“I regret every moment I spend in your company.”
He shook his head slowly and turned around, then began walking up the block, away from us. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Price.”
“I can’t say likewise,” she muttered behind me.
As soon as he was out of sight, I loaded Persephone into the car, going so far as to buckle her seat belt for her. Nothing was getting to her. Nothing. Not even me.
“Cannon,” Persephone started as we pulled into the driveway, breaking the strained silence that had been our constant companion on the drive home.
“Don’t,” I snapped, pulling the car into the garage.
“I just—”
“No. Not with this. Not with him. You have no idea what that man is capable of or what he’s done. Do you know how many scars these tattoos cover up? How many burns and cuts I’ve masked with all this ink? Don’t you realize there’s a reason I don’t like people to touch me?”
Her mouth softened, but before she could speak, I climbed out of the car.
“Cannon!” She caught up to me in the kitchen. “How can I know any of that stuff when you don’t talk to me about it!”
“You knew he beat my mother. I told you that.” I threw my keys on the counter.
“In really vague terms, yes, but you never told me that he killed her.” She moved toward me, then thought better of it and stayed on the other side of the island. Good. It was dangerous to be close to me when I felt like this.
“She packed the car and told his drunk ass that she was leaving him. At least, that’s what we think happened in the house. Then he stumbled out to the driveway and got into the driver’s seat, shouting that she wasn’t taking his kids anywhere, and when she ran after us, he accidentally hit the gas instead of the brakes and hit her.” God, I could still feel the abrupt motion of the car, the sound of her screaming.
Persephone gasped, her hands flying over her mouth as her eyes flared in horror.
“Accident my ass, right? But Lillian and I didn’t know what happened inside, so we couldn’t prove that he did it out of anger, and it wasn’t some accident like his slimy lawyer professed. The man did fifteen years for murdering my mother. Fifteen. That’s it. So, I’ll be damned if I give him a dime of what I’ve earned. He can rot in hell for all I care.”
I pushed away from the counter and walked away, heading straight for our bedroom. No amount of shooting or skating in the basement was going to wash him away. I felt the dirt of it all on my skin, impossible to see, but oily to the touch.
My clothes hit the floor in a scattered path as I walked to the massive shower. I turned on the water, then shed everything else until I wore nothing but the art I’d chosen over the scars I’d had no say over.
When the water steamed, clouding the air of the stone-walled, doorless shower and the rest of the bathroom, I stepped under the heavy spray, letting it scald me to the point of pain, begging for my nerve endings to come alive and kill the numbness. When I’d burned enough of him away, I turned, letting the water singe my back.
At least he was in Charleston, which meant he wasn’t near Lillian. I’d have to call her later and warn her that he’d reappeared, but she never held the same appeal for him that I did—she didn’t have the money he always needed. She was safe.
Persephone wasn’t. Not while she was still married to me. He was right. That was the real kicker. She was in danger every moment she stayed near. She was so breakable. So fragile. What the fuck would happen if I snapped one day the way he did? My heart stopped at the thought of anything happening to her.
The bathroom door opened, and Persephone walked in. Her steps were slow but deliberate. She had that look on her face she wore when she needed something done and wasn’t going to leave the locker room until we’d all agreed to whatever her plan was.
I watched silently as she pulled her hair up into a knot on the top of her head, then pulled down the zipper of her dress that ran down her side. The blue silk fluttered to the floor, leaving her in a matching set of underwear that almost made me flip the handle and change the water to freezing. Every line of the woman was so fucking flawless that all I could do was stare as she reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, then shrugged out of it.
Her breasts were just as perfect as I remembered. I’d done my best to keep my damned hands off her for the past two weeks, to keep away the memory of the feel of her on my fingers and the taste of her on my tongue. For having the reputation of the very devil, I’d been a fucking saint when it came to my wife.
My wife. Even thinking that term had my cock rising. She was mine to protect. Mine to care for. Mine to adore. At least for now.
She tucked her thumbs into the sides of her thong, and my breath stilled. Our eyes locked, and she bit her lower lip with indecision. I sighed with relief when she left the little scrap of fabric in place. I was already on edge, fraying by the minute, and the last thing I needed was the delectable temptation of Persephone—
Wait. What the fuck was she doing?
She walked into the shower, keeping her eyes on mine, craning her neck when only inches separated our bodies. A single jet reached her skin, and she jolted, sucking in a breath with a slight yelp.
My hand flew to the knob on my right, and I dialed it back so the water wouldn’t burn her. Never her.
Her brow scrunched momentarily, and she swallowed, then she reached for the dark blue loofah she’d bought me when she moved in. It hung, untouched, next to the frequently used pink one that she favored.
I tensed as she put shower gel on the scratchy nylon then raised it to my chest. She paused before she made contact and looked up at me for permission.
That act alone made me give it to her with a curt nod.
She washed my chest gently, then ran the loofah down both of my arms before turning it on my stomach. Her lips parted, and her breath quickened as she watched her own motions, tracing the lines of my abs. She was so fucking sexy. A heady mixture of sensuality and innocence that pushed my control to the very limit of existence.
She hesitated when she drifted lower, and her eyes flew impossibly wide when she accidentally brushed over the head of my cock with her wrist.
I groaned, clenching my hands into fists to keep them off her.
Her cheeks flushed pink, and her gaze flew up, enough heat in those baby blues to tell me she hadn’t been afraid of what she’d seen there. Her lips trembled slightly, that motion telling me she was aware that she’d bitten off a little more than she was ready to chew.
I cocked an eyebrow at her, then turned around, giving her my back.
She washed the expanse of my back, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to arch back into her touch. Fuck, I wanted her. The need I felt for her was more than these months of abstinence, and more than the temptation of a fantasy that had come to life. It was so much deeper than that. My very soul wanted this woman, not just physically, but in every way possible.
I ached for her.
She lingered over a scar that was hidden in the pin of a grenade along my shoulder blade.
“Belt buckle.” The words echoed off the stone, and I braced my hands on the wall in front of me.
She simply stroked over that scar again, then moved to one on the left of my spine, disguised in the scales of a sugar-skulled mermaid.
“Edge of a table.”