“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t under—”
“I understand perfectly.” Javier gripped her hair. “You’re afraid and you don’t have to be.”
Xander groaned as he pushed in again, obviously staving off the need to come by sheer force of will. “Fuck, yes. Belleza . . . Oh, baby. So tight. Hot. Fucking perfect. Javier is right. Surrender now. Come and take me with you.”
Xander’s voice was damn near a plea, and his strokes picked up pace, gone from a smooth slide to a ferocious shuttle in and out of her body. She’d feel well used and a bit sore tomorrow, but Javier knew Xander would care for her, and he vowed to, as well—just as they’d take care of her for the rest of her life if she’d let them.
Life before her hadn’t felt important because he hadn’t filled it with anything meaningful. How was it possible that she’d cast a bright ray of sunshine into their lives in a handful of days and taught them just how dark their existences had been? Javier didn’t know or care. He just seized her mouth again, promising her with every brush of his lips and every sweep of his tongue that she belonged to them.
Suddenly, she screamed into his kiss and stiffened. He looked up in time to see Xander tossing his head back, sweat covering his chest as he gripped London and froze. The snapshot of mind-bending ecstasy made Javier hard all over again. Damn, she could turn them inside out, and he’d do anything to prove that, no matter what she thought, she was the most beautiful woman to him ever.
Javier gripped her tightly as she shuddered in his arms with the shattering force of orgasm. Her cries gave way to soft pants, and Xander pulled free but held her tight, wearing an expression of contentment that had to be identical to his own.
As euphoria and harsh breathing gave way to sated lethargy, London sagged between them. Javier eased to London’s side and sat on the cold tile, his back against the side of the desk as he drew her limp body into his lap, wishing it was her soft skin, not the starchy coat, against him.
After zipping up, Xander turned and came to his knees in front of her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “You okay?”
She bowed her head. “Fine.”
Her assurance should have made him feel better. It didn’t. London was right here between them . . . but he already felt her pulling away.
Before he could ask her to tell them what was on her mind, a knock sounded at the door. If that was Thorpe, the bastard had terrible timing.
“Go the fuck away,” Xander demanded.
The door opened anyway, and Callie stepped in with a wry smile. “At least I waited until all the grunts and groans stopped. Imagine if I’d come in a few minutes earlier.”
Xander growled out a creative threat, tinged with a few choice curses. Javier couldn’t agree more.
“I’m serious, Callie. Go the fuck away or I’ll tell Thorpe—”
“He’s the one who told me to check on your girl.” Callie stepped farther into the room, her black stilettos clicking along the tile. She bent to London, ignoring them both, and smiled kindly. “Need a trip to the ladies’ room?”
Translation: Callie was giving London an escape from her lovers in case she needed a few moments away. Javier had never been violent, but right now, he wanted to punch Thorpe for his interference, no matter how well meaning.
“She’s fine,” Xander insisted. “Now go the fuck away.”
“This is one time I don’t have to do anything you say, Sir,” Callie returned tartly, then looked at London with a soft, seeking gaze. “You want a moment to freshen up and put yourself back together?”
Javier tightened his arms around her, willing her to stay with them. But London nodded and pushed back, rising to her feet and tying her coat shut. Xander stood. Javier followed suit, reaching for London’s hand.
“Go ahead, little one. But if you’re upset or unsure, be prepared to talk to us when you return.”
She shrugged, not quite meeting his gaze, then turned away. Javier feared he’d look like an overly possessive caveman if he followed his instincts and grabbed her against him. A glance at Xander told him that his brother was having similar thoughts. Usually after sex, London was soft and happy, cuddly, warm. Now, she was distant. Some mood rolled off her that he didn’t like. Regret? Sadness?
“It doesn’t matter to us. Your back,” he blurted. “I adore you as you are.”
Those words, meant to reassure her, seemed to have no impact at all. London didn’t turn around. Instead, her shoulders shook. So did her voice. “It matters to me.”
