Cannon (Carolina Reapers 5)

“Never.”

“Right.” She handed Owen another fry. “And I know the honeymoon stage is all sex and fun, but have you gotten into a fight with her? An honest-to-God, frustrated, want to shake-some-sense-into-you fight?”

I grimaced. “We’re kind of in one right now.”

“And you didn’t hurt her, did you?”

“Physically? No. Of course not. I’d rather die. But emotionally…that’s another story.” I snuck a fry and reached across Lillian to hand it to my nephew. So help me God, that kid would never go through what we did.

“That’s just…love.” She shrugged. “Whether or not you admit it, Cannon, love isn’t always forged in the hell we grew up in. Sometimes it grows tall in the sunlight. That doesn’t mean it’s not just as strong.”

“I’m not good enough for her.” The words choked my throat.

“Why don’t you let her decide that for herself?” When I was silent, she let out a sigh that moved the flame on the tea light in front of us. “Tell me this. Are you really prepared to live the rest of your life without her? Because it sounds like you’re on the brink of doing something incredibly stupid.”

“I just want what’s best for her.” I leaned over and smacked a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Lillian.”

“Don’t fuck something up because you think it’s too good to be true,” she lectured as I stood. “Sometimes, good things are just…good.”

Apparently, my sister had been drinking the Kool-Aid around here. I nodded and headed after my wife. Shit, she wasn’t even my wife anymore. What the hell was she? My lover? My friend? Whatever label I put on us, was I honestly ready to live the rest of my life without her if it was for her own good? If it kept her safe? Made her happy in the long run?

My head spun as I opened the door wide enough to slip through and closed it behind me. It was another ballroom, but this one was smaller. The room was dark, but Persephone was illuminated in the moonlight that shone through the picture window at the end of the room.

Fuck, she was beautiful. Her white, lace dress had a modest neckline but hugged every one of her delectable curves until it ended above her knee. The woman was pure fucking class.

She turned when she heard me approaching and leaned against one of the large banquet tables that lined the edges of the room.

Our eyes locked, and my heart fucking hurt with everything that was stuffed inside it. It felt like the stupid organ was ripping at the seams. God, how could I ever walk away from her? How could I find the strength to do what was right for her, when all I wanted to do was fall at her feet and beg her to love me? To keep shining her light in the places I felt the darkest?

“Cannon,” she whispered as I came closer.

I didn’t slow my approach or lower my eyes.

Hers widened, and her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her hard and deep. She moaned as our tongues twined and rubbed, the sound filling the dark room. This was my heaven. Not the ice, or between the pages of a book, but right here with Persephone in my arms.

I lifted her onto the table without breaking the kiss, and her fingers found my hair as she tilted her mouth beneath mine. I slid my hand to the back of her head, careful not to fuck with her hair—we’d eventually have to go back out there—and she melted against me, surrendering to the power of the unquenchable desire between us.

I kissed her in every way I’d come to love—deep and wet, soft and slow, hard and needy, until we were both panting, straining to get closer to the other.

She unbuttoned my suit coat and slid her hands inside, skimming the edges of the area that still burned—and would for a couple of days—before reaching around my back and scoring me lightly with her nails. I hissed in pleasure and moved my mouth to her neck. I fucking loved her neck. Loved how responsive she was. Loved how she gave everything over to me without reservation. I just fucking loved h—

“Stop!” she said suddenly, pushing me away with both of her palms on my abs.

I stilled, frozen in the moment.

“Cannon, please,” she pled.

I raised my head and managed to find the willpower to step away from her. My hands slid from her hair, and a chill washed over me from the loss of her warmth.

“Don’t do that,” she insisted, smoothing out the lines of her dress.

“Don’t do what?” I asked, barely recognizing my own voice.

“Kiss me like it’s the last time,” she whispered. Her lip trembled.

We stood at the proverbial fork in the road.