Bound for Nirvana: (The Bound Trilogy Book 3) (26 page)

It wasn’t until we’d waved goodbye and I’d settled into the luxury of the Bugatti that I realized how tired I was. The weekend had been profoundly emotional in many different ways and for many different reasons, but God, emotion was exhausting. I remember gazing wistfully out of the passenger window, basking in the last remaining moments of outer-city peace before closing my eyes. The next thing I knew, Ethan was shaking me gently by the shoulder, his sparkly, but tired, blue eyes gazing lovingly into my chocolate ones as he roused me from my slumber.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re home.”

A quick peek told me we were parked in our designated spot in the garage at the apartment, and I felt decidedly grumpy. “No.” I pouted my lips sullenly and stretched. “I don’t want to be back in Manhattan. I like it there at your parents’ place with the garden and the peace and the space and the moonlit lake.”

“Mmm, I know, especially the lake,” he muttered languidly.

“Yes, especially the lake.”

“Would my Cinders like me to carry her?”

I shook my head.

“Why not?”

“Because then you’ll have to come back down for the bags, and I want you to take me to bed.”

His eyes brightened becoming suddenly alert. “I like your thinking.”

“To sleep,” I said to avoid ambiguity.

Ethan narrowed his eyes, his lips puckering into a scowl. “I don’t think so, moody. We’re going to have a nice hot bath, with a cool, crisp glass of wine.” He licked his lips. “And then I want to taste your delectable pussy before I fuck it. Then I’ll put you to bed.”

Fatigue and grumpiness dissipated instantly, replaced with a sudden yearning ache as the muscles of my sex slowly clenched and unfurled.

His eyes searched mine, darkening as he correctly interpreted my response to his carnal words. His hand reached over the center console to my knee, disappearing under the hem of my caramel sweater-dress and up toward my panties. For a few seconds, he lingered at the edge of the lace before hooking a finger underneath and lazily stroking the pad of his finger through my sodden folds. I gasped at the sudden contact, watching as Ethan’s lip curled into a knowing smile.

“So responsive, you dirty girl.”

I tugged my lip through my teeth provocatively. “What can I say? I like your thinking.”

We settled back into the bubbles, me lying between Ethan’s thighs as water swished around our bodies, the heat seeping into muscles and bones to ease and soothe. The only light in the room was from the juxtaposed candles lining the shelf, and the effect of the overall ambience was blissfully sedating.

“Good?” Ethan murmured against my ear.

“Mmm-hmm.”

He immersed the natural sponge, allowing it to soak up the water before squeezing it onto my chest, creating a shiny rivulet to trickle down between the hollows of my breasts. “You tired, baby?”

“Exhausted. I don’t know whether you’re aware, but I was coerced into having moonlight sex in the dead of night—twice. And then as if my adrenaline levels weren’t high enough, the perpetrator went on to propose. I’ve been weighed down with this tremendously heavy rock on my finger ever since.”

Ethan laughed. “Ugh, sounds draining.” He kissed the top of my head as I began to smooth the bubbles into the dampened hair of his toned thighs. “You’ve had a very emotionally charged weekend, baby. It’s bound to have taken it out of you. Can’t have helped having a nightmare.”

My fingers froze as an image of the dream flashed through my mind. Suddenly my skin seemed to tighten, the hairs on my body standing on end, causing me to shudder in response. I inched down a little, so that the warm water rose to soothe the prickle on my skin.

My reaction didn’t go unnoticed. “What was the dream about?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t usually inquire, accepting that if I wanted to discuss my dreams, I would.

“Same old.” I shrugged, hesitating for a second before adding. “I think.”

“What do you mean?”

I didn’t know quite how to answer, because I wasn’t certain I knew what I meant myself. “I don’t know really, E. Usually I try and make a point of not dwelling on my dreams. They’re so absurd, so disjointed and confusing that it’s sort of comforting because it’s a reminder they’re not real and I can just let them fade. But there was something about this one. I mean, it was the same in that it involved the dogs and the shoes, but it was more… reminiscent. Almost corporeal.”

At first he didn’t respond, just started with the sponge again, soaking and squeezing, the action clearly helping him to think. In fact, the cogs of his mind were turning so frantically I could almost hear them.

