I Am Yours (Heartbeat #3) by Faith Sullivan Page B

give me the chance.
    I see movement beneath the crack in the floorboard. She’s getting to her feet, probably fed up with my mediocre attempt at declaring my love. She’s heard enough. There’s nothing more I can do.
    But my heart somersaults when the lock clicks. She doesn’t turn the knob. She doesn’t open the door. But she’s no longer barring my entry. It’s like she’s leaving the choice up to me. I want to barge in and smother her with kisses, but I have to think before I leap. What I do in the next five minutes is most likely going to determine our destiny. If I mess this up, there’s no going back. Life doesn’t give third chances.
    I remove the band that’s holding back my hair. Instantly, I feel more like myself. I can do this. I want her. It’s as simple as that. There will never be anyone else for me. I only hope she feels the same way. I know I can make her fall in love with me again. It’s the reason I’m drawing breath on this planet. I exist for her and nothing else.
    Twisting the knob, I slowly open the door. She’s sitting on the bed, staring out the window, her red hair cascading down her back. My heart contracts at the sheer beauty before me. I ache for all the time that was wasted—all those months we unknowingly spent apart. How did I think touching someone else could make me feel the way I do now from just looking at her? There’s no comparison. No one can fill her place. There’s only one Katie.
    I should feel self-conscious, even hesitant around her, but I don’t. All I want to do is touch her. I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that she’s alive. She’s not buried in the ground somewhere. She’s right in front of my eyes. A living, breathing miracle who came back for me. I don’t care if she’s mad or intends to hate me for the rest of her life. She’s here, and that’s all that matters. I’ll never get tired of begging for her forgiveness as long as I get to look at her and see the fire in her eyes.
    I close the door quietly behind me and lock it. This causes her head to turn sharply to the side but she keeps her back to me. She didn’t expect me to do that, but there’s no way I’m letting someone walk in on what I intend to do. Kicking off my shoes, I leave them and head toward the dresser that is still covered with candles. I strike a match and begin lighting them one by one. When I’m done, I pause for a moment to study my reflection in the mirror. It’s strange but I feel like I haven’t seen the person looking back at me in quite some time. Just being in the same room with her is like I’m finally coming back to who I was before the accident. I don’t know where I’ve been these last few months, but standing in her presence, I feel like myself again.
    Before I can chicken out, I start unbuttoning my shirt. My fingers are shaking but I manage to get the job done, throwing it over the back of a nearby chair. When the buckle on my belt clinks, I see her begin to tremble. Unzipping my shorts, they fall to the ground and I step out of them. Finally, I yank the elastic on my boxers and remove them as well. I’ve never felt so vulnerable.
    Urging myself forward, I move directly behind her. She’s breathing heavily. She knows what I just did and I don’t want to scare her. This isn’t a show of dominance on my part. It’s one of submission. I’m taking all of the power and giving it back to her.
    “You own me, Katie Turner.” Desire fills my voice, dropping it an octave lower. “You can do whatever you’d like to me.” I refrain for from reaching out and touching her. I want her to come to me. “If you want to hit me, scratch me, punch me, I’ll take it. If you want to yank my hair, spit on me, kick me, I’ll endure it. I deserve to be punished. Leave your mark on my body. Show me how much I hurt you. Then show me again. Because I’m prepared to withstand anything in order to keep you by my side.”
    Crying out in frustration, she spins