by L. B. Clark
I stumbled getting out of the car, and London steadied me, pulling away as soon as I regained my balance. We walked through the hotel side-by-side in silence, London watching me out of the corner of his eye in case I needed help. I didn’t.
We rode the elevator up to our floor, still in silence, and made our way down the hall to our room. London pulled out the spare key card and slid it into the reader on the door. The light flashed red, and he tried it again. Still red.
“Damn it,” he breathed.
“Let me,” I said, reaching for the card. My fingers brushed his, and a frisson of desire ran through me.
We’d touched a hundred times in the past few days, and this shouldn’t have been any different. But it was. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. On top of the feelings that had been building between London and me, I’d had a brush with death – or as close as I wanted to get, anyway. Something about being faced with our own mortality makes us humans want to have sex. Some primitive need to prove that we’re still alive, I guess. Or maybe a need to thumb our noses at Death.
I slid the key card into the reader, and this time the little light turned green. I opened the door and stepped inside. London followed me in, shutting the door behind him. Once we heard the latch click, London turned away from the door. I was standing so near we almost touched. I hesitated, scared to make the first move.
London didn’t hesitate but played the opening gambit, though it wasn’t at all what I expected. He pulled me against him, cradling my head against his chest, and just held me for a minute or two. I could hear his heart racing, feel it hammering against his ribs under my cheek. My own was in a similar state.
When I couldn’t resist anymore, I rubbed my face against his chest. My lips grazed his nipple through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and I grinned when his breath hitched. He moved back, putting distance between us, but only so he could lean down to kiss me. The angle was awkward. I tried to go up on my toes to make it a little easier on London, but my muscles still weren’t working quite right. I ended up falling forward, sending us both staggering a few steps until London’s back hit the door.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” London said, running a hand up under my hair to stroke the back of my neck.
“Or maybe you’re just too damned tall,” I countered. I pulled away, took a couple of steps farther into the room, then turned and crooked a finger at London. He grinned and followed.
Kissing London worked much better sprawled out on the bed.
The first kiss was tentative, testing the waters. The second was bolder, mapping out new territory. With the third kiss, London staked his claim on me. It was the kind of kiss that cheesy romance novels describe as ‘punishing’: primitive and almost brutal, built on raw need and blind lust.
If I had fantasized about sex with London – and all the king’s horses couldn’t make me own up to it - I would have pictured it as tender and romantic, two people learning the nuances of one another’s bodies by candlelight. I would never have imagined the frantic race to get undressed, the bruising kisses, the clawing and pinching and biting. I also wouldn’t have imagined the utterly unsexy scramble to find a condom. And I definitely wouldn’t have imagined earthshattering sex ending in an abrupt eruption of tears.
One second I was riding wave after wave of pleasure, racing for the precipice. The next, I was shaking with sobs, my face turned away so that London wouldn’t see. Of course, you can’t hide what you’re feeling from an empath, but I kind of forgot about that in the moment.
London rolled off of me, and I turned my back to him, curling up in a tiny, shaking ball. A moment later, a warm body wrapped itself around me. I turned over, tucking my head against London’s chest. He held me and murmured comforting nonsense. After a while, I felt a trickle of calm, a pale echo of the projection he’d done earlier. Whether because my own emotions were so much stronger and more tangled, or because London was exhausted, the calming trick just didn’t work as well this time around, though it did help a little.
My sobs quieted after a little while, and I muttered an apology.
“Uh-uh,” London replied. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
For some stupid reason, that made me cry even harder. London sighed and kissed my forehead before climbing out of bed. I wanted to beg him not to go, but I couldn’t really blame him for wanting to get away from me. Dealing with a meltdown like this is bad enough for a guy when he doesn’t have to actually feel it.
London surprised me by crawling back into the bed and pulling me close. He handed me a couple of tissues, and as stupid as it is, my heart melted a little. I dried my eyes and wiped my nose, trying to get myself under control. I owed London that much. I turned over again, my back to him, and he snuggled closer, his arm tightening around me. He pressed his lips to my shoulder then buried his face in my hair.
Cocooned in warmth – both physical and emotional – I reigned in my emotions, bit by bit. The tears subsided, and the tangle of fear, exhaustion, relief, and a million other emotions drained away to be replaced with a comforting numbness. My breathing evened out, and I drifted, not asleep, not awake, but hovering in the netherworld between the two.
Chapter Thirteen
I don’t remember being close to crossing the line between sleep and wakefulness, but I must have slipped over it at some point because I startled awake, unsure what had woken me. The door to the hotel room opened, then, and I heard Brian’s voice. London pulled the duvet up to my chin just before the overhead light blinded me.
“Yeah, I think that we should...oh. Sorry,” Dylan said.
I burrowed further under the duvet, hiding my face under pretense of blocking out the harsh light.
“We’ll just....” Brian stammered.
“Go,” Dylan finished. “We’ll just go.”
The mattress shifted as London turned away from me to look at our friends.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Just give us a few, okay?”
