She trusts me with her body. Trusts me to tease her. To give her exactly what she craves.
I push her legs apart.
She watches as I lift her hips and slide inside her.
Her eyes close for a moment. Bliss spreads over her expression. It's too much for her to take.
But she is going to take it.
"Watch." I run my nails over her arse.
She just barely nods. Slowly, her eyes flutter open. Slowly, her gaze fixes on our reflection.
She watches as I drive into her again.
And again.
Fuck.
She's soft and wet and mine.
Mine.
Maybe not forever.
But right now.
I drive into her again and again.
Until she's so wracked with pleasure she has to close her eyes.
Until I'm the only thing in her fucking universe.
Then I bring my hand to her throat. Grip her tight enough to push her over the edge.
This time, she comes fast.
Her cunt pulses around me. Pulling me closer. Consuming every thought in my brain.
A few more thrusts and I'm there.
I groan her name as I come.
As I spill every fucking drop.
Then I release her. Undo the tie binding her wrists. Hold her close.
She curls into my chest.
Dissolves between my arms.
Still mine.
Maybe not forever.
Or for long enough.
But for now.
I wake to news from Ty.
The meeting is set.
The date is fixed.
In a week, I sign the papers that sever the last tie between me and Laura.
In two weeks, I send Eve on her way.
In two weeks, I return to my usual state. Alone. No attachments threatening to tear my heart in pieces.
I need every single day with her.
So when Eve wakes and moves into the kitchen, I pull her into my arms.
Whisper in her ear, "I have to go to London. Next week."
"For how long?"
"A few days."
"You're going to London for Fourth of July?"
Of course. "I didn't consider that." I press my lips to her neck. "Come with me."
"Go to London for Fourth of July?"
"I'll take you to see Hamilton in the West End."
"Huh." She pulls back enough to look me in the eyes. "I'm not sure where that lands on the patriotism scale."
"What about that dancer?"
"With the Union Jack?"
I nod. "I'll buy you American flag knickers."
She laughs. "That's… something. I… I'll have to consider it."
"Or you could skip the knickers."
She rests her head on my chest. Melts into me. "Are you sure? I've never been to London. I'll be an annoying tourist. You'll be an expert."
"I'll see the city through your eyes."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I press my lips to hers.
"Plus the underwear?"
"Of course." I kiss her again. "What could be better than a vixen in red, white, and blue?"
Chapter Fifty-One
Eve
Tragically, we fly to London with Ty. Don't get me wrong. I like Ty a lot. And this is probably the last time I'm going to see him. Or one of the last.
Only it's the end of my time with Ian.
I don't want to talk to his brother.
I want to climb into Ian's lap and follow his every command.
I want to fall asleep in his arms. Wake up in his bed. Tell him all my secrets.
One of those things is possible.
The others…
I don't know anymore.
The city is perfect.
Somehow bigger and smaller than New York. More space, more history, more politeness. The giant bookstore Ty mentioned. All over the central part of the city.
The more I see, the more I want to see. Prisons and crown jewels at The Tower of London, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Borough Market.
High tea at an iconic department store.
A gin tasting—six gins, on their own, and with tonic water.
It's exactly like Ian said. Fever Tree is everywhere. A dozen varieties.
Sure enough, he goes all out on Fourth of July. An "American Barbecue" restaurant in the outskirts of the city. Balcony seats at Hamilton. An "American Bar" that serves mostly Coke and bourbon.
And when we get back to his apartment…
He's wearing American Flag boxers.
It's absurd.
And too sexy for words.
But I guess that's Ian Hunt.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ian
A perfect week in London.
Leading to this.
I sign the papers tomorrow.
Face my past tomorrow.
Lose my fucking shit tomorrow.
Sleep is impossible.
Around three a.m., I give up.
For a moment, I watch Eve. She's wearing one of my t-shirts, her teal hair messy, her face free of makeup, her expression serene.
I can wake her up. Talk to her. Ask her to reassure me. Promise she isn't hiding anything that matters.
Promise she isn't falling for some other man.
Fucking him.
Thinking of him as she fucks me.
It's ridiculous. I trust her. She trusts me. She's offered me so much.
And it's completely illogical. Impossible. When would she have met another man, much less fallen for him?
My head refuses to accept my reasoning.
My heart refuses to accept her open smile.
The idea stays in my head.
My thoughts scatter.
My chest tenses.
My sky clouds.
Less than twelve hours until I face my ex-wife. Until I listen to her bollocks excuse.
Or maybe an apology.
A snub.
Nothing.
Which is worse? I don't know.
I let Eve sleep. Slide into my office. Try to find a distraction. A game. A TV show.
Work.
Email.
Pictures she's sent me.
Pictures of us.
Nothing steals my attention.
It's there. This ticking clock.
Five hours.
Less.
And there's the one thing I want.
It's right there. On my fucking monitor. The RSS feed for Eve's site.
Three new entries.
She asks for time to herself. To read, write, think. Post thoughts of me for the entire world.
It's right there.
Her head, her heart, her secrets.
Her secrets.
Not mine.
I can't take them.
There's no justifying it.
I can't take her thoughts.
But I do.
I read every word. Every new post. Every old one.
Every single thing in her head.
Every feeling.
Every thought.
I take them. Hold them close. Claim them as mine.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Eve
There's a brush of lips on my cheek. Fingers on my neck. A soft goodbye.
He's already leaving.
He's already dressed. Black suit, fuchsia tie, black dress shoes.
The tie he uses to bind me.
The Ian I met a month ago. And the Ian I know now.