The day Dad died, I’d attended a soft opening for Felton Hotels near Eastridge. I shadowed their C.E.O., knowing I'd buy the hotel and eventually merge it into the Prescott Hotels empire.
The day had begun with a round of drinks and celebrations and ended with me staring at my father’s dead body, because no way in hell would I put Reed or Ma through that.
I hadn't been to a soft opening since.
“We have to drive you out to the office to write a statement and answer some questions.” Brandon slid his seat back and nodded to one of his two coworkers. “It will probably take the rest of the day. I know you have a party going on. Is there a rear entrance?”
“Not yet accessible. Doesn’t matter.” My head jerked to the other two agents. “Tell Thing One and Thing Two to take off the windbreakers.” I stood after Brandon, the picture of serenity. “Hey, Brandon?”
He turned back to me.
I swung. Once. But it was enough. Blood spilled from his nose, dripped to his white button-down, and splattered onto the fresh carpet. Delilah didn't react. To her credit, neither did Francine. One agent moved for me, but Brandon held up a hand.
“It’s fine,” he spit out and clutched his upper cartilage. “I deserved it.”
Damn straight.
It was one thing to bother me. An entirely different one to harass Emery.
I also realized he'd only said that because an assault charge would fuck up my credibility as a key witness and, thereby, ruin his career-making case.
Brandon rubbed at the blood with his hand, smearing it. I didn't offer to show him to the restroom or bother to apologize. Frankly, I'd do it again, but jail time didn't appeal to me. Plus, I needed to see my girl.
I handed the documents to Brandon, who shot me a glare before shoving them into his briefcase. We left for the elevators together. He led me through the lobby with blood on his face. To an outsider, it looked like a weird group of people walking.
Not even a perp walk.
I wore no cuffs. They wore nothing to identify themselves as agents. The confidentiality clause Francine had placed came into effect as soon as I'd signed the document. Delilah and Francine flanked me with Brandon and his merry band of agents before and behind me.
The colossal centerpiece had drawn a crowd. Within it, I spotted Emery. She stared at me with panicked eyes. Frozen. My fists clenched and unclenched. Dried blood cracked all over them.
I ran my fingers through my hair. Once.
We held eye contact until Brandon flung the door open. A row of black SUVs lined the front of the hotel. We headed to the one in the middle. He clutched the handle at the same time Emery sprinted out.
“Wait!”
Panic engulfed her face. She chased after us, giving me less than a second to react before she jumped on me and kissed me hard. The slit on her dress tore. I covered it with my palm, trying not to laugh at how Emery this situation was.
(Of course, she was a verb, adjective, and noun.)
Still clinging to me, Emery faced Brandon. “Please, just give us five minutes.”
Why the fuck was she asking him?
He offered her a shrug and stepped to the side with his agents, Delilah, and Francine. I ignored the crowd and focused on Emery. She loved words so much, but it looked like she had none for me.
“I read your placard,” she finally whispered, threading her fingers together behind my neck. “You say I fixate on words, and you’re right. Yet, I’m here, wondering why I can’t put my feelings into words, thinking that love is too inadequate a description, and I realized it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I’m not alone. I don’t need words to keep me company. Falling in love with you is like diving blindly into a book, not knowing it’s destined to be my favorite. Whatever’s more than love, I feel it for you. I am only ever going to be in love with you.”
I popped a brow up, tightening my grip on her. “You more than love me.”
“Yes. I don’t care if you have,” she glanced at Brandon and lowered her voice, “you-know-what that can exonerate Dad, and you didn’t tell me. Maybe it’s fucked up, but I don’t care about anything but us. I’m sorry I never said this sooner. I love you. I’ll wait for you. However long it takes.”
“However long what takes?” The puzzle pieces clicked together. I set her down, so she wouldn’t fall with my laughter. Only she could make me crack up on the same day I signed a plea bargain. “I’m not going to jail, Little Tiger. I’m a witness. I made a deal.”
Brandon piped in. “Confidentially.”
“Brandon, seek help for your obsession with hearing your own voice.” I angled us away, shielding her with my body. “I made a deal with the S.E.C. I’ll serve as a witness against Balthazar, Eric, and Virginia. Your dad will be absolved. I’m not going to jail. I promise.”
The girl with all the words—speechless again. My ego could get used to this.
I tugged at her dress, using it to reel her to me. “Come back to me?”
“Always.”
Two Years Later
I don’t believe her when she tells me she may be happy.
My devious fucking liar.
Her black hair flies everywhere, resembling a wild horse’s mane. Outside, the ground has frozen over with snow, thick layers that have hardened into crystal cement.
Fire saves us from the frost. The flames flicker, shadows dancing on the wool walls. My Tiger looks like royalty, her hair glowing each time the flames climb.
Red lips tempt me. Her gray eye—the color of moonstone—shines so bright, it’s almost colorless. The other is as frosty as Lake Baikal, a bottomless courier of wisdom, flecks of white battling the blue.
Neither will win.
There never is a victor with Emery.
Only a battle.
Constant.
Fervent.
Beautiful.
A love that deserves chasing to fuel it.
“There’s no may,” I enunciate. “You are happy to see me.” I try to flatten a few strands of her hair, but it’s useless, and taming Emery would be like taming a tiger. If I try, I’d be changing everything that makes her who she is.
And I love who she is.
I love her wild and reckless and fierce.
I love her mine.
“I thought you were done telling me what to do.” She turns to face me, nipping at my neck.
“Outside of the bedroom,” I correct.
“Outside of the bedroom,” she agrees, lips parted, two mismatched eyes darting to the entrance to confirm we’re alone.
I’m not supposed to be here, standing in front of my fiancée, making fun of her flushed skin and the orgasm I just gave her. Gideon will kill me (he can try), unless Delilah gets to me first (she would succeed).
“I’m not telling you what to do, baby. I’m stating a fact. You’re fucking happy to see me.” I flick one of her nipples through her dress and smirk. “Admit it, Little Tiger.”
She shakes her head, and I accept the challenge.
I grip her chin. Firm. Exactly how my fiancée likes it. She holds eye contact, so defiant, I want to flip her over and sink into her again. My lips dip to press kisses on her collarbone.
No matter how many times I kiss her, claim her, mark her as mine, it will never be enough. The way I crave her is insatiable. It’s proof of immortality.