When she pulled away, the kid blushed and stared at his feet.
She turned back to Cole, and he was right there, waiting, smiling with two gorgeous, irresistible dimples.
“It’s over,” she whispered.
“It’s only just begun.” He caught her nape and hauled her in, taking her mouth with pure and vulnerable passion.
In his kiss was heartbreak and risk and choice and chance and a million dreams all condensed into a moment.
A moment hard-won.
In his kiss, she won love.
Dublin, Ireland
Two weeks later
Lydia visited the house in Dublin 22 one more time. She thought she needed the closure, but now she didn’t know. Her heart was a mess.
“I don’t know why I’m here.” She paced through the small kitchen, looking around for anything she might want to keep.
“Do you want to go through his clothes?” Cole sat at the table, watching her steadily.
She and Mike didn’t own anything. No pictures. No clothes worth keeping. Nothing of value. Instead of collecting material objects, she’d collected tattoos. Her memories of him were inked on her body. She had the egg Mike painted, and she kept the image of his lopsided smile safely in her mind. That was all she needed.
There hadn’t been a funeral service. No big send-off. After she had him cremated, she and Cole flew to London, stood on the Westminster Bridge in the moonlight, and poured Mike’s ashes in the River Thames.
She let her brother go.
“I’m still trying to come to terms with it all.”
“There’s no hurry, Lydia. Take your time, and I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”
He hadn’t left her side since the night they released the video. PaulVer had done exactly what he’d said. The video went viral, and within twenty-four hours, Vincent Barrington was arrested for murder.
She and Cole had been glued to the news stations for the past two weeks, watching the drama unfold as Vincent was handcuffed and hauled away. The trial would make history. Those in the NSA who covered up his crimes would be named and charged, too.
Vincent Barrington would never see daylight again.
Cole had asked her if she wanted more justice than that. He said he couldn’t make promises, but he would find a way to have Vincent murdered in prison.
She didn’t want that. Death would be too easy. For a man who had lived so extravagantly off the rewards of his corruption, a concrete cell and penal labor would be the worst kind of hell.
Let him rot behind bars.
She treaded to the window and pulled back the curtain, gazing out at the dead lawn and the quiet street beyond. The snow had long melted, taking the trail of blood with it.
“There’s nothing left here but haunting memories,” she murmured.
“Then you need a reminder of the good ones.”
The chair squeaked as Cole stood, drawing her attention. He tapped on the screen of his phone and set it on the table. A moment later, a feminine Irish voice sang from the speaker.
Doo doo doo do, doo doo doo do.
Her sinuses flooded with searing, sticky emotion. Her vision blurred. Gasps rose and fell from her chest. By the time the first tear fell, he was in her arms, holding her, rocking slowly as he sang along with “Ode To My Family” by The Cranberries.
He kissed her softly as she sobbed out the agonies of her heart. He danced with her in the living room where Mike had slept without complaint. He swayed with her in the kitchen where Shannon had made her magical stew. Then he made love to her in the bed where he’d given himself to her completely and irrevocably on Christmas Eve.
He stared into her eyes as he entered her body as if it were the first time. No regrets passed between them as he stroked inside her, taking his pleasure and giving it back with the devotion of his lips.
He would never leave her. Never let her go. She felt that promise as he looked into her eyes, fucked her achingly slow, and said, “I love you.”
“I love you, Cole. Thank you for taking the risk with me.”
“You were worth the risk, Lydia. You made me whole again.”
He made her whole, too.
She’d lost her family, and though they could never be replaced, he’d given her a new one.
They shared a complicated history, but love was their magic ingredient. With a kiss, it annihilated twelve years of revenge and eight years of loneliness. If that wasn’t magic, she didn’t know what was.
Cayman Islands
Two years later
Today was the day. Nervousness might have been a natural response in Cole’s position, but he lived for this shit—the tremor of looming danger, the rush of adrenaline, and the thrill in fighting for something meaningful.
It didn’t get more meaningful than this.
White-crested waves rolled in from the sun-bleached horizon, lapping at his sandaled feet. He strolled along the beach, hands resting in the pockets of his swim shorts as his eyes moved from sand to sunbathers, from cobblestone pathways to crowded beach-side bars.