Page 80 of Love What's Left
“Of course you did.” I squeeze his hand.
“The plan was to send me back to my father one body part at a time. Henry was only twelve, but he stopped them.”
I clutch his forearms. “Are you okay talking about this?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “I’mfine. I’m worried aboutyou.”
“I’m okay.”
“Let’s go inside. Forget about the pool.”
I look down at my red bikini and my arms and legs that are filling back out and getting stronger every day. “I don’t want to give this to them.”
I tip my face up to his, my brows knitted so tightly my forehead aches.
He tilts his head slightly to the side. “Give them what?”
“I used to love swimming. I took it back once before. I’ll do it again.” Swimming isn’t a storm, and it isn’t torture. It’s me in control. Yes, I’m stubborn, but now that I understand where the fear is coming from, I’m going to deal with it. The water that drowns and wreaks destruction is the same substance that keeps us alive. This is a swimming pool. I’m safe. “If I give up because of Markov, then I’m still running, and he’s still chasing me. I won’t let him win.”
Something fierce lights in his eyes. “That is the most Sydney Walsh McRae thing I have ever heard.”
“I’m braver because you’re here.”
“You’re utilizing your resources. I happen to be one of them.”
I step to the side, then swish my arms in the pool, water flowing between my splayed fingers as I back toward the deep end, determined to think of good things. To feel the water as a silken caress against my skin. I’m in control.Markov isn’t here. Breathe.“You didn’t wear a bowling shirt with your suit.”
His eyebrow quirks. “I’ll wear one next time.”
“What’s your name?”
His smile remains, but I recognize the sadness in his eyes. “Gabriel.”
“You’re named after an angel.” A sudden memory pops into my mind. “Your sister calls it false advertising.”
He moves toward me, matching my steps. “She’s right.”
I keep going, but not to get away. To see if he’ll follow. A thrill runs through me, and a warm, melting excitement takes hold inside me.
Angel . .. no . . .Gabriel. I need to learn to call him that, not “the man” or “Husband” or even McRae. He stays constantly by my side. He says he loves me, and I believe him. I’m sick to death of fear controlling me.
I can remember. “Angel.” I shake my head. That’s not his name. It’s the word I can use to remind me of his name. “Gabriel.”
He nods, the muscles in his face tightening with emotion. “Yes.”
Angel. “Gabriel,” I say again, letting the syllables roll over my tongue.
“Yes,” he agrees, his voice hoarse.
The closer he gets, the more I revel in an excitement that’s both new and so old it’s imprinted on my very soul. “Are you staying in the pool with me, Gabriel?”
His white shirt and black trousers plaster against his muscular body as he moves closer and closer. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
Water covers my chin and reaches my lower lip now, so I kick off, no longer standing, but floating. My heartbeat accelerates and my brain blares, “Danger!” My instincts here are wrong, though. The danger is over, so, when uneasiness pushes at me, I shove it back and distract myself the best way I know how. “Shouldn’t you take your clothes off? That can’t be comfortable.”
He moves closer until the fabric of his trousers brushes the bare skin of my thighs with every one of my movements.
“You’re vulnerable right now. I’d hate myself if I scared you,” he says.
