Chapter 19 – Lance
19
brEATHE YOU IN
LANCE
He was here. I could kill him once and for all. Get it over with
You do that and it’s war. Morgan will never be safe.
I had a choice to make: confront my brother in full view of witnesses or go inside with Morgan. My hands shook with barely controlled rage, memories of Hector's past violence flooding back. The weight of my gun pressed against my hip – a constant reminder of the life I'd tried to leave behind. I'd thought it was odd when Morgan sent me her location. Now I knew why. There he was, sitting in his car like he belonged there. Like he hadn't destroyed everything he'd ever touched.
I took a step toward the car, but Morgan’s hand on my arm stopped me.
She’s the priority.
Hector grinned at me from his car like a maniacal idiot. He’d wanted to make a point. He was taunting me.
Sabotage was the name of the game.
Besides, there were rules. No violence in the open. Afterall, we weren’t animals. When they struck, it would be from the shadows.
I’d deal with him in due time, after I dealt with Morgan.
"Lance, what's going on?"
Her voice cut through my spiral of dark thoughts. I jabbed the elevator button harder than necessary, grateful for the brief reprieve these moments would give me to compose myself. Third floor. I could have taken the stairs, but I needed these precious seconds to lock down the killer instincts screaming at me to act.
"You're asking me what's going on?" My voice came out rougher than intended. "What are you doing with him?"
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Morgan just stood there, confusion written across her features. "What do you mean, what am I doing with him? My mentor?"
The word hit me like a physical blow. Mentor . My brother had wormed his way into her life so completely, so efficiently. Everything I'd done to keep her safe – pushing her away, maintaining my distance, crafting this careful facade of normalcy – had been for nothing.
So much for distance, you moved her in with you.
Oh and you fell for her.
Let’s not forget, refused to let her go.
Fuck. I had been so desperate to keep her close, I hadn’t been paying enough attention. No one would be able to protect her better, but I’d miscalculated.
The familiar cold calculation that had kept me alive in my former life warred with the desperate need to protect her, to keep her innocent of the darkness that followed my family name.
I stared for so long that the elevator doors closed again. Each heartbeat felt like thunder in my chest. When they reopened, I forced myself to step inside, hyper-aware of Morgan following me. The small space filled with the scent of her perfume, making it harder to think clearly.
"Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?" she demanded. "Because you're acting like an overgrown ape right now. He is my mentor. Sure, he was acting a bit strange tonight, but now you're acting stranger."
"Your mentor?" The word tasted bitter. "Just what is he mentoring you on?"
Images of Hector's past "mentorships" flashed through my mind – all ending in betrayal and blood.
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you jealous?"
I almost laughed at the simplicity of that assumption. If only it were that straightforward. If only the worst thing she had to fear was romantic rivalry rather than becoming collateral damage in a vendetta I'd spent years trying to escape.
"Jealous? You think this is about jealousy?" My hands clenched at my sides, the old instinct to reach for a weapon warring with the person I'd been trying to become. For her. Always for her.
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Then why?—”
"Did he hurt you?" The question came out sharper than intended, laced with all the violence I barely contained.
She turned to stare at me, frustration evident in every line of her body. "You're giving me whiplash. First you're mad at me, then you're worried?"
"I'm not mad!" The words exploded out of me. "Jesus Christ, Morgan, I am worried. I am scared. I am concerned." The admission cost me something – the carefully maintained control I'd built my new life upon starting to crack.
She blinked at me slowly. "What?"
I waved a finger before my face, trying to make her understand without revealing too much. "This, right here, this is my worried face." This was my 'I've seen what he can do' face. My 'I can't lose you too' face.
She planted her hands on her hips. "Why are you worried?"
"Why?" The question hung between us, heavy with all the things I couldn't tell her. "You texted me your location like you were in trouble."
"You're always telling me that you worry, so I texted!"
"Of course, I'm already worried. And then when you finally turn up at home safe and sound, you're with—" I cut myself off, the words 'my murderous brother' dying in my throat. "Some dangerous-looking asshole."
The elevator dinged, bringing us to the third floor, and she marched ahead of me in mutinous silence. Each step she took away from me felt like physical pain, knowing that Hector was already too close and had already found a way to insert himself into her world.
"What? Now you don't have anything to say?" The words came out harsh, masking the fear churning in my gut.
She whipped around to face me. "For the last time, Hector is my mentor . Remember the Beekman Design Program? We get paired with CEOs and businessmen for mentorships. Hector DuLac owns a venture capital company. He's mentoring me on how to start my own design business. He. Is. My. Mentor. That's it."
Each word was like a knife. He'd infiltrated her life so perfectly, so completely. To get to me. Always to get to me. And I'd led him right to her by letting myself get close again.
"Is that why you dropped a pin? Because you trust your mentor so much?" The question came out darker than intended, colored by years of watching Hector destroy everything he touched.
"Stop yelling at me."
