TWENTY-FIVE
Hoyt’s journals, and there were many of them, detailed a young boy growing into a young man aware that he had disappointed the father who’d expected him to be taller, broader, and stronger. He had a mother who had loved him with almost fanatic intensity, and he’d had the knowledge, even as a boy, that there was something not quite right about the parents he loved.
The past six months, the journals had been filled with fear as well. Attempts to make certain his mother took her pills, even hiding them in her food, melting them in her coffee. But nothing could have stopped Augusta Napier’s insanity.
The fact that Nadine Grace and Dayle Mackay had always been her enemies didn’t help. For years she had hated Natches, and only after word had circulated that it had been Natches who revealed his father as a traitor had Augusta decided he was a man worthy of her love. He and Alex, they were like her husband, she had decided. Strong and brave.
The man Jimmy Napier had been was just average. A soldier who had taken every tour he could get to escape his wife. A man rumored to have had a different lover in each different area he had been assigned to. His last lover, the daughter of a terrorist, had been his downfall. He had died in her arms, literally.
He’d been a good soldier, a loyal soldier, but he’d never advanced because he didn’t have the drive, or the strength, to go higher. Or the trust. He wasn’t known for keeping his word. Jimmy Napier hadn’t just broken promises to his wife and son.
It was a sad tale.
Three days later, Janey stood beside Hoyt’s casket before it was lowered into the dark wound in the earth created to hold him. She didn’t bother to wipe her tears away, because she wondered if anyone had ever cried for Hoyt.
She laid a rose on his casket, touched the cold metal lid, and whispered a last good-bye to him. The young man who had supported her from the first day in the restaurant, the one who had given his life to save her from his mother, wouldn’t have the chance to realize the dreams he had written in those journals. Nor would he have the chance to realize the vision he had shared with her for the restaurant.
Her throat was thick with her tears as Alex held her against him, his arm tight around her, his warmth seeping past the layers of clothes to protect her against the harsh bite of the early February air. There wasn’t even a hint of spring. Hoyt had been buried on one of the coldest days that the month of February had known in decades.
And that somehow didn’t seem fair. There should be a hint of warmth, a hint of newness in the air somehow. Something to give her hope that Hoyt knew he had been loved by those around him.
Swallowing tightly, she let Alex lead her from the cemetery back to the truck. And from there they drove to his house.
The Mackay family had gathered around her for three days. All of them. Her brother and his wife, the cousins and their wives, and Uncle Ray and Maria. But they were alone now as Alex pulled the truck into the driveway of his house.
Alex had been quiet for the past few days. Too quiet. She could almost feel him drawing away from her, and it rocked her to her soul. She was safe now, so how much of him would she still own now that there was no danger of anyone killing her or his potential child?
He unlocked the kitchen door and stepped in, still cautious, before he let her into the dimly lit house. It was overcast outside; the forecast was calling for snow, perhaps sleet along with it. It was brutally cold, but inside, the warmth seemed to seep around her.
She liked Alex’s house. She would regret leaving it.
“The construction crew says the apartment will be finished in a few weeks.” She shrugged her jacket off and hung it up with her purse on one of the coat hooks by the door.
“Really?” he drawled. His voice was cool, distant. “That’s fast work.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Natches signed off on it immediately. I was surprised.”
“Did you talk to him about a manager?” he asked.
She shrugged. She hadn’t yet. Maybe she was afraid to.
“Why haven’t you, Janey?”
She looked up at him, feeling uncertain, a little lost.
“Maybe,” she whispered, “as long as he’s not signing off on it, it means he wants to keep me around.”
She’d done a lot of soul searching after Zeke allowed her to see Hoyt’s journals. It had made her think of her own dreams, her own needs that she had hidden over the years, even from herself. Especially here in the past weeks spent with Alex. She had hidden from herself the knowledge of what it would do to her if she lost him.
She loved him past reason, and she knew it. Loved him enough that she knew she would never fully let go of him.
