Crossed by the Stars: A Second-chance, Slow-burn Romance

by LJ Evans

  “What you’re talking about is an unhealthy obsession,” she said.

  “I don’t disagree that the line between wild love and obsession is a very fine one. Sometimes you find yourself on one side, and sometimes you find yourself on the other.”

  “I don’t want that,” she replied, but her hand tightened on my bicep, pulling me ever so slightly closer, and her eyes landed on my mouth again.

  “No. You want disposable men because then you won’t ever have to face your issues with power and control that your father built into you. You don’t have to face loving someone and risking them betraying your love.”

  She closed her eyes for a long moment before opening them again with a blaze of fire shooting out. “Prove me wrong.”

  It was guttural and pained, torn from somewhere deep inside her soul, and I couldn’t resist. I placed my lips on hers and instantly combusted. Flames licking through every single part of my soul. Devouring me. Forcing me to devour her.

  I’d intended it to be gentle, a simple kiss for a wounded body and soul, but that changed the moment our mouths met. Years of denying this moment had me almost snarling at my need for her, pushing fiercely into her lips that met mine with the same level of power and force. She nipped at my bottom lip, and I took the opening to plunge my tongue into her mouth, licking, demanding, commanding that she return the need and want and desire with her own. And she did, sweet tongue ravaging mine, sucking, pulling, banging along the soft inner recesses of our mouths as if it was our bodies banging along the walls.

  I dragged the covers down and slid my hand under the sleepshirt, gliding over the gentle slope of her waist and finding her breast. I cupped it, massaging and twisting the pebbled peak so that she gasped out. She threw back her head, and I trailed my tongue down her neck, the snowy expanse calling for me to leave a mark. I bit her, and she moaned again. Her hand slid under the tailored T-shirt I’d worn for the drive, nails digging into my skin at my waist.

  I prided myself on my lovemaking being so tantalizingly slow and methodical that the women I was with begged for my next touch, but with Jada, I couldn’t seem to find the control I normally used. I was all fire and want and need that seemed driven by something outside of my body. Outside of the room. By the forces of nature themselves.

  She attempted to throw her leg across my thigh, to tug us closer, and the movement caused her to cry out with pain. A sharp grimace crossed her face that instantly had me pulling away. I let her go completely and lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling while my body burned. My breath was still ragged, and I couldn’t look at her, because if I did, I’d return to consuming her. Without even glancing her way, I felt her body curl up on itself. I didn’t know if it was because of the pain or because of the perceived rejection of my pulling away.

  I couldn’t have her think that way again, so I rolled back onto my side and met her gaze. Fucking mistake. It was full of lust but also fear. Fear that I’d hurt her again, because I’d already done so several times in our lifetime together.

  “I can’t do this,” I said, and her eyes closed. I reached up and tilted her chin toward me. “Not while you’re hurt. Not while you can barely move without crying out in pain.”

  Her eyes slowly opened, reading mine, trying to figure out the double meaning behind my words, but there were none. Only me, telling her the truth. I wanted this. I wanted her. I didn’t know what the fuck that would do to my relationship with my family or Éclair, but I couldn’t walk away and leave her to face the wolves on her own again.

  Jada

  BIG BAD HANDSOME MAN

  “With his rugged good looks yeah he's got me hooked

  Got me where he wants me to be.”

  Written & Performed by Imelda May

  My breath was uneven, my body on fire in multiple ways from the kisses Dax had just given me as well as my injuries. My core was a liquid flame, my ribs were screaming at me, and my mouth was bruised in the most delightful way, but what hurt the most was Dax’s words. The not yet but soon that they seemed to promise. Promises he’d never fulfilled.

  If he kept them now, it would mean walking away from his family. It would mean he’d tumbled down to the levels of hell that I resided in. I couldn’t do that to him. I wouldn’t. The guilt would eat at me for the rest of my life.

  So, I did what I was good at. I pushed him away, shoving his chest.