“Yeah,” Brian replied. “We’ll just...wait outside.”
I heard the door open and shut. I felt the bed shift again, felt London moving away from me, and I peered over the duvet to watch him as he pulled on the clothes we’d scattered across the room. I marveled at the angry red claw marks that I only vaguely remember leaving on his back. Ouch.
When he was mostly dressed and I still hadn’t gotten up, London turned to look at me.
“Are you okay?”
I wanted to point out that the question was kind of silly, since I knew he could tell how I felt. I opted for tact instead, or maybe I just couldn’t summon the energy to be a smartass.
“Sure,” I told him, though I wasn’t at all certain it was true.
“Elizabeth....”
“I’m okay,” I said, cutting him off. “I just need...can I....” I sighed, not sure how to ask for what I needed. I felt numb and sort of disconnected. I didn’t want to have to talk, about anything, and I didn’t want anyone worrying over me. “I just need to be alone for a bit,” I said at last.
He looked at me for a moment, and then nodded and headed out into the hallway, still barefoot. Once the door closed behind him, I forced myself up out of the bed. I contemplated my discarded clothing for about two seconds before deciding to ignore it in favor of a hot shower.
The warm, stinging spray didn’t jolt me out of my near-stupor the way I had hoped it would. Reality still seemed distant, my emotions walled away. I wondered if I might be in shock. That possibility should have worried me, but I didn’t feel much of anything.
I thought about how I’d been overwhelmed by emotions just a short time before, resulting in my embarrassing meltdown. Relief, horror, guilt, love, lust, fear, joy, sorrow, confusion, suspicion, and grief had all flooded into my consciousness at once. I hadn’t had a chance to sort through them, to make sense of them and process them. They’d just come sweeping in out of nowhere and tried to drown me. Without London there to anchor me, they
might have succeeded.
London. God, how he must have felt. But he’d pushed it aside to take care of me.
And just like that, emotion began to creep back in, starting with concern for his well-being. The relief of having Dylan safe followed close behind.
By the time I dragged myself out of the shower, I felt a little more like a real, living, breathing, feeling human being.
I dried my hair, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. Since I hadn’t thought to grab my PJs, I wrapped a towel around me and stepped out of the bathroom, prepared to be somewhat embarrassed. I lucked out, though; Dylan was the only one waiting for me.
“So what the hell did you do to poor London? He’s kind of freaking out.”
Okay, maybe not so lucky. I flipped the security latch on the door, dropped the towel, and started pulling on clothes while I considered my answer.
“How much did Brian tell you about what’s been going on? About London, and how we found you?”
“Everything, I guess.”
“So you know about the whole empathy thing.”
Dylan nodded. “Yeah, I know. And I know you well enough to know he’s not freaking out because you got all lovey-dovey on him during the afterglow.”
I sighed and flopped down on the bed. “What afterglow?”
“You can’t expect me to believe that you two didn’t hit it,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest.
“Oh, we had sex. We had really amazing sex.”
“And?”
“And...I completely freakin’ lost it, Dylan. I don’t even know what happened. But instead of euphoria and afterglow, we got meltdown and crying jag.” I sighed again, pulling my feet up to sit cross-legged on the bed. “My feelings were this overwhelming, jumbled up mess. If London had to feel even a fraction of what I was feeling, then I’m not surprised he’s freaked.”
Dylan’s forehead furrowed in contemplation. “He seemed fine when we walked in on you two, but when he came out into the hall he was pretty upset. I thought maybe you had to give him the ‘just friends’ speech or something.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t, though. All I said to him was that I wanted a few minutes alone.”
“There’s something else going on,” Dylan said. “There has to be. Maybe Brian can drag it out of him, if he ever gets off the damn phone. Correction, if they ever get off the damn phones.”
“Speaking of phones, I guess I better let Alex know you’re okay and that he doesn’t need to file that missing persons report.”
“Done. I borrowed your cell while you were in the shower. He and Blas had already left San Antonio. They were up around Georgetown. But at least I caught him before he had my face plastered on the side of a milk carton,” she said. “And you so owe me one for listening to him rant instead of making you do it.”
“Maybe we can call it even. You know, the whole rescuing-you-from-evil-Jessica-Rabbit thing.”
Dylan laughed. “I knew you’d see the resemblance, too! That bitch has issues.” The smile slid from her face. “What happened back there, Em? Do we need to worry about her tracking us down?”
I looked away, trying not to remember the sight of flames crackling over Julia’s skin and the sound of her pained, terrified shrieks. “I don’t really know. London might, but I’m not sure we should ask him.”
“Why not?”
“I think....I think he might have killed her, Dylan.”
“Good. She needed killing,” Dylan replied. Under any other circumstances, I would have been astounded. Joking about offing someone is one thing, but saying it and meaning it.... Still, all I could do was agree. The woman had been torturing me, and she’d probably done the same to Dylan. She’d hurt London, too. And I figured what we knew was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. If she hadn’t hurt more people and done worse things in the past, she would have at some point further on down the line.
