by Meghan March
I break into a sprint, racing toward the man I feared I’d never see again.
We collide in a crush of limbs, and his arms wrap around me so tightly that my lungs threaten to burst, but I don’t care. I press my face to his chest and breathe in his scent. He’s solid and real and alive.
“Thank God,” I whisper.
“I’m so fucking happy to see you.” His hands rise to my head, burying in my messy hair, and he pulls me back to stare into my eyes. “I thought . . .” His voice breaks off, and I shake my head.
“I’m fine. Totally fine. Other than a few years scared off my life.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. This never should’ve—”
Before he can apologize more, I press my lips carefully against his bloodied ones to silence him. “I missed you,” I whisper against his skin as I pull back a fraction.
Behind me, someone clears his throat, and I have the sudden urge to punch that person in the face. No one gets to interrupt this moment. No one.
But my father didn’t get the memo.
“Forge, you have information or no?”
Instead of letting me go, Jericho pulls me against his body and wraps me tightly in his arms again before responding. His touch slows my racing heartbeat, and the tension I’ve been carrying melts away one drop at a time.
Finally, he replies. “I have information.”
“Are you going to share it?”
“Should I?”
I can almost picture my father bristling at the question. I haven’t known him more than a couple of hours, but it didn’t even take ten minutes to realize the proud Russian’s orders are always followed. Except, perhaps, by me. And apparently, Forge.
Before Federov can reply, a jet stops on the tarmac beyond the hangar, and wind whips my hair in every direction.
“Our ride’s here, Ace,” Jericho whispers in my ear. “Get on board with Goliath, and I’ll be right behind you. There are a few things I’d like to say to your father.”
I pull back and meet his turbulent gray gaze. “Shouldn’t I be part of the discussion?”
Jericho tucks my wild hair behind one ear and leans forward to whisper. “There are a few things I need to know, but he may not answer in front of you. I promise I’ll fill you in on everything as soon as we’re airborne.” He presses another kiss to my brow before he raises his head. “Trust me.”
“Okay.” When he releases me from his arms, I spin around to face my father. His features are set in stone as I walk toward him and hold out a hand. “Thank you for your help.”
He clasps it between his two massive ones. “You’re my daughter. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you . . . but I would prefer you come with me. Spend time with me. I would like to know you, Illyana.”
“My name is Indy,” I tell him. “And I want to go home. Everything else . . . we can talk about later.”
He straightens, opening his mouth like he wants to argue, but then shuts it again. “If that is what you want, and Forge can assure me of your safety . . . then so be it.”
Federov drops my hand and wraps me in a bear hug. The kind of a hug a grown daughter would receive from her father on her wedding day before he gave her away to another man. The kind that says I love you and I don’t want to let you go, but I must.
When he releases me, his gaze tracks over my face as if memorizing it. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever see me.
“We’ll talk . . . soon,” I say, not sure why I’m trying to make him feel better.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he steps away. “Thank you for summoning me for help. It was my honor.”
With one last smile at the father I never knew I had, I turn and walk toward the jet.
13
Forge
As soon as Indy is on board with Goliath, I pull the wallet out of my pocket and slide the ID out of the plastic protector. The guy couldn’t have been much of a professional, because it should be the first rule of kidnapping for ransom that you don’t bring your ID with you. But the name on it, Yuri Pallovich, matches the credit cards in the wallet. It’s not like I got much of a look at his face when it was pressed against the windshield, so I don’t know if it’s stolen. I’m going to assume not.
“You know this guy?” I hold it out to Federov.
The older man snatches it from my grip and stares down at it. After he’s done, he turns around to hold it out to a blond man and then the bald one. In Russian, they talk amongst themselves, but from the shaking of heads, they don’t know him.
Federov confirms it. “We do not know him.” The blond snaps a picture of the ID before handing it back to Federov, who offers it to me. “But we will find him.”
“He’s dead. I need you to find out who he works for.”
Federov’s chin lifts as he surveys me with new respect. “You killed him?”
“Him and others.” I hold out the stolen phone, with the screen pulled up to show the map where I think the warehouse was. “You’ll find bodies in a brick warehouse. One of them is my employee. Near the door. Shot in the chest. I would be grateful if you could help me get him and my two men from the hotel home.”
The blond leans over Federov’s shoulder to look at the map and points. “There are warehouses here. I know the area.”
“Make the calls, Kostya. Maybe we will have more answers,” Federov orders before meeting my gaze.
“Tell me what you find. I’ll do the same,” I say.
His expression shifts into the one he had when he sat across the desk from me, a stubborn negotiator, marking up the contract he’d already agreed to. “Agreed. But Illyana would still be safer in Russia.”
“You don’t know that.” I shove the wallet and phone back in my pocket. “The threats could be related to you.”
Federov’s lower lip pushes outward. “If they were related to me, they would have taken Illyana, not you. You cannot deny that you have your own enemies, Forge. From what I am told, Bastien de Vere is out for blood, when he never would’ve dared to hurt Illyana before. That is because of you.”