Before he could reply, she was out the door. The little click behind them was like a hatchet to the heart.
He charged forward. Fuck what Callie thought. So what if he was a caveman? But when he opened the door, he caught only a glimpse of Callie with her slender arm around London’s heaving shoulders. Thorpe blocked the doorway—and the rest of his view. Xander stood beside him, looking like he wanted to punch Thorpe now and ask questions later, but they both knew that would only get them tossed out on their asses.
“It’s a trip to the ladies’ room, not a hangman’s noose, so stop looking like someone died.” Thorpe stepped in and shut the door, then made his way to sit in the chair behind his desk. “Give London a few minutes. Whatever’s happened here tonight, she’s shaken. Did you push past her limits?”
Xander raked a hand through his hair and paced. “She’s hiding from us. We’re trying to reach her. She can’t be free until she accepts herself and believes that we accept her, too.”
“And you can’t force that. You should know that can take months or years. If she’s not ready, she’s not ready.”
Tell him something he didn’t know. Javier rubbed his jaw in frustration.
“Give her time,” the big Dom insisted.
In his head, Javier knew Thorpe was probably right. Trust couldn’t be forced; it had to be earned. On the other hand, he couldn’t turn off the dread. He had a feeling time had just run out.
The seconds dragged into minutes, one after the other. Xander still paced, staring at the door. Javier wanted to dismantle it with his bare hands and find London now. His instincts screamed that he was fucked.
As Thorpe poured himself a drink, Javier kind of wished the bastard would share. But he needed a clear head to deal with London now. No way would he risk her to numb himself.
Thorpe frowned. “The two of you are strung tighter than a symphony orchestra. Relax.”
A cell phone beeped. Javier automatically reached for his, as did Xander. But Thorpe was the one reading his screen with a frown. “Well, apparently your girl needs a little more time.”
Javier resisted the urge to tear the phone from the other man’s hands. “Meaning?”
“London asked to leave Dominion. Callie is taking her somewhere safe and will stay with her until she’s ready to return.”
The fury that fired through Javier’s veins didn’t make it to his tongue quite as quickly as Xander’s. “Callie has no right to do that. London is ours.”
“So you married her? Or put a collar around her neck?” Thorpe asked sharply.
No, but in that moment, Javier wished to fuck he’d done both. He loved her. Further, he genuinely believed that she loved him—even if she was afraid to admit it. He couldn’t afford to panic. He’d dig up his patience and coax her tenderly, convince her that, with him, she was safe. A glance at Xander said he felt precisely the same.
In the long silence, Thorpe sent them a chilly smile. “I didn’t think so. We don’t condone anything nonconsensual here at Dominion. Ever. That includes keeping someone against their will. You know that, Xander. Don’t worry. Callie will take care of your girl until she sorts out her thoughts.”
“It’s not Callie being with London that we’re worried about. Please tell us where to find her. She’s confused and probably overwhelmed. She needs comfort and reassurance. We can’t give it to her from here,” Xander argued.
Thorpe shrugged with faint regret. “She doesn’t seem to want it just now. She gave you her safe word. You fucked her anyway. And it wasn’t to make her feel better. It was about you. So now you get to back off and pay the price.”
A glance at Xander proved that his brother wanted to hit the club owner as badly as he did. Javier had a good idea what might be running through London’s head, all of it wrong and terrible. And at the end of all this thinking? Javier dreaded her conclusions. As she’d walked out the door, the desolation in her tone had sounded a little too marked to mean anything more than good-bye.
Chapter Eighteen
SHE’S gone. Those two words resounded in Xander’s head over and over. Thorpe stared. Javier looked somewhere between inconsolable and volatile. What the hell were they going to do now?
Fight for her.
“Goddamn it, tell us where she is!” Xander insisted. “She’s shutting us out and she needs—”
“Space, obviously.” Thorpe reached for his chirping phone, and Xander saw Callie’s name flash across his screen. “You love her, I get it. I think she has deep feelings for you, as well. But sometimes, that’s not enough. That old saying, ‘If you love someone, set them free . . .’ That applies here. If she doesn’t come back, it wasn’t meant to be.”
