Fairytale Come Alive

Chapter Eighteen Carver

Prentice

The doorbell buzzed to Elle’s apartment and Prentice woke instantly.

This was unusual, Prentice was a deep sleeper.

But from the moment they arrived in Chicago, he’d been waiting for this.

And he was looking forward to it.

Therefore he rolled into Elle who had woken too and looked into her shadowed face.

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

“But –” she whispered, her voice sleepy but full of fear and Prentice felt his temper flare.

And he was glad for it. He wanted to be angry. He did not intend to keep a very tight hold on his control. If it snapped, he’d welcome it.

“Don’t move,” Prentice repeated.

“The children,” she said.

“It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t –”

His mouth found hers and he kissed her quiet before murmuring, “Elle, baby, trust me.”

He heard her pull in a soft breath and watched her shadowed head nod.

He threw the bedclothes aside and the bell buzzed again.

Jesus, the bastard was impatient.

Prentice wanted to make him wait. However Carver could wake the children, both also deep sleepers like their father, and Prentice courted this if he delayed.

So he didn’t delay.

He also didn’t put on a shirt but walked to the front door only in a pair of pajama bottoms.

He did this on purpose.

He wanted Carver Austin to be confronted with Prentice and Elle’s intimacy. He wanted that man’s imagination to run wild. He wanted him to know that he’d pulled Prentice from Elle’s arms, from her bed. He wanted him to wonder what they might be doing there.

It didn’t say much about him but he didn’t care.

After what that man did to Elle and took from the both of them, Prentice wanted Carver Austin to be tortured by every conceivable way Prentice could make Elle happy.

Prentice weaved his way around the many obstacles to the front door.

They’d been in Chicago three days and there were boxes everywhere. They spent the mornings packing or, Elle, Prentice and Jason did, Sally spent it mostly digging through stuff, showing treasures she found to Elle and asking, “What’s this?” and alternately chattering. They spent the afternoons seeing the city.

Sightseeing was strange, not unpleasant but not as pleasant as it could be and this was mainly because people recognized them everywhere they went. They gawked, they whispered behind their hands and more than once they opened their phones and took photos.

Sally seemed not to notice a thing.

Jason found it funny and once made a face at one of their impromptu photographers.

Prentice found it startlingly easy to ignore.

It would be easier to ignore if it didn’t make Elle visibly anxious.

All of this partly had to do with Elle already being famous, partly the photographers who’d already sold their pictures but mostly it had to do with fucking Hattie Fennick.

Hattie Fennick had sold Prentice and Elle’s story to a rag and it was printed the day before Prentice, Elle and the kids flew to Chicago.

Hattie had fortunately painted Prentice and Elle as star-crossed lovers, torn apart by a wicked, evil man and thrown back together by fate.

Knowing Hattie, who could be vicious but who wasn’t stupid, Prentice reckoned this wasn’t the picture she wanted to paint but the only one she could if she didn’t want to be stoned by the villagers.

At his office where Dougal had arrived unexpectedly to show him the spread in the magazine, Prentice had been surprised to see two photos of Elle and Prentice taken twenty years ago mingled with the others.

Which meant Hattie had also given them photos, photos Prentice didn’t know she had, intimate photos of Elle and Prentice that made Prentice feel unsettled that Hattie had at all.

One was at a party at the beach. He remembered that night though he couldn’t recall Hattie being there. The night was, as always with Elle, a good night. The photo was obviously shot without Prentice or Elle knowing it was being taken. They were standing by the bonfire, her arms were around his neck, his hands were resting at her waist. She was pressed against him, gazing lovingly up at his face. They were both smiling.

The other was on the pavement in the village. He remembered that day as a good one too but again couldn’t imagine why on earth Hattie had a photo of it. The photo was also shot without Prentice or Elle knowing it was being taken. Elle had been horsing around and had jumped on his back. She had her thighs tight to his hips, her arms were around his chest. He had his arms behind him, his hands on her ass. She was leaning into his back and his neck was twisted to look at her as she peered around his shoulder. They were both laughing.

Seeing the photos he realized with disbelief that he’d forgotten exactly how beautiful Elle used to be when she was younger.

He thought he’d remembered but he had not.

Also seeing them he was stunned at how much more beautiful she had become. Especially now, when she slept deep and peacefully every night and had gained back some weight.

