3
Crewe
“What happened here?” Sasha sat on my lap with her legs straddled over my hips. Her huge tits were in my face, and her petite waist was perfect to grab on to. Her hand snaked up my chest to the scar over my pec. Thin black lines stretched over my pec from where the surgeons cut me open then put me back together.
“I got shot.”
“Ooh…” Her fingers moved gently across the wound. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Not a big deal. Just a battle scar.”
“And quite the conversation piece.” She spoke perfect English but had a heavy French accent. I liked listening to it when we were in bed together.
Meaningless sex with women acted as a great distraction. I didn’t think about the woman who caused more damage than the bullet that nearly pierced my heart. And when I was pretty much drunk all the time, that helped too. Not to mention the painkillers I was still on. “Yeah, I suppose.”
Someone knocked on my door even though it was almost nine o’ clock. “Sir?” Dimitri’s voice carried into the bedroom. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s urgent.”
I had a naked woman on my lap. Nothing was that urgent. “It can wait until tomorrow.”
Dimitri’s feet didn’t fade away as if he walked off. His mouth was right by the door. “It’s Lady London. She’s here. Do you still want me to send her away?”
My entire body froze when I heard what he said. At first, I thought I imagined the entire thing, but my fingertips pressed into Sasha’s hips, reminding me that this wasn’t a dream. This was really happening. “London?”
“She’s outside, sir,” Dimitri said. “What are your orders?”
Sasha looked down at me. “Who’s London?”
I ignored what she said. She wasn’t even there. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.” I rolled Sasha off me and grabbed my boxers and jeans from where they lay on the floor. I yanked them on and picked a random t-shirt from my closet.
Sasha sat up in bed and pulled the covers to her chest. “Who’s London?” she repeated.
I straightened my hair with my fingers as best as I could before I headed to the door. “I don’t have time right now. I’ll be back soon.” I knew London wasn’t going anywhere, but my heart just spiked with adrenaline. I never expected to see her again, never hear from her again. But she was standing outside my door in the middle of the night.
What did she want?
The last time I saw her was when we got into the Jeep. After that, everything turned blurry.
When I thought about what she did to me, the anger emerged. I shouldn’t even go downstairs to see her. I should slam the door in her face and demand my men to drag her off the property by her hair.
But that didn’t slow me down.
I walked down the stairs, feeling my pulse pound in my ears like a pair of drums. My hands automatically formed fists, and my knuckles turned white. No matter how much anger burned under the surface, it didn’t stop me from wanting to cross that threshold.
Stop me from wanting to see her.
I reached the front door and stared at the dark wood. Only a few feet separated us, separated me from the woman I once loved. She played me for a fool, manipulated me exactly the way Ariel warned. She humiliated me in a way Josephine never did.
And to think I actually loved her.
I took a deep breath and willed the anger to leave my body. I wanted to wear a stoic expression, an expression of nothingness when I looked at her. I didn’t want her to understand how much she hurt me.
But I doubted that would last long.
I opened the door and stepped out into the night, taking the long stone steps to the driveway. I saw her outline in the darkness, her body wrapped in a black jacket. Her breath escaped like vapor because the October nights here were far colder than the ones in New York.
Her face finally came into view from the outdoor lights. Her brown hair was exactly as I remembered, slightly wavy from the damp air. She wore dark jeans with black boots, looking slender in the curve-fitting outfit.
I stood in front of her and looked at her head-on, doing my best to appear as indifferent as possible. It was cold outside, especially in just my t-shirt, but I refused to invite her inside my home—not when she was my enemy.
She met my look with those green eyes I used to love. Sympathy and pain were written in them, remorse for what she’d done. I didn’t need to hear her apology to know it was sitting on the tip of her tongue.
I waited for her to speak first since I had nothing productive to say. The only thing that came to mind were cold insults that wouldn’t further the conversation. Any shred of chivalry I had was long dead.