Anchored: Book Three, The Reign Series Read online

  I don’t want to feel the possibility of hope, but I do. There is no indication of why she left or if she’ll stay. But I need to know what happened.

  I need to feel the weight of Skyler’s body in my arms again. Just one more time. I need to refresh the memories of her body, her scent, the softness of her skin against my hand, and brand them on my soul.

  I need to breathe different air when she tells me the truth, which she will do—or she’s not leaving.

  “We’re going home, angel.”

  Chapter 2

  Skyler

  There are certain things I know to be true about Nicholas William Harris.

  First, Nick goes commando all the time. There is no exception to this rule.

  That man cannot make a cup of coffee to save his life. On the few occasions he has tried, the Massachusetts Department of Transportation called and asked for their road tar back.

  When he is gruff with me it is always for reasons other than anger. What those reasons are, I’m not quite sure. It’s his baseline grumble, the mood he projects ninety-five percent of the time. He is always a little grouchy, but Nick is never abusive.

  The other five percent of the time is a pleasure I can only equate with eating rich chocolate cake with perfect buttercream icing. They are the moments when Nick and I are so consumed with each other that we no longer register as two individuals. We become one.

  Those five-percent moments are short-lived. They are the memories I have clung to for the past year.

  I also know that Nick is a sucker for high-thread-count sheets. The cocoon of warmth and silky-smooth cotton I’m burrowed in right now is a testament to this fun fact.

  Lastly, I know, even with my eyes closed and head tucked under the covers, that he is in this room. I cannot hear him breathing. The sheets are infused with the rugged scent of pine trees and fresh mountain air.

  It’s the pull. The force that tugs at the core of my soul and draws me toward him.

  The air shifted the moment he came into the room at Reign. Grief crashed over me when I felt the presence of his being in that moment. Everything I have longed for, the person I have hidden from, the one man capable of soothing the wounded pieces of me, lingered in that room while I was with Blake. His untamed eyes screamed every betrayal, and I fell in his arms, desperate to feel the deep synergy of our souls.

  At first, I attributed our connection to safety, that somehow I knew he would protect me. But it’s more. Nicholas William Harris is the sun, steady in his heat and fire as I twist and rotate around him. I revel in his warmth and shiver when he pulls away, but we always return to center.

  It is a force we do not understand and have never acknowledged, but we succumb to it time and time again.

  I hear him inhale before his voice cuts through the silence of the room. “I know you’re awake, Sky. You can’t hide forever.”

  Under the security of the blankets, I don’t have to temper my knowing smile.

  See . . . he feels it too.

  Chapter 3

  Skyler

  Nick lingered for ten minutes before a heavy scrape across the wood floor announced his exit. A door slammed a few moments later. I’ve heard a distant, repetitious thwack ever since.

  This is awful. I don’t know where to start or what to say.

  The three-hour ride to his home was painful. We sat in dead silence the entire trip, with the exception of my one request to text Ax and have him bring me my bag before Nick sped down the highway. Once Ax nodded his farewell, we were off. If there was any relief I felt being in his presence, it was muted. I could have touched him by simply reaching a hand across the cab of his truck, but then there would need to be words. I would have to explain where I was. Then I’d have to wait for him to respond. His silence might be more painful than my confession.

  I saw what he did to Blake without any words. After being beaten silly, Blake could stand up, move. Nick has the power to level me in a moment. His distance, the gruff barrier he wedged between us, was painful. If I confess and tell him everything, I don’t know that I have the capacity to rebound. I’ve tried to imagine Nick recoiling from the traumas of my body as a way to prepare for his reactions. Every time, I choke on tear-soaked fear.

  When we lived in the club and demonstrated BDSM techniques for club-goers and newbies, we would conjoin and feel the depth of one another. The next day, his wall would be up. I always hoped he would just let go, and one day the distance would be gone. But it never was, so I clung to next time.

  The next time we scene.

  The next time he touches me.

  Next time he holds me and I feel his unleashed reverence.