He would have thought that was an impossibility but it was not.

Those photos were mingled with others he hadn’t seen but he knew they likely existed, these taken recently. One, shot the day Sally left the hospital, showed Prentice lifting his daughter to put her in the Rover. Elle was close to them, Jason close to Elle. There was also a photo of Elle and Sally standing on the pavement talking animatedly to Denise and Gordon. Another was at Jason’s football match showing Elle standing in the curve of Prentice’s arm, her head tilted back, her face smiling as they spoke to each other. Sally was gazing into the distance but her arms were wrapped around Prentice’s leg.

And finally, there was another photo of Prentice and Elle that Prentice wasn’t aware it was being taken, shot only days before the article ran. They were alone at the beach, Debs had taken the kids for the day.

The final photo was almost an exact replica of the first one, except it was day rather than night and there was no bonfire. They were in each other’s arms, looking in each other’s eyes and they were smiling.

The magazine the article ran in (and the article got it mostly right, though it dramatized some of it and made Carver seem even more of a monster than he already was which was quite a feat) was popular and had a huge circulation.

The bad news about this article was that there was a possibility that Jason and Sally could see it or hear friends talking about it. They didn’t know Elle and Prentice had a history and Prentice didn’t want them to know, not now. He would find a way to tell them later, when things were settled, when Elle was settled, which she gave too many indications that she was currently not.

The good news about the article was the possibility that Carver had seen it.

But even if he hadn’t, it was now obvious Carver had seen the photo of Elle holding Sally’s hand, her other arm around Prentice’s waist, Prentice holding her close with his arm around her shoulders and Jason walking in front of them but looking back. All of them were laughing as they came out of a restaurant the first night they were in Chicago.

A photo which was printed that day in a Chicago newspaper.

A photo with the caption, Reunited lovers Isabella Austin and Prentice Cameron, out on the town with Cameron’s children.

Prentice would have paid them to print it.

Prentice would have paid them double for dropping Laurent Evangelista’s name from Elle’s.

Luckily, he didn’t have to do either.

He turned on the light in the foyer and pressed the button for the speaker on the security panel by the front door.

“Yes?” he asked and listened to the static that seemed satisfyingly heavy.

Finally, Carver Austin demanded to know, “Is my daughter there?”

Prentice grinned before saying, “Carver, it’s late. If you want to see Elle while she’s in town, call her. We’ll meet you for lunch.”

“Let me up,” Carver commanded.

“No. It’s late. Elle’s sleeping.”

“Cameron, I’ll stand here all night pressing this infernal button, damn it, let me up.”

“Suit yourself,” Prentice replied casually and hit the button to buzz him up.

He looked back into the apartment filled now with boxes.

Although Elle’s apartment was large, roomy and had an amazing view of Chicago, it was pristinely clean and decorated in a beautiful but cold way that was vaguely unwelcoming. It was as if it was a show apartment, meant to be viewed not to be lived in.

Upon entering it, he’d felt a not vague at all sense of alarm at the thought of his Elle inhabiting this impersonal space until he’d seen Elle nervously surveying her own home likely looking at it through Prentice’s eyes.

So he’d kissed her, open-mouthed and long, even in front of the children.

“All right,” Jason said, cutting their long kiss shorter than Prentice meant it to be, “I said you could snog but I’m thinking I didn’t mean it.”

Sally giggled.

So did Elle.

And her nervousness, something that Prentice noted was always at the surface, sometimes minutely, sometimes acutely, slid away.

At least, Prentice thought, he hadn’t seen her clench her fists, not since the night she burned her hand.

That, he hoped, was something.

There was a knock on the door and Prentice opened it.

At the sight of Prentice, Carver’s face paled before it flushed with anger.

Prentice watched Carver’s jaw tense as he pushed in asking, “Where’s Isabella?”

He closed the door behind Carver but Prentice didn’t guide them out of the foyer. “As I said, she’s sleeping. Is there something you’d like me to tell her?”

Carver started to move to the hall. “I’ll speak to her directly.”

Prentice was stunned that this man thought he could stride into Elle’s home in the middle of the night, wake her up and have an unpleasant chat.

Hell, he was stunned Carver seemed to think it was his due that he’d woken Prentice and treated him like an unwelcome butler so he could have his fucking chat with his daughter.