His well-placed jab hits right where he intends, in my conscience. Bastien never would have hurt Indy before, but his MO with respect to her has changed completely now that she’s my wife. First the chopper incident in Mallorca, and then drugs in the suitcase.
“I’ll keep her safe.”
Federov steps toward me, no doubt trying to intimidate, but I’m not one of his underlings. “You better, or I will make sure you never see her again. Do not cross me, Forge. I will not lose her when I’ve only just found her again.”
“Tell me if you find anything. I’ll be in touch.” It’s all I can manage before more oily guilt rushes back in.
“I will see her again soon. You will make it happen,” Federov orders as I turn to walk to the jet.
I look sideways at him. “She’ll see you if she wants to.”
Federov points at me. “Make it happen, Forge.”
I don’t argue further with the old man. I’ve got more important things to do—like make sure no one touched a single hair on my wife’s beautiful blond head before I get my revenge.
14
India
Jericho climbs aboard, and the flight attendant closes the door behind him. I’m a mess of emotions as he walks toward me. I struggle to find words, but none seem appropriate.
“I’m sorry,” Jericho says when he sits next to me and clasps my hand between his bloodstained ones. “I’m so fucking sorry, Indy.”
I rear back, staring at him in shock. “Why are you sorry? I’m the reason we were here. This is all on me. Koba, Bates, Donnigan . . .” I sniffle as the tears I’ve been holding back escape down my cheeks.
Jericho pushes up the armrest between our seats and pulls me against his side. “Ace, no. Don’t think that. This isn’t your fault.”
“How is it not? I insisted on going. If I hadn’t . . .”
“They would’ve gotten me some other way.”
&n
bsp; I shake my head. “No. I made us vulnerable. I put us in the open, made it easy for someone to do this. I never realized it would be so dangerous to leave the goddamned house.”
A muscle in Jericho’s jaw ticks, and he winces as if he’s in pain.
“I’m right. You don’t have to spare me to make me feel better. I’ll never forgive myself for this.”
“Don’t,” he says, hauling me onto his lap and pressing his face into my tangled hair. “This is on me, Ace. Not you. Or hell, maybe on your father. We don’t know. When we find out who was behind it, we’ll assign blame. But, this. Is. Not. Your. Fault.” He presses a kiss to my face to punctuate each word. “It kills me to hear you say that.”
My hands fist his shirt, and I stare into those fathomless gray eyes as my tears fall faster and harder until I’m sobbing. “I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I . . . I was terrified. I thought . . . when I came off the elevator, and I saw those bodies . . . I thought I was going to find yours, and it was going to break me.”
Jericho catches my tears on his thumbs, trying to wipe them away, but they come too fast. “Don’t say that. Nothing could break you. You’re the strongest woman I know. No matter what ever happens to me, you will be fine. Do you hear me?”
But he’s wrong. He doesn’t understand. I’ve fallen completely and irrevocably in love with him, and if something had happened to him, I wouldn’t be fine. Jericho Forge has become as necessary in my life as breathing. He gives me something I’ve never had before—acceptance.
I want to tell him how I feel, right here and now, but I’m a sobbing mess. When I tell him I’m in love with him, I don’t want him to think I don’t know what I’m saying.
What if you never get the chance? an insidious voice inside me whispers. You never know which day will be your last. Or his last . . .
I tell that voice to shut the hell up as I settle into my seat and clip my belt when the captain announces that we’re taking off. The jet hurtles down the runway and up into the air moments later, but as soon as we level out, Jericho unhooks my seat belt and throws his arm around my shoulder to pull me against his side. He groans, and I jerk my chin up to look at the pain twisting his sharp features.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
I scan his face, looking for every flinch of discomfort. “Truth. Now.” When he tries to smile and cover it up, I add, “Please, Jericho. I can handle it.”
“My head feels like it’s been caved in, and my shoulders ache from being hung up by my wrists. I’ll be fine, though.”
“We need to get something for the pain.” I pop to my feet before he can argue, and find the flight attendant. A few moments later, I return with a pill bottle. “Take these.”
As I tap the tablets in his hand and then hold out a bottle of water, an image pops into my head of Jericho hanging from a hook, awaiting torture, and chills ripple over my body.
Thank God Koba helped him escape. I’ve never been so glad to be wrong about anyone as I was about him. If he hadn’t helped . . . I don’t even want to think about what could have happened.
But Jericho’s fine. He’s here. He’s alive. I keep repeating that to myself until the chills dissipate. But after they do, another vision arises, and this time it’s of the casualties from this tragedy.
“What about the—” I can’t bring myself to say bodies. “Donnigan and Bates . . . and Koba?”
“I asked your father for help. We’ll get them home.”
From the lines settling deeper in Jericho’s stubbled face, it’s obvious that leaving the fallen behind is shredding him inside. Part of me wishes we could stay and take care of it ourselves, but I know we can’t. Jericho wants to get me to safety first, and I want him safe, so I’m not going to argue.
