Page 51 of Claimed By my Father's Enemies
"An abandoned mall lot on the east side. Private property. The building's been empty for two years, the lot's just cracked concrete sitting there, we were just setting up and then—"
"And then the police showed up." I finish the sentence for her
"The police showed up." she confirms.
I stand up.
I walk to the edge of the patio and back. I need to be on my feet to think. "The report mentioned weapons."
She's out of her chair before I've finished the sentence. "We didn't have weapons." Immediate and certain. "Shovels. Trowels…That's everything we brought." She meets my eyes. "I would never. You need to know that about me."
I cross to her. My hands find her shoulders. She's taut under my palms, waiting for a verdict.
"I believe you," I say.
She exhales, slow and full.
"The gravity of the charges don't match what you're describing. Whoever filed it either misread the situation or blew it up deliberately."
Sienna sinks into her chair. Reliving the night took something out of her. She's tired in a way that has nothing to do with the hour. She tucks her hands under her thighs and looks at the fire.
I watch her profile in the firelight. The set of her jaw. The way she's holding herself together on almost nothing.
And I can’t hold on any longer.
I go to her and take her hands, pulling her to her feet, and close to me. She comes without resistance, face against my chest, hands gripping the front of my shirt.
I put my mouth against her hair.
"We'll sort it," I say. "It's going to be all right."
She doesn't answer. She grips tighter.
We sway. Miles Davis and the low sound of the ocean past the edge of the balcony.
I know I need to step back. To put some distance between us. To give her time to recover from this. To give me some time to figure whatever this is.
I don't step back.
Her hands tighten in my shirt. She tilts her head up.
I look at her face and bring one hand to her jaw, my thumb against her cheekbone. Her eyes stay on mine.
I bend my head and kiss her.
Slowly, at first. She opens to me immediately and I take my time. Her hands slide up from my chest to my shoulders and hold on. I pull her closer, and she presses into me.
We pull apart. Both of us out of breath.
I move my hands to the backs of her thighs, lifting her and she wraps her legs around me. I sit back on the lounge chair with her straddling my lap, her weight settled against mine. I take one steadying breath through my nose.
I kiss her again, deeper. My mouth at her jaw, the soft place below her ear, down her throat. She tilts her head back, offering herself to me and I follow the angle pulling at the neckline of my t-shirt to get to more skin.
She solves the problem herself, grabbing the hem and pulling the whole thing over her head.
My mouth goes dry. She's not wearing a bra. I reach up and cup her breast in my palm and just look at her for a moment.
"Fuck," I didn’t mean to say it out loud.