I knew, though, that London’s feelings would be a lot more conflicted. After all, he’d loved Julia once. He’d wanted to marry her. Somehow, he’d missed the fact that she was a sociopath. That or something had changed her after their breakup. I wasn’t sure it mattered, but I also couldn’t help but be curious. Likely, I’d never have an answer, so I pushed the question aside.
“I’m going to hit the shower,” Dylan said, scooping a plastic Wal-Mart bag up off the floor. “I feel gross.” She made it as far as the bathroom door before she turned back. “Oh, crap. I forgot. Brian talked to Adrian. The rest of the tour entourage is in town, and we’ve got – well Brian and London have got – rooms at the Hard Rock. We decided to move over there, since four people in a room with one king bed is not only breaking all sorts of rules but also just not likely to end well.”
Dylan stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, leaving me alone. I pulled jeans on over my boxers and starting repacking, only to be interrupted by one of the boys trying to get into the hotel room. I had forgotten to disengage the safety latch.
“Sorry,” I said to London as I let him into the room.
He gave me a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re feeling better?”
I nodded.
“Good. That’s good.”
He paid little attention to me as he gathered the few things of his that needed to be repacked. Five minutes later, I’d had all the uncomfortable silence I could stand. I couldn’t ignore what had passed between us anymore.
I reached out to touch London’s hand, intending only to get his attention. He jerked away and took a few quick steps backward.
“Don’t.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, feeling stupid.
“It’s not....” he turned away and slammed his palm against the wall. “Dammit. It’s not your fault, okay? Any of it. I just...I never really learned how to shield, how to protect myself. And with all the...with all the magic I’ve been slinging around, my defenses are pretty much nonexistent.”
“It’s overwhelming you. Confusing you. Like when you were in high school,” I guessed.
“A little. It’s easier now to separate my own feelings, at least. But...it’s worse, too. I....” He leaned forward, resting his weight on his arm against the wall. “It’s not just that I can’t keep other people out, now. I also can’t seem to control the whole projecting thing.”
Unease trickled down my spine even before his words sank in. When they did, when the full weight of what he was saying hit me, I began to see my earlier meltdown in a new light. Some of the feelings I hadn’t understood surely had been his emotions instead of my own.
Doubt came creeping in on the heels of the relief brought about by my realization. If the guilt and grief I’d felt earlier had been London’s, the doubt said, then what about the unexpected and overwhelming desire? What about the more tender feelings I’d had for him? Were they mine, or his? Or worse, were they maybe Brian and Dylan’s feelings for each other refracted through the prism of London’s powers?
London turned around, leaning back against the wall, but he couldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I didn’t know what to say, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. London pushed away from the wall and fled the room before I had the chance to say a single word.
When the door opened again a few minutes later, I had finished my repacking, found and put on socks and shoes, and was sitting on the bed, hugging the battered old teddy bear I’d fished out of my suitcase. My mind, heart, and body were all exhausted, and I wanted nothing more than to be curled up safe and sound in my own bed, under my own blankets, with my oldest, truest friend, Benny. I don’t remember where he got his name, and neither does anyone else, but Benny the bear had been the one constant in my life since I’d gotten him. In nearly thirty-five years, he had never let me down.
I must have looked pretty pathetic sitting there cuddling my archaic bear, because the second that Brian managed to drag his eyes away from the closed bathroom door, he made a beeline for the bed. He sat down on the edge of the
mattress, facing me, and opened his arms. It was all I could do to not fling myself at him. Instead, I inched forward until he could wrap me and Benny in a comforting hug. Oddly, it wasn’t the first time I’d found myself in this same situation, but with my mind in the state it was in, I couldn’t remember why we’d ended up like this before.
Dylan emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. From the look on Brian’s face when he turned to look at her, it was obvious that all he saw was the woman he was head-over-heels in love with, not the baggy AC/DC shirt and cheap yoga pants or the way her wet hair stuck out in all directions like she’d had an accident involving a fork and a power outlet. She joined us for a much-needed group hug that I ended soon after, not wanting to be selfish. Brian and Dylan held on to each other for a while longer before she let him go with a chaste kiss on the lips.
“Where’s London?” she asked.
“Waiting in the hallway,” Brian replied, reaching out to capture her hands. “He wants us to stay together as much as possible. He says Julia’s furious, and he’s afraid she’ll come after us.”
“Not dead, then,” Dylan said. “More’s the pity.”
Brian pulled her down to sit on his lap, the position awkward since he was perched on the edge of the bed. “You said earlier you didn’t want to tell your story more than once, that you wanted Elizabeth to hear it when I did.”
Dylan shook her head. “Not fair to leave London pacing the hallway while we talk about this. I’ll tell you in the car.”
I glanced around at all of the suitcases and wondered how we’d manage to get the four of us and our luggage into the rental car. The trunk had been pretty full before without Brian’s gear. I had a feeling it was going to be a cramped, uncomfortable ride across town. At least the streets should be clear of traffic this time of night.
