No Simple Sacrifice

by Angel Payne

  I pressed both hands to my stomach as it roiled in instant conflict.

  Titus to the rescue.

  The wonder turtle popped his head out, his sage expression communicating two messages.

  Buck up, Mom.

  And… I’m hungry, bitch.

  I giggled and got up to attend my wrinkled little dude—reminding myself his tank needed to be cleaned before I took off for Chicago. Two more days and I’d be with my men again.

  My men.

  I sighed at the beautiful resonance of it in my head. Titus looked up as if to roll his eyes at me, but I glared back at him. “Don’t give me that. You like them, I know you do.” Another long sigh. “You think they miss me as much as I miss them?”

  They said they did. Constantly. But I still had trouble wrapping my head around the fact that they were even in love with me.

  Me.

  Why?

  To be trite, I was the polar opposite of their type. All too easily, I pulled up a memory of my up-front-and-close encounter with a creature who had been. We’d been in Vegas for Cosmetics Con and the woman had all but mounted both the guys in the Nyte’s lobby. I’d nicknamed her Janelle the Gazelle—only half-kidding about it. With legs to her neck and blonde tresses to her curvy ass, she’d been the primped makeup-coated kind of thing they usually—translation, always—went for. I was the opposite of those women on every front. Short. Bony. From the land of ice and vodka, not the world of Barbies and beaches. What the hell did they even see in me, really? Maybe they were just scratching an itch. A mousy, altogether average itch.

  Do you trust us, Talia?

  Their demand resounded in my head as Titus bobbed up his own. Well? Do you?

  I used Drake’s words to answer him out loud, “I don’t have any choice, dude.”

  Just as when Drake had uttered them, the words knelled with truth. I had no choice…because without them, I had no heart. They’d captured it completely and held its future in their huge, powerful hands. I could barely wait to be reunited with the thing. To have them hand it back to me, whole and happy beneath their kisses once more.

  The next two days were going to be sheer hell.

  * * * *

  Unbelievably, I’d survived. And finally cleared the security checkpoint at Lindbergh Field. In so many ways, this was where it had all started with them. Fletcher had greeted me at this exact spot, whisking my luggage away, calling me Tolly for the first time…unveiling his wicked prowess at flirtation before leading the way to the private jet that would take us to Vegas—and the weekend that had changed our lives.

  Just like then, a butterfly bonanza romped through my gut. As unsteady as it felt, part of me hoped the feeling would never go away. It was so exciting and amazing, and even a little anxiety-inducing, to be thinking of seeing them again—though the last two days had also been frustrating. Drake had gone to radio silence, which was weird even for his taciturn ways. He’d been odd the last time we’d actually talked, then hadn’t reached out since, except for the usual good-morning and good-night messages—texts instead of voice calls. Fletcher hadn’t provided much insight, explaining Drake was wrapping a huge business deal and wanted to get in the hours on it before I arrived. It made sense and I flogged myself for being so petty about his pride in his work, but I couldn’t ignore my heart’s little bruise. I wished he’d found even a minute to check in here and there.

  Yuck. When had I gotten this needy?

  When you decided to fall completely in love for the first time in your life?

  My head knew it already—the rest of me was having trouble catching up. The enormity of it scared me. But how many times had the guys—both of them—admitted to the exact same thing? I had to be more confident in their feelings. To not be so insecure. For men like those two, even as smitten as they claimed to be, it had to be an awful turn off.

  I followed the walkway onto the tarmac. The newest—and smallest—of the three SGC jets sat with its door open, the small staircase welcoming me on board. This was a six passenger Learjet and I was terrified to fly in it, though no way had I shared that with the guys when they’d messaged about having arranged my flight. As usual, they’d gone out of their way to take care of me. I didn’t want to come off as ungrateful.

  The steward took my rolling bag, as well as the garment bag that encased my gown, and stowed them away in a small closet.

