The Surviving Trace (Surviving Time, #1)

by Calia Read

Because this isn’t the good ol’ boy every mother wants their daughter to end up with. No. This is the man every mom has warned their daughters about. You run, not walk when you encounter someone like him.

Everything about him screams masculinity and power.

I stand stock-still as the money softly lands on the floor, several inches in front of me. Is this how he usually treats his wife? Just tosses money (literally) at her and expects her to go away? No wonder she’s a Grade-A bitch.

“Um. Once again, I don’t need your money. But thanks for the offer, Daddy Warbucks.” Étienne frowns. “Daddy Warbucks?”

I never thought suspenders could look good on a man, but apparently, Étienne’s here to prove me wrong.

He mimics my posture—palms flat on the desk, head leaning forward, green eyes furious. If you weren’t prepared for this man, he could plow right over you; he has this potent energy that consistently throws me off guard. “Pardon me?” he says, sounding deathly calm.

“Serene! I know you’re up there. Come down here! Right. Now.” Étienne’s bellow travels like a gunshot through the house. I swear everyone within a mile just stopped and held their breath. “We best hurry, ma’am.” I smile. “We’re not going anywhere. Mr. Lacroix can suck it.”

A red veil of rage covers my eyes. My heart pounds in tandem with the one thought echoing in my mind—beat the shit out of him.

“How long have you been there?” “Long enough to watch you deliver a blow that, as a man, made me cringe.” “He was—” Étienne’s eyes darken. “I saw everythin’.”

“I’m not going to pretend I understand, but I hear it’s incredibly painful to be hit in the family jewels, so nod your head once if you can hear me.” I keep my voice calm, as if I’m talking about the weather. He nods once. “Good. If you ever touch me again, speak to me again, or even glance my way, I will gut you like a deer. Are we clear?”

Étienne lowers his voice. “Do you honestly know how to gut a deer?” “No, but if I’m truly your wife, you should know that… right?” He never answers me. That teacher was right—I wasn’t believable as an actress. But right now, that might be the very thing to work in my favor.

“Did your gut instinct also tell you to spend Étienne’s money on parties you have no business hostin’?” “No. But my gut instinct is telling me that I should knee you in the balls.”

“I’m afraid she’s tellin’ the truth,” Étienne pipes in. “I’ve seen firsthand that she’ll make good on her word.”

I’m so focused on this damn button going into the damn slit that I don’t even think twice when I place his hand on my upper breast. I freeze and stop myself from sucking in a sharp breath. Étienne doesn’t move an inch. His hand remains pressed against my chest, his fingers slightly curled into a loose fist.

Obediently, Étienne gives me his other wrist and boldly places his hand on my chest in the same place as his other hand was. I feel his sharp gaze on me, and it makes me slip up more than once. Can he feel how fast my heart is beating? I bet he can.

With his eyes on me, he raises both hands to his throat and unfastens the first two buttons. I whistle low. “Oh, you are a rebel. What’s next? Not wearing a waistcoat and blazer to dinner every night?”

My hands shake, so I hand Étienne the knife, not bothering to close the blade. His fingers

brush mine, but instead of moving away, he lingers for a second.

When we talk, its similar to fencing. Our words become weapons, and when one of us attacks, the other feints left, then right. Neither of us knows how to disengage, so on and on it goes. We play the game so skillfully, I sometimes forget where I am, who I am, and whose company I’m enjoying.

That can’t exactly be the truth. Étienne may act gruff and emotionless, but he’s not. He hates this woman with a passion because her words hurt him to his soul. That’s why he can be so cruel. He wants to hurt you before you can hurt him.

I take in his profile: Roman nose, the stubborn tilt of his jaw, firm and unsmiling lips. “Stop giving me that look,” he says. “What look? I’m not giving you a look.” He watches me from the corner of his eyes, and a corner of his mouth quirks. That little half-smirk does something to my stomach that I can’t explain.

“Why were you clingin’ to my sister? Are you afraid of me?” “Afraid of you?” I sniff. “Hardly.”

“Oh, come on! Take it off, Lacroix,” I tease. When Étienne gives me a half-smirk, my heart goes up a notch. “Turn around,” he orders. “Again with the shyness.” “Fine. Don’t turn around. I was simply sayin’ that for your benefit.”

“I know that.” Étienne moves closer. His legs brush against mine, and his hands brush against my stomach and hips more than once. He watches me, gauging my reaction. I don’t pull away from him, but I don’t touch him either. “What happens if I leave and the Old Serene doesn’t come back?” “I don’t know.” Étienne’s gaze never leaves my face. “If it was up to me, I’d never find out.”