However, he didn’t allow either reaction to delay him from curling his fingers around Carver’s upper arm, stopping his advancement.

Carver’s eyes went to Prentice’s hand and then to Prentice’s face. “Take your hand off me.”

Prentice didn’t do as he asked. “You’ll no’ be waking her. If you have something to say, say it to me. Then leave.”

“I said, take your hand off me,” Carver repeated.

“As it’s the middle of the night, my guess is you have something on your mind. Share it so I can get back to Elle.”

“I will repeat,” Carver said softly, angrily, “take your hand off me. I’ll talk to Isabella myself.”

Carver yanked at his arm as his body leaned toward the hall but Prentice’s fingers flexed and he got close to the older man.

“And I’ll repeat, you’re no’ waking her. You have two choices, you leave your message for Elle with me or I eject you from this apartment physically.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Carver straightened and hissed back.

Prentice didn’t reply.

Carver read his non-answer correctly and threatened, “If you manhandle me, I’ll call the police.”

“I hope you do. I’m sure the gossip magazines will enjoy relating this latest story in all its glory.”

Prentice was pleased to see Carver go pale again.

Yes, he’d seen the article that painted him as a monster.

Prentice felt like laughing.

He didn’t.

Carver jerked his arm out of Prentice’s hand and he stalked to the living room. He’d turned on a lamp before Prentice arrived and was surveying the chaos of boxes and filled rubbish bags which was far more welcoming, even given its sense of departure, than the room was normally.

Carver’s eyes cut to him and then dropped to his chest before he ordered, “For God’s sake, put on a shirt.”

“I’ll just have to take it off in five minutes so I’ll no’ waste my time,” Prentice returned. “Say your piece and then go.”

Carver glared at him, anger etched in every line of his expression.

Prentice held his glare, finding himself completely at-ease as he studied Elle’s father.

He was old and, if not frail, he was no longer strong. His power was gone, what he emanated was false, conjured, believed in only by him.

He was a joke.

Carver didn’t think so. Prentice knew this when his eyes lit with something vile.

And he didn’t hesitate with spilling his malevolence into the room.

“A million dollars,” he said.

“Pardon?” Prentice asked, taken off-guard by his bizarre words.

“No, make that three,” Carver amended. “One for you and one for each of your children.”

Prentice realized what he was saying and he didn’t feel at-ease anymore.

The anger had returned.

“Get out,” Prentice said between clenched teeth.

“All right. Six,” Carver responded instantly. “I’ll give you six million dollars and you’ll leave Isabella and never see her again.”

Prentice could not fucking believe this bloke.

“Get out,” he repeated.

“Twelve,” Carver countered.

Prentice leaned in at the waist and clipped, “Out.”

Carver crossed his arms on his chest and said condescendingly, “Cameron, let me do the math for you. That’s four million for you, four for your son, four for your daughter. Invest it wisely and those children will live a very happy life.”

“They already live a very happy life without four million dollars,” Prentice retorted.

Carver grinned. “All right, son, then it’ll be happier.”

No, Prentice could not fucking believe this fucking bloke.

“As happy as the life Elle has lived with her millions?” Prentice asked.

He scored his point; he saw it and it fucking thrilled him.

Carver recovered quickly and stated, “Isabella’s not well. She never has been, just like her mother.”

It was safe to say Prentice was no longer angry.

He was enraged.

However, letting anger loose was one thing.

Fury quite another.

Therefore, against his wishes but for Elle, he controlled it.

Only barely.

“Elle’s not well?” Prentice asked in a deceptively calm voice.

“Mentally,” Carver confirmed with a nod of his head. “You should know that, considering she’s spending time with your children.”

“You’re telling me Elle is mentally ill,” Prentice stated.

“Yes, son, just like her mother. If you haven’t noticed it, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Prentice replied and Carver’s eyes widened slightly before he hid his response.

“Then you should protect your children. She’s –”

Prentice cut him off. “I’ve noticed, regardless of her beauty and intelligence, she lacks confidence. I’ve noticed that despite her friendly manner and innate kindness which instills loyalty in those around her, she doesn’t trust others’ reactions to her. I’ve noticed she has dreadful nightmares that frighten her senseless even though she long since should have moved on from them. I’ve noticed she was unhappy, nearly pathologically so, because she’d lived under the thumb of an unfeeling bastard who cowed and humiliated her regularly and, when he wasn’t doing that, he was abusing her physically. Like her mother.” When Carver’s face got red, Prentice finished, “So, I don’t know for certain but I reckon what you say is correct, she’s just like her mother.”

