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I glanced at her, watching as her profile went as still as a statue. Then her throat bobbed and her fingers twisted in her lap.
“No,” she said, her voice as fragile as a snowflake. “If she’d wanted to come back, she would have. All it would have taken was a quick online search to find out my father was dead.”
There was a lot of pain behind her words, but there was also resignation. She’d thought it over before, I could tell.
“I want to move forward, Merrick,” she whispered. “I don’t want to look back.”
I glanced down, my eyes catching on the tattoo above my wrist. Fuck…I’d forgotten about that. Distracted, I kept glancing up and down, trying to keep my eyes on the road. The ink beneath my skin felt like it was crawling.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“The tattoo on my wrist,” I said. “Edwin had one just like it. It’s Welsh, it means ‘brothers in arms.’”
Her eyes drifted down and I saw her throat bob. Her lips compressed and she took a quick breath. “It’s okay,” she said.
“No,” I said. “I’m getting it covered up.”
“It’s your body,” she said firmly. “If that’s what you want to do, do it. But do it for you, not for me.”
She was so fucking strong. I reached over the console and took her hand in mine, threading my fingers through it. Holding her tightly as we drove on through the night.
We returned to an empty house and I brought her luggage upstairs to the bedroom. She got ready for bed while I showered and then I pulled her close between the sheets.
“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Clara Prothero,” I said. “I’m so fucking sorry that my life is messy, I’m sorry I had to keep secrets from you. And I’m sorry I was ever friends with Edwin.”
“I’m not,” she whispered. “If you hadn’t been, we never would have met.”
“That’s some good from a shitty situation.”
She wound her hands around my neck, pressing my head to her breasts. I loved feeling her like this, her hands in my hair, her heart beating under my ear.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
It started out slow, our bodies entangled. The window was open and cool air wafted through as I slid down between her legs. She kept her thighs spread for me, her eyes sleepy while I ate her out.
It felt like we’d passed some kind of test.
She didn’t come, but I didn’t mind. I was doing this for comfort more than pleasure. I fucked her gently with my hand on her throat, holding her in my arms. Keeping her close to me.
“Are you mine now that all your secrets have been spilled?” she breathed. “Or will there always be space between us?”
I kissed her forehead.
“I’m done with that. No secrets, no spaces,” I whispered. “I’m yours forever.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
MERRICK
The morning after we returned, I rose early and left Clara sleeping and went to Daphne and Ophelia’s house. My body and mind were raw from the last few days. Raw, but euphoric because the Welsh Princess was mine.
I knocked on the door and it took almost ten minutes for Daphne to put her head out, her pistol held down by her side. Old habits died hard.
When she saw me, she swung open the door. It was barely seven and she still wore her bathrobe, tied at her waist. Ophelia stood at the far end of the hall in her nightgown.
“Merrick,” Daphne said. “Oh no…God, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Everything is fine. Can I have some coffee?”
