Page 21 of Bought (BOUGHT TRILOGY #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Erin
I wake up in the best way possible, completely tangled in him. His arm rests heavily across my waist, and his breath is gentle against my shoulder. For a moment, I stay still, savoring this private moment of bliss.
“Lucian,” I whisper.
Last night’s memories flicker behind my eyelids in vivid, dizzying displays like his mouth on mine as he pinned my wrists and the strength in his hands when he held me. His whispered words of devotion thrilled me, even though I wasn’t supposed to be in his bed.
He didn’t just enter my body. He claimed ownership.
I’ve never felt anything like it.
I shift slowly, careful not to wake him. My legs are sore, my lips bruised. There’s a contented ache between my thighs.
The warm pulse is a reminder of how completely I gave myself to him.
I reach for my phone in the darkness of his room and slip out of bed. The air is cooler here in the living room. I walk barefoot across the hardwood floors, pulling his oversized dress shirt tighter around me, inhaling the faint scent of cedar and last night.
I’m headed to the balcony for some air when something catches my eye. I don’t mean to snoop. I really don’t, but you have to go through the dining room to get outside. There’s a heavy sideboard centered on the far wall.
One with a partially open drawer. Curiosity edges around me. My heart thuds as I step closer. And that’s when I see it. An envelope.
Stamped with a familiar crest: the double B of the Bachman Brotherhood, gilded in gold.
My blood turns to ice. My fingers twitch. My protection, and everyone in my family’s safety hinges on finding one thing.
Could it be in this envelope? If so, all I have to do is reach out and grab it. Leave and I’m out.
I feel sick.
I can’t breathe.
Handing this over means Caleb can’t touch us. We can move into our new place, blissfully unworried about our pasts. I can move on from the tangled web Lucian and I have created, and have the everyday, drama-free, danger-free life I promised Cass.
It also means…
Betraying him.
And I can’t.
Not after last night and the way he made me feel: worthy.
Not after the story he told me about the way he earned those scars.
He stirs in the other room, calling my name. “Erin?” I shut the drawer softly, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Lucian takes me to brunch. Like we’re normal. Like we’re not dancing on the edge of something dangerous and irreversible.
The restaurant is perched high on a rooftop, all white tablecloths and glasses that sparkle in the sun. The food is beautiful. Ridiculously expensive. The kind of meal you photograph before touching.
But he’s the one I want to photograph, to take one perfect picture to have for all time.
He’s wearing a tailored shirt, no tie, and the top button is undone. His hand rests casually over mine on the table. Every time he leans closer, the scent of him pulls me deeper under.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I try to smile. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“You. Last night. Everything.”
He squeezes my hand. “If you’re having regrets?—”
“I’m not.” I cut him off.
“Good. Because I meant what I said.” He nods, like he’s trying not to look too relieved. “I’m not walking away.”
After brunch, he takes me shopping again. His driver drops us off at Posh. I almost trip just walking inside for the second time.
“Lucian,” I protest, but he’s already speaking to a sales associate.
“Anything she wants. Don’t let her say no.”
I give him a look.
He gives me a smile that melts every ounce of resolve I have left.
“Humor me,” he says. “Watching you light up is the high I didn’t know I was missing.”
I want to stitch that into a wall hanging to go beside my photograph of him.
I try on dresses I’d never touch otherwise. Lace, silk, slinky numbers that hug every curve. Each time I step out of the fitting room, his eyes darken like he’s about to drag me into a closet and make me forget how to walk.
By the time we leave, he’s carrying more bags than I can count, and I’m blushing furiously.
He holds every door. Kisses me at every red light. Wraps an arm around my waist like I belong to him. And every time he says something like, ‘You’re mine now,’ I believe him even more.
And I trust him. But not enough to tell him the truth. Not yet.
Because no matter how many times he tells me I’m his, he won’t want me when he knows how he came to meet me.