“Are you implying –?”

Prentice leaned in again and interrupted harshly, “No, Carver, I’m no’ implying fuck all. I’m saying it straight out, you sadistic, condescending bastard.”

Carver leaned in as well. “How dare you?”

“I dare pretty fucking easily now that I know what you did to her, what you did to the mother she loved. Your reign of terror is over, old man. You’re done. Now get, the fuck, out.”

Carver’s eyes went to the door. “I’ll be speaking to Isabella.”

“No, you bloody well won’t,” Prentice shot back.

“Yes, he will,” Elle said from behind Prentice and he turned.

Elle was standing in the doorframe wearing a dove gray satin dressing gown over a matching satin nightie edged in intricate black lace that was visible at her chest through the drape of the dressing gown. Her hair was loose and tousled and her face was makeup free.

She looked glorious although her face was pale and her eyes were stunned and resting on him.

“How do you know about my mother?” she asked quietly.

Bloody, fucking hell.

“Elle, baby, let me handle this,” he coaxed. “Go back to bed.”

“How did you know?”

Christ.

“Elle –”

“Was it Annie?” she enquired and Prentice felt his jaw grow tight, Elle saw it, her eyes widened as she somehow immediately jumped to the right conclusion and she whispered, “You read my journals.”

“Elle –”

She threw her hand out. “That’s what all of this is.” She looked away and he saw her lips tremble before she said softly, “I knew it.”

“Elle,” Prentice walked toward her, stopping close and putting a hand to her neck, “we’ll talk in a minute. Go back to bed.”

Her eyes came to his and they were shining with unshed tears. “You read my journals and feel sorry for me.”

Prentice glared at her.

Better to do that then turn to Carver Austin and strangle him in front of his daughter. She might not like her father but Prentice figured she’d frown on that.

“No,” she went on before Prentice could form a reply, “you feel guilty and you feel sorry for me.”

“Don’t be daft,” Prentice said softly.

“I’m not being daft!” she all of a sudden snapped.

Prentice was surprised at her quick, sharp defense.

Then he was pleased.

Because this wasn’t Isabella who meekly gave in. The woman standing in front of him with tousled hair, wearing silk was his Elle who never gave in.

She’d handed him his opening so he went with it.

“You are Elle, what you’re saying is absurd.”

“It is not.”

“Right, so, instead of wanting you in my life, in my home, in my children’s lives because you’re fucking gorgeous, you bake exquisite chocolate cake for my daughter, you make my son laugh and you get wet the minute I fucking kiss you is not why we’re together, it’s because I read your journals and I feel sorry for you. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes!” she flashed.

“And that’s not absurd?” he returned.

“You don’t know your own mind,” she retorted. “You’re blinded by guilt.”

Prentice burst out laughing.

Through his laughter, he saw her scowling at him and she snapped, “This isn’t funny!”

His hand at her neck pulled her to his body as he talked through his dying laughter, “It’s hilarious, baby.”

“It. Is. Not.”

He dipped his head and nuzzled her ear with his nose before he said there, “It is.”

“You’re impossible,” she clipped.

“I’m in love with you,” he replied and lifted his head when he felt her body grow still and he saw her eyes had gone soft and the tears had disappeared. “No’ because I’m blinded by guilt which is ludicrous. I knew I loved you before I read your journals. I’m in love with you because I just am.”

“Excuse me,” Carver bit out from behind them and Prentice turned.

He did so while sliding his arm around Elle’s shoulders and pulling her close to his side, saying, “Fuck, I forgot you were here.”

“I’ll ask you to mind your mouth when you’re around me and my daughter.”

Prentice grinned. “Elle likes it when I talk dirty.” He looked down at her and asked softly, “Don’t you, baby?”

Elle’s eyes rounded in horror then they grew warm and she looked like she was trying hard not to laugh.

Yes, he hadn’t lost her. Standing at his side was his Elle.

Prentice nearly laughed.

