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“I need to read that entry again.”
“No.” I slide my hand under her hair and around her neck then lean in closer. “Let it go, baby. You’ve read it a hundred times.”
“We need to know what happened.”
“That journal won’t give us any answers, and we can’t change anything tonight anyway. Just be here with me.”
“Because I won’t be later?”
“If you leave, baby, I will follow. I will run the fuck after you.”
“We can’t—”
“We so fuckingcan.”
“But—”
“We can.” I kiss her and stroke the dampness from her lips. “We can. I meant what I said earlier. I want you with me, Emma. And you want to be with me.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t fight us. Fightthem.” And with that, I’m done talking and so is she, even if she doesn’t know it yet. My mouth slants over hers, my tongue stroking long and deep, drinking her in, breaking down her resistance. For a moment, just the briefest of moments, she resists, but then she is kissing me, and she’s all in. I think I’ve won but then there is desperation bleeding into her kiss, onto her tongue, onto mine. I taste it. I feel it. This is not about her claiming us; it’s about her saying goodbye, and it pisses me off.
I tear my mouth from hers. “This is not goodbye, woman,” I all but growl, scooping her up in my arms and walking toward the bedroom.
Chapter ninety-one
Jax
Emma belongs here.
She belongs in this house.
She belongs in my castle.
She belongs in my life.
We’re not leaving the bedroom until she knows that.
The end.
With an elbow punch to a button, I kill the lights as we leave the living room. Once we’re in the bedroom, the glow of the bathroom light already burning is all we need. In a few fast steps, I set Emma down next to the bed.
“Jax,” she whispers, but I’m not hearing her reasons for goodbye, not now, not ever, not when it’s for all the wrong reasons.
“Jax North, baby, remember? The man who is going to make you love me too damn much to leave me.” I seal that vow with a kiss, dragging her black lace dress up her hips, squeezing her cheek. “Have I told you how much I love your ass?”
She laughs, and that sound, all sweet and feminine, is music to my ears. “No, but—”
I hate that word and I don’t even let her finish her sentence. I kiss her again, rejecting it and the quicksand that is this family war we’ve inherited, a war some might call our birthright. My hand strokes her backside again, squeezing that same cheek harder before I do what she’s feared I wouldn’t do after I found out that York raped her: I give it a firm smack. She sucks in a breath, and I tangle fingers in her hair and drag her gaze to mine. “York doesn’t decide how we fuck any more than Chance decides what we do or become together. Don’t be the yes girl, Emma. Don’t do what you say you always do. Don’t let others decide your future, our future.”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Then stay. Stay with me.” I don’t give her time to find another reason to worry. “You need out of your head right now.” I unbutton the top buttons on my shirt. “Ineed out of your head right now, because your head is taking us no place good.” I pull my shirt over my head and toss it. “Fucking is the way to get us out of your head.” I toe off my shoes. “Any problem with that?”
Her teeth scrape her bottom lip. “No. No problem with that at all.” She steps toward me.
I turn her, unzipping her dress, cupping her breasts and leaning in to whisper, “You tell me no, it’s no. You tell me to go, I go. No one else gets to tell me those things.” I slide her dress down her shoulders, unhook her bra, both ending up at her feet. I catch her waist, lift her, and kick away her clothes. When she’s on the ground again, I cup her breasts, tease her nipples and whisper, “Fucking isn’t quite enough tonight, though, is it? I wonder just what it is you need, Emma?”
