Defiance of the Heart (Book 2)

by Monica James

  Looking at the four-hundred-and-fifty-page document in front of me, I suddenly wish I had something stronger than coffee on hand.

  “Sure. I’ll let you know when Mr. Harris arrives.”

  “I can’t wait,” I sarcastically quip while she laughs and leaves me to my woes.

  Sighing, I reach for my cell to scroll through the unanswered texts I’ve sent to London. The last we spoke, I asked he trust me and not come to New York. Reluctantly, he agreed, but the radio silence over the past two days confirms he’s pissed at me.

  Lightly rubbing the bruised cheek I’ve caked with heavy makeup, I can understand his frustrations. If the tables were turned, I too would be pressing to come, but that doesn’t solve anything.

  The farther away London stays from Lincoln, the better. I believe him when he says he’ll kill him. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but I don’t feel like visiting my boyfriend behind bars.

  A glutton for punishment, I type out a quick text. Just because he isn’t replying doesn’t mean he isn’t reading them.

  I miss you.

  I stare at the message for a couple of minutes, hoping it is the miracle cure to end his silence.

  It’s not.

  Turning off my cell, I place it in the desk drawer and focus on reading this document and getting it sent out before the day is done.

  By page two hundred and two, I want to pluck out my eyeballs. After finding so many oversights, I wonder if Dave actually read this through. Reaching for my trusty red pen, I make notes in the margins, reminding myself to retype certain paragraphs.

  Hunched over my desk with the tip of the pen tucked lightly between my lips, I don’t hear Yvonne page me until it’s too late. And even then, I only get the tail of her gushing over someone who is hotter than sin wanting to see me.

  “I’m sending him in,” she giddily says before hanging up.

  “Who?” I ask, forgetting to press the button so I’m speaking to myself. Fumbling, I attempt to page her, but when the door opens, I forget all train of thought because nothing is more important than this…than him.

  I blink once, certain my overworked brain has conjured up images to help me cope with the stresses of being stuck here for the past two days. But when that cocky, lopsided smirk tugs at those bowed, wicked lips, I know this is real.

  His signature fragrance is next to hit me in the solar plexus.

  “I miss you, too.”

  And just like that, my life is complete.

  “Lo-London?” I fumble over his name because I’ve missed speaking it. “What are you doing here?” Not that I’m unhappy to see him, but I thought the radio silence was his way of saying he needed some space.

  Speaking of space…

  His broad shoulders look impossibly huge in the tight white T-shirt he wears, dwarfing the large room. The bright colors of his tattoos almost come alive in the sunlight as my office on the top floor has no curtains.

  His ripped blue jeans set off his rugged, wild look, and with all that dirty blond hair flicked to the high heavens, he is the ultimate bad boy. When those stormy eyes lock on me, I run my tongue over my lips twice as I’m suddenly parched.

  He closes the door behind him, his actions lithe and cool. I expect him to enter, but he doesn’t. He presses his back to the woodgrain and folds his arms. While he does all this, his gaze never wavers from mine.

  The silence is unnerving because a crackle of electricity sparks the air around us. This is going to get messy.

  I watch as he observes his surroundings, carefully taking everything in. This is the first time he’s seen my office, so I wonder what he sees. As far as offices go, nothing really makes this space stand out.

  It’s filled with the usual amenities. A desk. Two chairs. Bookshelves. Pieces of paper stating I’ve earned my stripes to be here. It’s relatively bland compared to London’s office, but watching him stand here has suddenly made an ordinary workspace come alive.

  “Hi, Princess.”

  “Hi,” I reply, my voice small.

  When he pushes off the door, I grip the edge of the leather seat, wondering what comes next.

  His presence commands attention and control, and his slow saunter reveals he’s in no hurry to put me out of my misery anytime soon. The closer he gets to me, the raspier my breaths become. His poker face masks his feelings, so I don’t know if he’s angry or happy to see me.

  So I remain silent. This is his show, after all.