“What if the dreams are real? I mean in the sense that they’re hinting to something factual. Something that happened which your mind has suppressed?”

“You mean the accident.” It wasn’t really a question. If I was honest, the thought had crossed my mind many times. Of course, I’d always squashed it before it manifested enough for me to really consider it.

“Yes. It may be that your subconscious is trying to alert your conscious mind to what happened that day. The memory is in there somewhere. You might find the accident easier to come to terms with if you could recall it.”

“How can I do that?” I angled my head to look at him, my brow furrowing with the uncertainty of what he was alluding to. “Wait a minute. You’re surely not suggesting I see a therapist?” He didn’t answer, just gazed back into my eyes as if he wasn’t sure what he was suggesting. “It’s too late for a therapist, E, and besides, you really think, of all people, I’m going to trust a damned head doctor.”

“Not everyone’s like your father, Angel. And anyway, it wasn’t therapy I had in mind.”

“Then what?”

He hesitated a second before adjusting his position to give me more room. “Turn around.”

Oh shit, why did I have a feeling I wasn’t going to like this? Hypnosis and all sorts of other meddling and mind influencing techniques began running screaming through my mind. I turned around to face him, hooking my legs over his.

“You don’t have to rely on
your
memory. You could ask someone what happened.” He let that hang for a minute, waiting for me to absorb it. I shook my head in confusion. “My mom refreshed your memory by imparting real information, actual details and photographs, right?” I nodded. “So maybe you need someone else to
tell
you what happened.”

I laughed dubiously. “And who the hell do you suggest I ask, E? There was no one else there, apart from a bunch of strangers, and I’d have a hard time tracking them down; I have no clue who they even were.”

“No.” He paused, seeming to give great consideration to what he was about to say. “But there is one person who witnessed the whole thing. A person whose name we
can
find out.”

My eyes widened as it suddenly struck me exactly where he was going with this. “You’re talking about him. The guy who hit her.”

Edging forward, he took a grip of my hands. “Don’t dismiss it, baby. Just think about it.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to sit down and have a conversation with that man?” My voice was filled with incredulity.

“Angel, as far as we’re aware, he wasn’t at fault. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone.”

I felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of anger. “No, of course he wasn’t at fault, because that was me. I’m the one to blame. He was the one driving the car, but I’m the reason it hit her, right?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.” He shook his head as if trying to dismiss the hurtful remark, and I felt immediately guilty.

“I’m sorry, E.” I let out a sigh, my heart sinking with dread because I knew he was right. I promised him and myself that I would fight my damn demons and this was the next obvious step. “How? How do we find him?”

Chapter Twelve

“If you twirl that ring around your finger any longer, I swear it will drop off.” Jia placed a steaming mug of coffee on my desk and stared with disdain at my huge, sparkly engagement ring.

It was of course mock disdain. She couldn’t have been happier for me when I’d breezed into the gallery over two weeks ago with it practically weighing down one entire side of my body. We’d accomplished virtually nothing that day, apart from a couple of random sales in between me blowing her mind with the details of the weekend. Everything from our arrival at Ethan’s parents’ house, my mom, the photos, the proposal—everything. Well not
everything
. Obviously, the intimate stuff I kept to myself. By the time I’d finished she was suffering from a severe case of emotional whiplash.

“You’re just jealous,” I said good-naturedly.

“Damn fucking straight, I’m jealous. I have zero chance of anyone ever buying me one of those. What’s eating you anyway?”

“Nothing,” I said with feigned nonchalance. “Just psyching myself up for the rain.” I motioned to the wide, shallow windows, which were actually too high in the wall to look out, unless you stood on a chair. I’d planned to spend the day wandering the city with my camera, take a walk in Central Park to capture the wonderful essence of fall.

Jia stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “It isn’t raining.”

“Oh. Well, good. I thought it looked like rain when I arrived.”

She scrunched up her seamless face. “Bitch, are you okay? You seem like a million miles away.”

Forcing a smile, I nodded to reassure her, but if truth be told, I wasn’t okay. Far from it.

