No Simple Sacrifice Read online

  She lifted a soft smile. “I like watching you when you kiss me. I can see a million emotions running across your face.”

  “Really?” I worked her body closer, hitching at her hips, but trailing my hands no lower. It was agony on my cock, but my heart wanted to know more. “And what did you see just then?”

  “Love.”

  My heart thanked me—before swelling in my chest. “Sounds about right.” I pulled her even closer. We began swaying back and forth, like two dorky kids at the junior high mixer.

  “Honesty.” Her gaze softened as she raised her unbruised hand raised to my nape, caressing the ends of my hair.

  “Always.”

  “Fear.” The same thing snuck across her gaze, mixed with the worry of having called me on a less noble emotion. “But just a little.”

  “Yeah,” I finally murmured. “That’s probably true, too.”

  She pressed her fingers in as her lips worked against each other. “Me, too.” She let her head duck against my chest again. “Maybe more than a little.”

  “But that’s okay.” I wrapped my hands in, running them up and down her spine. “God, Talia. You’re such a brave woman. Do you know that?”

  Moving her head back and forth with the sways of an adamant denial she whispered, “I…I don’t feel brave right now. I feel so lost. Helpless.”

  “No different from how you felt when getting into this with us in the first place. It took courage then, Tolly…and it’s taking even more courage now.” I straddled my fingers against the back of her head. “You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

  “I want to believe you,” she said. “I want to feel it, too.”

  I locked my gaze with hers again. Attempted to lift a smile. “You borrow the conviction from me tonight. Tomorrow, I may need a hit from you, okay?”

  She tried the smiling thing too. Failed as miserably as I did. “Will anything make it get better?”

  “You really want me to answer that?”

  She stepped back, finding my hand with her unbruised one, and wordlessly turned for the bedroom. We both already knew the answer.

  Only one thing was going to make this any better.

  Having Drake home again.

  In the bedroom, she let me unzip her gown. The sage green satin tumbled down her magnificent curves like a vision from a sexy perfume ad, the fabric and her skin such a perfect blend of light and dark. Underneath the dress, she wore no bra, and her panties, while conservative in cut, were made of sinfully sheer fabric.

  The fantasy about taking her on the couch instantly got a new setting—and a new set of circumstances. I wanted to peel that underwear off with my teeth. At the same time, pinch her nipples into sharp points of arousal. Feel her body shake and shiver for me…then beneath me, as I sank my cock so deep…

  I stepped up behind her. Pressed close enough to kiss her shoulder, but not so near that my dick was a battering ram on her spine. As much as I wanted her, I wouldn’t take her. It still wasn’t right. It had been years, a decade almost, since I’d taken a woman to bed without Drake—but even if she were the first and only woman we’d shared, having her without him was totally wrong.

  There was a damn good chance it always would be.

  Where would we be then?

  I pushed the answer aside before it could even form all the way. Instead, I zeroed in on the stunning creature in front of me, her soft olive skin beckoning me to worship it, even with one more offering.

  “You looked so beautiful tonight, sweetheart.” I leaned over, kissing her other shoulder. “I was so proud to be there with you by my side. No matter what else happened, it’s the truth.”

  She snuck a glance over her shoulder. With her hair still up, she really seemed a goddess now, perfect and regal, needing nothing but herself for power. “Thank you,” she uttered softly. “You made me feel that way, Fletcher. Like the most beautiful princess at the party.”

  I trusted myself with another quick kiss on her lips. “Go ahead and get changed.” I read the discomfited look on her face before it was even done. Clearly, she hadn’t planned on sleeping sleeping during her stay with us. “My T-shirts are in the dresser, lower left drawer. I’m going to get you some ice for those fingers.”

  In the kitchen, I wrapped a towel around a plastic bag filled from the ice maker. I’d been in enough fights in my life to know how to care for bruised knuckles. The ice would help the pain and keep the swelling down.

  While I was still preparing the bag, Talia padded into the kitchen, hair unpinned and tousled around her shoulders—swimming in my black Ramones T-shirt. Because she was a stud that way. She scooted up behind me and wrapped her lithe arms around my waist. I set the ice pack down and turned in her embrace.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she answered back, barely audible.

  “You going to be okay?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  I tugged a finger beneath her chin. The light gleamed across her cheeks—streaked with brand-new tears.