Morgan was right. She had done nothing wrong. How long had he known about her? I'd been back from London for a month, and she'd only been here a couple of weeks. In that time he'd already planted himself as her mentor? Unless he knew who she was that night. Or was watching the penthouse? In either case, I hadn't kept her safe at all. My mind churned with the scenarios and possibilities, each one worse than the last. Could I mitigate this? Find a way to keep her safe without revealing the blood-soaked history between my brother and me?
You pulled her closer and now look what's happened . The voice in my head sounded suspiciously like Hector's.
She whipped around again. "The possessive baboon act is getting old. You can feel free to fuck right off."
The curse from her lips shouldn't have affected me the way it did. Shouldn't have made heat pool in my stomach even as dread clawed at my chest. "Morgan, we are not done yet." Not by a long shot.
"I don't really have anything to say to you." She jabbed a finger on my chest, and even that small contact sent electricity through my body. "You, jackass, need to learn to communicate. Until you can do that, we're not talking."
The irony of her words wasn't lost on me. Communication. If only she knew what I was protecting her from.
"That's enough, Morgan," I ground out. "Stop poking at me. You want to communicate? How about the fact that you're pretending the other night didn't happen? The fact that you woke up and begged me to fuck you, then promptly fell asleep after I made you come. You're certainly not communicating about that."
Her eyes went wide with horror, but I couldn't stop myself. Every suppressed feeling, every moment of wanting her while knowing I should stay away came rushing out.
"You want me to stop poking at you? What do you think you've been doing to me since that night? Taunting me, teasing me, after what you did? And now you get bent out of shape because someone brought me home? Screw you."
I glowered down at her. She was breathing hard, causing her chest to rise and fall. Her lips were parted and moist, her tongue peeking out to lick the bottom one. The same lips I'd been dreaming about for weeks. Years, if I was honest with myself. And then she tilted her head up to directly meet my gaze, and something inside me snapped. Or maybe it clicked in. The careful walls I'd built between my past and present life crumbled in the face of this woman who had no idea the danger she was in – or what she did to me.
I pulled her close to me and slammed my mouth over hers, and the moment our lips touched, it was like a napalm had gone off in my living room. Morgan’s hands were in my shirt, pulling me closer. My hands were in her hair, holding her face still so I could get the best angles as I kissed her.
Hell, that wasn’t even a kiss.
We were a clash of tongues and teeth, roaming hands, and groaning. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the ripping of fabric, and Morgan gasped, pulling her lips from mine.
“Shit,” she breathed.
I stared down at the two of us and then exhaled sharply. “You tore my shirt.”
“I thought it was mine. I’ve spent days hand-stitching this.”
“Lucky it’s mine then.” I fisted my hands gently in her braids. “I’m tired of fighting. Tell me you want this, Morgan.”
She licked her bottom lip and gave me a sharp, jerky nod.
That was all I needed.
“Put your hands up.”
Her smile was charming. “What?”
“Put your hands up. You’ve spent days sewing this. I don’t want to rip it. And right now, I have a little control left, but not much.”
She frowned down at her asymmetrical black top that looked like it had been molded to her curves.
“I’m not wearing a bra under this.”
I grinned down at her. “Even better.”
She laughed and did as I told her while I gently peeled the top over her head. I could see the stitching she meant. It was beautiful work. I’d admire the quality later, but once I cleared her head and arms, I gently laid the top on the back of the couch and turned to face her.
My body turned to stone once I saw her.
Fucking hell. She was perfect. Light brown skin with just one scar—the one I’d accidentally given her three years ago. I knew exactly where that one was, on the back of her shoulder.
My gaze dipped to her breasts, and I stared—high and full. Almost too much for a handful. But, goddamn, I was going to make it work.
She shifted on her feet. When I lifted my gaze to meet hers, she grinned. “My eyes are up here.”
I chuckled. “What can I say? I’ve spent a significant amount of time fantasizing about your tits.”
I reached for her again, sliding my hands into her hair and kissing her softly this time, coaxing her. Fuck, she tasted good.
I wanted her. I had been craving her. For so long, I didn’t even understand when that feeling had fully started. The wedding was when it all locked in, but fuck, I think I’d wanted her before that. That itchy, clawing need to be near her. Antagonizing her was just part of that underlying sexual tension.
But after the last time, I needed to get this right. I pulled back from our kiss, her little whimper in the back of her throat making me want to smile.
“You are sure, Morgan?”
She searched my face, biting her lip slightly. “You don’t want to?”
I tucked her closer to me, gently fisting her hair. I made sure she could feel the press of my erection.
She looked down between us, the tip of my cock desperately trying to escape my pants.
I laughed. “Is that a joke? Of course I want to. But I want to make sure you’re sure.”
She lifted her chin and nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
When I kissed her again, I alternated between desperate and ravenous. I carried her into the bedroom, my hand already molding over one of her breasts—squeezing gently, teasing the nipple, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger before tugging on it.
In my arms, she squirmed. I set her down on the edge of the bed before growling out, “Now, turn over.”