  Besides a tiny patch of turbulence over Nebraska, the flight was smooth—thank God. The little plane skipped to a halt on the runway at Midway then taxied to the private terminal. From its little window, I saw a town car already waiting. Were the guys inside? I touched fingers to the glass, reaching for them—

  And gasped at a surprise of a different sort.

  Damn. I’d forgotten how cold it could get here. Or had Southern California made me soft? If that was the case, then bring on the soft, thank you very much.

  I yanked my jacket collar up around my ears before stepping out of the plane—and instantly rattling off some profanities. I didn’t miss these Chicago winters one bit.

  Everything warmed, in all the best ways, when a figure emerged from the car and bounded toward the stairway. Fletcher—tall, proud and devastatingly handsome. He was breathtaking in his black pea coat, with its collar popped tall in the back and fallen carelessly in the front. His thick hair blew across his forehead before he could slick it back, reminding me that even his hands were perfect. Long fingers, smooth skin, beautifully groomed nails.

  The steward cleared his throat from where he stood behind me, crouched in the doorway of the plane. “Sorry,” I mumbled, too frozen to add a laugh—by the weather and my impossibly gorgeous boyfriend.

  That’s my boyfriend.

  Hell yes.

  But where was the other one? My mood fell when I searched the car, lit from inside by the ajar back door. Drake wasn’t inside.

  I was still two steps from the ground when Fletcher hauled me against him, clutching me close, whirling me around. Only after he’d ravaged my mouth for at least a minute did he set me down and finally whisper in my ear, “Hey, you.” I trembled from the sexy husk of it, allowing shivers to race up and down my spine. “I missed you so much. God, you don’t even know.”

  “I think I have an idea.” I leaned back to take in his beautiful blue eyes. Lake Michigan lent them its color this evening—dark blue, almost navy in the moonlight. As always, our uncanny telepathy started right up, evidenced by his dead-on interpretation of the questioning furrow between my eyes.

  “Drake got held up at the office, baby. He’ll come straight home to the apartment as soon as he can.”

  I dealt with the disappointment by mashing my lips to his again. I didn’t want to be sad. Enjoying this man would be my medicine.

  Fletcher hummed and deepened the kiss, clearly happy to see me. “My fucking God,” he finally grated when we pulled apart, “you are more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

  Though his hands framed my face, I tilted my head a little. “Guess that’s what being in love does to a girl.”

  He flashed his best sinful grin. “I like that answer.”

  “Good! Now can we get into the car before I catch pneumonia? And why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

  He snickered. “Because it’s not that cold.”

  “Shut up.” I whacked his shoulder in response to his deeper laugh. “I don’t know how you live in this weather.”

  “Well, it’s not always like this. Also, you need a heavier coat than this.” He scowled at my lace-trimmed, mid-thigh coat, which had been a mid-summer steal at one of the trendy UTC boutiques. “Maybe we can hit Michigan Avenue tomorrow and find you one. Do you have something to wear with your gown?”

  We hustled to the waiting limousine and slid into the back seat. “Shoot,” I said, after groaning in ecstasy from the heated leather beneath my icicle of a butt. “I hadn’t even thought of that. I’m so used to California weather. Even when you go out at night, it’s a quick jaunt from
the car to wherever, so no one ever worries about a coat. Ugh. I’m going to freeze.”

  “No way.” He rubbed my hands briskly between his. How the heck has the man been out in such a muckfest, only to be a human furnace now? “Not on my watch, girlie.”

  His touch was perfection no matter what, but the heat certainly helped his cause. “Talk like that will get you everywhere.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ve got it taken care of, even if I have to call my mother to borrow something. She has a closet most women would commit murder for.” His smile quirked sideways. “What?” he probed in response to my stare, narrowed in new curiosity.

  I answered honestly. “I think that’s only the second time I’ve ever heard you talk about your family.” His shrug only emphasized my point. “Do you have a strained relationship?” When his mouth thinned, I almost apologized for the pry—but we were lovers now, in more than one sense of the word. I needed to know him better.

  “No.” His reply wasn’t icy—but it didn’t gush warmth, either. “Not strained.”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s more like…dysfunctional.”