“You don’t want to. Right?” “Stay?” I ask faintly. He nods, staring at me carefully. It’s obvious when I’m lying. Étienne is beginning to know me so well that he’ll instantly be able to see if I’m fibbing.

I open my mouth, ready to tell him the truth, when I feel his hands on my waist. Suddenly, I forget how to speak English. “I-I don’t know.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I whisper. He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Because suddenly I’m not so sure I want you to leave my world.”

I openly gawk as water drips from his deltoids and the back of his neck. The droplets drift down his spine. His muscles jump beneath his skin as he dries off and gets dressed. “You’re starin,’” he calls idly. I blink rapidly. My hands slice through the water as I move toward the ladder. “How can you tell?”

He smiles at me. And it’s that grin that seizes my heart and steals my breath.

For so long I’ve asked for a revival, yet I’ve received a revolution in the form of Serene. The irony is not lost on me.

I pounce on her words. “This is something you frequently do then?” “No. Just while you’re at work.” “Why am I not surprised?” I grumble. She crosses her arms. “If it bothers you, I promise I’ll do a better job of hiding the next game from you,” she teases.

We share a smile of understanding. It’s a small, sincere moment, so rare and unheard of that if it were possible to bottle a moment up, I’d try to capture this one.

I wait until her back’s facing us before I step back from Étienne. I stare at the record player and not at Étienne, even though I can feel the weight of his stare. My body tingles in every spot that was pressed against him. Ignore it, my mind whispers. Focus on anything else but him.

“Did you dance with her on your wedding?” “No. I believe I drank that night away.” “Sounds depressing.” “Not nearly as depressin’ as watching your wife flirt with every male in attendance.”

His challenging gaze never wavers. “What you don’t understand about my world, I show you. The least you can do is return the favor.” “I’m sure there are enough women who have returned the favor to last you a lifetime.” He turns and walks across the room. “Oh, of course.” I ignore the jealousy that shoots through me and snort. “Thought so.”

I don’t answer him and warily watch as he brings the chair over and places it directly in front of me. Right in the middle of the room. The legs land on the floor with a resounding thud. He makes himself comfortable in the chair, his legs crossed at the ankle and hands linked behind his neck. His wicked grin sends off warning bells in my head. His lips say one thing, but his eyes say something else entirely.

I can’t say the same for myself. My body feels pliant as if it’s soaking in all the attention Étienne directs my way. As I move closer, he stretches his long legs. “Are you good, Étienne?” “I’m fine.” “Are you sure?” What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? my mind hisses.

The dance is over. I’ve won this challenge. But I’ve lost all function in my legs, and instead of trying to gather my strength to move away, I deliberately lower onto his lap. He hisses in a sharp breath. Almost reflectively, he grips my hips, holding me immobile. “Don’t move.”

“What are we doing?” “I don’t know,” I whisper, and it’s the truth. “I don’t know, but I don’t want it to stop.”

“You think you belong in another time. Belong to another man. But maybe you have it all wrong. Maybe you belong here, with me.”

Finally, Étienne whispers, “Have you any idea how much I want you?” Shivering at the sound of his voice, I shake my head. “Don’t do it.” I see the yearning in his eyes. One simple touch is tempting. One perfect kiss is torture. Anything after that is irreversible. I know if he kisses me, I won’t be able to stop. Something tells me he won’t be able to either. “You keep demanding I stop this. Why do you think I’m any stronger than you?” he says tightly.

This should be a pivotal moment where I stand firm, but who am I kidding? I need him like I need my next breath. “God, I want you.” I grab Étienne’s face and kiss him hard.

Love is hoarse cries. It’s anger. It’s sadness. It’s happiness and laughter. It’s everything wrapped into one. Love is one of the heaviest of words to exist.

He brushes his thumbs against my cheeks. “I love you, and I don’t know how to share you with another man, and I don’t want to learn.”

“Right now you don’t have to share me. Right now, I’m yours.” Étienne doesn’t smile back. He cradles my face. “It’s not enough for me, Serene. I want you to stay. Forever.”

My mom once told me to find a man who gazes at me as though I’m the sun, moon, and stars. But what she failed to tell me was how to move on from a love that spans decades.

I more than loved her. She’s a religion, and I’m a believer. For the rest of my life, I’ll worship every single part of her.

I’m not so naive. I know that time is working to take us away from each other. And I think Étienne knows that too, because we hold each other desperately, frantically, the way a soldier holds a loved one before he deploys.

“No matter what happens tomorrow, I love you forever,” I say. Étienne squeezes my hand and kisses the crown of my head. “I know. Nothin’ changes between us. You’re my surviving trace.”