Elisabeth Naughton - Hold On To Me

He continued to stare at her with that disbelieving expression, and her heart filled. She brushed her fingers over the stubble on his jaw. “I love you. So does Shannon. And we both need you. I was stupid to let you go once. I’m not doing it again, so if you need more time or you’re not sure just yet, I can wait. But I don’t want to. I want everything we had together before, but more. I want you to be Shannon’s father. But mostly…I just want you. For always.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, and a tiny shiver of doubt crept in. And then he caught her face in both his hands and pulled her mouth toward his, and as his tongue swept over hers and his greedy fingers pulled her closer, she knew she had her answer.

“Simone…” He nipped at her bottom lip, and all that heat she thought they’d sated between them earlier came flooding back. His hands drifted down her back, and then he was lifting her, turning her, sweeping her out of the kitchen.

He made it as far as the table and set her on the surface, then pulled his mouth from hers and looked down at her with every bit of love she’d hoped to see in his eyes. “Oh my God.”

She laughed and reached for him. “Is that a yes?”

His eyes went all soft and dreamy, the food he’d asked for earlier clearly forgotten. “Yes, God, yes. If you still want me when all this is over, that is.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her kiss. “I will. Guaranteed. I will always want only you.”

“Ah, sweetheart. Same here. Always.”

Smiling, she kissed the corner of his mouth and freed the button on his jeans once more. “Show me. Again. Right now.”

Simone stretched beneath Mitch, her foot sliding between his on the crisp white sheets. Outside, the storm had died down to a gentle pitter-patter of rain against the roof, and the wind was nothing but a rustle here and there. He grunted and moved his head against her chest, his chestnut hair falling over her breast, his eyes still closed in deep sleep.

Smiling, she sifted her fingers through his silky locks, loving the way the tendrils curled around her hand, enjoying the way he was draped half over her on the bed in the cozy little house, his legs intertwined with hers, his arms wrapped around her as if he never wanted to let her go. They’d made love in the kitchen, refueled with cold pasta, then made it to the bed, where they’d started all over again. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, and she hadn’t been able to stop touching him either. And as she ran her fingers down his neck and across the relaxed muscles in his shoulders for the hundredth time, she decided she could get very used to this. For the first time in…she couldn’t remember how long…she wasn’t worried about tomorrow or next week or even next year, because whatever the future brought, she knew she could face it, with Mitch.

A mixture of warmth and happiness formed a cocoon around her heart. She sighed, looked down at him, and smiled at the way his long lashes formed spiky crescent shapes against his tanned skin. They hadn’t talked about when they were going to go to the storage unit. Or what they were going to do with the evidence Steve had collected. And she wouldn’t even know what they could do until she saw it, but right now she was happy not worrying about it. She was getting married. Again. To a man who stole her breath every time she looked at him. To the love of her life in every possible way.

Her fingers drifted down his shoulder and across his arm, and as she reached for his hand, wanting to lace her fingers with his, she realized his watch, the one he always wore and never took off, was loose against his wrist.

She slowly rolled his hand over so she could relatch the clasp she’d obviously hit when she’d been frantic to get him naked. Her fingers grazed the metal. The hook slipped free before she could catch it, and the watch fell against the sheet at her side.

And the world tipped right out from under her.

No, not a campfire burn like he’d told her. A brand. Three daggers, one pointing down, two angled outward to form a cross, with a circle above containing two numbers and one letter. A brand she’d seen before. On that phone screen Ryan had shown her.

She closed her eyes, opened them again, sure her mind was playing tricks on her, only the mark was still there. Small enough to be covered by a watchband, but exactly like the one Ryan claimed her husband once had.

Mitch was a Cypher? No. He couldn’t be. That wasn’t possible. He hadn’t once mentioned any knowledge of or affiliation with the group. When Ryan had been telling her all about Steve’s membership in the society, he’d stood in that kitchen and hadn’t said a word. If he’d been one of them, he would have—

Her blood ran cold, and the air felt like it was sucked right out of her lungs.

