Page 265 of Summer Heat
“Cole, don’t you think it’s better if we get a smaller, less-expensive home for now?”
“Why?” he asks, genuinely confused.
I laugh. “Because there’s only two of us, and we don’t need the space.”
“There’s only two of us for now,” he replies, picking up my hands and kissing each finger lightly before nipping on the pads, making me squirm in my seat.
“You’re giving me that look,” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“What look?” I ask.
He tilts his head and shoots me a crooked grin. “Blake, I happen to know the owner of this restaurant, and trust me when I say that he won’t mind me borrowing the back room for a little while,” he replies in a low voice.
I bite my lip and shake my head. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
He shows me that dimple that I love and leans in to kiss my lips before going back to a specific listing that he’s interested in. It’s hard to resist going to see some of these homes, when Cole is talking about playing football with future babies and grilling on our deck. I know that as much as he wants that, we’re not ready for kids yet, though.
Later that night, as we’re laying in bed, he’s watching the news and idly stroking my hair as I sort through Real Estate Law notes. The news reporter is talking about a familiar case, about some men with ties to organized crime. I sit up straighter when I see Mark addressing the media, and ask Cole to turn up the volume. One of the men they’re talking about is young; he can’t be older than thirty. He’s good looking, he has dirty-blond hair and gray—maybe blue—eyes.
Connor Benson, is said to be Reggie Isaac’s accomplice in assaulting an employee outside city hall last fall. They are both linked to organized crime kingpin, Brian Benson. If charged, they could face up to three years in prison for assault of a city employee.
The camera cuts to a video of Connor Benson leaving the courthouse and then to Mark addressing reporters.
Cole and I shoot each other wide eyed looks.
“Is it me or do they-” he says.
“Yeah. I thought the same thing,” I reply nodding slowly.
I tune out when they start the sports segment and switch on my computer. I run my hands over my face before I type in my fourth birthday on Google. I’ve done this before, of course, but now I have more information—I think. As usual, my friend Google has a billion links. “Today in history: In California, a forty-one-year-old man, named James, opens fire in a McDonald’s and kills twenty-one people.” Interesting. “Beverly Burns becomes the first woman Boeing 747 captain in the world.” That’s positive. However, there is absolutely nothing on what happened in my home that morning. Nothing.
How could a shooting and two kidnappings not be reported? Then I find: “Camden and Colleen Wolf’s four-year-old son, Nathan Cole Wolf, was taken from his bedroom in the middle of the night. Both parents say that their bedroom was barricaded by their intruders. Their daughter, Aimee, was sleeping in their bedroom at the time of the kidnapping. If you have any information, we urge you to contact this number.” As I scroll down, I see the search engine overflow with articles about Nathan’s disappearance.
I cover my mouth with both hands to keep my sobs in before I feel my protective blanket shield me with his warmth.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he coos in my ear.
With one shaky hand, I point to my screen. He turns my computer to get a better look, and I feel his body still as he reads. There are pictures of his parents in all of the articles. They look tired and distraught, both of them with dark circles under their eyes. My heart breaks for them. I can only imagine what they must have been feeling. They put a roof over their children’s heads, taught them right from wrong, fed them and bathed them every night. They held their hands to cross the street, shielded them from the outside rain, so they wouldn’t get sick, tucked them in every night at bedtime. I just can’t imagine what they must have gone through when their child was taken from the safe haven they had created for him.
Cole snaps my laptop closed and puts it on his nightstand before he pulls me into his arms and cradles me tightly. I hide my head in the crook of his neck and breathe him. I wish I could say something, but no words would take the pain away. I lift my face to his and kiss him softly before he deepens the kiss and devours my mouth in his. He begins to stroke small circles with his thumbs over my hips before making his way up to cup my bare breasts. His lips only leave mine when he shifts his body and pushes mine down, covering it with his. Urgent wet kisses down my neck make me throw my head back with a moan. I feel him groan against my chest as he continues to caress me, covering every inch of my entire body at once. The heat of his gaze when he looks into my eyes lets me know that every ounce of anguish has been forgotten—even if it’s just for now.
He trails kisses up my calves, making me squirm from the five o’clock shadow that traces his face. He pins my thighs with his arms so I don’t move away as he buries his face in between my legs, while he continues to tease my breasts and brings me to ecstasy. I’m still shivering when he kneels above me and thrusts into me, stretching every inch of me to welcome him as he growls out my name and he circles his hips, making me raise my hips in response. I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me up by the waist and sits me up on top of him as he continues his sweet torture. He moves me until I convulse around him and fall limp against his chest.
“Thank you, baby,” he says as he kisses my face gently before placing me back down on the bed and pulling my back against his chest. “I love you so so much.”
We hold each other tightly for a long time, neither of us saying a word. Despite the ways we’ve been wronged, we’re thankful that we have one another.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Blake. I’m never letting you go,” he whispers hoarsely.
I smile and reply by kissing the hand he has resting on my arm. My smile is sad, yet hopeful when I go to sleep.Chapter Eighteen
Past
I didn’t know how I was goin
g to survive law school—if I ever got in. I hated reading and writing long papers. I looked at the time; it was only 8:00. I didn’t know why I thought procrastinating homework was a good idea. My bed looked so warm and cozy. I glared at Zack, who looked too comfortable sleeping on my pillow. If he wasn’t Aubry’s swimming mate and my boyfriend, I’d totally kick him out right now. I thought I heard someone knocking on my front door, so I got up and unlocked my bedroom door. I looked around at our tiny living room and across to Aubry’s bedroom. His door was closed and the light was on, so he must have been there. Maybe he was expecting Megan. I rolled my eyes at the thought of his annoying girlfriend. I felt the blood drain from my face when I looked through the peephole. The last person on earth that I expected or wanted to see was looking back at me.
I opened the door slowly.
