KIRKLAND: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Were the feelings real?” he demanded, looking at me piercingly. “You said you were falling in love with me. Was that part of the scheme my brother cooked up? Or was that real?”

  “It was real,” I said, my face screwing up, the tears I’d wanted earlier falling now, fast and of their own volition. “I’m so sorry, Roland, for everything else. But that was real.”

  “Okay,” he said, and nothing else. Then, he put his arms around me and kissed me—true and deep and hot in spite of the cold rainwater dripping off of him, pooling around our feet.

  “You’re shivering,” he said, almost angry about it. “Beauty, these are the clothes you were wearing at the office, and they’re still wet. You didn’t change out of them?”

  “I guess not,” I said, numb, still convinced that this wasn’t happening, that it was just a dream. “And you’re wet, too.”

  “This is how people get hypothermia,” he fussed, closing the door behind him, walking me backward toward the bedroom, keeping me in his arms. “It’s freezing in here. Didn’t you realize it?”

  “Not really.” I was still crying, my tears dropping onto my ruined shirt.

  “Stop that crying,” he admonished gently. “Let’s get you warm. Come on.”

  I couldn’t stop weeping even if I tried to, letting his deft fingers unbutton my shirt, wriggling obediently out of my trousers, and squirming as he picked off my still-soaked bra and panties. I cried so hard that I didn’t even care I was standing naked in front of Roland Shepard. I only barely registered that he was naked, too, when he pressed our bodies together, their shared warmth making my teeth stop chattering. I noticed that his scar stopped just over his heart. How close had he been to death that night? It had to have been an awful injury.

  “What can I do to get you to stop crying?” he asked, bending slightly before lifting me up, cradling me against his chest, his hot mouth kissing my forehead, then my cheeks, then my lips, then my neck.

  “Will this work?” he murmured, laying me on the bed, his mouth continuing its downward travels. “Will this get you to stop crying?”

  “Why do you want me to stop crying?” I asked, gasping as he planted a kiss between my breasts.

  “Because I love you, is why.” A kiss on each of my nipples made me arch my back. “I don’t like seeing you cry. I don’t want you to be sad.”

  “But I betrayed you, and I lied to you,” I said, panting as his lips tickled my bellybutton, his tongue flicking out for just a moment against my skin.

  “That’s not what I want to talk about,” he said, kissing my hipbone, then inside, on the delicate, sensitive skin there.

  “What do you want to talk about?” I asked, then gave a long moan as he dragged his tongue between my labia and tenderly sucked my clit.

  “That,” Roland said, smiling up at me from between my legs. He stroked me there with one hand, sliding effortlessly, telling me something I already knew—just how turned on I was. “That’s what I want to talk about. Let me know all about that.”

  I keened, as he pressed his thumb against the side of that magic nub, against and around, over and over again until I was breathless and thrusting my hips upward in rhythm to his attentions.

  “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his touch gentle but electric, everywhere at once on my body. His palms grazed my hardened nipples, his full cock brushed my thigh.

  “I want you,” I said, running my hands over his hard torso, down his abs. “But…but you should know. It’s been a long time—a really long time. I wasn’t with your…I never did with Dan….”

  “Hush.” Roland’s fingers were inside of me, now, in and out, over and over again, making me spread my legs as wide as I could, wanton, uncaring. “What did I say I wanted to talk about?”

  I moaned into his mouth as he dipped down and kissed me, clinging to his biceps as he continued to finger me until I was sure I was going to come. He kissed my neck and reached, guiding something harder—and bigger—into me than those fingers had been.

  I cried out at the slow invasion, at being stretched, at that inexplicable beauty and hunger of being filled to the brim by another person, joining two bodies into a single vessel. I shuddered against him; all memory of being cold vanished. I only felt the heat of his cock, buried deep inside me.

  “Okay?” he asked, the shiver in his voice, barely restrained, doing strange things to my heart.