  “Get out of my room, Armaud,” I growled, proud when my voice held neither the lust nor the tears I felt in equal amounts.

  “Mon bijou, I―”

  “Get out!”

  If he said one more sweet thing, I’d crumble. My resolve would fly away. I’d let him back in permanently so I would have someone to lean on. To trust. To have as my own when I didn’t deserve it and couldn’t afford it.

  Dax rolled off the bed, picked up the book he’d been reading, and set it on the side table.

  “I’ll leave, but we aren’t done,” he said, eyes straying to my lips that still felt every single beautiful touch of his on mine. “Not by a long shot.”

  Then, he sauntered out of the adjoining bedroom door. I wished I had the energy to get up, slam it shut, and lock it. But I didn’t. I barely had the energy to shut off the light and dig farther under the covers.

  It took way too long to fall asleep, too much pain and too many memories curling through me. Memories that ended in whispers of hope that already hurt.

  The first time I’d had sex, it had been on the sink in the boys’ bathroom, and it had been an utter disappointment. As the boy had pummeled into me, I’d been filled with the painful knowledge that I’d wanted it to be Dax. But he’d already disappeared from my life, abandoned me as much as my father ever had. After that failed experiment, I’d been determined not to be disappointed by sex again. I’d been determined that all my future experiences would be good for me. So, I’d sought older, more experienced men instead.

  My chauffeur at the time had only been in his twenties, but he’d been muscled and gorgeous. It hadn’t taken much to persuade him that I knew what I wanted and what I was doing. His only surprise had been my demand that I got what I needed before he got off. My commands had turned him on more than my breasts.

  My father catching us was the only thing that had ended our time together. I hadn’t loved the man, and I hadn’t mourned his loss, just like I hadn’t loved any of the men who’d come and gone in the few years that followed. It wasn’t until later―until I’d witnessed the way Dawson and Violet denied each other when they first met because she was sixteen and he was twenty-two―that I realized what I’d seen as sexual conquest was far from it. The men had been wolves, sleeping with a teenager who was acting out. Someone too young by the standards of the law. But they hadn’t cared. They’d seen something available and come for it without questioning why it was being offered—or if it was poisoned.

  After that, I’d become much more careful of who I let in my bed. I still enjoyed sex. I still craved the release and the moments of forgetfulness that came with concentrating solely on two bodies searching for a climax. I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I also knew that sometimes…sometimes I used it as a way to momentarily regain control of my life.

  The act itself was about a physical need and a physical release and nothing more. I never offered more of me to the men who came and went. I kept my heart shielded behind a thick vine full of thorns that stabbed at anyone who tried to get beyond it.

  The beautiful kisses Dax had just given me were full of more emotion and soul than any kiss I’d ever had. It brought tears to my eyes that I let out because there was no one there to see them. As they strolled down my face, I reminded myself of the harsh truth. I couldn’t have him. I couldn’t without hating myself for bringing him down to my level.

  I eventually dozed off into a fitful sleep that was haunted by my memories and Dax’s lips. My ribs slammed with sharp knives as I rolled, causing me to wake only a few hours later. I lay there for a
few minutes, but there was no way I was going back to sleep with the pain coursing through me and my brain repeating every single thing that had happened since I’d received the first threat.

  I threw the covers back and slid out of bed. My bare feet hit the soft Persian rug, and my toes curled into the softness reflexively, like curling into sand. I wanted that. A walk on the beach in the quiet of the night. But I had a feeling Dax and his security team would have a heart attack if they found I’d left the house on my own in the wee hours.

  So, I made do with exploring the house.

  Terrence was on duty, eyes following me down the stairs and speaking into his mic. As long as they didn’t wake Dax, I’d be fine.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Can’t sleep. Just going to wander the house a bit.”

