Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7) (47 page)

“Did you have your talk?”

“Kind of.” His eyes slit to shore. “Things got slightly derailed last night by way of you.”

My stomach explodes with heat. The idea of derailing his plans with anybody of the female persuasion pleases me.

“This isn’t who you are.” I run my fingers through the back of his hair—slick and glossy, so dark, the darkest black—the deepest part of the night sky couldn’t rival that beautiful color.

“Tell me who I am,” he says it playful, almost like a dare.

“You, my love, are Wesley Parker.” I mouth it fully as if some erotic fantasy were about to play out. “You live on your grandpa’s farm with your mom. You love painting more than anything—you mostly paint trees.”

“Trees?” He leans in. I can feel his warm breath rising over my cheek as the current presses us together.

“Because you know I love them.” I blush when I say it, locking our gaze with something just this side of a promise.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Tell me something about you, other than the things with the trees.” He gives a brilliant smile like he’s playing along with my insanity—only I get the feeling that deep down inside he really wants to know. He can’t hide his curiosity. It elongates like a spool, and I run with it.

“I love frozen grapes.” I bite down on my lip. “I have an aversion toward girls named Kresley.” It comes out far more truthful than it does playful. “I write silly things on the back of leaves and give them to you.” I don’t tell him that I wrote “I love you” a thousand times or that he was my everything or that he saved every leaf I’d ever given him in a box beside his bed—that I did the same with the ones he gave me. “You used to help me pick Maple leaves off the ground. We would measure them against our hands.” I spread my fingers out of the water as if to demonstrate.

“Whoa,” he says rather calm while eyeing a monstrous wave behind me. “Under.” He pulls me down by the waist, and my ears fill with the stillness of the ocean—nothing but the sound of air bubbles rising from my lips. His fingers press in just above my hips, and my insides tremble with pleasure.

It feels intimate like this. It feels right.

I wrap my arms and legs around his bare flesh tight as a coil. I’m so thirsty for Wes. Every cell in my body drinks down his touch as the wave sweeps softly overhead.

We pop back up to the surface, and I forget to let go.

Wes rumbles with a nervous laugh at our newfound position. I press my chest into him—let him feel the warmth from my body as I take in his. 

“So, did you break up with her?” I’m not really interested in the answer. The girl on the shore, whatever her name was, however big her claim was to Wes, she’s already history—nothing more than a freckle on our existence. 

Wes brightens and holds back a smile as though he heard every word.

“I may have.” He gives a little laugh, his chest rumbling over mine.

“Good.” My breathing becomes erratic. It’s bliss like this with Wes, my knees high over his back—my ankles interlocked, securing us together. I never want to get out of the water. “She’s not your type.” My heart picks up pace, delivering one blow after another from my chest to his. 

The smile dissipates from his lips as his eyes magnetize to mine. It’s undeniable, this powerful, unbreakable bond—this love affair that spans two lifetimes. Death couldn’t keep us apart. I doubt Kresley, in all her wicked glory, could do much better.

“What’s my type?” It comes out breathless as his arms secure themselves over my back and he pushes me in ever so slightly.

“I am,” I say, edging my mouth toward his.

“Laken.” He breathes my name as if this were so utterly insane, so unforgivably impossible. “We shouldn’t.”

But his lips ache for a kiss.

Everything in him screams we should. 

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Acknowledgements

To my family: thank you from the bottom of my heart. A special thanks to my husband who graciously does all of the cover art for the books and never bats a lash when I tell him to start from scratch. To my four awesome children, who are all so much more emotionally mature than I will ever be.

To my wonderful, spectacular, awesome, fantastic, out of this world editors, Amy Eye and Sarah Oaklief (and no, I won’t reduce my adjectives in that sentence). I am so happy to have you both overlooking the wellbeing of my novels. Thank you for talking me down from a few grammar ledges.

Thank you to Rachelle Gardner, the world’s best literary agent, who lets me do whatever the heck I want. For that, I will always be grateful. Rachelle, you are the best cheerleader ever!

To my wonderful readers who make my adventures in Paragon a whole lot sweeter knowing that I can share them with you. You bless me far beyond words.

To Him who holds the world in the palm of His hands. To your name be the glory, and power, and honor, forever. I owe you everything.  

About the Author

Addison Moore writes young adult fiction and romance. Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful children and two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too late. When she's not writing, she's reading.

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