Fallen (30 page)

“I’m giving you permission,” he whispered fiercely.

“Don’t you see?” Self-recrimination made her voice hitch inside her throat. “Adam’s completely right about me, about everything I did. How I pulled away from you …”

He simply stared at her, compassion in his eyes.

“I-I don’t trust myself anymore.” Her words thickened as she shook her head. “What if these feelings are wrong and it doesn’t work out? What if I hurt you again—”

“Then we
tried
.”

His hands reached for hers, drawing her closer. Her eyes misted, blurring her vision. Ryan leaned into her and gently tipped her chin upward, this time his lips a softer, lingering caress against hers. Her heart ached with the realization of just how much she needed him. Only the sound of his cell phone—someone sending a text—pulled them apart. Wiping at her eyes, she became aware of others around them, tenants from her building and other passersby who were out enjoying the holiday festivities along Peachtree. She and Ryan were receiving a few looks, particularly with his shield and holstered gun on display. He’d pulled out his cell phone, frowning as he stared at it.

“You have to go,” she said in disappointment.

“Yeah.” He squinted at her, appearing shaken himself. “We need to talk. About us.”

She gave a small sigh of agreement.

“Can I see you tonight?”

Lydia swallowed hard and nodded.

They stared at one another until she filled the empty space in their conversation, still stunned by Elise’s cooperation with law enforcement.

“How’d you manage this with WITSEC?”

“I have a contact at the DOJ. It turns out Brandt’s been on their radar for a while now,” Ryan said. “If Elise testifies to what she knows about her husband, she could be free of him.”

“And if he goes to prison, it would also remove him as a threat to
me
,” she acknowledged softly, her heart constricting at his likely true motivation. “What are they after him for?”

“For starters, money laundering for an international sex-trafficking operation. There’s probably more.”

Lydia felt a small chill despite the heavy heat.

“Stay on guard, all right? It could still be days before they make an arrest.” He peered back toward her building. “Do you want me to get rid of Varek for you before I go?”

Lydia shook her head. “I still have to work with him at the hospital. I’m hoping to get him out amicably.”

“Too bad. That’s something I could get into.”

She suppressed a soft smile.

Ryan took a breath. “We’ll go to dinner provided nothing comes up with the investigation? I’ll come by around seven?”

She agreed, not asking where they were going. It didn’t matter. She just wanted to be with him and talk out whatever it was they were doing. Hope flitted through her. Biting her lip, she watched as he walked down the concrete stairs that led from the plaza and out onto the sidewalk. With the crowds that were out, there was no telling where he’d had to park.

Lydia went back inside the building, preparing herself. She felt genuinely bad for Rick, but she had to tell him the truth. It was something she’d been struggling with for a while now.

She was still deeply in love with her ex-husband.

Chapter Twenty-Five

They’d dined at
Venezia, an intimate restaurant not far from Lydia’s building. It had been around for years but even with the ever-expanding Atlanta dining scene, it remained a favorite, somewhere they had gone in years past to celebrate special occasions.

Lydia stood now on her condo’s balcony. A section of the Lenox Square parking lot below her had been cordoned off for the annual Fourth of July fireworks. The sidewalks and green space along Peachtree teemed with people as they waited for the show to begin.

Ryan opened the sliding glass door and stepped out.

“Is everything all right?” she asked. He had been pulled away to take a call.

“It’s happening sooner than I thought.” He came up beside her, bracing his hands on the balcony’s railing. “They’re arresting Brandt sometime in the next twenty-four hours.”

She felt a rise of nerves. Thinking of Elise, Lydia stared briefly beyond the mall to the high-rises that had begun to glimmer against the smoky eggplant sky.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For getting involved in this.”

She saw he’d taken subtle notice of the thin-stemmed goblet she held. Lydia had refused wine at dinner.

“Sparkling water,” she clarified, lowering her gaze as she hesitated, gathering her courage. “You were right. I’ve been drinking too much. I’m trying to stop.”

At the confession, she felt her face infuse with heat. But Ryan’s fingertips skimmed her jawline, causing her to meet his eyes again. The concern she saw in them touched her deeply.

“You’ve been through a lot, Lydia.”

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “That’s the excuse I gave myself for too long.”

“And you’ve recognized it’s becoming a problem,” Ryan pointed out, his voice low as he bent his head closer to hers. “I’m here to help you. In any way I can.”

She released a breath, giving a faint nod as he took her free hand in his, his thumb brushing back and forth over her knuckles.

“I meant to ask earlier. How’d it go with Varek?”

They had been occupied at dinner talking about other matters—their painful breakup and the feelings that, despite everything, still remained between them.

“He wasn’t happy, but he wished me well. He said he wasn’t surprised, actually.”

Ryan tilted his head slightly. “About what?”

Lydia felt butterflies in her stomach as she looked at him. “That I wanted to try to work things out with you.”

She saw emotion play over his features. Taking the glass she held and placing it on the small bistro table, Ryan slowly drew her to him.

“Do you remember how we used to be?” he asked.

She nodded in silence, bittersweet memories pricking her heart.

“We loved each other before we lost Tyler,” he whispered roughly. “I believe we can again. We’re
supposed
to be together, Lyd. We need each other to get through this life.”

She caressed his shirtfront, in wonderment at the forgiveness inside him.

They’d talked, too, about the aftermath of their loss. How it had frayed what they’d once had. But this time there had been no blame, just two people seeking solace in one another. Light showered over them as the inaugural firework burst into the air with a thunderous, rolling boom, releasing an emerald starburst with spokes that spread outward into the darkening night. The pyrotechnic sizzled and snapped as the crowds below cheered.

Lydia never saw the second explosion.

