WHITE WALLS (21 page)

I stand in his study and point to the watch on my wrist. We were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago and have been put behind because he’s been on the phone for the last forty five. He holds up his finger, telling me it will only be another minute and I walk around the right side of his desk. I brush my fingertips over a newspaper, the article on the front page jumps out at me and I slide the paper closer to me. There are flames on the front page. Muted gray and black flames. There was a fire somewhere. My eyes sweep over the picture, but just when I start reading the article, Elijah comes up behind me, breathes down my neck, and his hands slip around my waist. His lips are against my ear and his nose nuzzles my hair. “You smell wonderful.” He takes a deep breath. “Is that the shampoo I bought?”

“Yes. The lavender shampoo.” I told him about my ritual with mommy when I was a child and he went a little crazy with all the lavender scented perfumes, lotions, and shampoos after that. But I don’t mind. Especially because I love the scent so much.

His hands slide up the back of my beach dress and he grips my waist. “I want you so bad right now.” His words rumble in my ears. “Can’t the beach wait another hour?”

“I suppose,” I whisper. I think about how bad I want him too.

I think about his hands all over me, touching and caressing my bare skin. I think about his mouth in sacred places. And his body fused to mine as we call out each other’s names. I love it when Elijah and I make love. Because he makes love in different way than Damien did. Not that I didn’t love making love with Damien, but Elijah is more manly about it. More aggressive. Damien was always so gentle. He treated me like a china doll and he always asked me if he was hurting me. Sometimes I think he thought he was going to break me.

In one swift motion, Elijah scoops me up, positioning my legs around his back. Then he takes his right arm and clears the desk before lying me back on it. He unbuttons my dress slowly.

One.

Button.

At.

A.

Time.

He kisses me sensually, his tongue flicking mine gently before his lips find my ear, he yanks me by the hips against his pelvis, and whispers in a voice as smooth as melted chocolate, “I’m going to fuck you, Adelaide.” I bite my lip and arch my back. “Would you like that, Adelaide?”

“Yes,” I moan and writhe beneath him as he removes his shirt. He fists the side of my underwear and I can hear the echo of them ripping somewhere in my mind. This man is rough, but I love it. He’s cold but little by little, I know I’m melting the ice in his veins.

He jerks me upright by the waist and his tongue traces a line on my lips. “I love you,” he breathes into my mouth. “I never thought I’d ever say that to a woman.”

“I love you too” I say.

I never thought I’d tell a man that twice.

TEASER FROM THE FINAL BOOK IN THE ASYLUM TRILOGY

BEAUTIFUL NIGHTMARES

Beautiful Nightmares

MARCH 1957

I am a mother.

I have a child.

I am married to a wonderful, wonderful man.

I never thought I’d be able to say those things to myself.

Willow has been fussing for hours.

I rock her against my chest.

I sing her a song Mommy used to sing me.
“Little bird, little bird spread your wings and fly. Little bird, little bird soar through the sky.”

Elijah has been working the midnight shift so I hate to wake him and have him take her for a drive. We usually take turns. When we first met, he told me he didn’t want kids. I laugh at that now. And I think part of the reason he said he didn’t want to be a father is because he was terrified of turning out like his own.

 
He’s an amazing father and Willow, who is only six months old, has him wrapped around her tiny finger.

 
Willow cries a lot. The pediatrician says its colic and the only way I can get her to stop fussing is by taking her for a drive in the car. The gentle hum of the engine is like a lullaby for my beautiful baby girl and it amazes me how she can look so different when she’s sleeping.

 
I’ve been driving now for almost a year and I don’t think I’ll ever get over the liberating feeling that comes with it. I love to drive with the windows down. I love feeling the wind tousle my hair. I love how the car makes me feel like I’m a bird and that I can fly anywhere.

Willows’ cries turn into shrieks and I start bouncing her on my hip. “All right, all right,” I tell her in a sing-song voice. “Mommy is moving as fast as she can.”

After grabbing my purse, the car keys, and buckling Willow into her car seat, I turn the car around and speed down the driveway. And within minutes, I check on Willow through the mirror and she’s already fast asleep.

I admire my beautiful daughter who resembles her father in more ways than she resembles me. She has his hair. His complexion. His lips. The only feature of mine she has are my eyes.

She’s a happy baby for the most part. Except for when she’s crying because of the colic. I continue to watch her sleep through the mirror and remember when she was born. I remember Elijah’s domineering yet excited behavior. And how he insisted on being in the room with me while I was giving birth. I remember the moment they placed Willow on my bare chest and how in that moment I thought that I could never love another person as much as I loved the tiny human I’d just brought into the world.

And when they placed Willow in Elijah’s arms, I saw one of his rare smiles. The one that touches his honey eyes and I knew neither one of us could be happier than we were in that moment.

Willow fidgets in her sleep and witnessing her tiny movements melts my heart. I know I should be paying attention to the road. That was one of Elijah’s favorite things to stress during my driving lessons. “Eyes on the road at all times,” he’s say.

But I can’t help the overwhelmed feeling I get whenever I stare at my child. Mostly because I’m always wondering how I could have brought something so beautiful and perfect into the world. I can’t but feel the love for her swell inside of me every day and sometimes I wonder if at some point, I’ll be so full of love that I’ll explode.

Up ahead I hear the faint sound of tires screeching and drop my gaze to the windshield, just in time to prevent myself from hitting a man. The car ahead of me swerved off the road and the man is still standing in front of my car.

I see him.

I mean really see him and my heart stops beating.

My blood runs cold.

Every hair on my arms stands at attention.

No…

It can’t be.

It’s impossible.

The man stands before me, a silver locket laced through his fingers. I watch the locket swing back and forth, back and forth. My eyes travel up the length of his body and I choke on a sob when I look into hateful eyes.

This can’t be happening.

I saw him…

I saw him go away.

Didn’t I?

The man lets out a malicious laugh and I know now more than ever that he’s not a fabrication of my mind.

“No,” I cry and shake my head. “No.”

Willow finally wakes up, realizing the car has stopped and begins wailing. But I tune her out. I’m too focused on the man in front of me, clutching my locket.
My locket!

The same man who inflicted years and years and year of pain, heartbreak, and terror on me. The man who was supposed to love me because I’m a part of him.

My daddy.

Other Books by Lauren Hammond

12 Rounds

Insanity

If I Can’t Have You

A Whisper To A Scream

He Loves Me…He Loves You Not

Asphodel

Famished

Infect Me

Lauren Hammond is the Amazon Bestselling author of If I Can’t Have You and He Loves Me…He Loves You Not. She serves as the Executive Literary Manager for ADA Management Group, representing a group of extremely talented writers. When she’s not writing she can be found at any random coffee shop or perusing the YA section at her local bookstore.