Matter of Truth, A (32 page)

As turnabout is fair play, I take my sweet time exploring
his body, kissing so very many places, licking others just so I can hear him
groan and feel just how strongly his body reacts to me and my touch. Just like
I’d wanted to do days before, I take him in my mouth, sucking him until I know
he’s perilously close to shattering. When the torture becomes too much for him,
he pulls me up and flips me over so he’s now over me, his mouth reclaiming mine
for long, scorching minutes that leave me panting. And then he traces pulse
lines down my neck with his lips and tongue until he finds my heart and then
one, then the other breast. I arch up into him, all the cells in my body
sparkling in fizzy, combustible, achy heat that threatens to tear me apart.

I need him to feel this, too.

I trail a hand down in between our bodies and stroke him. I
delight in the sharp intake of breath, how his body now jerks and curves toward
mine. With my other hand, I bring his face back up to mine and kiss him until
starbursts bloom in my closed eyelids. “I need you,” I whisper against his
mouth, my nails grazing him until he quakes against me again, “in me.”

His lovely, shuddery sigh nearly undoes me right then and
there. “I need that, too. Gods, I love you so much, Chloe.”

Nothing has ever sounded so beautiful to me before. These
words, they’re a gift. So is this man. Even though I don’t know if I deserve
him or his love, I’m going to hold onto them with both hands.

“I want . . . can we try something?” he murmurs against my neck
as he positions himself above me.

I reach down and grab his buttocks, angling him so he slides
into me. I gasp; he’s so big, I’m so tight, but oh the sweet gods above, does
this feel like heaven. “Anything.”

He’s so deep inside me, I can feel him all the way to my
inner core. My eyes nearly roll right back into my head, I’m so very
wonderfully filled. But then he pulls up so he’s nearly all the way out.
“Before you come . . .” And then he’s back in me; I buck my hips up to meet
his. “I want us to . . .”—another thrust that nearly disintegrates me—“merge.”

The thought of this has me precariously close to coming
already. But I don’t want this moment to be over so soon, so I refuse to let my
body have its release just yet. Kiss to kiss, caress to caress, thrust to
thrust, we move together in perfect synchronicity. And then, just as I no
longer have any more control over holding myself back, I surge into his mind,
he into mine.

Before today, whenever we merged, I would have laid down
money that it was better than any kind of orgasm that rocks a body, because
it’s born from souls. We’ve even done something very similar to this before,
although never during actual intercourse and only ever with one person
climaxing at a time due to oral sex or the like. It was phenomenal. But
tonight, though? Tonight I learn the real truth—when merging souls and physical
orgasms collide during actual intercourse, a person’s being becomes nothing but
stardust in the vastness of time and space. We are no longer just lovers separated
by bodies.

We are one.

We are nothing.

We are everything.

My apartment—well, my old apartment—is exactly how I left it
down to the placement of my purse and keys on the counter and my pajamas on the
floor near my bed. There are magazines open on the coffee table and dishes in
the sink. When I open the refrigerator, there’s even a bottle of half-year-old
orange juice.

I’ve just stepped right into my past.

“Callie said you tore this place apart,” I say to Jonah when
we’re in my bedroom.

He leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. “I
did.”

I glance around my room. It’s . . . not clean, by any means,
but it’s the kind of messy I would have left behind, not the kind made by a
desperate man searching for answers.

“I straightened up afterward,” he says quietly. “Just in
case you came back. I didn’t want you to have to deal with my . . .” His smile
is bittersweet. “Rage, I guess. Or desperation.”

I come over to where he’s standing. “I’m so sorry I put you
through that. I will regret that every day until I die.”

He pulls me flush against his body. “I don’t want your
regret, Chloe. I think that we’ve had enough of that from both of us to last
more than a lifetime.” A leisurely kiss precedes, “Let’s just focus on all the
good things we’ve got going right now. Stepping back into old habits in which
we drown ourselves in guilt doesn’t do either of us any good.”

I press another kiss against his mouth. “One day at a time?”

The dimple appears, even if just barely. “One day at a
time.”

I lean my head against his chest. “What about your stuff? Is
it still next door, too?”

My face rises and falls with his sigh. “No. It’s all either
in storage or at Kellan’s.”

Next to my bed is a candid picture of the two of us taken
maybe a year or so ago. To almost anyone looking at it, all they’d see are two
people content in love. I’m kissing his cheek and he’s smiling and looking away
from the camera. I loved this picture for so long, but now, as I look at it, I
realize it was just as fake as we had been. To move on, we need to let these
pieces go and build ourselves new ones.

“I don’t want to move back in here,” I tell him.

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I bought the apartment above
Kellan’s a few months ago. It’s being remodeled, so . . .”

