My hands shook, holding the scissors and tweezers. Questions hurled themselves at my brain, bombarding me with eagerness.
Forcing the urgency away, I smiled softly and bent over his scar. “The minute these stitches are out, we’re talking. No more excuses.”
He nodded.
Praying my hands were steady enough, I carefully snipped at the twine holding his flesh together. Concentrating so hard on one thing gave me freedom from the chaos in my brain and I lost myself in the task, leaning lower, permitting myself to be quiet and not ask questions—to just… be.
It didn’t take long to remove. As I snipped the last stitch, Arthur tensed. His breathing changed and I looked up.
His eyes were riveted on my inked nipple. His bottom lip clamped between his teeth and his belly rippled with tension.
My heart instantly thundered in my ears. All excuses were gone. I wanted to dance with joy. I wanted to throw up with fear.
I’m afraid of him.
Afraid of what he could do to me—not physically but emotionally. If he was the boy from my past, he already owned my heart. What would happen when he owned my memories and mind, too? How safe would I be? What did it mean for my future?
Kill groaned low in his throat. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
His confession tilted my world. I never thought I’d hear such lostness in his voice.
I shook my head, my body heavy and throbbing. “What are you doing to me?” Tears came to my eyes. “Please… tell me. You saw something. On the yacht—you saw something to make you believe. I need to know.”
He squeezed his eyes, his lips pressing tight together. “Don’t. I know I said we’d talk, but—”
“No. You can’t pull away again. It isn’t fair for either of us.”
I drowned in his green gaze as he tore his eyes open. He wedged his elbows behind him, sitting up. “You said your name is Sarah. That’s a lie. How does any of that make sense?” The way he said my name was a curse. A horror-laden curse reeking of his need to find a flaw in my whole argument so he didn’t have to pick up the pieces of his shattered world.
“I don’t know. I thought my name was Sarah. It fits. It feels… familiar. I didn’t lie about that.” My eyes desperately wanted to look down where my peripheral vision teased with his thickening erection.
“I’m not saying you lied,” he growled. “I’m just saying… Fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Suddenly, he moved, grabbing my waist and hauling me on top of him. “You’re giving me a heart attack. Sitting there naked. Healing me. The girl I’ve loved since I was fucking eight years old. It’s so hard to shed a lifetime of belief.”
I had no response. Every muscle tensed, sprawled over his bulk. “You did love me, even though you were sixteen before I managed to make you kiss me.”
His eyes shot wide and a strangled gasp came from his lips. “Fuck.” Grabbing the nape of my neck, he kissed me hard. His tongue licked my lips, not seeking entry, just wanting to taste.
Pulling away, he said, “You remember? Those nights we spent together? The endless homework sessions?” He swallowed hard. “That night you snuck into my room and climbed into bed with me? Fucking hell, that was the hardest thing of my life turning you away.”
I smiled softly, loving the animation on his face but cold inside because he described things I still couldn’t recall.
His body stiffened. “You don’t remember?”
I wanted to lie—to keep him happy and hope that I didn’t ruin whatever was building between us. But I couldn’t. “It’s selective. Parts are so clear while others are lost.”
“When did you first know?”
“That I knew you?”
“Yes.”
I bit my lip. “Um… I can’t remember my first flashback, but the second you took my blindfold off, I knew. I recognized your eyes.”
His face softened. “I want you so fucking much.”
The swift change of direction sent a firework of lust to my core. “Take me, then.”
Pain crossed his features, a small droplet of blood from removing the stitches bright and accusing on his skin.
He waged a battle inside before finally giving in. His hips pressed upward and I gasped. I wanted him. I couldn’t deny it.
“Do you want me to take you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you doing this because you think you can erase what happened? Give us back what we lost? Bring back the past?”
Yes. No. I wish.
“I’m doing this to fix our future. And to figure out what happened.”
His face went cold. “Some things are better left in the dark.”
My heart twisted. “Things revolving around my supposed death?”
He didn’t reply.
Rushing to change the subject, I said, “Whatever happened won’t change how I feel about you.”
Even as I said it, I didn’t know if it was true. Could I still love him, like I did all those years ago, when I didn’t know the man he’d become? Or the mysterious circumstances of my death? Was I in bed with my killer?
The concept of him being a devil in disguise terrified me.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he muttered.
I hung my head, unable to hide the truth.
Tucking red wind-tangled hair behind my ear, he said softly, “Talking and answers can come later. Tell me one thing truthfully now.”