  “Yes,” I moaned, putting my legs around his waist, squeezing as hard as I could. “Please.”

  “All you have to do is ask.”

  He started to thrust, one hand still between us, relentless against my clit, circling and circling. The other cupped my breast, rolled my nipple between his fingers. He captured my flailing hand and kissed my nipple.

  I came loud and long, sure that all of Seattle could hear me even over the rain that continued to drive down outside the window, grabbing onto Roland anywhere I could catch hold, screaming as he saw me through to the very end of it, pushing against my clit in tandem with his thrusts.

  Then, and only then, did he come, burying his face in the crook of my neck, groaning as he pumped inside of me, filling me with such a sweet, sticky warmth that I was certain I’d never be cold again. I held on to him until he stopped groaning, stopped thrusting, and just breathed hard against me…until he was able to hold himself on his elbow and gently extricate himself from me.

  Even in the fade of afterglow, after that beautiful fucking, guilt overwhelmed me, and I began to weep once more.

  “Stop,” he chided me, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because of everything I’ve done to you.”

  “You were only trying to protect yourself,” he said. “My brother’s a motherfucker, Beauty, and I’m sorry for him.”

  “What’d he tell you?” I asked, hiccupping from all the sobbing.

  “Nothing.” Roland shrugged. “He was gone when I got upstairs. Probably off getting drunk somewhere and sulking. I really don’t care right now.”

  “But the spying and the wreck and the lying.” I covered my face with both of my hands. “Roland, how can you not hate me?”

  “How could I be here if I hated you?” he asked, gently pulling my hands away. “Beauty, I love you. I never want to be away from you. But you need to stop crying, now, or I’m going to have to do something else to try and make you stop.”

  His hand trailed between my legs, sampling the foreign slickness there, still managing to make me gasp as he flicked the pad of a finger against my clit.

  “I’ll stop crying,” I panted. “Promise.”

  He laughed and withdrew his hand.

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom and get some water,” he said, kissing my temple. “Try not to worry so much and relax. Do you want anything?”

  “I guess I’ll have some water, too,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Roland walked away, but I couldn’t shake my sense of unease. I fell onto my back and threw my arm over my eyes. I was probably just tired, exhausted from the events of the day, the rollercoaster of emotions I’d been on for months and months. I needed a good night’s sleep—which would be even better with Roland’s arms around me—and I’d be back to normal, or whatever my new normal would be. What it was to be with someone you loved, and who loved you in return, would be brand new territory for me. It was a journey I was looking forward to.

  “Don’t go to sleep yet. The fun’s just about to start.”

  I pushed myself up to a sitting position to see Dan leering at me from the end of the bed, holding a huge knife.

  Chapter 19

  It was stupid, but I drew the sheets up to my chin, as if they would protect me from Dan’s slightly crazed stare, or the intimidating knife he was wielding. Both of those weapons seemed like they could cut through the sheet as if it wasn’t even there, but I still cowered behind it. What the hell was he doing here? I wanted to scream out for Roland, who was still in the bathroom, but I was so shocked and fri
ghtened that I couldn’t make a sound.

  “Nothing there that I haven’t already seen,” Dan sneered at me, making me feel even smaller and more vulnerable.

  I swallowed hard and somehow found my voice. “You need to leave right now,” I said. “You’re not wanted here, and you’re not invited.”

  “Brave words from a naked girl trying to hide beneath a blanket,” Dan said. “You know, I never really got to take in an eyeful of you before. You going to show me what I missed out on, or am I going to have to make you?”

  There was movement behind Dan. Roland, thank God, had to have heard our voices from my bathroom, but I wanted to make sure the man with the knife was good and distracted to give his brother a fighting chance. So I dropped the blanket and let Dan have an eyeful as Roland crept closer.

  “Now, see?” Dan crowed, his eyes raking up and down my body appreciatively, making me feel like I’d never be clean again. “If you’d just been a little more cooperative before, maybe we would’ve gotten along better. And you certainly wouldn’t have had to make yourself into sloppy seconds for my brother.”

