I need one thing, and one thing only.
Escape.
The doors of James’s building are locked when I arrive, and I’m taken aback by it. The calming feeling that was settling as I drove over starts to subside, stress beginning to build. Locked. He’s not here?
I swallow, tugging on the handles again, pushing back my panic. What will I do? Breathe, Beau. I turn, leaning against the door, feeling at my throat. It’s clogged. Panic. It’s coming. Just breathe.
I jump a mile when the glass bangs behind me, and I turn, finding Goldie on the other side. Relief. Jesus, it’s overwhelming. She unlocks the door and pushes it open for me, and I walk slowly and quietly past her, not fazed by her steel expression.
“Not at the opera tonight?” I ask as I come to a stop at the elevator, unable to hold back. I get nothing from her as she taps in the code, no look, no words.
The doors open, and I step inside, not for the first time wondering what the hell I’m doing. And not for the first time, I laugh at my own stupid question. That threatening panic attack was very real.
I ride up, pulling myself back together, settling, and when the doors open onto James’s glass box, I scan the space, searching for him. No James. I glance up the stairs, and the faint sounds of music reach my ears.
London Grammar. What a Way to Lose Your Head.
I swallow, the irony making my head spin, and drop my purse, taking the stairs, feeling every stress and woe lift from my shoulders the closer I get to him. I follow the music to his bedroom. The door is open, the sound of the shower spray dulled by the beats of the track. I approach slowly, the tiniest part of my brain ordering me to turn and run away from this madness. But the biggest part is willing me on, yelling at me, telling me the only madness in this world is outside of this glass box.
I stop at the door.
James is a blur beyond the foggy shower screen. But crystal clear. And the music is louder. I glance up and see speakers dotted across the ceiling, nestled in between the spotlights, which are dim. Moody.
Calming.
His hands sweep through his hair, his back rolling, the scars undetectable through the misty glass. He is a perfect way to lose my head. Lose everything. It’s unhealthy. To bury my head in the sand, it has to be unhealthy, because outside of this glass box, the world still exists. It’s still filled with a father who abandoned me, grief for a mom who I lost far too soon, and a crazed agony that sent me to a psychiatric facility at the lowest point of my life. But, while I’m here, while I’m in James’s orbit, I’m not that bereaved woman.
I’m free. It’s addictive . . . dangerous.
I’m at its mercy.
James stills, and then he turns slowly, his head lifting as he does, reaching for the screen and sweeping a hand across it, clearing part of the glass of condensation. His face. Just the sight of him. He radiates power. His persona screams hazard. But beyond every masculine, strong, capable piece of him is a gentleness that’s grown since we met. He knows who I am, what I need, without even knowing.
Fireworks explode inside of me, my bottom lip trembling. I’m at his mercy.
He jerks his head, a silent instruction for me to go to him, so I step forward, my hands lifting to the buttons of my shirt, and when I make it to the edge of the enclosure, he reaches out and pulls me in fully clothed. One swift move has me turned, my back up against the tile. He breathes down on me, his eyes roaming every inch of my face. “Is your friend okay?” he asks quietly, nuzzling into my face. My head drops back, giving him access to my neck, and I nod as best I can, instantly out of my mind. He knows damn well there is no friend with man troubles. “Speak soon?” he asks, and I swallow, clenching my eyes closed. “Do you want to speak now?”
“No,” I reply, my voice thick with need.
He slips a hand onto my nape and directs my head back down. His eyes harbor a million strands of knowing. “Me neither.”
His mouth is on mine fast.
My shirt is ripped open.
My jeans are wrestled down my legs.
My panties ripped away.
And he slams into me with a force so hard, I’m unsure how the tiles don’t crack behind me.
I scream.
And it drowns out every other thought plaguing me.
Just as I planned.
46
JAMES
The relief I feel that she’s here is spilling out of me in the form of anger. I can’t stop it. And by the feel of her nails in my shoulders, she doesn’t want me to, which leaves me wondering what went down at her uncle’s place. Goldie reported Beau’s father was there. She said Beau stormed out. And now she’s here, seeming as stressed as I am.
And I need to do everything I can to make sure she doesn’t walk away again. I need to ensure she knows that being here, being with me, is her only option. Not only because she’s in danger out there.
We’re going at each other like animals, our mouths dueling chaotically, our hands grabbing and scratching at each other, my growls primal, hers equally so.
I spin her and push her front forward into the tile with my body, kicking her feet apart. She cries out, and I bite her wet shoulder. “James,” she yells.
“No fucking talking, Beau,” I warn, taking my cock and tracing down her arse. “You said no talking.”
I don’t want this to be rough and hard. I need to give her more of a reason to stay, more than the crazy fucking. Let’s just fuck.
No.
I slow the pace and ease into her gently, and she moans to the ceiling. “Hard,” she orders, and I still, submerged, my body shaking with the effort it’s taking not to thrust.
“What?” I pant, and she rolls her forehead on the tile, her fist balling and pushing into the wall, as if she’s angry with herself.
“Not soft. I don’t need you being all soft and gentle with me. Not now.”
Not now? Or not ever? “Why?” I’m trying to locate a harder tone. I’m trying to hold back the fear in me. Yet I can’t avoid the need.
She doesn’t answer. Because she doesn’t know.
All I can think about in this moment was our first encounter. The encounter that set the wheels in motion for us. She wants that. And it pisses me off.
I withdraw, and Beau hits the wall with her fist. “Come with me,” I order, taking her wrist and pulling her out of the shower. The cold air shocks my skin, and with both of us dripping wet, I pull her into my bedroom.
“What are you doing?” she asks, trying to remove herself from my grip. “James!”
I stop by the wall and position her by the wooden frame. “Do you want me to stop?” I ask, dipping and taking her nipple in my mouth, rolling my tongue around the solid pebble, her skin chilly.
“Yes,” she grates, and I pull away, stepping back.
“You want hard emotionless fucking, do you, Beau?” I ask, wrapping my hand around my dick, working myself back up, my fury intensifying.
Her eyes drop to my groin. “Yes.” The anger in her clear eyes is satisfying. It mirrors mine.
“So we have some issues to vent?”
“Fuck. You.”
My jaw tightens, and I move in, taking slow, even strides until I’m pushed up against her front. “Do you want me?” I ask quietly, reaching forward and taking a nipple between my thumb and forefinger, squeezing hard. She inhales quickly, her jaw rolling. “Do. You. Want. Me?” I ask again, every word punctuated.