The McCullagh Inn in Maine (8 page)

Jeremy had waited
for this moment way too damn long, and now that he had Chelsea in his arms, clinging to him, limbs trembling from the pleasure he'd given her, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Ever since she'd left him, sex had been just that—
sex
. Meaningless. Empty. A way to fulfill a basic need, but nothing more.

With Chelsea, it was everything.

This wasn't about lust or desire.

It was a promise from him to her, a way to show her she could trust him to stick around no matter what happened, even though she seemed so damn certain he was going to somehow mess her life up again. Apparently she thought men like him couldn't handle the type of trouble she was in. Or maybe she thought he was only looking out for himself—just like her father.

So when she found out the secrets he held, she'd be pissed as hell.

Her first instinct would be to push him away. But his first instinct would be to hold her close. Through the worst of her anger, he'd be there at her side. Eventually she'd forgive him. Years had changed nothing on his end. He'd just been waiting for her to come home when she was ready. She'd done that, and she'd brought a shitload of trouble with her.

It was his job to clean it up.

Closing his mouth over hers, he slid between her legs, groaning at the feelings of her skin on his—something he'd craved over the past ten years more than anything else in the world. She wrapped her legs around him, still trembling from the orgasms he'd already given her.

If he had it his way, he'd spend the rest of his life making her scream his name. Making her happy, because, damn it, Chelsea deserved some happiness in her life. It'd only been recently that he'd finally discovered she had disappeared to Miami. Before he could go down there for her, all hell broke loose.

Her replacement hero had turned out to be a villain.

His tongue found hers as he thrust inside her warm heat and they both moaned at the same time. An animalistic hunger took over, and he tightened his grip on her ass as he thrust into her harder, deeper, claiming her in a way he should have done lifetimes ago. With every stroke, every kiss, every caress, he dug deeper into her, until he was sure he'd disappear altogether and cease to exist.

And that was fine with him. He was man enough to admit he needed Chelsea by his side. She made him whole, and that had never been clearer than it was right now.

He moved his hips faster, harder, not even pausing when she came again, her tight walls closing around him. The faster he moved, the more she clung to him. As her nails scraped down his back, leaving scratches in their wake, she cried out as she orgasmed again, and this time, he was right there with her, soaring into the sky before gently drifting down, like snow. Dropping his forehead to hers, he breathed in deep, her scent filling his senses. “Chelsea…”

“You're wrong,” she whispered, her hands tightening on his shoulders. “I do trust you.”

He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “Then tell me—”

“Shh,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not now. Don't ruin it.”

He felt way too damned good to care that, technically, she was still keeping her walls up. This was Chelsea, and she was the love of his life, and no matter what happened, he wasn't letting go of her again.

Not even when all his lies were revealed.

I finished drying
my fake blond hair, staring at myself in the fogged-up mirror. My cheeks were flushed, and I swore I could still feel Jeremy touching me, making my body come alive with his soft, tender embrace. Everything about today had been perfect, which made me want to grin and uncharacteristically dance around in circles, but there was one thing holding me back from being happy.

Our relationship had an expiration date.

I wanted to selfishly spend as much time as possible with Jeremy, before it was all ripped away, but the game I played was a dangerous one. There were only two ways out, and one of them was a body bag.

I wasn't the type of person to focus on regrets, but right now? I had them. I had
lots
of them. If there was a way to go back, to not run away from the things I'd had all those years ago, I'd travel back in time in a split second. I'd stay by Jeremy's side and fight for him. I never would have gone to Florida, or met Richard, or almost lost myself in his abuse. And I never would have had to kill him.

But regrets were as useless as dreams. I stared at myself in the mirror. For the first time in years, I liked what I saw, blond hair aside. I'd done a lot of bad things over the course of my life, but this time, I wasn't just moving forward. I was taking a stand to fix things. I was accepting responsibility for my actions, and I was righting the wrongs I'd inadvertently committed.

For the first time, I wasn't running from anything.

Not even Jeremy fricking Holland.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “You still showering, Chels?”

I lowered my fingers from my lips, eyeing my damp hair and the tiny towel wrapped around my body. My pulse sped up at the sound of his voice. “No, I'm out. You can come in.”

Jeremy opened the door slowly, peeking his head through. When he saw me standing there in next to nothing, he tossed the envelope he'd been holding onto the counter, crossing the room with heated green eyes full of seduction. He wore a pair of sweats and nothing else.

He gripped the towel and raised a brow questioningly. I shrugged, and he undid the little knot I'd made to keep it in place. As the towel fell to the tile floor, he pulled me close, his hands resting on my ass, and whistled through his teeth.

I met his eyes in the mirror. A strand of hair fell over his forehead, giving him a rakish appearance. He looked so happy, standing there holding me, that it physically hurt my heart. Looking away from our image, I buried my face in his bare chest and breathed him in like air, digging my fingers into the hard muscles of his back.

He gently tipped my face up to his, staring down at me for a second before he lowered his face to mine and kissed me tenderly. It took my breath away, that kiss. After his lips left mine, he released me, bending to pick up the towel he'd taken off me. “I didn't come in here to strip you, believe it or not.”

I wrapped the towel around myself, trembling. “I wasn't exactly complaining,” I said dryly.

“I know.” He dragged his hand through his hair and reached for the envelope he'd tossed as he came in the room. “This came for you from the DMV.”

My heart pounded in my ears, and I took it, feeling the envelope. Sure enough, something hard and rectangular was inside. “Oh.”

He locked eyes with me, brushing my wet hair out of my face. “What's in it?”

“Nothing. It's nothing at all.”

He frowned. “You're going to talk to me eventually.”

“I know. Later.” I bit my lip, staring up at him, making sure to hide any emotion. “Okay?”