  When I tell him that my body, the flesh he adored, is lined with scars, I may never have another next time.

  I always had hope for the future. Now I’m not so sure.

  What are the proper words to say to the man I intentionally abandoned for my own selfish reasons and then painfully ached for on a daily basis?

  How should I start? Hey, I know it’s been over a year, and I’ve insisted that Caleb and Reagan keep my whereabouts and medical issues a secret, but you need to know I had surgery that changed my body, and if I didn’t do it I was going to die. Oh, and I missed you from the moment I left.

  Do I begin with an apology for reaching out to Blake?

  It was wrong . . . All of it. The scene. Me. Blake. I couldn’t relax. I didn’t want to give myself over to him. I thought I could handle it. The moment we started, I knew it wasn’t right. I felt rigid, frozen. I tried to convince myself that Blake was Nick, when all I did was betray him.

  Again.

  On the ride to his cabin, Nick made calls, letting people know he was on his way. He asked them to turn on lights and the heat. He asked someone to bring clothing that might fit me as his gaze dropped from the road to my small overnight bag. No names were mentioned. It was all monosyllabic man-speak, so it must have been one of his brothers. There are six Harris brothers, including Nick. He has never shared much about his family. All I know is he’s the youngest and they all live here.

  We pulled down a dirt lane rutted with thick tire tracks. The truck bounced and jerked with bone-jarring hops against the solid ground until we pulled up to Nick’s home. His cabin, which I assumed to be a small wooden structure. I had my fingers crossed for indoor plumbing. I should have wished for a hot tub.

  Nick’s home is a rustic two-story minimansion complete with a glass-enclosed balcony that could be considered a third floor. Light emanated from the glass, glowing warm in the frigid Maine air.

  “What is this?”

  He looked up at the house, then back to me. “Home.”

  “We live at Reign.” I couldn’t help the exasperation in my voice. Why he would choose a cinder-block room over this is unfathomable.

  Nick shrugged. “I live here too.”

  He pushed through the front door without unlocking it, and we entered an open living room bathed in warmth and flickering firelight. The monstrous leather couch surrounded a thick wooden coffee table. Both faced a large, open fireplace covered in rock and topped with a wooden mantel. The flat-screen hanging on the wall made the room’s purpose clear. There was plenty of space for the six Harris brothers to congregate and watch a game.

  Nick’s tour consisted of pointing in the direction of each part of the house. Upstairs: three bedrooms, bathrooms, and the office. The living room transitioned into a dining area and a massive kitchen. Down the hallway branching to the right, the master bedroom.

  The pressure of the day, the drive, and this place had taken its toll on me, and a wave of unsteadiness deadened my muscles. How long are we going to stay here, and where are we going to sleep?

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

  “Not really.” My reply caught in the raspy dryness of my throat.

  “I’ll take the couch so I can be close by. There are extra blankets in the bedroom closet if you need them. I
asked Evan to bring some clothes for you. There should be something on the bed. He lit a fire in there as well to warm up the room.”

  He didn’t look at me the entire time he spoke.

  True to his words, there was clothing for me. A set of thin thermals and a robe were on the bed. A pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and thick socks were set out on the dresser. No underwear . . . with the exception of one extra pair I stuffed in my bag before leaving to meet Blake, of course.

  I pulled on the thermals and burrowed into the creamy sheets, listening to the pop of the fireplace warming the bedroom. The sheets hugged my weary body, the heaviness of the blankets soothing my anxious heart. Nick entered the room after sleep consumed me, startling me awake. Drawers opening and closing, his feet against the hardwood floor, and the rushing water in the master bathroom were the only discernible sounds.

  He emerged from the bathroom, and silence hovered in the room. I heard him tend to the fire, shuffling its contents, then adding another log. Then silence. Nick was waiting, assessing. Thinking. My pulse quickened, throbbing with a heavy want.

  Stay. Lie next to me. Don’t leave me.

  I heard his footsteps move, then grow distant. My heart sank, foolishly optimistic that he would easily forgive the past twelve hours. I know better. When Nick is mad, he’s mad. I deserve the distance. I deserve worse.