  “Fuck you, Dan!” Roland roared, landing one good punch but spoiling the success of any sort of sneak attack. Dan whirled wildly, slashing at the air with the knife, and I scrambled off the bed as Roland yelped and went down, covering his face.

  Time slowed down. Dan was winding up, bringing the knife over his head, prepared to sink it into whatever body part of Roland’s that the blade might find desirable, and I did the only thing I could do. I leapt up and grabbed the glinting blade before it could descend and hurt Roland any more than it already had done. It was all I could think about. I had to protect Roland. He’d been through enough. This was what I could do to prove to him that I really loved him and save him from the monstrosity his brother had turned me into.

  This is what I could do to prove to myself that I was worth a damn.

  My hand closed on the blade, and I gripped as hard as I could, taking Dan by complete surprise even as pain like I’d never known before exploded in my body. I yanked the knife so hard that it came loose from Dan’s grasp, so I pulled even harder. My pain and the wetness dripping down my wrist were rewarded by the sound of metal clattering over my floor.

  “Beauty, no!” There was blood on Roland’s face as he reached toward me, then Dan elbowed me in the jaw and I crumpled to the floor.

  Two heavy bodies scuffled around me, grunting and cursing, and I cradled my injured hand to me, unwilling to look at it, to see just how dire the cut was. I knew it wasn’t good; I knew that it had been stupid; I knew that maybe I’d die if the wrong brother won the fight.

  And for the first time in a long time, I found that death wasn’t what I wanted.

  It was a strange revelation for me, especially since I’d wanted nothing more than to slip into a black abyss after the wreck. For what felt like the first time in many years, I had something to live for. It was love of Roland, yes, but it was also faith that I was capable of doing the right thing. I’d saved him from getting hurt further by Dan, and whatever happened, I knew that I could be proud of myself.

  Someone fell heavily near me, but I couldn’t tell which Shepard it was. I wasn’t feeling well, and it was hard enough to wriggle away from the fight with the slippery, wet floor beneath me and my mangled hand.

  There was a loud grunt, a long string of curses, and then finally, I was in somebody’s arms, warmer than I had been.

  “Beauty? Stay with me.”

  The pain in my hand was really bad, and I was very tired, and there was red everywhere that I hoped someone else would clean up. Then, I didn’t think of anything at all.

  After what seemed like a very long time, I opened my eyes and blinked several times, waiting for them to adjust.

  At first, I thought I was having a nightmare. I was waking up in the hospital again after causing my parents’ and Caro’s deaths, having escaped death even though I was the one most responsible for others’ demises.

  But this was different, because that had happened a long time ago. There was a dull ache in my hand, and a man sitting in a chair beside my bed who only looked vaguely familiar. He was watching me, waiting for me to become fully awake.

  “I’ve seen you before,” I murmured, my mouth dry, my voice cracking. “I don’t know where, though, but you’re familiar.”

  “I’m Jones,” he said. “Mr. Shepard’s head of security.”

  “You brought us Chinese takeout late one night,” I said, nodding to myself. “That’s what it was.”

  “You have a very good memory for faces,” he said kindly.

  Then, everything came rushing back. Dan had attacked Roland and me. My hand—it was heavily bandaged, but as far as I could tell, still attached to my wrist.

  “Seventeen stitches,” Jones commented. “You’re a pretty tough girl.”

  “I’ve been through worse,” I said. “Roland. He was hurt. Is he all right? And what about Dan? He attacked us. What happened?”

  “Mr. Shepard is just fine,” Jones said. “He’s been in and out of surgery. He had a cut on his face, is all, don’t panic—and he’s already back at the penthouse. You’ve been asleep for a while, and the doctors all agreed it was for the best. When you got here, you’d lost quite a bit of blood, and you were in shock. As for Dan, Roland knocked him out and the police took it from there. Going to be quite the scandal in the papers, but there’s not much to be done for it.”