Alex sighed heavily. “Janey, he did everything he could to protect you for the better part of your life. What makes you think Natches doesn’t want you here? That he would ever want you out of his life?”
“He doesn’t know me.” She looked up at him cautiously. “And that’s my fault. Sometimes I fear he’ll look at me and see Dayle. Or our mother. And I get scared inside that I’ll do something or say something, and he’ll see them. Or he’ll remember the beatings he took for me.” She shook her head as she moved to the table, staring down at the dark wood with a frown. “I played Daddy’s princess, and hated Dayle, and myself, for it.”
“Why did you do it?” He didn’t move closer to her; he stayed distant, and she ached.
“Because I knew he’d strike out. He was waiting for a reason. He knew Natches would come running. And he knew then that he’d have the excuse he needed, possibly to kill him.”
She shook her head again, fighting the tears. She was fighting tears so often in the past few days.
“Then you were protecting him as well, Janey,” he told her quietly.
He moved to her then and his arms went around her. “Baby, you’re one woman. One tiny, fragile little thing. Did you think you should be using your fists like Natches did?”
She nodded against his chest, her fingers curling into his suit jacket as her breathing hitched. “I should have fought. I should have found a way to protect myself. I shouldn’t have depended on Natches. I should have been stronger, Alex.”
“You should have been just the way you are,” he whispered. “The woman who threw herself from the couch to attack a crazed woman with a gun, before she shot her son. Because you knew she would shoot you next. The woman who tore a dart out of Mark’s neck before it could kill him, and still managed, despite the tranquilizer in her system, to grab a communications device and hide it on herself so she could be found. Nothing you’ve done has been unworthy in my eyes. Or in Natches’s.”
“Hoyt’s dead, because of me.” Her stomach cramped with that knowledge. “I saw his journals. His dreams. He’ll never know them.”
“Ah, Janey.” His hand curled around her neck, so strong, his fingers against her skin, curling from the side of her neck to the back, made her feel feminine, protected. “Hoyt wouldn’t have blamed you. Did you read the final journal? How he talked about how hard you worked, the dreams he knew you had? How he wanted you to succeed? Hoyt doesn’t blame you, sweetheart.”
“Maybe I blame me.” She blinked back her tears.
“You will.” He nodded, surprising her. “Just as I blame myself that Augusta Napier was able to get to you.”
“No . . .”
He laid a finger against her lips. “I left you in the truck, without me. I didn’t trust my own instincts that night, Janey. All I thought about was catching the person trying to hurt you, and stopping it. If you want to blame anyone for Hoyt’s death, sweetheart, then blame me.”
“You won’t let me take responsibility for anything.” She pushed away from him, suddenly angry. “You’re like Natches. You make excuses for me. You pamper and baby me, and sometimes I want to scream with it.”
“Oh, I blame you for plenty,” he growled.
She swung around, eyes suddenly narrowing. “For what?”
“My hard dick. The fact that I’ve gone three days without fucking you because your family was crowded into my house like a fucking Mackay invasion. Oh yeah, Janey, there’s some blame that lies directly on your pretty shoulders. But Hoyt isn’t part of it.”
Her breath locked in her throat for long moments before she swallowed past her own need and fears.
“You haven’t acted like you wanted me.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “I had your whole family in here, Janey, and Timothy glaring at me like he’s adopted you. Hell. Do you have any idea how many times the difference in our age was mentioned and how no one had better hear sounds from our bedroom?”
Her lips twitched. “Sounds, huh?”
“Janey, sounds. And, baby, when I touch you, I do want to hear your sounds.”
“So I can take the blame for your hard dick, but not my own weaknesses?” she said roughly.
“God, don’t say the word dick unless you’re trying to get into my pants.” He sighed. “It just makes me harder.” He caught her arms, sliding his hands to her elbows then back to her shoulders. “And, baby, you’re fragile, not weak. Not unworthy. And you’re human. Hoyt knew what his mother was and he didn’t warn anyone. He could have. He should have. And he didn’t. That isn’t your fault.”