  He nodded, and I went in the nearest door. I was surprised someone hadn’t shut every blind and curtain in the place, but instead, the moonlight streamed in the windows, turning the drawing room into a Gothic novel with dark shapes and shadows. On the far wall, another set of doors connected the room to another parlor, and after that, more doors led to a library. I flicked on a lamp, causing the cool tones of the night to disappear in a warm glow, just like Dax had taken my cold skin and brought it back to life with a kiss and a touch. A touch I ached to repeat.

  We’re not done. Not by a long shot.

  His words echoed through my head. It had been a mistake coming with him. A selfish mistake I could only regret. There was no reason for him to be with me and a gazillion reasons for him not to be.

  I browsed the shelves and the rows of books. Some were new, some were old, but they were all stories with a romance thread running through them if not actual romance. Vanya’s taste made my lips curl upward. I’d never known he was such a romantic. He was a hulk of a rugby player, all muscle and brawn, but he had a showy, artistic side that was evident in all his homes I’d ever been in. This little seaside cottage full of romance showed yet another side.

  Before Dax had left my life the first time, I’d loved romance novels. Everyone always got their happily ever after. It wasn’t until later that I realized how rare it was. True love. Happiness. No one in my family had it.

  Dax had said his aunt had been in love with my father. I couldn’t imagine Otōsan had ever felt the same way, and yet, he must have felt enough that they’d remained in a relationship for several years. Or maybe Élodie had been the only one wildly in love and unable to let go?

  More of Dax’s words haunted me. The line between wild love and obsession is a very fine one. Sometimes you find yourself on one side and sometimes on the other.

  What would it take to let go and escape into the obsession?

  Escape and me had never ended on good terms.

  I grabbed the next book I touched without reading the title and took it to a soft leather couch where I stretched out the best I could with a chest that screamed. I opened the cover and lost myself to the story of a widow who’d never had a chance to sleep with the duke she married and the rakish heir who came bursting into her world after the funeral.

  Somewhere after their first fevered kiss in the stables, I fell asleep. My dreams were full of Dax dressed in pantaloons and a cravat that flounced under his chin like downy feathers, me in a hooped skirt that swayed when I walked, and stables that smelled of hay and desire.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  “Tell me, did you sleep here to punish me or yourself?” Dax’s voice lulled me from my slumber, a soft hand stroking my cheek.

  I pushed it away, sitting up, and the book I was reading fell to the floor.

  He picked it up, lips quirking as he took in the cover with its couple in a sexy embrace.

  “Or maybe you needed inspiration?” His smile grew.

  “I couldn’t sleep. As you can see, the book did the trick. It was pretty boring.”

  He opened it. “His mouth plundered hers as he yanked her bodice, tearing the cloth and exposing a swollen nipp―”

  I jerked the book from his hand, my body heating at the thought of Dax reading me the words. His deep, lilting voice would be like listening to a phone sex operator. Porn come to life. I’d combust from unfulfilled need if he did.

  “Let’s make a deal,” I said.

  His eyebrow arched, making him look much too dashing for this early in the morning when I’d had no coffee, no shower, and no ibuprofen.

  When he didn’t respond, I continued, “I’ll stay at the cottage if you stay out of my space. The house is big enough that we shouldn’t have to see each other but a handful of times while we’re here. We can divide the manor down the middle like they did in that Michael Douglas movie where the couple was getting divorced and hated each other.”

  He laughed but, seeing my glower, stopped.

  “I’m not here to give you space, mon petit bijou.”

  “You’re here because you got guilted into protecting me by Dawson, Violet, and your too-good-for-the-world conscience. Don’t turn it into something it’s not.”

  “I can understand how you would think that. I deserve you thinking that way, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  He turned away and headed for the door. “Breakfast is in thirty minutes, and we have plans after that, so if you intend to shower, this would be the time.”

  I crossed my arms over the soft robe I’d thrown on over my nightgown the night before. “Your attempt at not being bossy needs quite a bit of work.”

  His lips quirked.

  “I’ve sort of given up on it.”

