Page 230 of Enemies

His thumb strokes the tattoo on the inside of my wrist. His words course through my veins, leave me shuddering. We’re up to our hips now, the water tugging at the fabric of his tuxedo pants. Harrison doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

“Because I love you. I loved you first. And no matter what happens, dammit, I’ll love you last.”

I’ve seen Harrison King ruthless. I’ve seen him angry.

I’ve never seen him desperate.

I’m a different woman than I was a year ago. I’m stronger and weaker. I hurt more and I love more. I didn’t think it was possible to be both of those things.

He taught me how.

We’re connected in a way that will never end. Out here, where I feel as if I met the real Harrison King for the first time, I can’t deny it.

I shove off his jacket and toss it toward the shore.

“You missed,” he murmurs against my open mouth.

“Did not.”

I wind my arms around his neck as he reaches beneath the water to cup my ass, molding me to the hardness between his thighs.

His mouth closes over mine. It’s hungry and powerful, and he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down until I gasp.

I slip my hand under the water, and when I close it around that blazing hot hardness, he groans. The sound is primal and raw and goes straight to my core. I massage him, lifting up on my toes to get a better angle, and his hold on my ass tightens.

The sea tries to drag us away, but Harrison is my anchor. Steady. Relentless.

“Tell me you love me,” he rasps against my ear.

Before I met him, I never let anyone in. It wasn’t living, not really. But the way I felt about him, I was open. Raw.

“I loved you once. More than I thought I could love another person.” The words stick in my throat, and his fingers still on the zipper at the back of my bodysuit.

“Then love me again.” He leans his forehead against mine.

My heart squeezes. “Harrison…”

I understand why he left the way he did. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to start down this path once more. I have the career I want, friends I care about, a life I built myself. When he vanished from it last year, I realized how deep in me he’d been.

I could say that I want to love him, but the world is fucked up. That while I’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with him and stare down the devil, I’m afraid to do that with my heart on a string attached to his.

I can be brave, but not when everything I am is tangled up in him.

His jaw clenches. “Until you do, I’ll love enough for both of us.”

He’s holding out hope. I don’t know if it’s well founded or completely foolish, but I can’t help admiring him for it.

I reach for his pants.

He exhales his frustration but presses aside the panel of my outfit. The water tickles my bare skin, and I gasp as he brushes his fingers where I’m already hot and wet.

“I want you in my bed,” he murmurs, playing with my slickness. “I want you in my life.”

My nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders, the shirt spattered with drops of spray. He presses a finger inside me, and I moan into his mouth.

All my resolve flees, chased away by his words and the rhythm of his finger. I’m get wetter, even under the cold water.

His touch, his words, it all hurts in a way that’s so damn good. Because I can’t deny it, just like I couldn’t deny it a year ago.