Again, he did not.

“Isabella –” Carver started but Elle’s humor faded and her eyes turned to her father.

“I thought we’d said what we had to say.”

“We did but that was before you decided again to throw away your life on this man,” Carver replied.

“Finally, something I’d like to talk about,” Prentice announced and he felt Elle’s body twitch at his side while Carver’s angry eyes slid to him. “Twenty years ago, for no reason other than to be an asshole, you took away the woman I loved. I’ll expect an apology before you leave.”

“I… you –” Carver spluttered.

“And one for Elle too,” Prentice went on.

“I can’t…” Carver started then finished on a hiss, “You must be joking.”

“Don’t feel like apologizing?” Prentice asked then concluded, “That’s fine, then. You can just leave.”

“Isabella –” Carver started yet again but it was Elle who cut him off.

“Prentice asked you to leave, Dad.”

“You can’t tell me –” Carver began.

Prentice looked down at Elle and interrupted him by asking her, “Does he have keys?”

“I changed the locks after our last conversation and asked security to change the code for the front door,” she replied.

Prentice smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Excellent.”

Carver butted into their discussion, “Cameron, I’ll remind you about my offer. I’m willing to negotiate.”

Prentice looked to the man. “You’re saying you’re willing to pay me more than twelve million dollars to get out of Elle’s life?”

He knew Elle had heard that part because she showed no reaction to his words.

“Yes,” Carver bit out.

“How much more?” Prentice asked, Elle went tight at his side and he gave her shoulder another squeeze.

“Name it,” Carver snapped.

“All right, Carver, since this doesn’t seem to be sinking in, I’ll explain it to you. I love your daughter. I’ve loved her for decades. My children love her. We’re happy, finally, fucking happy. You don’t have enough money to make me walk away from that. There isn’t enough money to make me walk away from that.”

“You’re only saying that because Elle has more than four times that amount in her trust,” Carver shot back.

At his words, it was Prentice’s body that went tight.

Then he looked down at Elle and asked, his voice sounding stunned because he fucking well was. “You have over forty-eight million dollars?”

She licked her lips, the nerves acute and visible and she nodded. “At my last meeting with my accountants, it was around fifty-three.”

Prentice couldn’t wrap his mind around fifty-three million dollars.

Carver cut into this endeavor and declared, “I’ll give you fifty-four.”

Elle sucked in breath.

Prentice’s surprised eyes sliced to the man and he muttered the first thing that came to his mind.

“You’re mad.”

“Fifty-four million dollars, you’ll have it tomorrow. No strings,” Carver confirmed. “We’ll find a way around red tape, taxes, everything. You’ll have it mid-morning. Tomorrow afternoon, you walk away.”

“Mad,” Prentice repeated.

“I’m not mad, I’m deadly serious,” Carver returned.

“You’re mad,” Prentice stated again.

“I have it and Isabella knows it,” Carver’s eyes moved to his daughter. “Don’t you?” he demanded and, when she didn’t answer, he leaned forward. “Look at her, Cameron. She knows it and she knows you’re going to take it.”

“Definitely mad,” Prentice muttered yet again.

“Stop saying that!” Carver snapped.

“Carver, if you think I’m going to take that money, you are definitely mad.”

Elle’s body jolted violently at his side but Prentice ignored it and ignored Carver’s mouth dropping open. He didn’t, however, ignore just how fucking satisfied witnessing the bastard’s angry astonishment made him feel.

“Now, I’ll say it one last time before we call the police. It’s late. We’ve got less than a week to pack Elle’s things before we go home. We need to get back to bed. Please leave.”

Carver’s eyes shot daggers at him. Prentice simply returned his furious stare.

Carver broke contact and his gaze took in his daughter, top-to-toe, before he returned it to Prentice.

“You’ll regret it,” Carver warned in a low voice.

“That’s doubtful,” Prentice returned.

“I regretted it, marrying her mother,” Carver went on, Elle gasped and Prentice pulled her more tightly against his side.

“The feeling, Carver, was obviously, and sadly, mutual,” Prentice replied softly and then, his voice firm, his intent unmistakable, he finished, “Now, we’re done.”

The bastard gave them both a scathing look before he stalked, back ramrod straight, out of the room.

Prentice followed him and locked the door behind him.

