Page 123 of Dance of Thorns

This.

32

DOVE

A few months ago,when I was looking for an escape, I went to the eighty-third floor of the Empire State Building.

But over the last couple of months, I’ve realized that what I was looking for up there wasn’t an escape, but anexit.

A permanent one.

That need to close my eyes, spread my arms and justfallisn’t there anymore. It’s not lurking in the dark corners of my thoughts or dogging my every step like a shadow I can’t shake.

In a twist ofsupremeirony, I’m pretty sure it’s the dark, broody storm cloud of a man I married who’s chased those other storm clouds away. Who has cleared the shadows and pulled me—at times quite forcefully—back from that edge.

The same man who knew without asking that Ineededthis.

To get away from life in general.

It’s been four nights since we got to Èze. That first night, without luggage of any kind, all we had was the clothes on our backs and my meds, which he’d remembered to bring.

Obviously, the clothes cameoffour backs fairly quickly.

Bane had a couple of suitcases of things overnighted to the gorgeous stone villa above the Mediterranean. But we’ve barely opened them.

I mean…why would we? Who needs clothes when all they’re going to do is get between a firm hand and an eager backside? Also, Bane’s destroyed enough pairs of my panties. I don’t need to have new ones shipped to France just so he can add to the trail of destruction.

I’m not naive. I’m aware that this is a temporary escape, not a permanent one. Eventually, I’m going have to face the music, and try to find answers to the questions I’m still not sure how to ask, never mind answer.

What really happened that night?

Why is my DNA all over the handle of the knife that was used to slice open the throat of my best friend’s killer?

And there’s an even bigger, louder, more pressing question:why am I okay with falling in love with the man SHE loved?

What thefuckdoes that say about me?

The air growsa little cooler at night. But I’m still more than comfortable in the bikini I’ve been wearing all afternoon,sunning myself on the veranda that looks down on the cliffs below.

I’ve been trying not to think about it. I’ve been trying to put it on the list of “things you don’t need to worry about here”, along with the charges against me, the confusion in my head, and the lurking, lingering fear that I might befarmore fucked up than I think.

But honestly, I wish I had her diary here. I’d been trying to pace myself with it—not because I didn’t want to devour the whole thing in one sitting, but because each entry revealed another candid snapshot of my friend. Another side. Some of them were familiar, and others weren't.

And I’ve needed space to absorb it all.

To remember.

To try and give myself a little grace, and to atone for falling forherlove.

But with no diary to read, I’m tracing a fingertip over the leather-bound books in the library, a silk sarong wrapped around my waist, when I hear the floor creak behind me.

“Thereyou are.”

A smile creeps over my face as I turn, gasping as Bane surges into me. I moan softly against his mouth when he kisses me, his hands skimming around my waist and pressing me to the bookshelves at my back.

My breath catches when I feel the thick throb of his erection against my center through his shorts and my sarong and bikini. As I inhale the scent of him—woodsmoke and leather, mixedwith a clean almost citrusy smell that turns me to putty in his hands.

I open my mouth for his tongue, mine dancing with his as my leg lifts to his hip, my arms winding around the back of his neck as I roll my hips against him.