Then terror raced through her heart as she realized Lorenzo could be here right this minute—downstairs, waiting for her. After seeing him dish out the pathetic, devoted husband routine with the poor, sick little wife, had Mica agreed to hand her over? It was an act Lorenzo had perfected; she wouldn't blame Mica for falling for it.
She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, then raced to the window to check the street below. Her throat closed, clamping down on her breath until she thought she might pass out. She fought it; she would not lose consciousness only to awaken again in her own personal hell. If she had to go back, she intended to fight.
Her whole body seemed to ache. From her cut foot and leg to muscles she had never used quite so liberally, to her heart and her head as she tried to assimilate all she'd been through since Jerry had tried to rape her yesterday afternoon.
"He's not down there. Your face is all over the news."
His voice was so cold. She didn't dare turn to him, not even when his bathrobe hit the floor next to her. She simply couldn't bear to look in his eyes again.
"Put that on. I need to think, and I lose too much blood to my damn dick when I look at you."
She obediently slid her arms through the sleeves and tied the belt tight around her waist. She tugged her hair from under the plush cover and sat dejected in a cow-print club chair. Hands folded in her lap, she waited to hear his judgment, hating herself for letting her guard down so far, so fast. She laughed against the tears.
You didn't even make it twenty-four hours, Jayden, You're fucking pathetic.
"He's got a one million dollar price tag on your head, sweetheart. You ever watch reality television? Do you know what people will to do for one million dollars? They eat bugs and intestines and get themselves doused in cow's blood. Turning in some poor rich woman to her husband won't mean shit to any of them. You'll be hunted by everyone in this fucking city!"
Mica rubbed his temples to keep the incipient headache at bay. He couldn't remember a time he'd raised his voice to anyone, let alone a woman. Yet here he was, practically screaming at her even though he knew none of this was her fault. He'd taken her in last night without question and, if given the opportunity to take back that decision, he wouldn't.
One look at how she sat there—so submissive and expressionless, hands folded primly, gnawing on her lower lip—and he wanted to shoot himself. Not yet sure of his ability to be calm or rational, he stormed to the bathroom, took a couple of Tylenol, and leaned against the marble counter. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and saw a man who was too old to play games. One who had spent too many years fighting the impulse to raise his sword and do battle.
He'd been taught well that fighting was never the answer. But no one ever told him what the answer was, so he trained four hours a day to gain skills he wouldn't let himself use. He threw his money at problems when he could, but mostly he lived in a constant state of frustration and ran whenever things got too complicated.
"This would sure be a good time for that, buddy,” he whispered to his reflection, his heart squeezing him hard in retribution.
For whatever reason, that woman had come into his life last night with more power than the storm. There was no way in hell he was going to run or let her walk away.
"Okay, complication.” He smiled into the mirror. “You can handle it, Mica. You're a big boy now."
Besides, he knew enough about Lorenzo Lloyd to hate the man down to his alligator-skin loafers. He would never hand Jayden over to the likes of him. The familiar call to fight ignited deep in his belly. His woman. His fight. And God help him, he'd annihilate the man if he could. Tear him limb from limb with his bare hands, which were even now fisting in preparation. His gut told him that all of Jayden's problems, and the fear he saw deep in her expressive eyes even in the height of passion, were directly related to that man.
Temper under control, some semblance of surrender to his situation under his belt, Mica returned to his room, apology on his lips—only to find it empty.
"Jayden!"
Taking the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his ears, he checked the front door. All the locks were still turned, but that didn't give him near the peace he'd hoped for. Next he went through the living and dining rooms to the kitchen and found her in the utility room, crying over her wet things. Mica felt like shit. He took the clothes from her hands and stuck them in the dryer but didn't turn it on yet. Instead, he wrapped her in his arms, tucked her body close to him, and let her cry against his chest.
"I'm sorry, honey. I freaked when I saw that news story. I didn't know what to think. I handled it all very, very badly. Can you please forgive me? Trust me still? Because I have no intention of sending you back.” He pulled her head back far enough to see her face and brushed her hair at her temples with his thumbs. It killed him to see her cry, because he got the very real impression she didn't allow herself that luxury often, if ever. And even though he'd done it to her this time, he knew she'd be kicking herself for it.
"I'm an ass, honey.” He dropped a kiss to the end of her nose. “But I'll take care of you, if you let me."
She pulled away so fast she off-balanced him, and he fell against the washer. Shaking her head vigorously, she backed away from him as if he'd produced a cleaver and confessed to being the Eastside Chopper.
"Honey, it's okay. I know I blew it but give me..."
He didn't finish because with every word he said, she became more and more hysterical. When she tried to bolt from the utility room, he caught her against his chest only to be met with her wild thrashing as she pounded against his shoulders with tiny vengeful fists, and his shins with painful thrusts of her bare feet.
"Damn! Hellcat."
He wasn't about to let her win this one. He held on as if his life depended on it. Eventually, she withered into a puddle of sobs. It was then that he swept her against his chest and carried her back to his bedroom.
