Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) (38 page)

After a long, sleepless night while she stood watch over her passed out and snoring husband, Meghan finally crawled into bed once she was satisfied that he wasn’t going to stop breathing or choke to death on vomit. Exhausted and wrung out, she’d sent Angie a rambling email, composed entirely on her phone, suggesting several ways to re-think their New York to Boston itinerary. There was quite a bit of damage control she needed to do before things were set right.

At some point she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, Alex stirred at her side. With a pained groan, she heard him struggle to sit up and fought the urge to jump up and lend a hand. He wouldn’t want her help. Not at the moment. She could hear the rawness in his voice and knew they weren’t out of the woods yet. Squeezing her eyes shut, she feigned sleep but remained on high alert, listening to every sound he made.

She heard him grunt with effort as he stood next to the bed, fumbling with his clothes. When his pants hit the carpet with a thud from the heavy belt buckle he wore, she peeked and saw that he was stripping down to nothing but skin. When he started toward the en suite, she quickly shut her eyes again. Watching him limp and lurch felt like a giant, damning finger pointing directly at her.

The shower turned on, and she heard a few grumbled swears and then quiet. In this case, it wasn’t music but water soothing the angry beast. Relieved that he was all right, she started mapping out a plan to make things right when sleep got the better of her. Next thing she knew, it was ten o’clock, and she was alone in the big bed with no sign of Alex. Only his discarded clothes in a pile on the floor and the indentation in the pillow on his side of the bed offered any indication that he’d been in the room.

Oh, shit. Hastily throwing back the covers, Meghan dashed into the bathroom and set about getting dressed. There was important stuff to do, and the sooner she got to it, the better.

It was no real surprise to find Draegyn at the kitchen table, sipping a coffee and helping himself to an enormous pile of Ria’s handmade breakfast biscuits. He looked up when she approached and gave her a thorough once-over.

Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, she filled it with hot coffee and joined him. Caffeine first. Alex second.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Studio,” was his one-word reply.

Taking a careful first sip of the blisteringly hot beverage, she grimaced and quickly added a half-pound of sugar to the bitter brew. “How do you drink this awful stuff?”

Drae snorted. “Puts hair on your chest.”

They drank in silence, and she even managed to choke down a biscuit. Meghan wasn’t hungry, but instinct told her she’d need her strength to get through the upcoming confrontation.

Finally, when she was sure about her plans, she looked at Drae. “Is the door locked?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Even if it was, I can override the controls.”

She almost laughed. “Then why’d you even give him a key?”

“Why?” he barked with amusement. “Because he’s Alex Marquez and he likes to think he has control over everything.”

Word. He hit the nail on the head with that comment.

“Look,” he said with a determined glance in her direction. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do. Despite a direct command from her husband, my wife refused to tell me what the hell you’re up to, so I’m sort of forced to say nothing and let you take it from here.”

Thanks,” she muttered.

“But please tell me you’re not still thinking about getting on the plane tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah. That’s not happening, Drae. I’ve told Angie to fix things so we don’t have to leave till the middle of next week. Plenty of time to straighten him out and feed the beast.”

He laughed at her comical statement and nodded approvingly. “He’s limping like Quasimodo this morning. Spending a couple of hours in the studio kicking the fucking shit out of his drums isn’t going to help.”

“I know.” And she did. Alex existed on a knife’s edge between having a normal, active life and being half-broken by his old injuries. Not taking care of himself only made things ten times worse.

Standing, Drae pushed in his chair and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Please remember, he’s just scared. That messed-up piece of exhausting old-world bullshit passing for a dude is so raw over the prospect of being apart from you that he made a scene, got shit-faced drunk, tried to rip Parker’s nuts off, and then almost gave us all a flogging workshop. Go easy on him, Irish. In the end, he’s just a man.”

“He’s lucky to have you, Draegyn.”

“Nah. I’m the lucky one. To even be in the same room as Alex Marquez is a humbling experience. You know what I’m getting at, Meghan, and I’m counting on you to make this right. My friend needs you. Don’t fuck this up.”

As she watched him walk away, she suspected he had a hard time leaving. The Justice Brothers were a powerful unit. Trusting her to handle Alex cost Drae. She swallowed hard realizing the faith the man just displayed. In her.

A
WHILE LATER
, she was standing outside the studio with her ear pressed to the door. The room was soundproofed and she couldn’t hear much, but she did make out the steady thumping of the bass drum.

This is it
, she thought. Checking to make sure she had everything, Meghan tried the doorknob, found it unlocked, and heaved a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to knock and beg. Being able to just walk in was a much better way to go about things.

Carefully cracking the door, she took a big deep breath and peeked inside, found him sitting behind his massive drum kit, and knew it was now or never. Padding silently in bare feet after locking the door behind her, she calmly crossed the room and took a seat on the floor—directly in his line of vision. Sitting cross-legged, Meghan laid the small duffle she brought to the side. Settling hands that trembled into her lap, she kept her eyes downcast and waited. The next move was up to him. She’d know how to proceed once he declared his mindset. Until then, she’d say nothing. Her presence was enough.