  Waiting to face my fate won’t make it any easier. Emerging from the warmth of Nick’s bed is an icy introduction to the day. The fireplace glows with a shallow bed of embers. It’s not enough to warm the room. I’m sure it could be worse, but breathing in the cold air stings my nose.

  The light bleeding through the curtains is bright, but not the brilliant sunshine of early morning. I’ve slept later than most days. I’m usually done with training for my 5K by nine o’clock. It must be at least ten, if not later. I step into the en suite bathroom to freshen up. If Nick is going to take me back to Boston today, I don’t want to waste more daylight.

  The en suite bathroom holds a dual vanity and a deep claw-foot tub next to a large window that looks out over a dense forest. A tiled walk-in shower could fit three people with room to spare, the oily black finishes match the knots in the reclaimed wood lining the walls. A whisper of warmth soothes my toes, even though I was expecting a chill against the tile. Of course Nicholas would have radiant flooring. The thick towels hanging just over the heating vent feel cocoon warm, ready to receive me after a luxurious shower in this oasis. Compared to his room at Reign, this space is a five-star resort. I can see why he spends time here. I’m not quite sure why he would ever return to Boston.

  The idea of Nick living here permanently sours my stomach. This place is his style in all ways. It suits him. But if he’s here, he’s not in Boston. Here he has a massive home and a family. There he has the Reign crew and me. I have a single room in a sex club. My only family connection is Amanda, my cousin, who won’t even engage in a conversation about Boston. If I really weigh the options, Nick wins in all the categories.

  Just thinking about Amanda allows the flow of her repetitive words into my mind. I have to believe my cousin, a fellow survivor, meant well, but in my weak moments, her advice did nothing but terrify me. Unwilling to fall into the deep well of worry, I step into the shower and let the water wash away the thoughts.

  Down the drain with sadness and fear. Neither of them are allowed to live here.

  My fingers trace the intricate tile work of the shower, my song bouncing around my brain. The rhythm soothes me, giving me a moment to enjoy the tranquil space. Humming the tune, then saying the words adds to my freedom. In the shower, I can stretch my arms wide and not touch anything. My mantra morphs into an upbeat boyband smash hit where I say bye, bye, bye to my self-defeating thoughts. The acoustics in the shower do nothing but amplify my already Grammy-worthy voice, until I hear the bathroom door fall open and hit the wall.

  “Nick?” I call out from the shower. I can’t reach for a towel without exposing my naked body. Without easy protection from his prying eyes, I turn my back to the shower entrance. He’s seen me naked more times than I can count, but he’s never seen the scars. I can’t have him see my body without an explanation. I need to find the words to prepare him, so he won’t be horrified. Which he might be anyway, but at least I would have warned him.

  I think I hear movement, but there is no response. “Nick,” I say with more force, “what are you doing?” It’s only a moment before I hear the bathroom door close with a firm pull. Peeking my head around the wall confirms the same: door closed, and I am alone. An eerie feeling skitters over my skin. I know I’m alone, but I wasn’t for a moment. Nick would have said something to me, so who is in the house?

  With shaky hands, I finish my shower and rehearse the words I want to say. To my surprise, a pair of jeans, a sweater, and undergarments are laid out on the bed. A bottle of lotion and a comb are tossed next to my outfit. The lavender and vanilla lotion glides over my skin, the scent centering the wild thoughts bouncing around my brain. Bolstered by the little daydream in which Nick accepts everything I say without question, I pull on the clothing and try not to think about the woman who wore them before me.

  The repetitive thwacking sound I heard after Nick left the room this morning gets louder as I move down the hallway into his home’s main living space. In the light of day, the cabin seems more rustic, as if no walls separate Nick from open air. The massive fireplace and hearth are made of stone, creating a uniform structure that seems so natural I expect water to spill from the mantel. The light streaming in from the back wall of the cabin makes the lines of the rock shimmer, showing off the hidden lines of sparkly quartz embedded in drab stone.