Following our conversation in the bathtub the day we’d arrived back from his parents’, Ethan—with my full support—had arranged for a private investigator to track down the man who’d inadvertently knocked down and killed my mom almost twenty-three years ago. The PI had called this morning requesting a meeting to discuss his progress. Ethan had arranged the meet for four this afternoon. I’d decided to steer clear, preferring to hear the details from Ethan than from some guy I’d never met before. Hence my decision to spend the day doing what I do best, take my mind off the whole thing.

And it clearly wasn’t working. I picked up my coffee and took a gulp, grimacing when the scolding brown liquid seared the end of my tongue.

Jia shook her head. “Coffee’s hot.”

“Thanks for the warning, friend.”

She was about to make some smart comment when the phone rang, her demeanor adapting instantly to one of a complete professional. “Evoke Gallery, Jia Huang speaking.” As she listened, her eyes flicked to mine, her expression hardening with warning. “Mr. Sloane…” I rolled my eyes. “… No, I’m afraid Miss Lawson is still unavailable… As I’ve already explained, I’m unaware of the details, only that Miss Lawson is no longer able to commit to the contract and sends her sincere apologies… I will ensure she gets the message. Thank you for your call, Mr. Sloane.” She hung up, her eyes narrowing on a disapproving growl.

Closing my eyes, I lowered my head to my hands. According to Jia, Sloane had been calling on a daily basis since the Monday Ethan had informed him I wouldn’t be doing business with him. Well, I’m assuming it was something on those lines. Ethan hadn’t actually told me what he’d said, only that the matter was dealt with—which could mean anything. In turn, and for obvious reasons, I hadn’t divulged anything of Sloane’s persistent inquiring to Ethan.

“Why don’t you just sell him the goddamn pictures, already?” said Jia.

I held out my hands in disbelief. “Duh—have you even met my fiancé? Forget it, Jia.” I pushed to my feet, grabbing my backpack, and trying my best to ignore her, as she muttered something about a caveman clubbing me over the head and dragging me to his cave.

As Ethan frequently reminded me, I didn’t have to justify my business decisions to her. I usually did because I valued her input, but on this occasion, I decided he was probably right. She was scary, but I’d rather go up against her than Ethan any day of the week.

“I’m outta here,” I called over my shoulder as I headed out the door.

Fall in New York was breathtaking, especially in Central Park. The changing autumn leaves of maple, oak, and elm trees left a carpet of crisp, bright colors which crunched and crackled under your feet. The air felt and smelled cleaner, almost as though a fresh burst of oxygen had been injected in to the city, leaving you feeling invigorated and youthful. Fall was my favorite time of year.

While the hours whiled away, I snapped away, making best use of light and shadow and color. The lens captured the changing season, closing the door on the muggy summer and welcoming the freshness of autumn and the steady descent to a pure, crisp winter. As usual, my eye seemed to hunt down the images best fitted to my mood or current situation, and through the camera, I embraced the wild and wonderful changes presently occurring in my life. Just like the season, the change was fortifying and strengthening, preparing my defenses for what could potentially be a tough, austere slog. Oddly though, it didn’t seem to faze me. Because I knew that, despite the struggle, when I finally made it through, the sun would shine down on me again. Because now I had Ethan.

Hoping to push the thought of his meeting with the PI to the back of my mind, I’d consciously avoided checking my watch for the time. But by now, I knew enough about light to know it was time I headed home. Ethan would no doubt be there by now, waiting to give me whatever news he’d gleaned.

Emerging from Central Park onto 5th Avenue, I suddenly noticed a chill. Tugging off my backpack, I placed it on the ground between my feet while I pulled on my sweater, but the chill didn’t seem to abate. It was as if it had already crawled under my skin, wrapping around my bones before I’d had chance to prevent it. It was then that I took in my surroundings.

A peculiar sense washed over me, a sort of déjà vu experience, where everything about where I was standing, the proximity of the road, the angling of the curb, the building across the street, the amount of steps that I’d need to take to get there, all seemed overtly familiar. Sure, I’d walked this street many times before, but the chances of me ever having stood still in this very spot, to take in the details of everything around me, seemed incredibly unlikely. Unless…