There are a thousand words for what just happened. What James did to me. Taken. Fucked. Screwed. Bred. I probably don’t even know most of them.
But I do know one thing: I’ve never felt more loved.
* * *
In the morning, I wake to James kissing down my tummy and pushing my thighs apart in a way that’s so territorial and demanding, I’m flooded with need by the time his mouth touches my slit. I’m hardly even awake when I come on his tongue, clutching at the bedsheets, screaming his name.
Then I scrabble at his shoulders, incoherently begging him. And sweet, generous, clever man that he is, he knows what my morning brain is incapable of expressing in a sensible way, and thrusts into me. By the time he rolls us over, I’m finally awake enough to try being on top. And he encourages me, murmuring that I’m his good lass, and so hot and sexy riding his cock. He stares at my breasts, plays with my nipples, and slides his fingers through my hair. He can’t not take over though, fucking up into me and finding my clit with his thumb. When I’ve come again—all over him as he puts it—he grips my waist and takes control, going harder and deeper until he comes inside me, the wetness so excessive it spills out onto his thighs.
Then he holds me tight in his arms and lifts me to the shower and I’m not saying we get distracted, but the water is cool before James shuts it off and wraps me in a forest green fluffy towel.
We’ve actually managed to put some clothes on when a phone rings.
James blinks. And I realise that it’s a long while since I heard a phone ring and not just because I left my phone back at the Barnes’ compound. Slowly he reaches for it. “Yes.”
He listens, a scowl extending down his face, growing darker and darker. He strides to the window, and I follow. Outside, not only has the storm cleared, nearly all the protective snow that kept the world at bay has melted. Wispy clouds mix the white to the blue. In the distance, a rainbow is streaked across the sky. It must have rained all the snow away.
“I appreciate your information,” James snaps.
Fear pools in my stomach.
“Thank you. That will do for now.”
“What?” I demand as he hangs up.
“Your uncle is on his way. There’s a tracker on your Land Rover.”
“How do you know?”
James’ gaze slides from mine and doubt, maybe even dread, shadows his green eyes like the sun has dimmed.
He must have had a spy in the Barnes mafia.
“You had someone watching out for me.” I’m sure. It makes sense. His assurance that I was okay, knowing about my grades. And him. The James I knew before all of this.
He shoves his hands into his pockets then immediately changes his mind and draws them through his hair, agitated. His silence is eloquent.
And it’sso good. All this time. I believed I was alone. I assumed no one bothered at all with what I did or thought, so I kept it all to myself. I thought James didn’t care. But he tried to check up, and was probably only stymied by how effectively I hid my misery.
Visibly steeling himself, he looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, but I had to know, Mia. Forgive me.” It’s a command, but under the hard words there’s a tide of uncertainty and guilt.
“Nothing to forgive.” I reach out and run my fingertips along his jaw. Sandpaper rough, strong.Mine. How could he think he needs forgiveness for caring for me? Loving me when no one did. “I’m glad.”
“I should have come for you immediately.”
I shrug. “I’m pleased it worked out this way. If you’d seen the snotty years where I cried a lot, maybe you’d never have found me attractive.”
James winces. “Let’s not speculate on how you’d have tortured me with your sweetness…”
“You said you wouldn’t talk to my uncle. Why?”
His lips tighten. “We don’t have much time for me to explain, given we have to figure out where that tracker is. He’s flying to Edinburgh now and will be driving the rest of the way. But suffice to say that he hasn’t run the Barnes mafia in the manner your father did. I thought when Duncan died it was just the consequence of how we both liked to run our operations—leading from the front. But later, Barnes did things that Duncan drew the line at. Trafficking children… And I’m not so sure Logan didn’t…” James tails off and the pain in his eyes cracks my heart right open.
He suspects my uncle murdered my dad. He thinks my uncle traffics children to… Yeah. I don’t need to fill the gap. Stealing them is bad enough.
A thought pops into my mind. “My uncle tracked me with the car, right? He doesn’t know this is your house. It could be a bed and breakfast for all he knows.”
James shakes his head warily. “I presume so.”