  I turned to better face him, keeping our hands intertwined. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, my father is a workaholic asshole and my mother is a society snob. My sister is the spitting image of my mother…which makes me basically the black sheep.”

  “Why would you say that?” I stroked his back while he leaned forward to grab a water from the bar, gratefully accepting when he held one up for me. Flying always made me dehydrated. My skin wouldn’t be the same until I landed back in San Diego.

  “How was your flight? I was worried you’d freak when you saw the small jet, but it was all we could secure. Kil, Claire, Michael and Margaux flew out two days ago for the event and to visit the Stones at Keystone. The finishing touches have been put on the new mansion and they’re celebrating. I heard even Lance and his partner may be in town.”

  “Who’s Lance?”

  “Killian’s brother. He lives in Arizona, with his partner.”

  “Oh.” I drew the word out a little, locking puzzle pieces into place. “Wait. I thought his brother was a criminal.”

  “That’s Trey.”

  “Right.” I nodded. “Trey. Who’s still hiding outside the country, right?”

  “Right.” His tawny brows furrowed. “I thought you knew all this. Weren’t you working for Andrea Asher’s company when the shit with Trey and that senator’s daughter went down?”

  “I was.” I sipped my water, using the excuse to glance down. “But I wasn’t part of the team assigned to SGC.”

  “Why not?” His frown deepened. “You’re sharp as a whip. You would’ve been good for that team.”

  “I was wrapping up with another client at the time.” The silent addendum to it kept my gaze averted. Wrapping up with another client—and taking some personal time to fully evacuate Gavin from my life for good. And to let the bruises heal…

  “Well,” Fletcher snorted, “you dodged a proverbial bullet.” He shook his head, and his damp hair tumbled again over his forehead. “Trey Stone. Fuck. Talk about black sheep.”

  I let a soft smile bloom. “And talk about effectively changing the subject.”

  He exhaled slowly. “You caught that, huh?” When I tapped my nose, giving him a sly wink, he laughed. “Okay, so you’re really smart as a whip.” His gaze thickened as he swiveled in, caging me against the leather cushion. “And beautiful as a goddess. How the hell did I get so lucky?”

  “You’re pretty amazing yourself, Mr. Ford.”

  He tossed aside his water, twisting to press closer to me, bracing a hand on both sides of my head. Some of the chill from outside had turned into crystal droplets on his stubble, making the heat of his body an utterly erotic contrast. “Hmmm. ‘Mr. Ford.’ A hundred people call me that every day, Miss Perizkova…and none of them do these amazing things to my cock.”

  The new cadence of his voice, soft yet intense as the wind outside the windows, swirled its way right down to the network of nerves between my thighs. “Is that so?”

  “That’s so.” A growl edged it now. “Do it again.”

  I dug a hand into his thick hair, pulling his head closer. “Yes, Mr. Ford.”

  He dipped in swiftly, capturing my lips twice as fiercely as before, demanding full access with the forceful thrust of his tongue. We kissed and whispered in a tight huddle as the car wound through traffic, deeper into the city, until stopping before a soaring building in the Gold Coast neighborhood.

  “Nice part of town, Mr. Ford.”

  “Says the California girl.” There was a question in his eyes.

  “I lived here the first part of my life, you know.”

  The question changed to amazement. “I don’t think I did.”

  “Well, not downtown here,” I clarified. “But in the suburbs. Arlington Heights.”

  “I’ll bet you were really adorable in your winter clothes then.”

  I playfully batted him before continuing. “We moved to California when I finished eighth grade. My father got transferred to the west coast, so we settled in San Diego.”

  After unfolding his lanky frame from the car, he gracefully helped me out. A bit of the sun had risen over those Lake Michigan depths. “I’m learning more and more about you every day.”

  “Scared yet?” I quipped.

  “Never.” We walked into a lobby, which was painted in a bright, trendy blue and stopped short of being garish by dark wood accents and clean, modern lighting. A uniformed man at the desk gave Fletcher a polite smile. Fletch was too absorbed in me to do more than nod in response. “Intrigued, though. Didn’t you actually live at Killian’s old condo at one point, too?”