A tear slipped free. “He loved her.”
“Yes, he loved her,” Alex whispered. “But no matter how much you love me, you would never stand by and allow me to do something you didn’t agree with, would you?”
She frowned back at him. “You’re arrogant, not mean.”
“I beat those drunks up for insulting you.” His smile was slow and wicked. “And you didn’t even kiss my scraped knuckles.”
She scowled at that. “I should have boxed your ears. They were drunks.”
“They’ll think before they insult another woman while they’re drunk,” he argued back. “But you let me know exactly how much you didn’t like it, didn’t you, baby?”
“You didn’t listen.” She pouted.
“Sure I did,” he drawled. “Next time, I’ll be real nice about it and just knock their heads together. I’ll be nice and gentle.”
Janey had to fight her smile as she felt his hands slide to her dress, pulling it up slowly.
“Are you trying to undress me, Alex?”
He huffed in exasperation. “I’d really like to see what you’re wearing under that dress, Janey. And you said the word dick. You owe me now.”
This she had. She lifted her head as his lowered, parted her lips, and took his kiss, even as he took hers. Lips and tongues touched, played together, stroked, and stoked the flames building inside them now.
She had his desire. Perhaps his distance had been because she had been surrounded by her family. And Natches had growled a lot. Timothy had doted on her and glared at Alex several times.
She had to let herself believe she could make this work. She had to let herself believe he loved her, and just didn’t realize it.
“Say it again,” he growled against her lips.
“Say what?” She was breathless, dazed with the need for more of his kisses, more of his touch.
“The word.” His lips roved over her jaw. “Talk about my dick. God, you make me hot, Janey, when you talk dirty to me.”
“You’re so naughty.” A breathless laugh left her.
“Yeah, and so are my intentions toward you.” He nipped at her ear. “Come on, talk dirty to me. Let me hear it so I can fight coming in my pants. I love it when you make me ready to come in my pants.”
Her head tilted back. “I want to suck your hard dick,” she whispered. “All the way to my throat.”
“Fuck!” His voice roughened.
“I want to do that, too.” She pushed at his jacket, dragging it over his powerful shoulders to touch him, feel him. “I want to fuck you, Alex. I want to ride you like my own wild stud. Feel you hard and thick inside me, slamming into me.”
“Hell.” He lifted her from her feet and carried her through the short hall to their bedroom.
When he released her, he was tearing at his clothes, his cheeks flushed, his eyes thunderous. “Take your clothes off.”
He tore off his shirt and yanked at his belt as she reached back and unzipped her dress.
“Can I suck your hard dick, Alex?” she whispered.
“God, you can suck any part of me you want.” The hunger was brighter, stronger in his face than she had ever seen it. As though something had stripped away the last layer between man and lust.
She dropped the dress to her feet, leaving her clad in the black bra, thong, and smoky black stockings she wore with her pumps.
“Oh, sweet mercy.” He toed his shoes off and pushed his pants and boxers from his muscled legs. “Get over here, baby. Suck my dick. Show me how much you want it.”
She moved to him, slowly, watching his hands clench at his sides. His expression was tight, his cheekbones sharply defined and flushed.
“I love sucking your cock,” she whispered, loving the freedom to be naughty with him, to love him as she needed to.
Her hands flattened against his chest, smoothed down the tight, rippling abs as she went to her knees and let her hands encase the thick, throbbing shaft.
Alex watched her, both bemused and so fucking turned on by the sight of her that it was all he could do to hold back the cum threatening to spurt from the tip of his cock.
Small beads of it formed despite the ferocious control he held over himself. She licked those drops away and murmured her appreciation with a little moan. Her lips opened, parted, encased the engorged, darkly flushed crest, and she sank her mouth onto it.
