Page 64 of It Will Always Be You
If she thought being a woman would spare her, she’s about to learn just how wrong she is.
Chapter 57
Sitting idle while others interrogate Jen has my skin crawling. I need to bedoingsomething, not just sitting here, but anytime I so much as look at the lift, Seamus or Jack shift closer to it, as if I’m a flight risk. Okay, maybe I am, but that doesn’t mean they have to act like it.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Cora asks, coming to join me in the kitchen. If I can’t help with the interrogation, the next best thing is making sure everyone has a drink in hand while we wait. Handing Cora a glass of wine, I pour my own before turning to lean against the counter.
“Just wondering how things are going, you?” I mummer.
“I still can’t believe Jen is connected to Angus,” she confesses.
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“No, but we know she was on that same sex trafficking server. We know she has ties to at least one of the bastards who hurt you. What more do we need?” The note of defeat in her voice and the slump of her shoulders pulls me closer. I wrap an arm around herwithout hesitation.
One day, she’ll be the one standing in Jonathan’s shoes, expected to carry herself like steel. But right now, she’s just a twenty-four-year-old girl bearing far too much.
And if anyone has a problem with her needing her mother’s arms tonight, they can come through me first.
“If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s your dad. We just have to trust him and wait, darling,” I comfort her, running my hand over her hair as she releases a loaded sigh. “What’s really got you this worked up?”
“Lily.” One word weighted down with a hundred different questions. Does she know? Is she involved? What about her ties to Benedict? I can’t imagine the girl I met—so clearly terrified of her own mother—had any willing involvement, but from the way Cora bites her lip and wrings her hands, it’s clear she’s not so sure. Or perhaps she’s worried the others won’t listen to reason, and she’ll be forced to choose between her friend and her responsibilities.
Our weighted moment is interrupted by her phone. Slipping it out of her pocket, she answers the Facetime call from Abigail with a forced smile. Squeezing her shoulder, I leave her to it and head to Jonathan’s office to make a call of my own.
“Hello?” The confused, gruff voice on the other end of the line is so like his father’s, it takes my breath away for a moment. That Scottish lilt haunts my nightmares, but I owe it to Freya to push through.
“Logan, this is Helen,” I manage to choke out around the lump in my throat. For a moment, his shocked inhale is the only response I receive, and then like a damn breaking, a torrid of questions spill down the line.
“How are you? Shit, that was stupid. What I meant was, how are things going? Can we meet? Do you know anything about what happened to my mum?”
“Your mum was the single strongest person I know. She loved you so much. All she wanted was to fight her way back to you…” Through my tears, I spend God knows how long in that office, sharing every little detail about Freya with him as he breaks down on the other end of the line. I know this man is nothing like his father; he’s every inch the caring soul Freya would have wanted him to be. While she might be gone, she lives on in him.
The click of the door opening jolts me awake.
At some point, after everyone had cleared out—once it was obvious Jonathan and the others wouldn’t be back anytime soon—I must’ve passed out from the emotional overload. Now, as light from the hall spills into the room, I’m groggy, tense, and completely disoriented.
Squinting against the glare, all traces of sleep vanish when I spot a blood-soaked Jonathan in the doorway. “Jonathan, what happened?” Sitting up, the sheet pools around my waist, and I flush when I remember I’d decided to forgo clothes.
Letting out a tortured sound, he closes the distance between us in seconds, and then his mouth is on mine, and who needs words or answers? He kisses me like he was born to do so, stealing the air from my lungs. This isn’t a simple kiss—no, this is a claiming.
He follows me down, bracketing me between his hips and arms as we get lost in each other. All I can feel is the silk against my skin, his tongue against mine, the tightening in my core, the sudden wetness between my legs. With a groan, he pulls back, staring down at me with molten eyes.
“Do you want me to stop?” His breath is harsh, his voice utterly wrecked, as if even the thought of stopping was more than he could stomach.
That’s the last thing I want, and I tell him as much. “Fuck no.”
“I’m not in the mood to be gentle right now, sweetheart.”
“Good thing I’m not breakable, then, isn’t it?” My words are a challenge—one he gladly meets. With a curse, he claims my mouth as his once again as he reaches between us to palm my breast, pinchingmy nipple in the process. Hissing at the sensation, I arch up into him.
“That’s my pretty fucking girl. Look how good you are for me. You like that, don’t you? These are my fucking tits.” Dipping his head, he gently tugs one of my nipples between his teeth, and the instant pain has me whimpering, fisting his hair. With a click of his tongue, he leans back.
“Did I say you could touch me, sweetheart?” The heat in his gaze has me clenching on nothing as I shake my head. “That’s right. I didn’t.” With one hand, he deftly undoes his belt, and I bite back a whimper at the sight. Something so simple shouldn’t be so hot, but as he uses that same belt to secure my wrists together, I’m practically a puddle of need.
“Now, you’re going to lie there and let me worship you. And only once I’ve had my fill will I move on.” With that dark promise, he stands and slowly removes his shirt and trousers. Seeing this man strip will nevernotaffect me. As each inch of skin is revealed to my hungry gaze, my need ratchets up another notch.
“Fuck,” I whisper, looking up at him with heavy eyelids. Smirking, he joins me on the bed again, this time kissing his way from my chest to my ankles, but skipping the places I need him most. With a whine, I arch my hips.