  In the light of day, I see that the wall lining the open dining area is nothing more than large glass panels that provide an open view of the backyard. Moving toward the window reveals an expansive backyard, a summer kitchen, a large barn, and several wide acres of open land surrounded by a thick forest. It could be a backyard layout fit only for social media, the place where you wish you were when you’re trapped at your day job.

  Movement catches my eye a moment before a heavy thwack splits the air. Inching closer to the glass, I see Nick standing between two piles of wood, one a neatly stacked load of firewood, the other a mass of felled trees and chunks of tree trunks. He leans down, hoisting a large hunk as if it weighs nothing, and settles it on a stump. Nick surveys the wood for a moment and reaches for a long, worn handle sticking up from the ground. With smooth, powerful movement, Nick lifts the ax back and over his head before leveling a powerful blow to the wood. The piece splinters, bits of wood bursting into the air. Nick lifts his leg and pushes one half of the round off the stump with his heel. Then he focuses his strikes on the remaining piece until the wood is cut to precise logs. With clear purpose, Nick collects the pieces and places them on the pile.

  I watch him repeat the steps with the other half of the round before starting on a new hunk of wood. His body moves with a captivating mix of grace and brutality. I have lusted after Nick’s arms and back for years. Actually, it’s all of him, but those arms have held me after long nights at Reign. I cherished the moments he would cradle me close to his body, even when I knew he would eventually let me go. The memory of his body softens my spine, and I sink into the fantasy of what Nick would look like chopping wood without the flannel shirt, his jeans resting low on his hips.

  “Enjoying the show?”

  The deep, unenthused voice makes me shriek and stumble back against the glass, the cold permeating my shirt and sending a deep chill across my back.

  The man standing along the opposite wall of the kitchen looks familiar, even with his irritated stare. He waits for me to collect myself after the shock of his intrusion, his thick arms crossed over an equally beefy chest as he glares at me. With the exception of the graying hair around his temples, this man and Nick could be twins.

  “I—I . . .” I was ogling your brother. Willing myself to get it together, I
force, “Hi, I’m Skyler. You must be one of Nick’s brothers?”

  “I know who you are, Skyler,” he mutters. “I’m the one,” he states. “Adam.”

  I remember the name mentioned in passing. “Well, it’s good to have two under my belt.” I try to lighten the mood. “Only four more to go.”

  Adam’s face hardens, his eyes narrowing. “I will make one thing clear, Skyler.” He points a finger at my face. “You do not have me anywhere. I think Nico has better places to be than with—”

  A side door opens into the kitchen, pushing a chilly blast of cold air, and Nick, into the house. Stunned by Adam’s blunt response, I choke on the words to greet Nick. Adam’s posture doesn’t change, but his mouth closes, and he issues a tight glare that relays his displeasure with me before turning to his brother.

  Nick’s rugged masculinity seems amplified by the physical exertion of being outside and chopping wood. Nick’s green eyes seem brighter. His cheeks are ruddied by the activity; swaths of his blond hair cling to his damp forehead. He looks natural and comfortable, his shoulders relaxed, even if thicker from swinging the ax. Nick’s gaze shifts between his brother and me. Under their scrutiny, I feel like a deer trapped in headlights, frozen and awaiting certain impact.

  “Problem?” he finally asks Adam.

  At least I’m not the only one who receives one-word conversations.

  “None,” his brother replies. “I just did what you asked and brought whatever clothing I had.”

  “Thanks,” Nick replies with a wariness I’ve never heard before. “I heard you.” He directs to me, “Are you okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Adam bites before I can respond. “She didn’t know I was here, and it was a bit of a shock when I introduced myself. We had a little talk about not wandering into the wilderness of Rockland.”

  Nick nods, wary eyes assessing Adam. “Good.” His gaze passes over me and the familiar thrill of his attention blooms in my chest. After a rough reunion with Nick, this is not the best way to meet his family, but Nick can read this situation. He has never let anyone interrupt or talk me down.