Alex’s head fell back on his shoulders as a groan tore from his throat. Her mouth was like hot silk and velvet, her tongue rasping over the ultrasensitive head, curling over it, licking and tasting him as she sucked at the engorged flesh.
The fingers of one hand moved between his thighs and cupped his balls, her palm rolling against them in a way that, fuck, his toes were curling into the damned carpet it was so good. He almost yelled out at the pleasure. He might have, if she’d left him enough breath to do it. Instead, she seemed to suck that out of his lungs with the same hungry intensity that she was sucking the control from his mind and the cum from his balls.
He couldn’t touch her. He had to force himself not to touch her. Not her hair, her face. His hands were curled into tight, knotted fists as he fought back the urge to touch.
If he touched, he’d lose it. He’d have her flat on her back, with him buried inside her and pumping his release into the hot, liquid depths of her body.
He adored her. Adored her lips, her tongue, her little moans, her silken hands, and the hunger that blazed in her eyes. But as he watched her, he knew he adored her spirit, her fire, and the woman who was so afraid of losing what she loved.
He saw it in her eyes. He’d heard it earlier in her voice. And he still couldn’t figure out how to convince her that nothing in this world or beyond could mean to him what she did.
“Sweet Janey,” he groaned, staring down at her, watching her consume him, steal his soul one soft lick, one deep draw of her lips, at a time. She had stolen his soul just as easily as she stole his control.
He could hold back only so long. His hips were moving against her lips, his eyes watching as he fucked her mouth, watching the damp moisture glistening on his cock as he pulled back, watching her lips take him as he buried the head of his erection between them once again.
His fingers uncurled, then locked in her hair. He felt his arms bulging as he fought to hold back, felt his abs flexing, his balls tightening further.
“I’m going to come, Janey,” he groaned. “Ah hell. Enough.”
He pulled back, holding on to her head as he forced her to release the bloated crest of his dick. Damn, he needed to fuck her. Needed to be buried inside her.
He lifted her to her feet before picking her up and carrying her to their bed. He laid her back and unclipped the little clasp of her bra before drawing it from her. He was dragging it over her shoulders when the sight of her tight, hard nipples became more than he could resist.
Janey arched, crying out his name as his lips covered a hard, sensitive nipple, pulling it into the hot depths of his mouth. He sucked her with hungry draws of his mouth, sending pleasure shooting from the tight tip to the needy depths of her pussy.
She writhed against the bed beneath, her legs parting as his thigh pushed between them. The hard muscle ground against her clit, and she felt the tightening, the erotic flames of pleasure beginning to sear her.
The sensations raced from her nipples to her womb, curled around her clit, and struck inside her sex. She could feel the clenching, building need. The desperate pleasure that she knew would only grow, only become deeper, hotter, until he filled her, until he triggered the explosive ecstasy she knew she would only feel in his arms.
“I love how your nipples taste,” he growled as he moved from one to the other. “So tight and sensitive.” His teeth rasped one; his tongue licked, and a lightning stroke of white-hot sensation whipped through her body.
She could feel the perspiration gathering on her flesh. The need tearing through her. She had to have him, soon. If she didn’t—oh God, she couldn’t bear it if she didn’t.
Her head thrashed on the bed as his lips moved from her nipples. He kissed the underside of her breast, sucked a bit of the flesh into his mouth, and she knew he’d marked her again. Knew it and loved it.
Then his lips were moving lower. His tongue licked down, his lips kissed, his hands parted her thighs farther as his head came between them. And he licked her pussy. One long, slow lick through the saturated cleft. When he reached her clit, he licked around it. Never enough pressure. He blew a heated breath over it, kissed it, and she nearly exploded into a million fragments.
His chuckle was wicked.
“You’re going to tease me,” she gasped.
“I’m going to adore you,” he drawled. “Soak every taste and touch into my soul, Janey.”
He licked and sucked. He kissed and had her screaming his name.