While she waited, Meghan made a list in her busy mind to describe how she was feeling. All sorts of words crowded in for consideration.

Intimidated.

Frightened.

Dismayed.

She could feel the power of his presence. It was so big and so large that it extended from his body into every corner, nook, and cranny of the unusual room. Remaining still and staying put while he studied her took real effort. The flashpoints of exquisite tension firing off inside her made Meghan shudder.

As her Major continued to pound away, she found quieting the clamor in her head was no easy task. Only everything that mattered was at stake.

Slowly, it dawned on Meghan that a type of communication was swirling around them bound up in the language of the drums. Listening intently, she found the rhythm and felt her body react. Soon, her breathing followed the beats. Her heart found a harmony, and deep in the pit of her stomach, she could feel something elemental and primal come to life.

The thundering bass drum, though, the one he thumped with a foot pedal, was what brought out her wanton impulses. He was hypnotizing her through the heavy beats that emanated with his powerful life force. Right then, to satisfy the primal need he evoked, she would have done anything he demanded.

She wasn’t surprised that he left her there, head bowed and eyes averted, as he continued playing. The rhythm he set was furious and determined. Meghan got the fucking message loud and clear. And she didn’t have to look up to know he was most likely covered in sweat and all his muscles hard and pumped from the hours of physical exertion.

Her lady parts pulsed and tingled. He’d demanded she feed the beast. Okay. The thing was, what the beast wanted to devour was her. She was the feast, the human sacrifice that would appease the complicated emotions she’d unleashed. The ferocity he let loose on his drums let her know she wasn’t in for an easy time.

Without warning, he stopped. She heard the drumsticks he used, the special ones she had made just for him with the words
Thunder Cock
burned into them, smack against the metal rim of a drum.

Keep breathing. Just keep breathing.

When he stood, he made no attempt whatsoever to hide the pained grunt that told her just how hard he was pushing himself. Damn. Later on, she was going to have her hands full. Served her right for getting him all bent out of shape. Literally.

Though her gaze was downcast, she saw him step around the huge kit of drums and come toward her. He was barefoot like her and wearing the jeans that always made her giddy. She already knew he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She’d noticed that right away when peeking around the door. The Major in nothing but a pair of faded, worn denim got her heart racing.

As he slowly approached, she shifted up off the floor and moved into a graceful kneel with her butt sitting on her feet. Keeping her hands resting on her knees, she presented in the most meekly compliant way she could think of.

Remember who you are
, she silently murmured. Remember the vows you took and be the woman who spoke those words from her heart.

He moved into her personal space, typical alpha behavior, and challenged her with his physical nearness. Ah, if only he knew how terribly sexy she found his power plays.

Still without looking up, as he hadn’t yet invited her to raise her eyes, Meghan stayed on her knees but rose off her feet and wrapped her arms firmly around his waist. As she pressed her face against his stomach, her cheek connected with his warm, sweat-covered skin. Though his arms remained loose at his sides, she sensed his pleasure at her loving gesture. Relief coursed through her.

She stroked his back and held tight. Truthfully, seeing him all pumped up and sweaty got her juices flowing. Her inner teacher started up an info session with a lot of blathering about sweat and pheromones.
Whatever.
Meghan didn’t care about the biology. She just wanted to lick him from top to bottom. Only first, there were things to say.

“I’m so sorry. I was thoughtless and stupid.”

His finger touched her chin and pulled her gaze upward. Oh, thank god. She almost sagged with relief but snapped out of it and continued holding onto him tight.

Finding his expression guarded and tense, Meghan swallowed hard. This was all so damn wrong. He should never look at her like that.
Never
.

“We won’t leave tomorrow,” she whispered. “Can you forgive me?”

Watching her big man struggle to find a response was gut wrenching. She tightened her arms and poured every ounce of love and submission she could find into her expression.

Finally, he gently caressed her chin but didn’t let go. She was pretty sure this move was in the Alpha Top Ten. There was no doubt exactly who the hell was in charge.

“You scared me, Meghan,” he replied with the slightest of tremors in his voice giving her a rare emotional glimpse inside the larger-than-life legend gazing down at her.

“I know,” she quietly confessed. “And that’s what makes my thoughtless actions even worse.”

With a deep growl, he leaned close to her face. “I can’t protect you if you go away.”

The raw emotion in his voice tore her to pieces. By treading on the one thing that was his last nerve, she’d caused him to break down. What the fuck was wrong with her?

He straightened and let go of her chin, but she never looked away from his handsome face. Even with the anguish so clearly visible in his expression, he was the most gorgeous man Meghan ever laid eyes on.

“I was wrong. Your feelings are more important than wedding plans. If I have to,” she murmured gently, “I’ll find another way to handle things.”

Meghan chose her words carefully. Asking permission just wasn’t ever going to happen and he knew that. But … it fell to her to respect their roles. He should have been included in the decision to alter her leave date so the significance of acknowledging his approval was an olive branch. What she’d just said was that she had shit to do, but she’d figure it the fuck out if he objected in any way. It was a huge offering on her part.