  “I did. But for just a few months. I moved back here after Gavin and I broke up. I needed a clean start and Andrea was thinking of starting a Chicago office so sent me to handle preliminary recon. Killian was more than generous about letting me slum it at his place.” We laughed together. Killian’s old place was one of the swankiest penthouses in the city, overlooking Lincoln Park and the lake, near the zoo. “Truthfully, I don’t know what I would’ve done without Killian’s assistance. The rent he charged me probably covered the square footage on the entryway.”

  “He’s one of the golden ones.” Fletch said it with surety as we entered the elevator.

  “So are you.” I curled a hand into his, meaning every syllable.

  He shrugged off the words, instantly refocusing on me. “So how did you end up back in California? Family pressure? The fallout from the scandal with Andrea?”

  “Thank God, no.” I meant every word of that too. Anyone close to Margaux Asher—who was, in reality, Mary Stone—knew what had gone down with her ‘mother,’ and the embezzlement she’d perpetrated with the help of Killian’s scumbag brother, Trey. Once their plan had been uncovered, they’d skipped the country. “I was out of Asher and Associates before the hammer dropped,” I explained, “thanks to SGC Cosmetics. Claire suggested me for the project, but it meant moving back. Since my family is all there, and I was done licking my wounds—not to mention dreading a winter in the Windy City—I went back home.”

  His hopeful face fell a bit. “So, you do consider San Diego home?

  It was my turn to shrug. “Well, I guess. Up until now.” I tilted my head, considering the question more deeply. “Now, I think home is wherever my heart is.” I gave him a little smile, hoping he read me as well as he always did—and would know I wasn’t opposed to the idea of moving wherever they were. It wouldn’t be fair to expect them to make all the sacrifices so we could be together.

  The elevator climbed higher while we were talking, and I appreciated the distraction. My fear of heights was better suited for places like Southern California, where few buildings were over twenty stories due to earthquakes. I didn’t even know what floor we finally disembarked at, and it was probably better that way. The night sky beyond the palatial w
indows was black, likely denoting a storm blowing in over the lake. I couldn’t see one foot in front of me until Fletcher flipped on the lights. The security alarmed beeped until he punched in his code, silencing the air completely.

  “Make yourself at home while I put your bags in the bedroom. There’s wine in the fridge, as well as a few beers and water. Other than that, I wouldn’t actually open anything you don’t recognize. It could be a biohazard. We wanted to get everything cleaned up before you came, but we’ve both been so crazy at work.”

  I watched his perfect ass disappear down a dark hallway until he turned into one of the rooms. After setting my purse on a gorgeous dark wood island, I moved into the living room and sank onto the chic leather sofa.

  Their apartment was beautiful, and everything I’d expected. Urban and masculine, featuring modern accents mixed with trendy but tasteful décor. Definitely a professional job that screamed ‘bachelor pad’ in the most cliché but classy way possible, complete with an exposed brick accent wall adorned by a sort of reclaimed metal sculpture hanging in the middle.

  Suddenly, I was washed in insecurity. While this place had an intimate vibe, it still made my UTC apartment look like a dollhouse. And every accessory in sight, from the Starship Enterprise electronics center to the high-end booze behind the bar, shrieked that several income brackets definitely separated me from these guys.

  Was I out of my league with these two?

  Of course, if I had a penny for every time I’d thought that, I’d be a very rich girl.

  Before taking off my jacket and flipping it over the back of the sofa, I pulled my phone out of the pocket. After unlocking it, I frowned. Quiet. Strangely so. Not a single voicemail or missed text. Who was I kidding? There could’ve been a hundred of each but my stomach would still be twinging if none of them were from Drake.

  I actually shook the thing, as if it were a glow stick and could be magically activated. Nothing came to life except a vision of him in my head, dark and beautiful and perfect. “What’s going on?” I whispered to the image…battling not to answer the plea with my own stupid doom and gloom.