Jayden felt like a fool. A sniffly, bedraggled fool. She had no energy to fight Mica. He wasn't her problem, anyway. Lorenzo was. But she'd be damned if Mica thought to put himself between her and her beloved husband. If she could get away with it, she'd shove his precious dagger right through the man's heart—if he indeed had one—but Mica was innocent. She wouldn't risk having his blood on her hands.
The problem was, Lancelot had picked up his sword and intended to fight this battle for her. She had to think fast of a way to un-interest him in the extremely foolhardy proposition.
And this is no time to think about sex!
But she could feel his hard-on against her thigh and it mucked with her brain functions. She let him hold her as if he comforted her, but in reality it was a diversion to buy her some time to think. She'd never met anybody like Mica before; a person who would put someone else's welfare before their own even to their own detriment. He must have some idea of how dangerous Lorenzo was—most people did—yet he still wanted to protect her. She didn't understand that type of mentality and had no experience dealing with it, but she had to come up with something, because she refused to see him harmed.
She thought and crossed off her list of possible actions. One: Play along and escape at the first opportunity. Two: Talk sense into him. Three: Create some sort of diversion, like pulling the fire alarm, and sneak off in the confusion. The reality was that her problems were bigger than Mica. Her face was all over the news with a one million dollar attachment. She was half surprised Lorenzo hadn't offer ten million.
My charms must be slipping.
Hatred and disdain ran through her veins. She knew how badly Lorenzo would want her back, and she was just as determined not to go back.
Mica's fingers ran a soft rhythm along her spine. He placed kisses into her hair and mumbled soothing words of comfort. Damn it, in some ways he was wearing her down. Bottom line was that if she were anybody else on the planet other than Lorenzo Lloyd's captive wife, she'd have latched onto Mica so hard he wouldn't have known what hi
t him, and he sure as hell wouldn't have gotten away.
She looked up into eyes that smiled at her even after everything, and she knew this was a man a woman could well and truly give her heart to. She wondered how stupid the women he'd dated were, not to have seen this. She touched his scratchy cheek, wishing she had the words to tell him so much and willed him to let her go.
It's the only way. You have no idea what you're up against.
Wishing they had ten lifetimes together, she decided the way to get away from him was to let him think she was on his side and then do what she'd planned in the first place—sneak out in the night.
I wish I didn't have to hurt you, but a bruised heart at least still beats.
She placed her palm over his heart. Resting against his warm skin, she could feel it pulse. The light dusting of coarse hair intrigued her; he felt like a man. And before she knew what she was about, she had run her fingers over his nipple and followed with her tongue.
"Oh, no-no-no. Nu-uh.” Mica grabbed her wrist before she undid him, and he had her beneath him. “We have things to discuss, and we can't do it naked with my cock inside you.” He risked one kiss that went almost too far, then pulled back, breathless. “Talk first. Fuck second."
And who'd have ever thought he'd say those words?
She giggled and wriggled closer to him. As much as Mica enjoyed the closeness and the fact that she'd apparently stopped fighting him, they did have serious business to discuss. It was a case of David and Goliath, but since Mica had read that story, he knew who won.
He pulled away from her and urged her to sit up, then pointed again to the legal pad and pen that still waited on the bed for her to use.
"I'll ask you some questions. You write down the answers."
She started writing, and Mica gave her a suspicious look. When she turned the legal pad toward him, he laughed out loud at her neat printing.
Don't you have a handheld, text phone, a ThinkPad, or some other device to make this easier?
"Sorry, love. My brain cells are half shot from my morning revelation, and the half that are left are blood-deprived."
He went to a desk against one wall and pulled a whisper-thin laptop from the top drawer. Turning it on, he handed it to her.
"Fine. I'll ask questions and you type the answers."
She smiled, a little too easily perhaps. Mica hated to think it, but he didn't quite trust her to be truthful with him, and he didn't intend to let his guard down. He knew enough about Lorenzo Lloyd to know he was bad news and probably had his little wife scared to death. By extension, she was scared of his involvement, but he wasn't about to let Jayden protect him. It was his job to protect her. An only child, he'd never had younger siblings to look out for—little sisters whose boyfriends he could beat for making them cry, or little brothers who were bullied and needed protection—so he'd named himself self-protector to the world, or at least Martin County High School.
As a kid, he had gotten into many fights. Every week, the school called his parents down and threatened to kick him out. Nobody ever cared that he only got involved in fights where some kid needed protection. Regardless, his punishment had been the same as whatever big-ass bully had started it. Mica had come to believe that no good could ever come from sticking up for the little guy.
He'd accepted long ago that he was a warrior without a cause. Because of that belief, he'd pursued a life of shallow, self-fulfilling pleasure. He felt somewhat ashamed now. There were so many ways someone with a warrior's heart could have stood up for people in need, but he'd been a spoiled only child and had pouted about his loss. Now he had a chance to make thing right.
He intended to take it.
"Okay, first question...” Self-serving as it was. “Do you love your husband?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, typed two letters. She started to turn the screen toward him, but at the last second drew it back and typed some more. When she did turn the screen, Mica couldn't help but grin. He deserved it.
No. Asshole!