When he turned, Elle was standing in the foyer.

“You just turned down fifty-four million dollars,” she whispered, her eyes wide and when she finished speaking her lips stayed parted.

“Aye,” Prentice agreed, moved forward the two steps that separated them, kissed her forehead then walked around her to the living room.

He switched out the light and when he turned to the door, Elle was standing in its frame.

“You should know,” she said quietly, “I can’t get to that trust unless it’s to make an investment that’s agreed by a small board made up of executives at my mother’s family’s bank or if it’s an emergency. I live off the interest.”

He walked to her, sliding an arm around her waist and leading her into the foyer so he could switch off the light.

“When you sell this apartment, the money will go back into the trust?” Prentice asked.

“Yes.”

“And if you don’t use the interest, it reverts to the trust?” Prentice went on, having turned off the light, he was guiding her through the boxes.

“Yes.”

“Then you better start looking into charities you want to patronize, baby. I don’t think you’ll have a lot of use for your millions in the wilds of Scotland,” Prentice advised.

He heard her pull in a soft breath but she didn’t respond.

He stopped her by the bed and found the tie on her robe.

“Where’s Evangelista’s money?” he asked softly, yanking on the tie before he lifted his hands and slid the robe from her shoulders.

“I used all of it to build and endow two orphanages, one in Vietnam and the other in Ethiopia,” she whispered.

His hands had stilled in the act of closing around her waist to pull her with him into bed.

His voice was gruff when he stated, “I don’t think I heard about that.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said softly. “No one knows but Dad. I did it anonymously.”

Christ, but he loved her.

One arm slid around her waist, the other hand went to her neck and he fell back to the bed, taking her with him,

Her weight landed on him and he rolled instantly, covering her soft body with his.

“I’m no’ sure what you expect, Elle,” he said against her neck. “But we should get something straight.”

Her hands were gliding around to his back but her touch was tentative.

“What?” she asked, her tone just as tentative.

His head came up, he looked at her in the dark and answered, “When I told you I would take care of you, that’s what I meant.” His hand drifted up to her jaw, his thumb moving across her cheekbone and his voice went soft when he continued, “You live in my house, I pay for the food that goes in your belly, I buy your drinks at the pub, I fill your car with petrol, I put clothes on your back –”

“Pren –” she whispered.

“I’m no’ telling you what to do,” he informed her. “You want to work, make your own money, contribute something to the household, do it. You don’t want to work and you want something, it’s your money, get it. You want to do something special for the kids, though, we talk about it first. I don’t want them spoiled.” His hand tensed on her jaw and he asked, “Are we agreed?”

“What if I want to do something special for you?” she whispered, her arms were wrapped around him now and they weren’t tentative, they were holding on tight.

His mouth found hers in the dark and he kissed her softly before his lips glided to her jaw then to her ear.

“In about five minutes, baby, you’re going to do something special for me,” he murmured there.

“What’s that?” she breathed, her hands had started roaming whisper-soft against the skin of his back and he felt his cock start to grow hard at her touch.

He didn’t answer her question.

Instead, he slid his lips and his tongue down her neck and along her collarbone.

At the base of her throat, he stated, “Outside of you baking your oatmeal cookies every once in awhile, anything special I want from you will have the same theme.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, her other hand moved around his waist, across his stomach and down.

When she pressed her hand into his pajamas and wrapped her fingers tight around his cock, his mouth found hers and he muttered, “You guessed it.”

“You’re impossible,” she whispered as she stroked.

He didn’t answer; he was too busy growling into her mouth.

Her thumb found the tip, circled and it felt so fucking good, Prentice bucked his hips into her hand.

Her soft words took his mind off her hand when she said, “You took care of me.”

As good as her hand felt, he wanted to stop and hold her. He wanted to do whatever it took to assure her.

But he decided not to make a big deal about it and hope she got the point.

“Aye,” he replied, his lips moving against hers. “Always, Elle.”

She stroked again, his mouth took hers in a kiss, his tongue sliding inside, tasting her then dueling with hers as she started to move agitatedly under him, his kiss, as usual, getting her excited, her hand automatically stroking faster.

Her mouth broke from his and her head lifted, her tongue sliding down his neck.

“You know that, don’t you, baby?” he asked at her ear when her lips hit his shoulder.