  “I tried,” he states dangerously low. “I really tried. But staying away from you isn’t possible.” I realize he’s referring to my request the last time we spoke. In his defense, he did try. “Are you angry with me?”

  I hold my breath as he comes to a stop. The only thing separating us is my desk.

  When I finally find my voice, I reply, “No, of course not. I’m happy to see you.”

  “These past two days, I’ve come to realize bad things happen when we’re apart. The only way to solve that”—he places his large hands on the edge of my desk and leans forward leisurely—“is by ensuring we don’t let that happen again.”

  All I can do is nod because his warm signature fragrance has assaulted my nostrils, and all I want to do is take a big whiff.

  “I’ve missed you.” With ease, he reaches out to tenderly brush the hair from my cheek.

  I melt into his touch, unbelieving how good it feels, but it’s a rookie move because I should have known nothing slips past those sharp eyes.

  I attempt to shift, to shield myself behind my hair, but it’s too late. He grips my chin between his thumb and pointer, turning my face so the sunlight can expose what a poor job my makeup has done at covering up the reason I didn’t want London here in the first place.

  “What the fuck?” he hisses, his wide gaze fierce as he examines my bruised cheek.

  “It’s nothing.” I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me go.

  “Nothing?” he snarls, shaking his head madly. “When I asked what he did, I never, ever thought he’d”—he inhales forcefully—“lay his hands on you. I’m going to fucking tear him apart limb by limb.” He releases me and makes a mad dash for the door, intent on murder, which prompts me to leap from my chair and stop him.

  “No!” I exclaim, slamming my back to the door to prohibit him from leaving. He pushes forward, but I place my hand on his chest over his pounding heart. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t?” he questions, his heated exhalations blowing the hair from my cheeks. “Don’t give him what’s owed to him? How can you ask that of me, Holland? He fucking hit you! He’s dead.” He reaches for the handle and opens the door, but I push back, forcing it shut.

  “This doesn’t solve anything.” I beg him to see reason. “All it does is give him leverage. And if push comes to shove, he will use it against you…in any way that he can.” There is no need for me to draw him a diagram.

  We need to stay away from him because nothing but misery follows.

  “I know I’m asking a lot, but until I can get him to sign an agreement, I won’t allow him to have anything over us. I don’t trust him, and you beating the living shit out of him isn’t going to solve anything. We have to be smart. He fooled me once, but I won’t let it happen a second time,” I say, searching his eyes, pleading for him to see reason.

  His chest rises and falls beneath my palm, his heart a frantic rhythm as he attempts to rein in his temper. “I should have been here,” he cries, clearly berating himself. “I never should have let you go alone.”

  “We can’t change the past, but we can the future,” I whisper, repeating his words back to him as they’re fitting to this situation. “You’re my future. You and Emily. I just want this over with.”

  He knows I’m right. It kills him, but he knows this is the only way to rid Lincoln from our lives for good.

  “He hit you.” London closes his eyes as if he can’t stand to see the evidence before him. It pains me to see him this way.

  Placing my hand on his ch
eek and running my fingers over his soft stubble, I coax him to look at me. He eventually gives in. “I’m okay.”

  “I’m not,” he replies, pressing his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you, Princess.”

  “Sometimes, it’s the princess who kills the dragon and saves the prince,” I whisper, inhaling deeply as his fragrance warms every part of me.

  He hums low, the mood subduing somewhat. “You’ve saved me my entire life.”

  It warms me to know that our relationship has run both ways.

  “We’ve saved one another,” I correct, nudging his nose with mine. His anger is still coursing strong, but he gives in—for now.

  He swallows deeply, gently placing his palm on my bruised cheek. He flinches as if touching it has also caused him physical pain. I suppose in some ways it has.

  I allow him to examine me, to see for himself that I am okay. He traces along my cheekbone, before skimming down to my face. His touch is feather soft as he doesn’t want to hurt me. “This fucking kills me inside,” he sadly confesses, tears filling his eyes.

  “I know.” Placing my hand over his, I squeeze softly, then lean into his caress. We silently lose ourselves to the moment, lost in the toxicity of being helplessly in love with each other.

