When I finally make it to the door, I turn to watch as Ivy crouches down to Cerberus.
After a few moments, she attempts to pick the dog up to no avail—not surprising. What is, however, is Ivy’s tenacity.
When the rain hammers down, she doesn’t run away and leave the dog to fend for himself like other women I’ve known would’ve. She stays until somehow, she manages to get the dog up.
Ivy is a rare woman.
A prize meant for some stuffy man in a cheap suit who could never give her the things she deserves.
The things I can give to her.
I could shower her in the most expensive gowns and jewelry. I could whisk her away on my private jet to places she could only dream of. She’d want for nothing.
But that’s not how our relationship would ever be.
Not now.
Ivy is too proud to forget all that I have done to her. All that I have stolen. This thing between us will never be more than me taking everything from her, and her fighting to hold on to what makes Ivy, Ivy.
The strong woman making her way to me would never truly be mine. And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to take something not meant for me.
24
Ivy
“Oh, boy. I’m so sorry,” I say, my heart breaking at the broken Cerberus at my feet.
It’s my fault he’s in this shape. “I had to try. You understand, right?” His eyes look up at me, and that’s all the movement I get. This is gonna be harder than I thought, and at any moment, the sky is going to pour down on us. “I know you’re hurt, but I really need you to get up.” I nudge at him a bit.
He whines and shifts, but he doesn’t stand. “Come on, Cerberus. Help me out here.” I put my hands underneath him and lift. Finally, he stands to his feet. I’m on my knees, nose to nose with the dog, wanting to cry.
For him.
For me.
For whatever is to come once I get us back into that prison. My eyes flicker toward the house, and I know he is watching. I can’t see him, but I can feel his eyes on me.
All over me.
I can almost feel his anger pulsing through the air.
Something tells me that Cyrus is rarely on the receiving end of pain. No, he’s definitely a giver in that department.
There was so much blood, and that gaping wound will need to be stitched up. There is no way this is going to go unpunished, but what would he do to me?
I don’t think he’d hurt me, but I don’t know him. I don’t understand his motives, and because of that, I’m uneasy.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s go see what awaits us,” I say, allowing Cerberus to go ahead of me. I watch him hobble as his tail droops, and I want to cry.
Not just for Cerberus, but for me too. At least he’s up and walking. Surely, that means he’s all right, or he will be at least.
Following the trail of blood from Cyrus, I push down the bile caught in my throat.
When I find him, he’s sitting at the kitchen island going through a box of supplies. He has rubbing alcohol and a suture set already laid out. The towel he has pressed against his leg is already soaking through, and I know he needs a doctor.
“Cyrus, call the boat back. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“No.” He huffs. “They’re not coming back. Do you not see the storm outside?” he says, gesturing toward the window. “We’re stuck here.”
All the air whooshes out of my body as I realize that we’re alone in this. He needs to get sewed up, and it’s on me. I don’t have time to stand around.
“All right. Let’s get this cleaned and sewed up. You’re getting blood everywhere,” I say with a smile, trying to lighten the moment. I have to get out of my head if I’m going to do this.
He nods his head, then sitting back against the chair, he puts his hands out to the side in a “come get me” gesture that sends heat through my body.
“You’re um—” My cheeks warm. “You’re going to need to take your clothes off. I—” Why is this so hard. “I need to check to make sure . . .”
With a smirk on his face, he lifts his wet shirt over his head.
The man is magnificent. He looks like a Greek god, all tanned and toned.
Despite every instinct, my eyes rake down his pecs and over his chiseled stomach until they land on the light dusting of hair trailing out of sight.
My mouth feels like there are marbles in it, but somehow, I say, “Your pants too.”
I try not to look as he lowers them, but I can’t help myself.