“Tell her.” Blaine set his hand on his shoulder. “You look far too pathetic and weepy staring at her like that. Recite her a poem or something.”
“That’s quite a moment. All that tenderness. I need to paint that.” Nigel pulled out a paper and a sketch pad. “Black and white will have to do.”
Blaine nudged Jarvis. “Just do it.”
He wanted to, but his feet were stuck to the ground. He didn’t know what to do. How to handle it. The emotions flooding him were too unfamiliar. Too confusing. All he knew was that he wanted to hold her forever. He couldn’t think past that.
Reina turned toward him, then she smiled. She held up her arms. To him.
“Sweet Mother Mary. That’s for me.” He couldn’t believe it.
Blaine slapped him on the back. “Go get her, big guy, before she smartens up.”
Jarvis took a step, and then another, and then he was sprinting across the stage. He caught her in his arms and hauled her against him. He buried his face in her neck and greedily breathed her in through every pore in his body. Vanilla, strawberries, and that scent that was just her. He tangled his fingers in her hair, desperate to hold her. To never let her go. “You brought me back,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I came back for you.”
She pulled back, searching his face. “What do you mean?”
“God, woman. Don’t you understand?” He framed her face with his hands. “You showed me that there’s love in me, that there was something redeemable. You brought that side of me to life. I used it to come back and to harvest my brother’s love. It’s you, babe, it’s all you. You made me the man I never thought I could be.”
She frowned. “So, you’re not hate anymore?”
“Oh, I’m hate. But I’m also the Guardian of Love.” Shit. He was going to have to spell it out, wasn’t he? But he didn’t know what to say. Desperate for her to understand, he grabbed her hand and pressed it over his heart. “This beats for you. No one else. For you.”
Her face lit up with the most magical smile he’d ever seen. “That’s love, Jarvis. You love me.”
The words felt like sunshine beaming down on him. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”
She stood on her tiptoes and lightly kissed him. “I love you, too.”
“Like you love everyone?” He knew the answer, he was sure he did, but he had to hear it. Because his woman loved every freaking thing on the planet, and she’d already told him before that she’d loved him the same way she’d love her damn dog.
He didn’t want to be her dog.
She smiled. “No, not like anyone else, you goof. Just like you.”
And in that moment, he became the man he’d been trying to be his whole life.
A warrior who was stronger than hate.
A warrior who knew that his most powerful weapon wasn’t his sword.
It was his heart.
When he bent to kiss her, he was so psyched to kiss his woman that he almost didn’t hear the cheers and the chants of “Guardian of Hate for the Testosterone Award” from the packed stadium.
But he did hear them. How could he not? After a lifetime of being tortured by women, hated by many, and burdened by the knowledge he could destroy the world in a single moment of weakness, he was now loved by a goddess, kissed with tenderness, and hoisted as a hero?
Sometimes, it just felt good to be a man.
With Reina snuggled in his arms, now was one of those times.
***
“Dude, that’s some kind of trust you got going on,” Nigel said. “I’d never let a woman blindfold me.”
Jarvis grinned as he allowed Reina to lead him down the sidewalk. He still couldn’t get over the freedom of being able to stroll down the street without worrying he might accidentally brush against strangers and trigger a fistfight. Yeah, the hate was still brewing, but he was getting pretty good at calling on the love to balance it.
Cameron was on a walkabout, pouting that world peace was no longer on his agenda. The love spells he’d cast on Natalie, the Godfather, and Reina had disappeared the moment Jarvis had harvested his love, and Cameron was rockingly pissed about it. Jarvis was planning to let him stew until he was well-cooked, and then he’d try to bring him back toward the decent kid he once knew.
Which meant, for now, Jarvis had only one agenda, and that was to enjoy the hell out of every moment, every experience, and every touch with the woman who had loved him into salvation. “You need to meet the right woman, Nigel.”
“No woman is that right,” Nigel scoffed. “Hell, man, doesn’t the blindfold remind you of the time that Angelica—”
“Stop.” Reina’s voice was firm. “You aren’t in the Den anymore, Nigel. Stop torturing yourself.”
“I wasn’t the one who did the torturing,” Nigel muttered.
Jarvis scented chocolate and was tempted to sneak a peek under the edge of the blindfold. “Are we going to your store?”
“Next door.”
Jarvis tried to remember what stores had been adjacent to hers… no clue. Last time he’d been there, he’d been tunnel-visioning for a woman to save his brother, not window-shopping.
“Okay, in here,” Reina said. “Let me get the door.”
“This is the big surprise?” Nigel started laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding, Reina. There’s no way he’s—”
“Shh! Don’t give it away!” There was humor in Reina’s voice as well, but it was also filled with warmth.
Jarvis couldn’t stop his shit-eating grin as he followed her inside. He couldn’t get over how good she made him feel. If she was giving him pompoms, he might even sign up for cheerleading lessons.
Cool interior air blasted him, and he smelled chemicals. And pomegranate. And lavender. He sensed the energy of dozens of people, all of it warm and positive. A shitload of love in that room. What the hell?
Nigel was laughing his ass off. “Wait ’til you get a load of this, Jarvis. Holy shit, never trust a woman. Isn’t that what I said?”