  When he skims his thumb over my mouth, my heart flutters, suddenly needing so much more. He senses my needs and sighs as though he desires this closeness as well.

  “Kiss me,” I whisper, standing on tippy toes. “Kiss me without apology.” And I mean that in every sense that there is.

  “I love you,” he says, then fulfills my request passionately.

  Our lips unite in a feeding frenzy, desperate to forget all the wrongs in the world and only focus on the wonder of being one. He gives me what I want and kisses me without regret as he pins me to the door. He slips his tongue in slowly, taking the breath from my lungs.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I tug at the longer strands of hair curling at his nape. I will never get my fix of him. His scruff tickles my skin, adding to the pleasure of being entwined this way. He tastes me, samples me deeply, groaning lightly.

  Kissing London is consuming, rocking me to the very core, and when he rolls his hips, alerting me to the delicious nudging between my legs, I want more.

  Threading my fingers through his hair, I intensify the kiss, loving the feel of being pressed chest to chest. When he cups my wounded cheek, his lips quiver, but I won’t allow Lincoln to taint such a beautiful moment.

  Slipping my hand under his T-shirt, I revel in the way his rock-hard abs feel beneath my fingers. Each rocky ridge adds to the fire burning within. His golden flesh is hot to the touch, and when I caress over my name inked on his chest over his heart, tiny goose pimples prickle his skin.

  Skimming back down, I hum into his wicked mouth when I come in contact with the soft hair trailing downward. I know where it leads. Unbuckling his belt, I make no secret of what I want.

  The moment I flick open his button and lower his zipper, he suckles my bottom lip, eliciting delicious memories of working that devious mouth all over my body. Now, it’s my turn to call the shots. I work my hand into his jeans, groaning when I grasp his hot, hard length. He bucks his hips when I begin to move up and down.

  “Princess…” he breathlessly gasps, encouraging me to increase the rhythm.

  His size is impressive—it’s reduced me to tears many a times—but I don’t allow that to deter me as I break our kiss. He watches me with wide eyes, unsure what I want. I make my intentions clear when I shift, swapping positions so his back is now against the door.

  Peering at him, I lower his jeans, and his cock springs to life. He radiates pure masculinity, and I want all of him. With his sweetness on my lips, I drop to my knees and take a moment to appreciate the sight before me.

  He’s fucking beautiful.

  Without hesitation, I take him into my mouth. A guttural moan leaves him, and the sound only spurs me on. Placing my hands on his upper thighs, I wrap my lips around his shaft and sample him in one deep stroke. He hits the back of my throat, and I’m not even halfway down.

  Using my hand and mouth, I work them in unison, sucking and stroking, unable to get enough of feeling this full. He sweeps my hair to one side, curling it around his fist as raw echoes saturate the air. He is watching me, and it turns me on.

  My arousal is sticky between my legs, but this is about London and pleasing him just as he has done for me countless times before. I tongue the underside of his cock, then take him in as deep as I can go.

  I almost gag, and he hisses before gently coaxing me to let him go. “Your turn,” he says, but I’m not done. I nudge his hand away with my cheek, going in for the kill. “Fuck, Princess.” He gasps, arching into my touch.

  If possible, he seems to grow longer, harder, and when I taste a salty sweetness on my tongue, I pull back and lap at the source. Tears sting my eyes when I sink back down and work his length madly.

  His passion for me wins out in the end as he lets go and begins to pump his hips. I take everything he gives, my core swollen and engorged for him. He gently guides me, using my hair as reins to ensure he doesn’t go too deep. I am lathered in his scent, his taste, and I am drunk on the feeling. His low moans intensify, as do his movements.

  Seeing London come undone is a beautiful thing. The sight adds to my arousal, and I reach between my legs to ease the ache before I explode. I suck down hard and slide him in and out of my mouth, the action only adding to the fire in my sex.

  London seems to only just realize I’m pleasuring myself. “Holy fuck. Are you touching yourself?” I moan in response.