“I didn’t,” she answered against his skin. Pushing him back, she rolled into his side, her hand never ceasing its beautiful work, her head coming up and he felt her eyes on his face before she finished quietly, “I do now.”

His arms crushed around her, holding her tight.

“Can we stop talking now?” she whispered in his ear as her hand kept at its sweet torture. “I want you in my mouth. I can’t talk when you’re in my mouth and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate if you were talking.”

He tried to hold back laughter but this effort shook his entire body.

Her head came back up and he felt her eyes on his face again.

He also felt their heat.

“Are you laughing?” she asked, her voice sounding irate, her hand ceasing its stroking but holding on tight.

“Aye, baby, I’m laughing. What I’m no’ going to be doing is talking.”

It wasn’t in his catalogue of things he wanted to do with Elle (or, in this instance, what he wanted Elle to do to him), and he could only describe it as “interesting” when her mouth took him inside while she was giggling.

But he also wasn’t complaining.

Elle

“Pren?” Elle called quietly.

They’d made love and he was holding her, her back to his front, their legs tangled, their fingers laced and lying on the pillow in front of her.

“Aye, baby,” Prentice answered, his words stirring her hair.

“Why did you read my journals?”

His fingers tightened in hers a moment before they relaxed and he sighed.

“I needed to find a way to get through,” he replied.

“Those thoughts are private,” she whispered. “Or they were.”

She didn’t know what to feel about him invading her privacy. It didn’t feel good, it didn’t exactly feel bad. She wasn’t angry, considering the fact that he’d just turned down fifty-four million dollars to be with her, but she was something.

“Aye, they are,” he agreed. “But you were keeping yourself from me and I didn’t understand why. I can’t say I’m proud of doing it but I can say I would do it again.” He pressed closer and went on, “I’d have done anything, Elle, to make you mine again.”

Okay, now it definitely didn’t feel bad.

Still.

“Did you read them all?” she asked.

“Parts of them, yes,” he answered honestly.

She closed her eyes and his fingers tightened in hers again.

“You wore my ring,” he murmured, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Her stomach clutched and her heart skipped.

“Pren –”

His voice was still thick when he continued, “Twenty years and you kept it with you.”

Elle was silent, partly because she didn’t know what to say, vaguely embarrassed that he knew she’d pined for him for twenty years. And partly because she was holding her breath and wasn’t physically able to speak.

Prentice didn’t have the same problem.

“I can’t say I’m proud of the way I treated you when you came back. What I can say is that I wouldn’t have behaved that way if you didn’t mean anything to me.”

Elle had to admit, this made sense.

And even though it felt good, really good, to know she still meant something to him, especially as she’d held him so close to her heart all those years, it didn’t help her breathing in any way.

Prentice kept on sharing, “I tried to forget you, Elle, but I never did. I told myself I’d moved on but I didn’t.”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, the wetness sliding out the sides.

He shifted their laced fingers so they were tight against her chest and she felt his face burrow in her hair.

“I still have your things,” he confessed, she felt herself go still and her eyes go dry.

“My things?” she whispered.

“Everything you ever gave me, every gift, every letter. Fee never knew I kept them; I didn’t want her to know. I felt guilty that I kept it from her but I couldn’t let them go.” He pulled in breath again and sighed into her hair before continuing, “I didn’t understand at the time, didn’t let myself think of it. But now I realize it’s because her knowing would hurt her and I didn’t want to do that. But also, they were mine. I didn’t want to let them go and I didn’t want to share with anyone, even Fee, that I couldn’t.” When Elle laid still and silent, Prentice finished, “They’re in a box in Mum’s loft.”

After he finished, Elle breathed, “Oh my God.”

He had, in his way, been pining for her too.

Prentice carried on, “Mum’s asked me twice in the last twenty years when she was clearing the loft, if she could get rid of them but I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Oh my God,” Elle repeated, comprehending how huge this admission was but not quite able to process it.

“She thought I was daft.” The throatiness had gone from his voice and a touch of humor was there. “When we get back, we’ll move that box home.”

She felt her breath escalate at his words as his chin moved her hair from her neck and he kissed her there before going on, “I’m not upset you got rid of that ring, baby. I never liked it. I always thought you deserved something more and, even the day I gave it to you, I intended to replace it with something better.”