“You know fucking nothing!” Javier stormed across the room at Thorpe, and Xander had to restrain his brother by the collar to hold him back. Even as he struggled against the hold, Javier kept screaming. “That’s what cowards tell themselves to make themselves feel better about their loved ones slipping through their fingers. But I know the truth. I let my own fucking wife go because I thought it would make her happier than I could. It was my excuse for not trying harder, for not caring enough. And she’s dead because of it! Setting someone free is only an indication that you were too weak to fight.”
In that moment, Xander couldn’t have agreed more. “If you want to pretend you don’t give a shit that Callie is giving her devotion and her pussy to someone else, I can’t stop you. But you’re lying to yourself. And I sure as hell can promise that we won’t share your delusion. Tell us where the hell to find London right now.”
“Leave Callie out of this and calm down,” Thorpe shot back coldly.
The man clenched his jaw so hard, Xander was surprised it didn’t shatter. No doubt, challenging Thorpe about Callie had pissed him off, but just because the club owner didn’t want to see what was in front of his face didn’t mean that Xander was willing to bury his own head in the sand. A decade and a half and thousands of women later, he finally knew what—who—he wanted. He wasn’t letting her get away.
“We’re only pissed off at you. With London, we’ll be as calm and gentle as a lullaby.”
Thorpe rolled his eyes. “You don’t get it. Even if you did, what the hell could you possibly say to her to change her mind? You wouldn’t be in this position if she trusted you. She ran because she doesn’t, and you should be taking long looks in the mirror and asking yourselves why.”
Pivoting on his heel, Thorpe turned away and strode out the door. He restrained himself from slamming it, though Xander was sure he wanted to. Instead, he closed it with a precise click. The resulting silence resounded like a mournful wail in his head.
“He’s right,” Javier said, sounding hollow, almost defeated. “She’s only known me as an undisciplined drunk. I interviewed her drunk. I got so trashed her first day on the job that she had to take care of me. I fucked her for the first time hung over. Why would she trust her body or welfare with someone who has so little self-control?”
A week ago, Xander probably would have agreed with Javier. All that drowning his guilt in vodka had nearly destroyed him—and everyone who loved him. But London had also made him see parts of himself he hadn’t wanted to look at too closely.
“It’s my fault, too.” Xander frowned and clenched his fist, restraining the urge to punch a wall. “I had no fucking purpose in life, so I made it my purpose to fuck. It was the one thing I was good at. You’ve only been losing yourself in booze for a few months. I’ve been drowning in pussy for more than half my life. I didn’t know what else to do. No one needed me.” Tears sprang to Xander’s eyes, and it was the most unmanly fucking thing he’d ever endured, but he couldn’t hold this in anymore. Exposing his scars might not bring London back, but at least he’d take a step toward healing and maybe be a better man. “Least of all you. I lived in your shadow. I spent years just wanting to be important to you again, like when we were kids. When I wasn’t, I became everything you despised just to see if you’d notice.”
Answering tears sprang to Javier’s eyes. “Sharing London with you . . . I’ve seen past your playboy-without-a-cause routine. I’ve seen your pain. I shared it. Because I couldn’t control it, I sank deeper and deeper into responsibility until I didn’t care about anyone or feel anything, especially after I married Francesca. I knew I didn’t love her. She knew it, too. I hid behind my job. I left you both to your own devices. She paid the ultimate price for my neglect because she would have never been with her killer if she’d been getting the attention she needed from me. And I can never change that. Never fully atone. I have to live with that fact for the rest of my life. It was easier to blame you for not training her than for me to accept responsibility for her unhappiness. It was shitty.” Javier reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “This week has shown me how important you are—to me, to London. To the business, even. I’m sorry for everything, especially being so distant for so long.”
