Unforgiven (39 page)

Months and months of talking, laughing, remembering, forgiving, and loving one another, and he still felt like he learned something new about them constantly, and he loved the added depth that came with time. What he also learned was that there was no question that he belonged to her, and she belonged to him too. She always had. He always had. His love wasn’t something that could fade, and there was no threat of his anger and his pain destroying them anymore. He worried at first, and he knew she did too, but with time came peace.

He’d learned he was more than capable of being furious with her and not going or even wanting to go to his past to find ammunition to hurt her. She’d made the mistake one day, six months after she was officially a Savoy resident again living with him, of stopping her bike on the side of a winding bend in the road to look for a doe that had darted in front of her. She’d only just hopped off her bike and taken a few steps toward the woods when a truck flew around the bend, driving entirely too far on the shoulder of the road and smashing into her bike.

She hadn’t even bothered calling him, likely knowing he’d be upset that she put herself at risk, and when he’d seen the mangled mess of metal sitting by their porch stairs when he returned from work, he’d panicked. She was inside, pacing nervously back and forth. He yelled for ten minutes straight, and she’d watched him, breathing deeply and calmly. Perhaps yelling was wrong, but what wasn’t wrong was why he was upset. He was upset for the right reasons, and he didn’t go looking in their past for a reason to be angry. He never wanted to anymore. He spent the rest of the evening making up with her and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

They were still gawked at occasionally when they were seen together, and since they usually went everywhere together, it was a regular occurrence. He didn’t like the cloud that hung over her in this town, but they’d decided they’d stay for a few more years—at least until she was finished with parole. Instead of spending his time worrying about the odd onlooker who liked to study them, he preferred to give them a show. Grabbing her ass in public was a good way to raise a few eyebrows, but his favorite was a passionate kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. As it turned out, people found it hard to stare directly at a woman when she had a man’s tongue in her mouth.

A year after she moved in, he was ready. Or perhaps to say he was ready wasn’t quite the right word. He’d always been ready to marry her. What had changed was that he was at a place where he trusted himself with her completely. He knew he could give her what she needed, and he knew she believed in him too. They sweated their asses off on a run to the outcropping, and when she was walking in circles trying to catch her breath, he pulled the ring from his pocket. It was the most appropriate place he could think of to ask her. It was where he’d given her what she needed to stay, and it was where he’d given himself what he needed to heal. Forgiveness.

He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and holding his hand up for her to see. The ring barely fit on the tip of his index finger, and when she saw the diamond sparkling at her as it picked up and radiated the sun that was still high in the sky, she gasped and started to sob.

She touched it, running her hand up the palm of his. He bit the side of her neck gently, and her breath lurched. “Marry me.” He whispered it in her ear, and she turned toward him, smiling as her tears kept falling. Her face was pink and flushed from the run, and she was still panting, but she nodded, and then she nodded some more. Macy bounced and barked her way in circles around them as he held her in his arms. “I love you, Bailey. Always have.”

Now, he watched her sleeping in their bed as he tried to concentrate on a book. It was impossible. He was almost twelve hours away from marrying her, and he was anxious. This wasn’t bad anxiety, though; it was absolute impatience to make her officially his. His vows were written, nothing more than a list of words—his best words for her, their game. She was the other half of his heart, and he knew with her as his partner, he’d be whole.

He watched her as she slept peacefully. He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t want to wake her, and so he abandoned his book and lay down beside her, rolling to his side to study her face. He smiled as she purred contentedly, a warm humming sound that reminded him of making love to her.

He reached for the nightstand lamp, pausing when his eyes caught on the picture of them. It had once been hidden away in the drawer, a reminder of her that he tried to ignore but never could seem to. Now it was framed and sitting under his lamp. He looked at it. It was impossible not to smile now when he saw her laughing face and his mischievous grin as he looked at her. He’d been so enamored by her, even then. They were once again the couple in that picture. They smiled, they laughed, they loved one another the way they were supposed to, and they remembered their past without letting it destroy them. Jess’ picture was beside theirs, and he studied it for a moment too. She smiled at him, and he could hear her laughing in his mind.

He flipped the switch on the lamp, and he curled around Bailey’s body as she murmured.

“I think I’m gonna marry Matt Damon someday.”

Bailey turned to Jess, trying not to giggle. “Why Matt Damon?”

“I feel like maybe he’s my soul mate. Like Sonny and Cher or Simon and Garfunkel.” Now there was no stopping the laughter, and Bailey rolled to her side as Jess hit her with a pillow. “I’m serious!”

“Hmm . . . Well, I’m going to marry your brother someday.”

“Eww! Not my brother. That’s so gross.”

“It’s supposed to be gross because he’s your brother. He isn’t my brother.”

“Oh! Then you’d be my sister!” She squealed, and Bailey laughed.

“Yes! And Matt Damon would be my brother!” They giggled as they lay on the floor of Jess’ room staring up at the life-size poster of Matt on her ceiling, and they stared as their laughter died until the door was suddenly pushed open.

“What are you two giggling about?” Darren stood in the hallway with his arms crossed on his chest, but he wasn’t mad. He was never mad at her. Jess, sure. But Bailey, never. He smiled at her, shaking his head as his eyebrows shot up in amusement.

“Nothing.” Her voice was quiet. It was always quiet when he was around.

“It’s a secret, Dare. Get lost,” Jess muttered from her other side, but Bailey’s eyes were glued to him.

