I say nothing. I quietly submit and follow him to the stairs. He comes to a stop and waits for me to come to his side. I place the palm of my hand on the banister and lift one foot to begin climbing the stairs. Zander’s hand goes to the small of my back in true gentleman fashion, but the neglected part of me wishes that his motivation for touching me was due to desire and not duty. His hand is gentle and warm and…promising. I find myself wanting nothing more than to feel his hands against my cheek, my neck, all of me.
I can’t even begin to express just how intoxicating he is. Intoxicating and addictive. It’s difficult to wrap my brain around. The combination of having Jake’s heart here in Zander’s body is like a divine cocktail that has me licking my lips, ready to lap up every syrupy, sweet drop. I want Jake. I want Zander too. I want to feel like I’m more than what I am. I don’t want my broken heart and widow status to be such an integral part of my identity. I want to be better. I want to be more than that.
Zander’s hand falls away from my back as he slides the glass door open to let us in.
“You don’t lock your doors?”
“No boogey men on this island, Sadie.”
“You’d be surprised,” I mutter halfheartedly. I used to think that the bad guys were some story on the evening news. I most certainly never thought that I’d get to meet one face to face in my living room, but I did, and I’ll never be the same because of it.
Zander’s eyes catch mine and he seems to see that I’ve met with disaster thanks to one of those “boogey men.” He takes two steps towards me, closing the space between us. The hand that was on my back lifts to the cap of my shoulder and squeezes gently. His thumb makes short passes back and forth, amplifying my desire to feel his hands all over me.
“Nothing bad happening in this house, Sadie. Swear it.” He’s just close enough for me to feel his breath and breathe in his scent.
“Bad things can happen anywhere. Even in a cop’s living room.” My whisper comes out weak and sullen.
Zander’s jaw tightens, displaying a twitching muscle in his cheek. His sapphire eyes turn fiery as his nostrils flare.
I should at least attempt to explain.
“Be strong, Sadie.” I hear Jake’s words in my head as I search for the resolve to speak my agonizing truth.
“That’s what happened,” I say quickly. “Jake was shot. Right in front of me.” I nod then drop my head to eye the glossy wood floors beneath my feet.
Before I can gather any sort of cognitive thinking about anything else, Zander steps even closer to me and I’m pulled into him. All air in my lungs seizes. My eyes squeeze shut and I find myself battling away tears.
“Sadie, I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.” Zander speaks close to my ear and the way he’s apologized doesn’t feel like the typical condolences that I’m so used to avoiding. The way he’s apologized makes me feel like he’s apologizing for so much more. Or maybe even for something else entirely.
Delusional thinking on my part, but I just can’t help but think that everything about Zander is so vastly different from everyone else. Maybe it’s just me who thinks that he’s any different. The deep, velvety pitch of his voice resonates through him and right into me. His arms are wrapped tightly around my body. The height difference forces my cheek right to his chest. I stand at just less than five and a half feet tall and Zander must be at least six feet tall. Perhaps more.
He holds me close to his body for a long moment and I haven’t the slightest urge to pull away. Quite the opposite. I want to stay here. I want to feel safe in his arms and do my best to forget reality.
The instant he pulls away, guilt floods back in and I scramble to move our conversation forward into neutral territory. I shouldn’t allow myself to feel anything for Zander. I’m Jake’s wife. I always will be.
“Um—you live here alone?” I ask, running my shaky hands over my hips and mid-way down my thighs.
“Yep.” Zander turns leading us further into the house.
“No pets even?”
“No. Do you have pets?” Zander cranes his neck back at me as he leads the way to his living room.
“Yeah. Well I use to have a cat named Starla Winters, but she lives at my mom’s now.”
“Starla Winters?” The disbelief in his voice is hard to miss.
“Yeah. Glamorous, huh?” I nod my head proud of the name that took me days to come up with.
“I was thinking it sounds more like a stripper name.”
“It is not!” I glower, affronted by his opinion of Starla’s name. I thought long and hard to come up with her name and I thought it was elegant, dammit.
“It’s definitely a stripper name.” He nods his head confidently, pursing his lips.
My mouth pops open at just how honest this man is. “Well I think it’s a glamorous old Hollywood type name.”
“Glamorous stripper, then.”
Starla Winters. Starla Winters. Son of a bitch. I despise admitting it, but he’s right. It does sound a little stripper-ish.
“Do you always speak your mind?” My eyes narrow on him in mock anger, earning me a crooked grin that has my insides humming with joy just knowing that I’ve made him grin.
“Usually.” He shrugs.
“Usually as in almost always?”
“Yes. Unless I’m forced into staying quiet.”