  “Well, I don’t know what ‘plans’ you’ve made, but as I’m supposed to be healing while in hiding, I think I’ll just skip them altogether.”

  “If you don’t get ready, I’ll take you like that,” he said, eyes scanning the short robe and my bare legs.

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen me in a whole lot less. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen me naked in the shower the night before last, but somehow, the look made me feel like I was completely exposed to him all over again.

  I glared at him, but it did nothing but make his smile grow.

  “I’m serious. Go get ready, or I’ll put you in the golf cart in your robe.”

  I snorted. “I’m not golfing. I hate golf.”

  It reminded me too much of my father, of the time in my life when I’d taken lessons, hoping it would catch his interest as much as my playing with his swords used to do.

  Dax chuckled. “We’re not golfing. We’re taking the cart down to the beach so you don’t have to walk the rocky path.”

  “You really want me to risk being seen at the beach?” I said, eyes narrowing.

  “It’s a private beach, mon bijou. Vanya owns the shore for at least half a kilometer in both directions.”

  Outside the window, the day was hardly sunny. Low fog clung to the trees, adding an otherworldliness to the day. Dax saw me glance out the window and shrugged. “It’s just fog. It’ll clear. What else are you going to do? If you really want to read, I’ll pack your romance novel for you.”

  “Don’t be all snotty about it. You were reading a romance novel last night.”

  His lips quirked again, and I found I wanted to smack the look off of his face, but he didn’t seem to care that I felt prickly. “My book wasn’t quite in the same vein, but there’s nothing wrong with romance novels. I’d be happy to read that one if you’d prefer it.”

  He was playing me, knowing quite well that there was no way in hell I was letting him read the sex scenes in that book to me aloud. I’d lose any semblance of self-control if he did.

  “You only have twenty-five minutes now,” he said and then sauntered out of the room as if he were king of the manor.

  I wanted to throw the book at his departing back, just like the heroine in the novel had thrown one at her hero. I left the room and climbed the stairs. My body hurt like hell still, but it felt a million times better than
it had the day before.

  I felt guilty for healing while Bobby was being buried. I wouldn’t even be at the funeral. I wondered what his mom and his sister would think of me—the employer who hadn’t even bothered to show up when he’d given his life for me. My throat closed, and my heart twisted. I needed to send flowers—no, money. Gobs of it. And even then, it would never be enough.

  I couldn’t think of it for long without becoming a blubbering mess.

  I headed to the bathroom, shed my clothes, and stood under the warm water for so long I knew I’d have to hurry if I wanted to be dressed before Dax came looking for me again. But trying to wash my hair had me gasping for breath. I wasn’t sure I got all of the suds out, but it would have to do. I ran a comb through the wet strands and stared at my face in the mirror. The cuts were healing, scabbing over. The dark circles under my eyes were still there. My skin was pale, almost sallow. The sunshine, if it ever popped through the fog cover, would be good for me.

  I had no makeup. I hadn’t asked Cara to get me any. I was lucky I had deodorant and a toothbrush that had materialized in my suitcase from nowhere. It didn’t matter. There was no one but Dax and the security team to see me.

  I left the bathroom behind and returned to the closet to stare at the row of clothes. None of it felt like it was mine. It felt like I was playing dress-up in my grandmother’s things. But I’d have to make do.

  Cara hadn’t bought me a bathing suit, but it was November, and the beach, even this far down the coast of California, wasn’t exactly going to be hot. I reached for a pair of leggings that I could easily roll if I decided to walk in the water and then layered a tank and an oversized sweater over the top.

  I was just buttoning the cardigan when Dax appeared in the bedroom’s doorway.

  “I thought for sure I was going to have to carry you down to the cart.” His eyes sparkled.

  “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction,” I tossed back.

  We made our way down the stairs and toward the back of the house. Dax led me into a kitchen that was the size of a small boat. Some of the security detail were already there, shoveling in the full breakfast that was spread out on the large kitchen table.