Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (63)

I plow through the next several hours, and even though I’m kept occupied, my thoughts always return to Lark. My pulse pounds faster with every second that ticks closer to eleven. Part of me hopes she won’t call. That she’ll be sound asleep. But a more selfish part of me needs to hear her voice.

It’s two minutes after eleven when my phone rings.

“Hey, duchess.”

“Hey.” I can tell from that one word that she’s wide awake. “I couldn’t sleep. Still a bit wound up, I guess … Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Not at all.”

There’s a pause. “How was your evening?”

“It was busy,” I reply, trying not to let excitement color my words. I know the mystery of my whereabouts this evening bothers her. “Saw some people. Did some shit.”

“Cool …”

She wants to ask. But she won’t. And I let the moment linger for a long beat before I finally say, “Want to see what I was up to?”

There’s a rustling sound in the background. I imagine Lark shifting off her bed, darting to the window of her room. “What do you mean? You’re here?”

“Maybe,” I say, and she fails to muffle an excited squeak that sets my blood on fire. “Do you want to come with me? I might have another little surprise for you, but it can wait a few days—”

“No, I’m coming now.”

My smile grows wider as I hear her gather her belongings. “Leave the giant bag there, duchess. And put on a sweater. Come out the back door of the lodge and try not to let anyone see you. Keep me on the line until you get to the car, I’m parked out front.”

“Okay,” she says, a little breathless.

In just a few moments, Lark is jogging down the path from the lodge and I key the engine as soon as she pulls the door open. In a whirl of motion, she’s seated next to me, her familiar scent and her bright energy a balm to the unexpected anxiety I’ve felt in her absence.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Can’t say.” I glance over just in time to catch her teasing pout. Those feckin’ lips. My cock aches with the sudden image of my erection gliding through the hot embrace of her mouth. I shift on my seat and refocus on the road ahead as we pull away. “Let’s just say the sleep retreat is in a prime location. And it makes for a solid alibi.”

I glance at Lark and meet her wary gaze. But she can’t hide the excitement that glimmers in her eyes.

We hardly talk at all on the short drive to our destination, but Lark fills the silence with songs. Maybe she’s as nervous as I am. I think back to the Scituate Reservoir and how I pulled up to the scene of Lark’s “accident,” how my flashlight illuminated a woman standing alone on the road, blood trickling from the deep gash on her forehead. I wonder if Lark goes back to that memory too. She’s never told me about Jamie Merrick, the man I pulled from the lake, but I’ve been digging into him in Leander’s office in my spare time during my recent quest to learn more about my wife. One day, maybe she’ll be willing to tell me everything. Maybe even after tonight.

It’s eleven thirty when we turn down a gravel driveway and park between a white van and a vintage Jaguar. There’s an A-frame cabin in front of us, the lake shimmering just behind it, the black waves illuminated by the lights that spill from the tall windows of the cottage. Conor steps out onto the porch and gives us a wave. Lark takes hold of the door handle and moves to exit the Charger when I grab her wrist to stop her.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say.

“Do what?” Lark’s eyes shift between me and the cabin. Confusion is etched between her brows. “To whom?”

“You’ll see. But I’m telling you now. You can walk away.”

Lark’s eyes linger on me, falling to my mouth and resting there. She nods and I unfold my fingers from her wrist.

We step out of the car and I retrieve my toolbox from the trunk. I resist the urge to take Lark’s hand as we ascend the wooden stairs to meet Conor on the porch. He holds a gun in one hand, sheaves of paper in the other.

“Everything okay?” I ask as I take the weapon and documents from his extended hands.

“Not much to report. He got a little vocal. I gave him something to take the edge off and taped him up pretty good so I could get some work done, but he’s awake now.” Conor’s gaze shifts to Lark, and I feel the tension radiate from her as she tries to work out what’s going on. A grim kind of hope settles in my chest as I turn my attention to the gun in my hand and check the magazine before I turn to face Lark. When she shudders in the cold, I set my belongings down and shrug my jacket off to drape it over her shoulders. Her eyes shine in the dim light as she watches me and the rest of the world fades into darkness. All I see is her. The way her lips part to spill her foggy exhalations into the night. The pulse that drums in her neck. My hand raises beyond my control and I sweep my fingertips across her cheek. Her breath hitches at my touch.

“Come in if you want to. You’ll know when,” I say, letting my hand fall away.

Lark’s head tilts. “How?”

“I’ll give you a bat signal.” I grin when Lark rolls her eyes, then nod toward the toolbox sitting at my feet. “That’s for you. See ya, duchess.”

With a swift kiss to Lark’s cheek, I give Conor a knowing look and then step inside Dr. Louis Campbell’s cabin.