Being James’s. Possessed by him. Owned by him. Cured by him. He was right. We’ll never be done. I cannot live without this. Us.
He strikes harder, grabbing my hair and pulling it. The pain travels through my body and hits me hard between my legs. “I’m going to come,” I say calmly but loud enough for him to hear, and he bellows, pounding harder, yanking harder, breathing harder.
“Fuck!” He withdraws, circles, and pounds into me one last time, grinding on a moan, and I come, so hard but so serene, the pleasure rolling through me, dowsing the anger that ruled me only a few moments ago. I feel his heat flood me. His grip releases, and he massages my scalp as he circles his hips. “Are you okay?” he asks, wheezing.
I don’t answer, pushing my hands into the leather and standing, inhaling when he slips out of me. I feel him trickle down my leg, and I wonder . . . did any stay inside of me? Enough? And would my body accept it?
I feel him pull my panties into place and my dress down, before turning me to face him. His jeans hang open, and I help fix him while he watches me intently. He eventually lifts my chin with a finger so I’m looking at him. “I told you once never to question my love for you. Today you questioned it. Who sent you that picture?”
And just like that, my serenity is lost, and I am back in a world I can’t cope with today. “You know who sent me that picture.”
The hollows of his cheeks pulse. “I told you to block his number.”
“And I ignored you.” I move away, out of his reach. “Why was that woman all over you?”
He closes his eyes, gathering patience. “She’s been calling me. I assumed she and Darren wanted to play. I ignored her. She showed up tonight. It’s rather convenient that Burrows was here too, don’t you think?”
“So it’s his fault you had another woman hanging off you?” Is he saying Ollie set him up?
“I’ve handled it.”
“You sure did,” I breathe, laughing under my breath.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m going home.” I pull at my dress to straighten it. “Fury can take me.”
“Are you saying I can’t take you?”
“I’m saying I can’t be around you right now.”
“I was just inside you, Beau. Fucking you. And now you can’t be around me?”
“Yes,” I yell, obviously all over the place and feeling it too.
“For fuck’s sake.” James swoops up his guns and tosses them in the footwell of his Range Rover. “So what was that? Scratching my itch in case I was tempted to take Beth up on her offer?”
I stare at him, wanting to slap him again. “If you want to take her up on her offer, don’t let me stop you.” I don’t know what I’m saying, and the flash of hurt that flickers across his bristly face spikes a twinge of guilt. To think I could lose him to another woman? To think I might be without him? To go back to the dark places I frequented before James, hollow and lonely?
“You’re destructive,” he says quietly. “You know me, Beau. Do you think I’m capable of betraying you?”
I don’t answer, looking away, ashamed. And he knows it.
“Fucking answer me.”
I look at him. Stare at him.
“You can be angry at me,” he whispers. “Hit me, punch me, fucking shoot me. None of it hurts as much as you not trusting me.” And again, I look away, unable to face the gray, damaging storm swirling in his eyes. “If you think I would hurt you, we may as well add me to the list of men I’m going to kill.”
“Stop it.”
“No.”
“It—” I hear my cell ring, and I search the ground for my purse. I find it by the rear tire of James’s car and dip to collect it. I don’t recognize the number. I also don’t get a chance to answer. James plucks it from my hand and takes the call for me. “What the hell?”
“Stand the fuck down,” he growls, connecting and answering with silence, his eyes narrowing. “Speak,” he eventually demands, getting edgier the longer the caller remains silent, and as a consequence, I do too. But then his scowl turns into a frown, and he looks at me. “Who?”
Just the fact he’s asking that means I can safely say it’s not my ex. “Who is it?” I ask, impatient.
“Frazer Cartwright,” James replies.
“What?” I question, reaching for my phone but getting nowhere near, because James moves back. “The journalist?”
“Yes, the journalist.”
What could he want? Jesus, if my father has set this up, I can’t say I won’t lose my shit again. He wants me to play the doting daughter to the respected businessman who’s running for mayor? Absolutely not. And James should not be talking to him either. I reach for my cell again, and this time I get a growl. “Give me it, James.”
“No.”
I drop my purse, lift the skirt of my dress, jump and spin, kicking my cell away from his ear. It hits the wall with force and drops to the ground, and I scoop it up. The screen is cracked, but the call is still in progress. “This is Beau Hayley speaking,” I say, my eyes on James’s fuming form. His nostrils are flaring. His jaw pulsing. I ignore it all and walk away before he blows me back when he explodes.
“Miss Hayley,” Cartwright says. “My name—”
“I know your name and who you are. What do you want?”
“Your father—”
“What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
I cough, stilling, my stomach feeling like it’s just fallen to the ground at my feet. “What?” I whisper, turning my eyes onto James. I know they must be wide because his irritation dissipates in a second and he’s in front of me, his expression questioning. I don’t know what to do. What to say. How to react. I feel . . . empty. And despite emptiness being a constant threat in my life, this feeling is new. My cell falls away from my ear, my arm limp, my eyes searching around me as I turn on the spot, as if I might see my father here and now and confirm I didn’t just hear right.
“Beau?”
I blink, running back over the conversation I just had.
“Beau?”
He’s dead?
“Beau, for fuck’s sake.” James takes the tops of my arms and shakes me, dipping and getting in my field of vision. He recoils when I look at him, then feels down to my hand, taking my cell. He looks at the screen. Cartwright has disconnected, and I blink rapidly, seeming to come back into my body at the sight of James’s concern. I reclaim my phone and dial the only person who comes to mind, putting aside my grievance with him, and James will have to too.
“Ollie?”
“Beau,” he breathes in answer, and the second I hear his voice, I know. I just know.
“Don’t tell me you were just going to call me,” I beg anyway, praying for an explanation. “Please don’t tell me that.”
“I was just going to call you.”
“No,” I whisper.
“How do you know?” he asks.
“Cartwright called me.”
“Fuck. I’m on my way there now, Beau.”
“Where is there?”