“Oh yeah, ah, baby, I love your sounds. Your cries and screams.”
He stabbed his tongue inside her clenching sex and she nearly came undone then and there. She could feel the tension building in her womb, in her clit. The pleasure was so intense, so brilliant, it was nearly painful, and she wanted more. She craved more. She gripped his head, her fingers digging into his scalp as she arched to his lips. Her head thrashed. Her legs tightened around his head.
Groaning, he moved to her clit, licked around it, kissed it, then sucked it into his mouth as his tongue flickered, hot and quick, over the tender bud and left her screaming through her orgasm.
“Now ride me.” He pulled her over him before the last waves of pleasure were finished rushing through her.
She still had her shoes on, her stockings. She had no idea what had happened to her panties or when he’d torn them off her. She was sure he must have torn them. He seemed to really enjoy tearing her panties off her body, and she loved it.
“God, I nearly came when you threatened to ride me like your own personal stud,” he groaned as she straddled his hips. “Do it, baby. Ride me straight to paradise.”
She gripped the base of his cock and eased over him, pressing it against her, her eyes closing, her head falling back as she felt him stretching her, filling her.
She was slick and wet; he was hard and thick. Like heated, silk-covered iron impaling her, stroking once-hidden nerve endings and sending sharp, intense flares of sensation racing to her womb.
She took him in one long stroke, easing down until he filled her completely, burrowed so deep inside her that there was no beginning, no end to either of them.
“Oh yeah, honey.” His lips pulled back in a snarl of pleasure as his gaze narrowed. “Now ride me.” His hands clenched her hips. “Damn, you look pretty like that.”
She followed his lead, lifting and rising, grinding against him and crying out his name as the pleasure began to build again, the heat surging through her.
It was pleasure and pain. It was agony and ecstasy. It was like belonging. Like finally discovering the one place in the world where she knew she could find that elusive happiness that had never seemed quite real. Until Alex. Until he touched her, held her. Until he let her own him.
She would teach him to love her. Eventually.
For now there was this. Taking him as he took her, loving it. Riding him, rising and falling on the stiff length of cock, until they were both crying out with the release rushing through them.
She tightened on him until her muscles seemed to lock. Inside her, his cock swelled thicker, throbbed harder, and the heated, harsh spurts of his release pushed her own climax higher.
Sweat covered them, slickened their bodies as she relaxed against him. It was a damned good thing breathing was natural, because Janey wasn’t certain she could have found the strength to draw a breath if it wasn’t.
“Oh man, that was so fucking hot.” He breathed out roughly. “I want to do it again.”
Her muscles were shaking. He was practically draped on the bed beneath her. She could barely manage a laugh.
“Right now?”
He grunted. “A few minutes, maybe.”
“Minutes?” She couldn’t move yet. She was so limp, so weak, she just lay against him. He was still buried inside her, still hard, though without the steely strength of moments before.
“Okay, tens of minutes, maybe.” He tried for a laugh as she groaned and lifted herself from him, collapsing on the bed beside him.
“Maybe I’ll let you nap first.” He turned to his side and wrapped his arms around her. “For a little while.”
She smiled and kissed his chest, feeling him relax against her. He hadn’t slept well while the Mackays had invaded his home.
She cuddled closer and let her eyes drift closed. Just for a little while, she told herself. A nap. But the nap became deeper, stronger. In his arms, safe, she let herself relax, and it was hours before she awakened. The day was surrendering to night and she couldn’t seem to get comfortable again.
Pushing away from a still-sleeping Alex, she forced herself from the bed, stretching, trying to ease the aching tightness that perhaps the position they had used had put in her hips.
Smiling at the thought, she went to the bathroom. She needed to shower, then maybe she would fix dinner. She was getting hungry. She hadn’t really been hungry in days.
She dampened a washrag, cleaned between her thighs, and when she pulled it back, she froze at the slightest blemish of a stain on the rag.