Oh…

Wow.

“Pren –”

“I am upset about the reason why.”

“Pren –”

“And I’m sorry for that reason. More sorry than I can say that I said those things to you.”

Her voice was aching when she tried again to get through, “Pren –”

He continued to resist her efforts and asked, “Did you wear it when you were with Evangelista?”

She swallowed, worried about what her answer would say about her and then, considering Prentice was being so, very honest, she felt she had no choice but to nod.

Prentice’s voice sounded with disbelief when he asked, “Did he know what it was?”

Elle nodded again.

Then she felt Prentice’s body start shaking with gentle laughter.

His voice sounded highly satisfied when he remarked, “I bet he loved that.”

“We argued about it,” Elle whispered and Prentice’s gentle laughter became not so gentle. “A lot,” she added and Prentice’s not so gentle laughter became vocal.

Elle let his hand go, rolled in the circle of his arm and she looked up at his shadowed face.

“Laurent used to tell me Dad should have let you have me, considering the fact I wasn’t much of a wife.”

Prentice’s voice was still tinged with amusement but it was also firm when he replied, “I think the better way to put that, baby, is he wasn’t much of a husband.”

Elle remembered how hurtful Laurent’s words had been back then, believing that he was right. She couldn’t have children, she couldn’t respond to Laurent in bed, she hated to travel with him even though she tried to enjoy it as much as he did.

Now, that hurt slid away.

Because, Laurent was wrong and Prentice was right.

She might not have been the greatest wife but then again, she’d never loved him.

But Laurent had, in the beginning, declared his undying love and devotion to her and he could have at least tried to make her feel the same back.

And if he did, indeed, care for her so deeply, he wouldn’t have treated her so cruelly when he found out she couldn’t conceive, he would have taken more care of her when she didn’t respond in bed and he wouldn’t have forced her into the globe-trotting life she found so tedious.

And he wouldn’t have cheated on her repeatedly nor would he have been so hideously obvious about it.

Elle found herself getting angry, thus she declared, “He was a toad.”

Prentice’s body shook with laughter at the same time that laughter rose huskily from his throat. “No, baby, he was a fool.” She felt his hand glide down her back to cup her bottom and he continued, “He gave up this?” He gave her behind a squeeze and murmured, “Mad.”

Without her mind commanding her body to do so, she nuzzled closer and she found her mouth saying teasingly, “I’m getting the impression, Prentice Cameron, that you like my behind.”

“Aye,” he growled and his fingers flexed again, “though I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“And what way would you put it?”

His hand not at her bottom drifted into her hair and he used it to pull her head back so his mouth could descend to hers.

“I don’t like it, I love it,” he muttered against her mouth. “You have the sweetest ass I’ve ever seen.”

His words poured over her and they felt like warm, clean, fragrant water.

“Pren –”

“Especially when you’re on your knees, your ass is in the air and my cock is inside you.”

She felt her body heat and her legs started shifting restlessly as she repeated, “Pren –”

“And when it’s snug in my crotch,” he growled, “baby, the… fucking… best.”

She snuggled closer and brushed her lips against his, her hands moving, somewhat urgently, along his skin as her leg lifted and hooked around his hip.

His hand slid between her legs, he touched her wetness and her hips jerked before they swayed into his palm.

“There it is,” he muttered, his voice filled with masculine satisfaction, something else that sent heat through her system. “Proof you like it when I talk dirty.”

“You’re impossible,” she retorted, hearing her voice filled with feminine satisfaction mingled with laughter.

“No,” he whispered, his finger slid inside, she stopped laughing and gasped with pleasure against his mouth, “I’m greedy.”

Then he kissed her, his tongue sliding in her mouth, his finger moving in tandem with his tongue.

And he kissed her until Elle’s mind was in a fog and her hips rode his hand.

His mouth tore from hers and his lips slid to her ear as his finger stroked her. “I know I just had you, baby, but I want you again, this time, on your knees.”

She didn’t hesitate before saying, “Okay.”

His finger pressed deep as his voice rumbled, “Christ, I fucking love you.”

Elle wanted to respond but Prentice didn’t give her the chance.

His mouth took hers in another kiss then he took her on her knees and after, when he had her cuddled close to his warmth, she fell asleep before she remembered to tell that she loved him too.