He rolled his eyes, but then he was smiling at her again. “Well, I can hear you two laughing from the family room.”

“Sorry.” Again, she couldn’t seem to talk above a whisper.

“No, she’s not. She’s not sorry at all.”

“Love ya, sis. Good night, Bay.”

“Good night.” He watched her for a moment.

“Love you too, Dare. Now get out!”

He flashed one more beautiful smile at her, and then he was gone. She was serious. She was going to marry him someday.

She sat bolt upright in bed, gasping as she woke, and he instantly pulled her into his arms. “You’re okay. Bad dream?”

“No. Really, really good one. Memory, actually.”

He flipped on the nightstand light, and Macy perked up. She was curled up at the foot of their bed, and knowing her crazy ass, she’d be up holding her leash in her mouth in no time expecting a run. The clock said it was two thirty in the morning. There would definitely be no running.

He kissed her. She loved his kisses. They could get out of control quickly with them, but there were times when it was just a kiss—perfect, sweet, loving. His hand moved up the inside of her thigh. This was apparently not going to be the innocent kind of kiss. She was still naked from their previous bout of kisses-gone-awry. Just the touch of his fingers moving gently over her skin, and she was wet within seconds. He slipped his finger between her lips, and she dropped her knees out.

“That’s my girl.” He was murmuring against her temple, and he pushed a finger inside her body, groaning as he nipped at her neck.

“Wait!” His eyes flashed to her, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this before the wedding.”

“Maybe we should have made that decision two years ago when we started making love rather than the night before our wedding.” He smirked, and she smiled.

“Please.”

He groaned, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But if I have to give up making love to my fiancé one last time before she becomes my wife, then I get to play instead.” She quivered around his fingers at the thought. “God, I love how beautifully expressive your body is.” He hummed as he leaned down to kiss her again. “I’ve loved you forever.” His eyes were dark and serious.

“I love you too.” They watched one another for a moment. “She’d be happy for us, right?” She knew the answer to that question, but she still liked to hear the answer from him.

“More than happy. There isn’t a doubt in my mind. Now are you going to tell me about this really good dream of yours?”

“It’s a secret.” She smiled shyly at him.

“Girls and their secrets. Very well. We’ll see if I can’t get it out of you.”

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back as his mouth moved down her neck, and his fingers started to explore. She listened to the giggles of two young girls from another lifetime, and she smiled. She was going to marry this man—the man she’d loved forever.

Elizabeth Finn is an Iowa native, where she lives with her husband and son. Elizabeth loves all things romance and enjoys immersing herself in the world of writing contemporary erotic romance stories. Look for more to come from Elizabeth Finn.

http://www.elizabethfinnfiction.com

Taliesin Publishing thrives on introducing you to new authors and stories. If you enjoyed this book, please continue reading for excepts of other stories releasing soon we think you’ll love. And if you do, please spread the word.

Victoria smiled at the tall robot footman striding toward her along the upper eastern gallery.

“Good morning, Princess.” He inclined his head as he swept by. “Doctor Q requested anyone who sees you to relay the message that your sled is repaired.” He turned the corner into the north wing.

“Thank you,” she called after him.

That was quick. She’d hauled her sled to the palace workshop yesterday evening and found the doctor stripping down a steam engine pump. He always made time for her, but twelve hours to replace the fractured runner was better than she’d dared to hope.

Sunlight pierced the clouds above Ben Nevis Island, bounced back off the new white blanket of overnight snow, and lit up the polished parquet floor of the gallery. She squinted into the dazzling brilliance, and her heart thrilled at the thought of all the clean slopes waiting for her out there, until the dark bulk of the Royal Airship
Elizabeth
emerged from the cloud base and blotted out the sunbeam as it sank towards the island.

She scowled up at it. Ordinarily, the arrival of an airship would likely herald someone bearing gifts and stories of adventure in far-off lands. But today’s was no ordinary visit.

Today, her sister Anne would fly across the sea to Ireland on her first solo royal duty, while Victoria would stay behind and seethe with frustration as the magnificent vessel shrank to a tiny dot before it disappeared into the distant sky.

A familiar, slow step-
slap
-step-
slap
footfall sounded from around the corner.

Sir Bisque Falls, Master of the Household,
Creepy Biscuit
to the princesses for as long as they could remember, and the most unpleasant human being either of them had ever met.

She was in no mood to be polite to the miserable old man today, so she opened the nearest secret panel and slipped into a passage behind the wall. Twin pinpoints of light pierced the dusty darkness from the next panel along, where someone had bored tiny holes through the pupils of a portrait’s eyes to allow a view of the gallery outside.

Victoria and Anne had started exploring when they were very young and had discovered spy portraits like this one in dozens of passages throughout the building. Somewhere back in the long forgotten history of the palace, someone must have been very paranoid.

Creepy’s footsteps approached her hiding place.

She waited for them to pass by, but instead they came to a sudden halt and she tensed. Had he seen her?

“Sir Bisque.”

She relaxed. It was only Nanny B calling to him.

“What do you want?” Creepy’s nasal tone was always at its most unpleasant when he spoke to a robot.

Nanny B’s steady footsteps approached and stopped. “Has there been a decision about which of the princesses will fly on the
Elizabeth
today?”

What?
Did Nanny know something she didn’t? Victoria felt her way along to the eyeholes and watched for Creepy’s response.