Agony rushed through her. It clenched her chest, her stomach. It burned through her with a blaze of pain so sharp, so fierce, she wondered if she would survive. She dropped the washrag and slid slowly to the floor, her head on her knees as she fought not to howl with the ferocity of the anger and the hurt that tore through her.
Between one second and the next, fate had destroyed her, and she didn’t know if she could survive it.
Alex wasn’t certain at first what brought him awake. But his eyes jerked open, and his hand went automatically to where he knew Janey should be.
She wasn’t in the bed beside him, but he could hear her. Something he had never heard from her—muffled, soul-shattering sobs.
His heart went to his throat as he jumped from the bed. He didn’t bother with his pants but moved quickly to the bathroom, where he found her, crouched in the corner where the sink and the wall met, her head buried in her arms, her knees pulled up to her breasts.
Beside her lay a damp washrag, the faintest hint of her feminine cycle staining it.
He’d known she would start. The tempting sweet taste of her earlier had been earthier, the sweet syrup a little sweeter. He’d known by the changes in her nipples, the tighter grip of her body.
“Janey.” He knelt beside her, running his hands over, making certain she wasn’t hurt. “Sweetheart. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, but the sobs were heartbreaking. They were wounding his soul.
“Baby. Come here. You have to talk to me.” He picked her up, despite the stiffness in her body, and carried her back to the bedroom, where he sat down on the bed, holding her close.
“This isn’t like you, Janey,” he whispered. “Why are you crying, darlin’? You’re breaking my heart.”
She cried harder. The sobs were heartrending, torn from her, despite her attempts to hold them back, and Alex had never felt so helpless in his entire life. He searched his mind frantically. Had he hurt her during sex? Said or done something to hurt her feelings?
Were her emotions just messed up? That happened that time of the month, he knew, but he had never expected it to be like this from Janey. Not that he minded, but he had to blink back his own tears at the sound of her sobs, and real men didn’t cry like this.
“I’m sorry.” She turned into him, curling against him like a frightened kitten, her arms tight around his neck, her body shuddering as her sobs became harder. “I’m so sorry.”
“God, Janey, why?” He held her as tight as he dared, and yet he had a feeling she needed more. “Sweetheart. What do you have to be sorry over?”
“I’m not.” Another shudder and sob. “I’m not pregnant, Alex. I’m not having your baby.” And the tears flowed hot and filled with pain against his chest. “I’m sorry. I failed. I failed.”
Alex frowned. He gripped her chin and lifted her face, his chest clenching at the agony in her green eyes, and then he knew. He knew why she was crying; she was so filled with pain that Janey had finally, truly cried.
“Do you think a baby was all I wanted from you, Janey?” he asked, his voice husky. Dear God, how had he allowed her to believe something like that?
When she didn’t answer, his voice hardened. “Is that all you think I need—a fucking breeder?”
He was close to anger with her. The tears still fell, and her beautiful eyes were shattered. Because she thought that was all he wanted from her.
“We had a deal.” Her breathing hitched. “You wanted a baby.”
He laid her back on the bed carefully and rose. He took his time pulling on his jeans, keeping his back to her as he heard her breathing again on a sob.
“I love you.” He said the words slowly, keeping his back to her, because he knew what he felt was so much more. But Natches had said sometimes they needed the words. He’d give her the words.
“You liar.”
Alex turned in time to see her grab a glass he had set there earlier and throw it at him. If he hadn’t ducked, it would have probably laid him out on the floor.
But she wasn’t crying anymore.
“I don’t lie, Janey,” he snapped. “And the next time you throw something, I’m spanking you.”
“Your spankings make me come,” she sneered. “Big whooping deal. Just let me put my shoes on so I can shake in them.”
He propped his hands on his hips, glaring at her as she moved from the bed. She threw him a furious look. She didn’t bother to dress. A second later, a slender little finger was poking in his chest.