I pull away from him and stare up in shock.

He tugs on his hair. “I didn’t mention it before now because
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it.”

I shake my head in amazement, a wry smile tugging at my
lips. “You and your real estate ventures. When will you ever learn to just tell
me about them in the first place?”

He pulls me back to him. “I’m sorry—”

I reach up and lay my hand against his cheek. “I thought you
basically just forbid that word. If I can’t say it, you shouldn’t be able to,
either.”

“Touché.” He kisses my palm. “We can go look at it today, if
you like.”

We head back out into the living room, our hands entwined.
“What made you buy an apartment?”

“Honestly, partially because it was one of those things that
I did to prove to everyone I was moving on. Maybe even try to prove it to
myself, too.”

I pick up my purse and phone. “Partially? Also, why the one
above Kellan’s?”

His lips purse together as he considers how to answer me.
Finally—“The building Kellan lives in doesn’t have a lot of movement in terms
of sales, but one came up while you were gone. Sophie Greenfield had put a bid
on it, and . . .” His head tilts so his dark hair spills into his eyes. “After
everything that happened this winter, there was no way in hell either of us
were going to let her own that apartment. Buying it seemed to kill several
birds with one stone.”

I keep my voice light even though everything in me goes taut
like a thread ready to snap. “What happened with Sophie?”

He picks up a shirt of his off of one of the chairs in the
living room, one that he must have left behind. “Are you sure you want to
know?”

I consider this carefully. “I’ve had a few run-ins with her
since coming back. She’s . . . still angry at me, I guess. And possibly
deluded, because she thinks . . .” I try not to choke on the words, “that she
and Kellan are a couple again or something.”

Jonah tosses the shirt back down and sits on the couch.
“Well,” he says carefully, like he’s afraid to set me off, “some of that may
have to do with the fact that he had sex with her several times while you were
gone and may have given her the impression that they were back together.”

I drop like a stone in the chair across from him.
“Whaaaat?”

The smile he gives me isn’t much of one at all. “Everyone
was very sympathetic to me when you disappeared, Chloe. I know they all meant
well, but . . . personally, it was too much. I didn’t want their sympathy. I
didn’t want . . . I didn’t want that kind of focus on me. I wanted to be left
alone in my misery, and eventually, people got the message. Kellan was forced
into his isolation over the situation, though. Nobody but Astrid and Callie
knew how hard your disappearance affected him. He was just as destroyed as me,
since his Connection was gone, too, and he had to put on the act he always
does, where nobody knows about the link between you two. So he acted out,
lapsed back into behaviors he knew would mask his pain.”

Even though I knew he’d done this, had guessed it the whole
time I was in Alaska, I still feel sick to my stomach.

Kellan acted like this because of me. He hurt
her—again—because of
me
.

“Sophie was relentless after you disappeared. She figured it
was her shot to win him back or something. He refused to even acknowledge her
at first, but she tracked him down at some bar one night when he was really . .
.” Jonah won’t meet my eyes. “Upset, for lack of a better word. He ended up
going home with her. He regretted it immediately, but the damage was done. Out
of guilt, he gave it a half-hearted try for a few weeks, but then he dumped her
again.”

Oh, gods.

“She basically stalked him after that. Called him
constantly, showed up at work and the apartment without notice. Confronted him
in public numerous times, even once hysterically claimed she was pregnant with
his baby in front of an entire restaurant we were in.” He finally looks at me.
“I found her in our apartment more than once. One time she was in the tub in
Kellan’s bathroom, all flowers and bubbles and champagne. Another time, she was
. . .” He’s grossly uncomfortable telling me this. “Um, waiting for me, naked
in my room. She . . . uh . . . thought, I don’t know, she could make him
jealous by hitting on me. It was . . .” He tugs on his hair. “Anyway, there was
also one time Kel woke up to her standing over his bed, watching him sleep.”

My nails dig into my palms. Did something happen between
Jonah and Sophie, too—like she threatened so long ago? My anger threatens to
consume me, but he gets up and comes over to where I’m sitting.

He takes my hands. “You have nothing to worry about, at
least on my end, Chloe. Because, as hurt as I was, as much as I missed you . .
.” He kisses the backs of my hands. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being with
anyone other than you.”

And I believe him. I just do.

He kisses my cheek and sits down on the coffee table in
front of me. “We’ve changed our locks several times since those break-ins. We
couldn’t figure out how she got ahold of a key, since no part of the door was
damaged. The doorman is on notice that she’s never allowed in the building
anymore.” He looks down at his hands. “I think she’s mentally ill.”

And by think, he means know, since he obviously
understanding feelings better than most.