Crossing his arm over his chest, he pulled at his lips with fingers that would have been so much happier if they could run along the naked skin of the woman on his bed. Pacing the room, he tried to think of the right questions to ask that wouldn't rile the angel's temper. Kitten's got claws. He smiled behind his hand.
"You wanna just tell me what happened?"
No.
"Didn't think so."
He paced some more, but with every question he thought of, he somehow knew she either wouldn't answer, or wouldn't tell the truth. When had being a hero gotten so damn difficult?
He crouched before her, ran his fingers over the bare skin of her legs where they stuck out from under his bathrobe. Jayden wrapped in the scent of his cologne was a strange aberration and for some weird reason, it made him hot.
"I've never been so single-minded in my life."
She typed and turned the screen to him.
Me either.
That's at least something. He smiled, then pressed his lips to her knee.
"Lord, Jayden, did you ever love him? Did you once trust him, think he was your prince come to rescue you? I don't know the man, but I'm well aware of his reputation.” He placed both hands on her knees, looking up into her eyes in hopes that she'd trust him again like she had last night. “Make me understand what's going on here."
She looked at him for the longest time. Mica watched the wheels churn in that beautiful head of hers and knew all he could do was sit and wait, hope, and maybe pray. He felt powerless. Hated it. It chafed against everything he was. He was a doer. When he wanted something done, he did it, he orchestrated it, ordered it or manipulated it. In general, like the spoiled only child he was, he got his way in anything that was important to him. With Jayden, however, for the time being, he was at her mercy.
She started to type. Slowly at first, but then her fingers flew over the keyboard. At last, she handed the laptop to him and got up. He watched her look out the window, watching the people on the street below without expression. He turned the screen and read.
I was fifteen years old when my father lost me in a card game to Lorenzo. Five years later we were married against my wishes, but nobody gave a fuck. He says he loves me. I hate him. I'm not going to let you get yourself killed. I'm not staying.
Mica looked over at her, arms wrapped tight around herself, thumbnail in her mouth. After a deep breath, he finished reading.
Give me one more night, then let me go. Please, Mica.
He swallowed hard against the gut level reaction to haul her against his body so hard her teeth would probably chip. He ground out in a low growl, “I won't ever let you go.” Putting the laptop down, he clenched his hands at his sides, his feet glued to the carpet. He breathed slow, deep breaths. “How could you even ask me that after last night?"
In four large strides, he closed the distance between them. Grabbing her by the forearms and turning her against him, he plundered her mouth with his. He was angry as hell, and she matched him. Her tongue slid over his, fought and surrendered. She bit him. He bit her back. He slammed her hard against the windows, grabbed her face in his hands, tipped her head back, and practically forced his tongue down her throat. She sucked on him, wove her hands into his hair and cradled his head, rubbed her thigh against his throbbing cock until the red haze left him.
Breaking their kiss, he let his forehead rest against hers. “How can you even ask me? You tell me you hate him. You tell me you were ... you were ... lost?” his voice broke on the last word. “How old are you now, Jayden? Thirty?” She shook her head. “Younger?” a quick nod was all he got. “And in all the years you've been with him, have you ever experienced what you did last night in my arms?"
She tore from his arms even as a cry ripped from her throat. She pushed him away and staggered to the bed. Her body shook, but not a single tear left her eyes. She viciously typed out a very short statement on the laptop and shoved it so hard into his gut the impact bent him at the wai
st.
Fuck you!
Pressing her shoulder hard into the wall beside his armoire, arms wrapped defensively around herself, she shot daggers with her darkened eyes and looked so like a frightened, caged animal he couldn't stand it. Mica tossed the laptop on the bed and spat, “You already did,” then left the bedroom before he made it worse.
Jayden crumpled against the wall and slid to the floor as soon as Mica disappeared. Her cries were silent as her heart ripped open from end to end. She needed to calm down, she needed her clothes, and she needed to get away from Mica. He was so damn stupid. He was about to throw his life away, and he actually had people in his life who would care.
Those people in the frame love you. You are such an ass, Mica!
Remembering the laptop, she wondered if it had an Internet connection. She grabbed it, double-clicked on that beautiful blue “E” on the desktop and the connection sang to life at her command.
* * * *
Waterford crystal impacted with the stucco wall, sending shards and splinters of fire across the room. The men that had just entered took a step back.
"The body?"
"Taken care of."
Lorenzo Lloyd pushed through the terrace doors and paced the length of the balcony. A rage burned in his gut like he'd never before known. Fuck that bitch! He'd taken her from a penniless family that had such a high opinion of the girl that her own father had wagered her in a card game. He had to admit he'd lusted after the girl since he'd first made her acquaintance the summer before. After all, it was the only reason he'd kept her father around.
He had tried to befriend her, make things easy for her. Had lavished such luxuries on the child that royalty would have been impressed, but nothing he did ingratiated himself to the little bitch. He'd initiated her to sex with patience and care and had never let any of his other men touch her.
She'd been no more than a frightened child when he took her in, and he'd taken great pains to assure her of her place in his life. After all, he hadn't forced the marriage that was his right from the day she'd come to him. Although, in retrospect, that little kindness had gotten him nothing.
In the Still of the Night Page 5