“You kept me because you thought I was pregnant,” she accused him. “You gave yourself, committed yourself to me just like you committed yourself to the military all those years.”
Alex blinked back at her. “I left the military, Janey. I wouldn’t leave you.”
Her eyes flamed in green fire. The light green darkened, sparked, raged.
“I’m not pregnant, Alex. You don’t have to let me own you anymore and you don’t have to lie to me.”
“Accuse me of lying to you again, and I promise you, the spanking you get won’t make you come, baby,” he warned her, his voice quiet. “I said I love you. I didn’t keep you as you call it because I thought you were pregnant.”
“Then why else?” She sent him a scathing look. “The daughter of a traitor, remember, Alex? Daddy’s perfect little girl that smiled sweet and did what Daddy told her to do. Why the hell do you think Augusta Napier thought I was corrupting you?”
“Hell if I know.” He pushed his fingers roughly through his hair. “Because honestly, I was thinking I was corrupting you, while I had my dick shoved up your ass.”
She stilled. Narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be a smart-ass, Alex.”
“You know what?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re right.”
“Yeah, I usually am,” she sneered. “What am I right about this time?”
“I don’t love you.”
She froze and stared back at him.
“Love is just a pale fucking word for what I feel. I’ve watched love die. I’ve watched couples drift apart and love fade like a memory.” He shook his head. “I don’t love you, Janey. When I said you own me, I meant you own me. Heart. Soul. My hopes, dreams. My life. Because I’d die for you. What the hell more can I give you?”
Janey stared back at him. When he’d said he loved her, she’d realized the lie for what it was. There had been no feeling, no strength in the words. And there was now. There was the intensity in his voice that she had always associated with Alex and emotion. His emotions. His voice deepened, became rougher, when he let emotion slip free.
“Son of a bitch, I’m fourteen years older than you.” He sighed. “We see things different somehow.”
“Throw your age up to me again and I’ll spank you.” She told him fiercely. “Age has nothing to do with this.”
She could feel something building in her now, glowing within her, taking hold of her and heating her, warming her in places she hadn’t imagined would ever be warmed.
“I . . .” She swallowed tightly. “I really own you? All of you?”
“Janey, sweetheart,” he groaned, moved to her, framed her face with his hands, and stared down at her. His expression was filled with emotion now. His eyes raged with it. “I could say I love you until hell freezes over, and I’ll never say it enough to make myself feel as though I’ve told you how I feel for you. I’m a loner, baby. I always was, until you. No one has ever owned any part of me, until you. Janey, I live for you.”
He lived for her. He loved her past loving her. And she owned him. The tears fell again. Freely. She’d never been allowed to cry as a child or as an adult. But Alex had let her cry. He’d dried her tears at the funeral. He’d held her when she needed to be held. He’d let her be free, but she had always known his arms were right there, ready to curl within.
“I live for you,” she whispered, those tears running over his hands now. “Alex, I love you so much it eats me alive because I’ve been so scared. So scared of losing you. Of not having you in my bed ever again, or not having your touch.”
He pulled her to him. Right there, against his hair-roughened chest, his big hand covering the back of her head, making her feel sheltered, strong, and yeah, she was owned as well.
“I breathe for you, Janey.” He whispered the words against her forehead, then tipped her head back and breathed against her lips. “You own me.”
His lips covered hers, gently, tenderly, with hunger and with possessiveness, with all the emotions she had always dreamed of suddenly swirling between them.
They could have a baby later, if it happened. For now, she had Alex. And having Alex was everything her soul had despaired of ever knowing.
“You own me, too,” she whispered, staring back at him. “All of me, Alex. You have owned me for so long.”
His thumb smoothed over her cheek, wiped away the last tears.
“Are you going to talk to Natches now?” he asked, a hint of a smile at his lips. “Because we both know, Janey, you’re not leaving my side.”
“Ever,” she promised. “Oh, Alex. I’ll never leave your side.”