For a second he looked disappointed, but then he gave me a tight smile and nodded. “All right. I'm going to hop in the shower. Want to go to Ollie's for dinner? We can get some takeout for Paul and swing by the hospital afterward. Then we need to go to Lowe's and pick out a chandelier for the foyer. Were you still thinking the elegant one, with the crystals and silver?”

“Yeah, I think that's the way to go. It'll match the old charm of the house.”

He nodded. “And Chels—”

“I know,” I said. “Later.”

After the shower started, I took a second to grieve for what might have been, and then I tossed the envelope that held my new ID in the garbage, not even bothering to open it. There went my new start, in my inn and hometown, where I'd been planning to live with a real man by my side. I didn't need it anymore.

Because I wasn't getting it.

We got home
really late, long after the moon had come out, when the sky had filled with stars. We'd been the last ones to check out at Lowe's after selecting the perfect chandelier that highlighted the comforts of modern style with an old-fashioned flair.…

Which was exactly the effect that the inn would eventually have.

I stared up at the wires hanging from the ceiling and pictured the inn, in all its glory, once it was renovated, shiny, and open for business. Fixing up this place had given me a new purpose in life. It was exciting to build something real here in Hudson with my own two hands. I only wished I could finish what I'd started, but at least I had a man I could trust to see my vision through…even if I never got to see it for myself.

And that was fine. Or so I kept telling myself.

I'd run into Tommy McGinnis at Lowe's. I'd gone to school with him, and he'd been pretty thick with Paul. They'd constantly caused trouble, like a pair of thieves…which they were. Last I heard, his wife left him and he was drowning his sorrows in heroin. Word was he was pretty much a lost cause…and that he was trying to drag my brother down with him. All the more reason I was happy Paul had insisted on going into protective custody with me. At least he wouldn't end up like Tommy. He'd be clean. Or as clean as two O'Kanes could get, anyway.

He'd promised when he asked to come along with me.

Jeremy set the chandelier down with a soft
oof
. “That shit's”—he kicked the door shut behind him and locked it—“a hell of a lot heavier than it looks.”

“It's perfect.”

“I agree.” He craned his neck, glancing into the living room. “We totally could have gotten that second one tonight. It'll fit over the coffee table, for sure.”

“Pick it up tomorrow for me, after work? Along with the carpet I was eyeing for the foyer.”

“Of course.” He stopped staring at the living room and focused those bright green eyes on me. He set his phone down on top of the box, his gaze locked on me. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Don't look so scared. No matter what you tell me tonight, I'm not going anywhere.” He smoothed my hair off my cheek. “I'm gonna grab a beer. Want one?”

I let out a soft breath, because
he
wasn't the one going somewhere. “Whiskey. Straight whiskey.”

“Damn. That bad?”

I didn't say anything. Just stared at him. That was answer enough.

I knelt beside the chandelier box, looking at the picture on the side. Maybe we could get it hung up tonight before bed, so I could see it before I left. It was weird, but a melancholy acceptance had taken over, and I was almost…
numb
.

“So why are you racing the clock?” Jeremy called out from the kitchen.

I eyed the peach walls and the painted fireplace. “I started the paperwork to give you authorization over the inn and its accounts. Did your boss give the go-ahead for—?”

Jeremy's phone lit up on the box. Out of habit, I glanced down. It was a text message from someone named Vasquez.
Need to update you on the Hudson project, call me immediately.

Vasquez…

Richard had employed a man with that last name, and he'd been even more ruthless than Richard. At first, I couldn't put two and two together as to why Vasquez would be texting Jeremy about a project, but some small part of me whispered,
Ha! I knew it all along! He was playing you.
And I couldn't shut that voice up once it came to life.

“For what?” he called out. “For me to take the inn on as a client?”

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I stared at his phone, my finger itching to open it up and read more of those texts. Why was he getting messages from Vasquez? And why was he so insistent he stay here, by my side, the second I walked back into town? Jeremy didn't fit the profile of a cartel informant…which didn't make me feel better. If anything, it made me feel worse. Because I knew of a few occupations that used last names as much as they did first. Athletes, military…and
cops
. A perfectly respectable profession.

And that made a hell of a lot more sense than Jeremy being dirty.

The answer was blindingly obvious, and yet I didn't want to acknowledge it, because if he'd been lying to me this whole time—if he was a damn
cop
—then every ounce of trust I'd placed in his hands was complete and utter crap. I thought of the way he'd handled the gun the night we'd been shot at. His grip had been so sure, so comfortable, like he was around guns all the time. Like it was his
job
.

When I didn't answer, he came out into the foyer, scanning the room until he found me, sitting next to a box, looking lost as hell. The second we locked eyes, he froze, the smile slowly dying on his charming face. “Chels?”

Ah, the clever use of my childhood nickname, perfectly brought back into play so he could worm his way into my good graces. And the way he looked at me, like I mattered to him. Had he planned that, too? Was it the best way to make me, the gullible girl who was in love with him, jump back into his arms? I'd fallen for it, like the naïve little idiot I'd always been with him. Apparently years of distance hadn't changed that. All he had to do was kiss me, pretend he wanted me, and I became clay in his hands, waiting to be sculpted the way he wanted.

That son of a bitch.

“Who's Vasquez?” I asked, watching him closely for any signs of guilt.

He shifted on his feet, opened his mouth, closed it, and then pressed his lips together, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly as he turned away, hiding his face from me as he tried to come up with an answer I might believe.

Well. There you had it.

The guilt I'd been hoping not to see. It was written all over his damn face.

“Get out,” I said, struggling to my feet, pulse racing, heart aching. “Get the hell out of my house
right now
.”