“Nigel!” Reina scolded. “You can wait outside if you’re not going to be quiet.” Her fingers gently worked at his blindfold. “Ready?”
For some odd reason, Jarvis’s heart began to race. He caught Reina’s hand just before she loosened the blindfold. “No one has ever given me a present before.”
“Then it’s time.” She dropped the blindfold.
For a moment, all Jarvis could see was a roomful of people. Blaine, Trinity, Death (who had finally pried the Reap off his shoes when Jarvis had cut off the love spell). Also present were Rocco, Sylvan, Damien, and a dozen others. Christian was noticeably absent, confining himself to sick bay management. He’d been looking more gaunt and becoming more withdrawn with each passing day since they’d rescued him, and they were going to stage an intervention if he didn’t start improving soon. They were all worried about him, and Jarvis didn’t like the fact he hadn’t made it here.
Napoleon wasn’t there either. He’d shown up at Fenway Park minutes after the event had cleared out, pissed as hell and searching for Augustus, but all they’d been able to find of the missing assassin was an ear and three toes. Napoleon had bellowed something unintelligible about betrayal and taken off to find Napoleon, and they hadn’t heard from either assassin since. Angelica was still incarcerated, and that was the important thing.
Jarvis saw Natalie was standing to the side. Fear still haunted her face, and he knew she wasn’t healed. Not emotionally, and he knew what that was like.
The Godfather had vanished that night, and no one had seen him. The press was buzzing about the disappearance of the world’s most dangerous bachelor, and Jarvis had caught Natalie double locking the doors on more than one occasion.
Even anti-female Nigel had noticed her fear, and he’d left a sketch pad and new box of colored pencils by her door one morning with a note that said simply, “Try these.” Nigel had denied responsibility, but Jarvis recognized the brand and knew the truth. And from the way Natalie watched Nigel, he suspected she knew he’
d done it as well. Not that it had changed anything. She was still giving off the cold vibrations of fear, and nothing was able to take that edge off.
Folks he didn’t know were also crowded into the store. Men, women, all of them grinning at him. He finally looked past all the people and saw there were mirrors on all sides, and barber chairs, sinks, shampoo bottles. He frowned. “Where are we?”
“Look up, you goofball.” Reina squeezed his hand and pointed to the wall.
In delicate gold script across a black and pink wall were the words, Design by Jarvis.
An enormous knot formed in his throat and he couldn’t talk. Couldn’t speak.
“It’s a hair salon,” she said, her face creased with a smile that illuminated the room. “Yours.”
His. Holy crap. He fisted his hands and his throat ached, even as he forced himself to shake his head. “I’m not a stylist—”
“No, you’re not. You’re an artist whose venue is hair.” Reina gestured at the crowd. “Meet your staff. Poached from all the best salons in Boston. They’re horrifically expensive, but Damien donated some of the money for the botched assassination of the Sisterhood because you saved Rocco.”
“I’m a minority owner,” Death said. “I expect results.”
“So am I,” Natalie said. “You have to sell our chocolates in here.”
“And the piece de la resistance.” Blaine swept a black and pink checkered sheet off a stylist chair. A black leather seat. The letter J embroidered in pink sweeping font across the back. Arms designed to look like his sword, and a black serpent crawling up the supporting pole beneath. “Your chair, Lord Hate.”
His own chair? “It’s…” Shit. He didn’t even know what to say. “It’s magnificent.”
“I know. We had it specially designed for you.” Reina clapped her hands. “Try it!”
Stunned, unable to believe what she’d done for him, Jarvis walked across the floor and ran his hand over the leather. Soft. Of course. He traced the silken threads of the J. He braced his hands on the back of the chair and looked in the mirror. He imagined someone sitting there, entrusting themselves to him. He envisioned taking their hair in his hands. Creating a masterpiece in his mind. Turning it into reality. Designing. Creating. Art. Limitless potential.
Peace settled over him. This was where he belonged. This was his calling. He knew it. This was his salvation.
Reina peeked around his arm, a little frown knitting between her eyebrows. “You don’t like it?”
Jarvis turned and buried Reina in his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered, too overwhelmed to do anything but repeat the words. “Thank you.”
She squealed with glee and hugged him. “I know you can’t knit,” she said, “but I know how much cross-stitching helps Blaine and painting helps Nigel. Hair is your thing, sweetheart. And now you can do it.”
He kissed her then, and he made sure to show her exactly how far his creative talents went.
The catcalls as he hauled her against him?
Didn’t bother him one bit.
Nothing did.
Because he’d finally found his place.
He wasn’t only the Guardian of Hate.
He wasn’t only the Guardian of Love.
He was, quite simply, a man who had found his way to love.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my amazing editor Deb Werksman, for her enthusiasm, guidance, and vision. And thank you for everyone at Sourcebooks for all their hard work that make this book possible, especially Susie Benton, Danielle Jackson, Liz Kelsch, and Cat Clyne. Thank you also to my agent, Deidre Knight, for everything. Thank you also to my family for all their love and support. And thank you, with all my heart, to Mark, for showing me my way. You are my light, my soul, and my love.
About the Author
Nationally bestselling author, Golden Heart® award winner, and four-time RITA® Award nominee, Stephanie Rowe is the author of more than twenty books. A former attorney, she resides in New England.
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