Instead, her lashes drifted closed as Ryan dipped his head to kiss her. The heat from his body as he held her, his low grunt of need as the kiss slowly deepened, made their surroundings melt away. When they finally broke apart, raw desire shone in his eyes.

“I don’t really care about the fireworks,” he admitted, voice husky.

They both knew there were things to work out that couldn’t be settled in the bedroom. But Lydia couldn’t help it—she craved the physical contact, the warmth of his skin against hers. The security and thrill of being in his arms.

She led him inside.

In the bedroom, Ryan closed the curtains, creating a dark and intimate space despite the festivities outside. As he walked to where she stood beside the bed, she felt a yearning ache. Her eyes went to his mouth as he spoke.

“I’ve never stopped loving you, Lydia. I’ve felt married to you no matter what a damn piece of paper said about us.”

She savored the sight of him until he pressed his lips sweetly to her forehead before gently tipping up her chin and kissing her again. Lydia wrapped her arms around his neck, her heart beating hard.

They’d lost so much time.

She watched, her breathing shallow as he slowly undid the buttons on her sleeveless blouse, shrugging it downward to her elbows and trapping her arms. Head tipped back, Lydia made a soft, mewling sound as Ryan tasted her exposed shoulder, her throat. He murmured endearments, his love for her, against her skin.

She responded by hungrily joining her mouth to his as he pushed her blouse the rest of the way down and let it drift to the floor. Ryan unhooked the clasp of her bra behind her back, his hands cupping her small breasts once the lace garment had fallen away. Lydia slid his tie free and began unbuttoning his shirt, lost in her desire. His body was so hard and male. She felt a growing urge as he toyed with her stiffened nipples while she worked, pulling lightly at them with lean, masculine fingers.

Slowly, he caressed away the remainder of her clothing—her skirt, her panties—his mouth all the while pressing kisses against her skin. Then clasping her shoulders, he lowered her to sit at the bed’s edge.

Lydia’s heated blood coursed as Ryan stood over her, his shadowed face somber and intense. He tugged free of his open shirt, revealing the flat plane of his stomach and broad chest, and let it fall to the floor, too. She gazed up at him before pressing her lips to the vertical trail of coarse hair below his navel that disappeared at his belt.

“Lydia,” he whispered roughly, sliding a hand through her hair.

She lay back on the bed, sensations swirling low in her belly as he removed the rest of his clothing before joining her. Lydia parted herself for him, hearing her own shaky intake of breath as he slid a hand between her legs, expertly stroking her before sinking a finger deep inside her slick, moist heat. Lydia moaned, eyes closed and body arching as she ground into the heel of his palm, her desire nearly spiraling out of control. Murmuring to her, he moved his finger in and out of her in a slow, maddening rhythm, his thumb applying sweet pressure to her most sensitive spot. Ryan had always known exactly how to touch her, what to do to her. Lydia’s head rocked weakly back and forth as she whispered his name.

A short time later her orgasm shattered her.

As her breathing slowed, he covered her body with his. Looking into her eyes, Ryan guided himself inside her. Lydia gasped and wrapped her legs around him.

“Ah, God,” he whispered raggedly, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed closed.

He stilled before thrusting into her again, his mouth capturing hers as his strokes gentled and slowed. Lydia splayed her fingers through the soft hair at his nape. Her nerve endings stirred and tingled as he made love to her, her body responding to the erotic, unhurried pace Ryan set for them. The pleasure undulated and intensified, carrying them both on its crest until his thrusts deepened, and she felt him finally reach his own shuddering release. The heat of him spilling into her caused her to nearly climax again.

Some time later they lay together, legs tangled as the world came back to a gradual focus. The fireworks still made it sound like a battlefield outside, their muted colors filtering through the curtains. Lydia felt safe, sated, her head against Ryan’s chest.

They’d made love twice now in the span of a few days. Neither time had they used protection.

She’d had a difficult time becoming pregnant with Tyler. Maintaining the pregnancy, as well. He had practically been a miracle birth. She was also older, thirty-seven now. Lydia fully expected nothing to come of it.

Pensively, carefully, she stroked her fingers over Ryan’s forearm that lay in the curve of her waist. It was no longer bandaged, and the stitches had been removed a few days ago, although the reddened, scabbed-over laceration remained.

He was right, she conceded, her throat tight.

They belonged together even if Tyler was gone. Even if there were no more children and they had only one another to make a family. There was no one else for her, either. No one else she would ever desire.

Maybe it had taken this long for her to finally begin to heal, for the scar tissue to form some measure of protection over her battered heart.

To find her way back to him.

They’d fought their way through a sea of pain and, somehow, had found their way back to one another.

“You’re quiet,” he observed. Tenderly, Ryan tipped her chin upward to expose her face to his. His blue eyes were like midnight in the shadowed room. “You all right?”

She sighed softly, a sense of peace falling over her. “I was just thinking about how much I’ve missed you. How much I’ve missed this.”

His lips lingered against her temple.

*

“So what will it be?
Absolut
or absolution?”

Adam looked up at the pointed comment. He’d just taken a seat at the bar in McCrosky’s, which was packed with spillover revelers from the festivities taking place in Centennial Olympic Park. He gave what he hoped was his most charming grin. “I’m not much of a vodka drinker. Maybe a beer?”

Standing behind the raised mahogany counter, a bar towel slung over one shoulder, Molly pressed her lips together in a pout. “You never called. Liar.”

Adam sighed inwardly. Busted. He hadn’t expected her to be working tonight. “It hasn’t been on purpose. I’ve been taking some extra shifts, so I’ve been pretty wiped after hours. But I’m here now, right?”