Page 18 of Depraved Boys

“She must have had her reasons.”

My gaze flicked back to the cast on his left wrist and to his fingers. He didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married. How old was he? Twenty, twenty-two? Definitely university age or more. He had the physique of an older man, all broad and muscular and deliciously masculine.

I gave myself a mental slap. Ten minutes ago, I was crying about Mom and Dad, and now I was checking out his body.

Much later, at a roundabout, he took the exit to the highway that led to Carlisle. I frowned. In all the upset, I’d forgotten to tell him that I needed a ride to Brittas Academy. The keys to our house were in my purse, so it really didn’t matter.

“Can you drop me off in Cummersdale village, please?” I asked.

“I admire you,” he said.

My brows furrowed. “Why?”

“You’re so composed in the face of tragedy.”

“On the outside, maybe.” I stared down the highway at a speeding car overtaking a truck and held my breath. When the car disappeared around the front of the truck, I exhaled. “But you were much younger than I am now. I think I feel…”

“Empty?”

I nodded. “It’s like fate has reached through my body and clawed out my insides. Does it ever go away?”

“Apparently, it does eventually. The grief counselor Grandfather hired told me that my family is with me all the time, supporting me when I need them the most.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The memories we carry, I suppose. He says I should think back at all those happy times. One day, they won’t be so painful.”

At the end of the highway, we reached the outskirts of our village. I directed him to our street. A few minutes later, he stopped the car outside our home, a black-and-white timber-framed cottage with paneled windows and a pitched roof. Dad and Uncle Trevor had renovated it together with the help of Mom, Ashley, and me. So much of our love and souls filled the space, selling it would mean losing the last few years we shared as a family.

For a millisecond, I wondered why the lights were off, then reality crashed back into place, along with an ache that penetrated my heart to its empty chambers.

A weary sigh heaved out of my lungs. “I just wish I could cut off those feelings.”

“Don’t.” He turned off the engine. “That would mean cutting off love.”

“But it’s so brutal.”

He twisted in his seat, his green eyes so dark in the dim light, they appeared black. “The year Princess Diana died, the whole nation was in mourning. Queen Elizabeth said that grief was the price we paid for love.”

“That’s ominous…” I gulped. “But deep.”

He reached across and placed his large, warm hand over mine. “Everything, no matter how good or permanent, will end.” His deep, smoky voice seeped through my defenses and into my bones. “So why not enjoy the moments you have?”

Without thinking, I whispered, “Was driving off the cliffs your idea of enjoyment?”

Leaning forward, he murmured, “It was, until I lost control of the Porsche.”

Soft lips met mine in a kiss so gentle, it reached my heart and filled it with warmth. It was my first and better than I could have imagined. His hand cupped the side of my face, holding me as if I was made of fine china or something equally as delicate. He smelled of sensuality, sandalwood, and my salvation.

This kiss was the balm I needed to soothe the ache that had formed since the policemen knocked on the door and had worsened when Ashley returned home drunk and distraught and demanding answers.

For the first time since Mom and Dad had died, I lost myself entirely in the kiss.

When the clink of an unbuckling seatbelt reached my eardrums, and he leaned forward, I edged back to the corner, my hands flying to my mouth. “Why did you do that?”

“As a precursor to this.”

He leaned forward, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and brought me in for a dizzying kiss. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and a gasp escaped my lips. His tongue met mine in a caress that made my toes curl, made my knees tremble, made the pulse between my legs pound so hard, it sent tingles up and down my core.