  “Is it possible to see Roland?” I asked. It was hard to believe all that had happened in the time I’d been out. Just how long had I been asleep?

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Jones said, standing up. “When you’re cleared to go and ready to do so, Mr. Shepard’s asked me to see to it that you’re taken to the penthouse—if you want to see him.”

  “Of course I want to see him,” I said, looking around quickly. “Where’s a nurse when you need one?”

  Roland, I assumed, or maybe Jones under the direction of Roland, had provided me with a change of clothes from my apartment—a pair of dark jeans and a sweatshirt along with some sneakers. Then, getting a quick checkup and some instructions from the doctor, I was out the door and riding alongside Jones across town.

  The sun had come out, the persistent rainstorm that had troubled the city for the past few days having finally cleared out. Jones chatted for the entire trip to the Shepard Shipments building, about everything from the weather to the sports teams I didn’t follow.

  “It’ll be glorious weather over the weekend,” he was saying as he pulled up and stopped the car for the valet to park. “That’s the thing about Seattle, Ms. Hart. It might rain an awful lot, but when the sun finally does come out, there’s nothing better.”

  “I think all the rain makes me appreciate the sun that much more,” I said, as we walked across the lobby together. We bypassed the bank of elevators I’d been used to taking up to the office, strolling all the way to the hidden, private elevator that shot straight up to the penthouse. Myra had warned me against using it in what felt like a million years ago. I wondered what she would’ve said after everything that had happened now.

  I fully expected for us to surface in Roland’s office, but when the elevator doors rolled open, we were in a place I’d never seen before. I didn’t have a chance to marvel at the wood floors or matching crown molding or the tasteful furniture that matched the leather I was so familiar with in Roland’s office.

  I only had eyes for Roland, who stood in the entryway, half of his face completely covered in bandages.

  I ran at him and flung myself into his arms, wincing as my hand banged against his back, but not caring. I’d never loosen my grip. I’d never let go.

  “Are you okay?” we asked each other in unison.

  “The doctors said to let you sleep,” Roland explained. “I wanted to wake you up, to tell you everything was going to be all right, but they said you needed it. That you were exhausted and in shock. That the sleep would heal you best.�
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  “Jones said you were fine,” I said, my tone accusatory. “You don’t look fine. How bad was the cut? Your whole face is practically covered in bandages. I can hardly remember anything. I guess my brain was trying to protect me.”

  “Thank you, Jones, for seeing that Beauty arrived safe,” Roland said, scooting me over to the side so he could address the man still standing behind me. “You’re free to go.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Thank you, Jones,” I said, “even if you lied to me about how bad the cut was.”

  Jones looked cowed and Roland laughed. “The cut really wasn’t that bad. I promise.”

  “But look at all the bandages,” I said, as Roland led me down the hall to a comfortable, warmly lit sitting room.

  “You need to rest,” he said, pushing me a little so I sat heavily on a couch.

  “I need to rest?” I repeated. “You need to rest. You’re the one who’s had surgery. I’ve just been asleep for God knows how long.”

  “Nearly three days,” Roland said, allowing me to pull him down to sit on the couch next to me. “Your hand was pretty bad, and the doctors said you’d just been through too much. Beauty—I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I said, frowning at him. “We had no way of knowing what Dan was going to do.”

  “I should’ve been more cautious when he vanished from the penthouse,” Roland said. “I should’ve been on my guard, or at least been aware that he might try to do something stupid—or permanent.”

  “Well, maybe I should’ve remembered to lock the door after I let you in to my apartment,” I said, shrugging. “If you’re looking to blame someone, start spreading the wealth.”

  “There’s no one to blame but Dan,” Roland said, shaking his head. “I wish we could just forget about it. I can’t believe you grabbed that knife, Beauty. Why were you acting like such a dumbass?”