by my own lies, I trail off, watching the steam rise from the pool.
“You’ve always been my peace, Leith. That should count for what’s important.”
“Nae, this here’s the part where I apologize because I’ll not mince my words. Chevelle, yer strong.” I turn, the water sloshing up to my ankles. Framing her velvety cheeks in my calloused hands, I declare, “Ye picked the wrong man if ye didna want me to fight for ye, hen. I’m a loud arsehole. That’s how I show my love.”
“Okay, baby. Calm—”
“Nae, Chevelle. Feck calming down. Yer love is insanity to me. I’ll not be some daftie eejit. I strive for the best for ye. Ye’re gorgeous inside and out. I adore everything about ya. There’s no need being put together twenty-four seven, love.”
From the look of horror on her face, we aren’t in agreement. “You’re always here for me, Leith. You’re my peace. My sanity. My rock. Where’s this coming from?”
“I’m proud to be yer husband. But something’s gotta give here. This shite still affects ye, baby. Let me in so that I can understand ye, encourage and support ye.”
“It’s not—”
“I’m invested in ye, Chevelle.”
Our entire conversation seems to have fallen on its head. For a couple of beats, Chevelle says nothing. Then she explodes.
“I don’t want to remember!” Her voice breaks into a raw rasp of a sob. “Why would you do this to me, Leith? You say I should turn this nothing into something, but have I done anything wrong? I’m a good mom. Yes, you’re a wonderful husband. I thought we were perfect together. You’re nothing like . . . like . . .”
I’m a feckin’ sucker. I spoke to her about therapy before. Shite, I even offered her pot so we could get stoned together and hash it out. One thing led to lots of other things. She’s too bloody gorgeous. Her tears are my weakness. The sight of them makes me wanna boke the filet mignon and whiskey. I grip Chevelle by the waist, and we go plunging into the heated pool.
Chapter 30
Chevelle
Moments ago, I’d bitten my lip to stop the pain of the past from falling like hot tears down my face. Now, warm water churns around us, gentle and cleansing through my soul. All the words I should’ve said dried up in my throat, as usual. Same occurrence, a hundred times over. I condemn myself for my faults in our relationship. We’re the epitome of the power exchange between man and woman: I’ve become his weakness, and he is my strength. Leith’s only mistake is his difficulty in prying open the shell I keep locked on the smallest fragment of my heart that never belonged to him in the first place. The part of my heart reserved for first love as presented by my father and mother.
Leith’s gaze lowers to my lips for just a second. I can tell he’s second-guessing the fighter in him, the one who demands answers.
“Make love to me,” I rasp, pushing the hair from Leith’s eyes, which have grown dark as fiery cobalt. He presses his lips to my mouth, making my heart flutter. A genuine warmth suffuses his features as he groans, deepening the kiss.
My dress drags me down into the water. Leith grips at the chiffon material. “Leith!” The sopping blue rag floats away, leaving me in my panties and bra.
“Nae complaining.” Hunger pulses through his aura. His jaw clinches, division evident. He covets more of me, all of me. For now, he’ll submit to that single part of my heart that always belonged to him in the first place. And with this submission, he’ll rage like a caged animal.
Leith encircles a hand around my waist. Water stirs swiftly into tiny bubbles, tickling my flesh as he brings me flush to him. Our lips seal, his forceful, dominating mine with reckless abandon. While Leith’s urgent touch sears and claims my curves, my hands drift over his shoulders. My tongue surrenders to his, not fighting or warring him as usual. His jaw scrapes my skin in delicious friction. He is war, commanding. I’m peace, yielding. My sex jumps and squeezes, easing the friction.
The trance-induced way he kisses me causes a surreal balm to flood my soul, all the way to my spirit. Every once in a while, Leith’s kiss becomes a new experience. The taste of his tongue, twirling around mine, cannot be branded as sweet. It’s a kiss of passion. Of a man denied.