“She feels . . . off,” he continues. “I don’t know how to
explain it. She genuinely believes she loves him, Chloe—although I would term
it more obsession than true love. But to her, it’s true love. She’s even
convinced that they have a Connection that the Seers keep missing. Kellan
doesn’t know what to do about it. He knows he fucked up by messing with her
like he did. He also knows he never should have slept with her again the second
time or humored any of her talks of a future between them.”

Okay. Okay. Must think about this logically. Several pieces
of furniture nearby are shuddering with my fury. I force myself to take several
deep breaths, counting to twenty before I speak. Thankfully, the room calms.
“You two are Emotionals. Have you not thought of influencing her to stay away?”

“Yes. Of course we have.” Jonah’s bleak. “But we were warned
we’d be punished if we did.”

Excuse me? Jonah is second tier Council and extremely
influential. Kellan is highly ranked within the Guard; his mentor runs it now.
Who in the worlds could ever tell the Whitecomb twins that they are forbidden
from using their crafts on some psycho bitch that is stalking them? “Who told
you that?”

“The first time Kellan called the Guard about her breaking
into our apartment—it’s when we realized this was a real problem—Sophie’s
parents petitioned the Council within a half hour, claiming they were fearful
that we would retaliate and break the law by making their daughter a zombie. No
matter what I argued, I was forcibly reminded that I could not influence
another Magical simply because she was having,”—he flashes air quotes—“romantic
difficulties with my brother. Nor was he allowed to influence her simply
because he was tired of her.” A frustrated sigh fills the room.

This just doesn’t make sense. “Law? What law?”

“The one forbidding Emotionals from influencing other
Magicals in matters such as love and hate without written permission
beforehand.”

What? This is the first I’ve ever heard of such a thing,
which I guess just goes to show how little I really paid attention to my
Council duties before. Shit. What else am I blindly ignorant to? I clear my
throat. “Do you guys ever do that, though? Work on people without them
knowing?”

“Most things are okay. Like, making hysterical people
calmer. Or, those who are suicidal, we give them hope once more. But we never
work on anybody without permission when it comes to matters of the heart.” He
leans forward. “Chloe, nobody wants to find out that they’re in love with
somebody because an Emotional made them be—or find out they loathe someone for
the same reason. I get why there’s a rule. I agree with it in principal,
actually.”

A frustrated sigh escape me, too. This is my fault. All of
this is my fault. “What can we do?”

“Nothing we haven’t already done.”

“Maybe . . . I could talk to her?”

“Since I happen to know she hates you, I’m going to ask if
you can make every attempt not to talk to her again.”

I blink.

“What she feels toward you . . . it makes me uneasy,” he
says.

“Should I be worried?”

He pulls no punches. “I think we all should be worried.”

Later that night, Jonah shows me his
new apartment. Sawdust and plastic tarps litter the floor, walls are half
painted, but behind all this, I can see something infinitely dear to me: a
home. More importantly, a home with him.

I nudge a paint can with my foot. “You know how much I’ve
always wanted a gray living room.”

I delight in watching his cheeks turn pink under his golden
tan as he realizes I caught him subconsciously (or even consciously?) choosing
colors that I would’ve picked for a home.

“It’s okay.” I loop my arms around his waist, twisting my
fingers in his belt loops. “Apparently, I recreated your pea coat in Alaska.
Karl called me out on it. I was looking for you, too.”

He nuzzles my neck; my knees go weak. “Yeah?”

“I dreamed about you a lot, too,” I admit. My voice is all
breathy as his hands move underneath the hem of my shirt, skimming the line of
skin right about my skirt.

His voice is soft against my sensitive skin. “Good dreams?”

I tell him that, while some dreams helped me relive good
times between us, others had me losing him over and over again, only for me to
destroy whatever place we were in in my desperation to find him. Anxiety crawls
the walls of my stomach as I think of these nightmares and how they tortured me
for months.

“I’m here,” he tells me, cupping my face with both hands.
“You haven’t lost me.”

I nearly choke on my regret. “I almost did.”

The kiss he gives me is gentle, soothing. “I have something
for you.”

“Other than an apartment?”

He grins as he pulls away. “Do you like it then? If you
don’t, we can rent it out and find a place more to your liking.”

“Are you kidding?” I glance around. “I love it.” I lean up
on my tiptoes so I can kiss the corner of his mouth. “You have excellent taste,
Mr. Whitecomb.”

He laughs, and I delight in how he blushes once more. I’m
told that, while the renovations are almost done, if I want to switch out any
of the paints, I’m free to do that. None of the appliances in the kitchen have
been bought yet, nor has any of the furniture other than what we already own,
so we can go shopping for them as soon as I want.