If he’d been one of them, he wouldn’t have said a word. He’d have done exactly what he did. Kept his mouth shut. Used her to find out where Steve’s evidence was hidden. Then take it—and her—to whoever was after her.

Her pulse turned to a flurry in her veins, and sweat broke out all over her skin, the flight response as strong as it had ever been. Slowly so she wouldn’t wake him, she maneuvered her way out from under his body and slithered to the floor. He startled, and she froze, waiting for him to sit straight up and ask her what the hell she was doing, but he only grunted and shifted his head the other way on the mattress, then fell back to sleep.

Her mind was a whirl as she tiptoed out of the room and found her clothes in the living area. Dragging them on as quickly as she could with hands that were shaking, she looked around for the car keys. Where had he put them when they’d arrived? He’d come inside and glanced around…

Panic snaked through her chest, making it hard to think, to breathe, to function. The air closed in around her, and she knew if she didn’t get out right this second, she was going to have a panic attack and give herself away. And she couldn’t do that. She had to get to the storage unit, had to get Steve’s papers, then had to find Shannon and—

Oh shit. Shannon.

A new sense of panic sent her already roaring pulse into the stratosphere. Shannon was with Ryan’s parents, and Ryan was Mitch’s brother in law. They’d gone to college together. He had to know Mitch was a Cypher. Oh God. He could be one too.

She spotted the keys to Kendrick’s Range Rover on the bookshelf, grabbed them and fumbled with her purse where she’d dropped it near the front door. She was halfway out the door before she realized she’d forgotten the bracelet.

She raced back into the kitchen and found it on the table where she and Mitch had made love only hours ago. Sickness rolled through her stomach but she forced it back. As she whipped toward the front of the house, the purse over her shoulder knocked into a cup of water and sent it flying. Glass shattered against the tile floor in a crash that echoed through the entire house.

That panic went stratospheric. She pushed her legs forward and ran for the door. Rain pelted her face as she rushed around the car and fumbled with the remote lock. She didn’t look back, didn’t try to see if he’d awoken or followed her. All she could think about was getting away. About getting free. About getting to Shannon.

She slid into the driver’s seat and dropped the keys in the console. She had to push the ignition button twice before she could get the damn car to start, because her hands were shaking so much. When it did, she shoved the car into Reverse, jerked back onto the street, sending water flying, and tore away from the house.

And told herself this time she wasn’t running. This time she was doing the only thing she could.

The sound of breaking glass dragged Mitch from sleep. He pushed up on his hands and looked around the dim bedroom, finding himself alone.

“Simone?”

A car engine revved outside and slowly faded. Water glistened in rivulets running down the windows, and he listened for footsteps or anyone coming toward the house, but didn’t hear them. He also didn’t hear Simone.

He climbed out of bed, grabbed his jeans from the floor, and tugged them on as he headed down the hall. The wood was cool beneath his feet, and rain pattered softly on the roof, but there was still no other sound.

The living room was empty when he reached it. So was the kitchen. But a broken glass and a puddle of water lay in the middle of the floor.

He turned a slow circle, scanning the room. “Simone?”

Sidestepping the glass, he grasped his flannel shirt, hanging haphazardly from the back of a kitchen chair where he’d tossed it after ripping it off Simone, and slid it on. A shiver ran down his back, the house suddenly too still, too quiet, too empty.

He looked toward the kitchen table where Simone had set her bracelet when they’d made love, but the scarred wooden surface was empty too.

Confusion drew his brows together. He looked around the room again, lifted his hand to run it through his hair, and from the corner of his eye realized…his watch was missing.

He dropped his hand and stared at the burn on the inside of his wrist.

Oh shit. No, no, no, no, no…

He raced to the front of the house, tore open the door, and stared out at the empty drive. Water ran down his face, but only one thing registered.

Panic tightened the space beneath his breastbone. He slammed the door and rushed back into the bedroom, searching for the bag he’d dropped there earlier. He rummaged around inside until he found his cell phone.