  When he tenses, I know he’s close, so I take him all the way in by relaxing my throat. A low moan escapes him as he thumps his fist against the door. He wants to come, but he’s holding back. When he pops free from my mouth, I know why.

  “When I come, it’s going to be inside you, Princess.” I don’t have time to argue because he yanks me up and spins me around so my chest is pressed to the door.

  He tugs up the hem of my dress, exposing my ass. He runs his thumb under the string of my lace thong, coming to a stop at my sex. I’m so fucking wet, he slips two fingers in with ease. I’m primed and want him inside.

  When I wiggle my ass, a dangerous hum leaves him. “Don’t tempt me.” My cheeks blister, but my modesty takes a back seat when he rips my thong clean off. At this rate, I won’t have any underwear left. But who needs underwear when he deftly slips into me like a thief in the night.

  We both cry out as I place my arms above me and arch backward onto his cock. He grips my hips and sinks deeper and smoothly into me. The angle hits me in the most perfect way, and I bow my back to deepen the penetration.

  He moves my hips, bouncing me on his shaft as my greedy sex closes in around him, wanting so much more. We are untamed, losing ourselves to the other as he pumps into me, and I take everything he gives.

  He slams me onto his cock while I cry out his name. Our fingers entwine as he places his hand over mine. “I love you,” he groans, driving into me with a force so great, I’m seconds away from losing control. And he knows it.

  It’s a good thing no one can see into my office because his savage strokes have the room rattling. The door clatters from the force, and even though anyone walking past will be privy to what’s going on inside, I don’t care.

  When he reaches around and thumbs over my clit, I don’t stand a chance. My orgasm tackles me from behind, and I come with a long, well-sated moan.

  “Fucking beautiful,” he growls. After two quick pumps, he attempts to pull out, but I clench my muscles. I want all of him. Now and forever.

  He doesn’t stand a chance.

  His hoarse cries are music to my ears, and I relish in the feel of being connected in this most primitive way. He kisses the back of my neck, and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

  “I love you,” I pant, my heart racing wildly.

  When I feel hi
m stir within me moments later, I decide my meeting with Mr. Harris will have to wait.

  As it turns out, I was forty-five minutes late to my meeting. I should feel bad, but I don’t. How can I when I spent the afternoon naked with the man I love.

  Once we both were well sated, London told me he had booked a hotel room downtown for the week. Before I had a chance to ask about Emily, he told me she was here with him. Apparently, she had a pen pal, Sally, who lived in Jersey. They met last year and became instant BFFs.

  London had met Sally’s family when they visited LA, and they’d hit it off. When he mentioned to Emily he was coming to New York, she begged to come too. I’m not sure what Belle thought about him taking her daughter away for the week because it wasn’t my place to ask.

  Emily was with Sally’s family for the day, but tonight, we’re meeting for dinner. Just us three. My first one on one. To say I’m nervous is an understatement.

  I had no idea what to wear as I felt like I was getting ready for a job interview. I suppose in some ways, I am. Undoubtedly, Emily will be sizing me up because from the few minutes I spent with her, it was clear she was a clever little girl.

  I’m touched London wants me to meet his daughter because I know it’s a big deal. I’m not expecting him to announce that I’m his girlfriend, but the fact he feels comfortable enough to introduce me into his family just has me loving him all the more.

  London left the dinner reservations to me, so I decided on Italian. They’ve been awarded the title of New York’s best pizzeria, so I figure kids and pizza have to be a winning combination.

  Fastening my small diamond earring, I peer at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I’ve opted for blue skinny jeans and a black silk camisole with lace trim. Thankfully, during my snatch and grab, I managed to pack some decent outfits.

  My black heels are Gucci, and although I feel ridiculous wearing stilettos to a pizza restaurant, they are all I have that go with this ensemble.

  My long hair curls naturally around my face, which I’ve covered with enough makeup to hide my bruising. Reaching for the lip gloss wand, I toss it and some perfume into my bag. It’s now or never.