Page 164 of The Finish Line
The sad truth is, there’s already a new and unseen threat coming because there will always be more. No one can rule the world. In good versus evil, there will always be two sides, an opposition.
“Tobias, does this mean what I think it means?” Her blue eyes search mine for answers as to why we’re here, and she knows, but I know she needs the words.
“It means we’re in negotiations,” I whisper hoarsely. “I’m sorry, Trésor. I’m sorry I scared you.”
She pulls away, and I can clearly see the worry I’ve caused—small black rings under her eyes.
“Sean?” she asks, her voice shaking, too afraid of the answer as she runs her hands up and down my chest.
“He’s fine. He’ll be landing in Charlotte in a few hours. He’s going to make a full recovery. Everyone’s okay.”
She nods, her posture relaxing substantially as her hands continue to roam. “Okay.” She bobs her head. “Okay.”
“I told you this was going to be—”
“Doesn’t make it easier! After seven fucking years of this, I’m losing my mind! Tobias, our luck is going to run out one day—you narrowly made it out of this one. How many times do you have to risk your neck to see your crazy plans through?” She shrieks all of this out, examining me like I just fell off the jungle gym in a schoolyard. She brushes over the cut beneath my eye, and I grip her hand before kissing the back of it.
“We got them, Cecelia. We got them. We did it, baby.”
She gazes on at me, her lips parting at my revelation.
“It’s really over?”
“Yes, it’s over.”
She lets out a long, relieved breath.
“We lost signal on our way to the airstrip. We were fucking running to the plane when I sent you the message. We got detained at the border for a full goddamn day before Tyler got it sorted. And by the time I could reach you, you were already in the air.”
“If you want to reach me, Frenchman, then maybe you don’t put yourself in these positions like some stupid Rambo commando. You’re too old to be taking these risks!”
Unable to help it, I toss my head back and laugh, hard, which earns me two angry fists against the chest. I grip her arms to stop her assault, and she smiles up at me begrudgingly. “God, I hate you.”
“I love you, too. And how many times do I have to demonstrate that I’m. Not. Fucking. Old?”
She clasps her hands around my neck, pushing up on her toes and pressing her perfect tits to my chest. “Maybe one more time.”
“Only one?”
“Or two.” Her face falls of all pretense as she lays her head on my chest and grips me tighter. “God, I was so worried.”
I tilt her head up. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Never again, Trésor. I swear to you.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that be—”
I kiss her soundly to cut off her snarky reply and she draws me in further, a moan escaping her throat. Briefly, I indulge my desire and sweep her sweet mouth with my tongue before I still her, intent on my purpose. “We’ll get to that.”
“Okay.” She glances over my shoulder. “Tobias, this house is a dream.”
“Is it?”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“No. I came straight from the beach to you. I was waiting for you.”
Her eyes soften. “Come see. You’ve waited for this day for so long.” She grips my hand and I manage to pull it away just in time.
“That can wait, too. As I said, we’re in negotiations.”