Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) Rowe, Lauren (read aloud TXT) đź“–
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“I know you won’t. I trust you, Adrian. But I do think you should get some therapy, like I said to Mimi. There’s no shame in that. You’ve been through a lot. Maybe a professional could help you work through some stuff.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”
“So will I.”
“Please forgive me for all the ways I’ve screwed up,” he says.
“We’ve both screwed up. Please forgive me.”
“You were fighting fire with fire. I was the bigger asshole.”
“We were both assholes,” I say. “Can we please press the reset button, for real now?”
Savage nods and leans in and kisses me. And that’s all it takes to light our fuse. In a frenzy, we begin pulling our clothes off, both of us desperate to consummate our new beginning by fusing our bodies. Once naked, we tumble onto the bed and kiss passionately. We grope and grab and caress and stroke. Until, finally, Savage sinks himself inside me, all the way, and begins gyrating enthusiastically on top of me in a way that feels totally new. Now that we’re finally free of the past, it’s clear to me how much it was weighing us both down. How much it was holding us back. Speaking for myself, all my walls are down now. I’m no longer protecting my heart. In fact, I’m giving it to Savage in this moment, with both hands. Take my heart, Savage. Take me. I’m all yours.
“You’re the only one I want, Laila,” he whispers into my ear, as his body invades mine, over and over again. As our chests rub together with each thrust.
“I’m all yours, Adrian,” I whisper back. I grip his face and kiss him deeply as he comes. He’s the only one I want. The one I’ve wanted for so long. In fact, I can’t imagine wanting anyone else, ever again.
Twenty-Six
Savage
Even before opening my eyes, I sense sunlight on my face. Yawning, I roll onto my side and reach out next to me on the mattress, thinking Laila must have scooted to the edge of the bed in her sleep. But I feel nothing there—not even a warm spot.
I open my eyes. “Laila?” I look toward the bathroom, figuring she’s in there. But when I say her name again, silence answers me. I look at the time to find it’s a few minutes past seven. And that’s Chicago time. Laila’s body clock still thinks she’s in LA. So, what’s a night owl like her doing up so early, with nowhere she needs to be?
Mimi.
The thought hits me like a ton of bricks. Did Sasha knock on our door and I didn’t hear it? Shit. I leap out of bed, quickly brush my teeth, wash my face, and throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie—fuck, it’s cold in this old house!—and then bolt out of the room. But when I enter Mimi’s room, what I find there makes me exhale from the depths of my soul. Calm. Quiet. Peace. That’s what I find in Mimi’s room, along with Laila holding Mimi’s hand at her bedside.
“Good morning, ladies,” I say brightly, determined not to let my tone betray the near-panic I was feeling a moment ago. As my pulse comes down, I give both women a kiss on their foreheads and begin pulling up a chair next to Laila’s. But when I notice Mimi’s facial expression as I take my seat, I get the distinct impression I’ve interrupted something.
“Oh. Would you two like me to step out while you finish your conversation?”
To my surprise, Mimi nods, while Laila looks sheepish and apologetic.
“Not a problem,” I say quickly. I address the caregiver on duty now—a sweetheart of a woman named Felicia—the one who always relieves Stuart in the early morning hours. “Let me know whenever Mimi is ready for me to come back. I’ll be in my room.”
“Yes, sir.”
My heart thumping, I return to my room and jump in the shower. And that’s where I let myself wallow in the full extent of the dread and pain I’ve been feeling since my conversation with Sasha last night—the one in which my cousin told me Mimi is ready to go. I didn’t want to believe it when Sasha said that, but, just now, I could see it in Mimi’s eyes when she told me to leave. Sasha was right. Mimi would never tell me to leave any room, ever, unless she felt she was saying something urgent and confidential. Which, in this instance, must have been Mimi giving Laila some sort of advice about me.
Finally, after I’ve stayed in the shower for far too long, I get out, dry off, and get dressed. Grabbing my phone off the dresser, I head to my bed, intending to text Kendrick the latest about Mimi. But when I pick up my phone, I’ve got a missed call from Nadine Collins, the executive producer of the show. Damn. What’s she doing up so early in LA, during the break—and why the hell is she calling me?
“Savage!” Nadine says, answering my call. “Thanks for calling.”
“You’re up early on a day off.”
“No rest for the wicked,” she says brightly. “I’ve got a conference call with the entire team in an hour, so I’m getting ready for that. Oh, how’s your grandmother?”
“Hanging in there. Thanks for sending that link. I’m going to watch the show with her today.”
“Wonderful. Enjoy. Listen, Savage, there’s something important I’d like to talk to you about. We’ve got a couple options, in terms of the direction we want to go
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