go and set it on the counter at her side.
Then I pushed play.
The soft strum of my acoustic guitar.
She gasped when she recognized the song. Eyes that had been looking at my phone swung up to meet mine.
Adoration and grace.
“Sebastian.”
Fingertips felt along my face, fire to my skin and comfort to my spirit.
She pressed her mouth to mine. Nothing obscene. Just the pressure of her lips as wonder poured free.
God, she was sweet.
So damned sweet.
The chords deepened a fraction, a shift of the music like static electricity scattering through dense air.
That pounding, pulsing energy.
It was the polished song that’d seeped from us on our wedding night. Like it’d always been hidden somewhere inside the two of us, waiting for the right moment to be cut free.
The one she and I had mastered then sat down with the rest of the guys and recorded it months ago, before we made the permanent move back here to Savannah.
You would be on our album releasing in two months.
Sunder featuring Shea Stone.
No.
Not Delaney Rhoads.
Just like she’d told Martin.
Delaney Rhoads had died a long time ago.
This song was nothing like what Sunder normally put out. There was no anger or hate. No screaming lyrics or smashing beat.
It was slow reverence.
Creeping awe.
Love.
Pure, unadulterated love.
From my phone, my voice wove with the chords. Deep. Naked. Exposed.
You.
Came like a storm.
In the distance.
Coming closer.
You.
Took me whole.
Broken pieces.
Mended perfectly.
Leaning in closer to my girl, I began to quietly sing along with the elevating chorus that played from my phone, my raspy voice a low, pleading rumble.
Our breaths mixed on ragged pants as we got lost in the promise of the words.
Don’t want to look back.
Don’t want to move forward.
Just want to stay.
Right here with you.
Forever.
Just want to stay.
Right here with you.
Forever.