Mindful of the injuries he told me about, when I sit back down beside him, I press my cheek gently against him. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I know they were your friends. Not just your employees.”
“Thank you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.
I carefully rest against his chest, offering him whatever comfort I can. Eventually, I relax, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
15
India
I never stop touching him, not for a single minute of the flight home. I can’t. I need to feel the heat of his skin and know that he’s real. Know that he’s safe. Know that he’s mine.
He lifts me back onto his lap, neither of us speaking as he cups my head and keeps my ear pressed against his chest. When we touch down, I keep my fingers threaded through his, gripping tight, like I might lose him at any moment.
During the short helicopter ride to Isla del Cielo, I sit pressed against his side, his arm curled around my shoulders, and it still isn’t enough. As we walk toward the house, I match my strides to his, and when we step over the threshold, I finally feel like I can breathe without a massive weight pressing down on my chest.
And still, I don’t want to let him go.
I follow him to the bathroom, not asking for permission before I unbutton his torn shirt and help slide it carefully from his shoulders. I start the shower, and then strip out of my ruined dress and step inside the glass enclosure with him.
Under the hot spray, I gently wash him, letting the horrors of the prior day slip down the drain with the blood-tinged water. When I’m finished, Jericho reaches for a fresh washcloth and wordlessly does the same for me. Every stroke makes me feel precious and cherished, and so goddamned grateful that I have him back.
We both dry ourselves, and I follow him into the bedroom. When I stop by the bed, I turn to face him, my emotions raw. I drop the towel, baring myself to him, revealing a woman who needs to be reassured by the touch of her man.
“I need you. My hands on your body. Your taste on my lips. Your breath against my skin. I need to feel you. Feel that you’re safe and everything’s going to be okay.” The words tumble out of me, and I don’t even know if they make sense.
Jericho’s gaze heats, and he strides toward me. On his face, I see the same ragged emotions reflected—lust, longing, and possessiveness. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”
“No, I want to give it to you.”
He crosses the room and delves his hands into my hair, skimming them down my back as I memorize every plane of his body with my palms. Skin to skin, we slant our lips against each other’s. One step at a time, I turn us until Jericho’s legs hit the mattress.
His darkened gray gaze lifts to mine as I urge him to sit. His hands circle my waist as he brings me closer until I’m straddling his legs.
“The only thing I wanted was to get back to you. That’s all that mattered.” Jericho’s voice is hoarse, and my heart clenches as I lower my forehead to his.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to get you back. Nothing.”
Moving slowly, I press kiss after kiss on his forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, and finally, his mouth again. Damp locks of my hair trail over his skin, and I lose track of time as I memorize his face with my lips.
When his grip tightens, I stare down into dark gray eyes filled with the same desperation overwhelming me.
“I need my wife.”
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice ragged and raw.
His hands close over my upper arms, and he guides me until his cock slides between the slick folds of my pussy. “You feel that? I’m real. Alive. And yours. Take me. I need to be inside you.”
“God, yes.” There’s nothing I’d rather do more than worship him. Show him how much I love him.
Shifting on his hips, I slide against him, positioning the head against my entrance. His muscles twitch beneath me, and his reaction urges me on.
My tongue slides along his earlobe, and he inhales a sharp breath.
“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Covered in the stubble he can never seem to be rid of, his shadowed jaw shifts.
“You’re far and away the mo
st gorgeous and incredible woman I’ve ever known. I—”
“This is about you. Not me.” I push down, taking half his cock inside me.
“I don’t deserve you, Indy. Not for one single second.” Jericho’s words come out strangled.
“But you’ve got me anyway.” I slide down the rest of the way, taking him balls deep.
His hand fists my damp hair, and his groans are music to my ears. He moves back on the bed until I’m kneeling over him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He reaches up to stroke his knuckles along my cheek. “Ride me, Indy.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
I rise up and push down again, reveling in the ribbons of exquisite sensation that flutter through my body as his thick cock stretches me. There’s nothing between us . . . except my fear that he’ll never love me like I love him.
I can make him love me. I can.
With every shift of my hips, I focus on his beautiful face and heavy-lidded stare.
He’s my everything.
My head rolls from side to side, and Jericho’s nostrils flare as he lowers his back to the bed.
“Closer. I need you closer.” His palms slide around me, urging me down until I’m flush against his body. His fingers cradle the back of my head until his lips crush against my mouth.
“You’re mine, Indy. Mine.”
Lifting his hips, he powers into me from below, and each stroke sends me closer to the edge. My fingers curl the sheets as he grips my ass with his other hand, angling my hips so he can go deeper, with the possessiveness I crave.
The words I’ve been holding back bubble to my lips as my control snaps and my orgasm bears down.
“Jericho—”
He throws his head back and roars my name before I can say I love you.
16
Forge
Indy drifts off to sleep after I clean her up. From the doorway of the bathroom, I stare at the woman in my bed. The one I don’t deserve. The one I’ll never deserve.