  Rage boiled anew through my gut. Sizzled into a full-blown vow to maul that bastard best friend of mine, as soon as I saw him again. He was destroying her. Annihilating us. Because of what? Some whacked-out, misguided notion of ‘nobility for the cause’? What fucking cause?

  I managed to keep a lockdown on the rage—or so I’d thought.

  “Hey.” Her face swerved into view again. Her hands were braced to my head, taking over the look-at-me-or-else duties. “Fletcher?”

  “What?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” I cleared my throat. “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Tolly—”

  “Don’t Tolly me.” Her hands dropped, both framed to her waist. “That shit doesn’t fly on this tarmac, mister. This is me, Fletch. The woman with the cosmic connection to you, remember?”

  So much for hiding—or even pretending to. “I thought I was the only one who felt it.”

  “Seriously?” She huffed and shook her head. “Because I can just ignore how you answer questions I haven’t asked yet? Or how your head pops up when I walk into the room? Or how I feel what you’re feeling and just know it’s right?” She shrugged as if simply admitting the sky was blue, instead of the fact that we shared a bond usually only talked about in movies with shiny gold droids and bad-ass Wookiees. “I’ve never experienced this with anyone else, so I know it’s something special just between you and me. And right now, hostility exploded off you like an over-shaken soda can.” Her shoulders rolled back, almost like she bristled. “It’s making me a little nervous, if I’m being honest.”

  I was relieved when she let me reach and brace those shoulders. “Sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to scare you.” I dropped my arms and paced out into the living room. “I just want to—dammit.”

  Talia followed, but didn’t move far from the doorway. “Want to…what?”

  “Kick his ass.” I stabbed both hands through my hair. “I want to hit him, Tolly. Hard. For making you this sad. For making us both this sad. It’s not fair and I’m frustrated as hell.”

  One side of her lips lifted. I wanted to tell her that didn’t help, but it did. Any chance to focus on her berry-plump mouth…

  “You’re really good at expressing yourself. You know that?”

  I snorted. “Years on the couch, babe.”

  “That makes sense. I wish I had those tools right now. I feel so many things…and none of them feels like the right end up.”

  “You’re tired,” I offered. “Nothing’s going to get figured out until you rest a little. Until we both do.”

  We walked down the hall, back into my bedroom.

  Neither of us even looked at the door to Drake’s room. Our room.

  “Lie down,” I encouraged, “and I’ll get you all situated once I’m changed, too.”

  With a grateful sigh, Talia complied. After I changed out of my tux and into my sweats, I turned back
toward the bed—unable to hide the instant swell she prompted between my legs. With her chestnut curls spread across the pillows and her face so sweet and angelic, the woman was about the most perfect thing I’d ever seen.

  And Drake was missing it.

  Your loss, idiot bastard.

  I sat beside her on the mattress. Lifted a few strands of her silky hair off her face. “You are so beautiful.”

  “Really?” She narrowed those big brown eyes in blatant doubt. “All tear-smudged and bruised?”

  “Yes. Just the way you are. Exactly the way you are.” I swept a kiss over her forehead. “Talia Perizkova, you take my breath away.”

  We lingered in silence, connected but not whole, for just a few moments more.

  Finally, I reached to the nightstand, where I’d put down the ice pack for easy access. After wrapping it around her hand, a thought struck my exhausted brain. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

  In Drake’s closet, I easily found one of his neckties. I brought it back in and wrapped it around the towel and her hand, cinching a secure knot on the top.

  “Is this yours?” She held up the whole bundle.

  I shook my head and knew she didn’t need any more explanation. It was foolish, but the tears in her eyes told me that she got it. He was here with us, at least in a small way.

  “Thank you,” Talia whispered.

  “I would do anything for you.” I pulled the covers up to her chin then tucked the blanket in along her body. “How’s that?”

  “Snug as a bug in a rug, Mr. Ford.” She extended her good hand, squeezing mine intensely. “Thank you again.”

  I pushed to my feet. “Do you want some water? I’m going to go get a bottle.”

  “Yes, please. I’m always a little dehydrated after drinking wine.”

  “Be right back.”

  I paced back out to the kitchen. Once there, I decided to check my phone for any notifications. It was late, so there likely wasn’t anything, but Europe would be starting their work day soon and I knew a few early risers in London.

  Nothing from Europe. But an incoming text from a slightly surprising source.

  Margaux Asher.

  The soon-to-be Mrs. Michael Pearson was not only Killian’s stepsister but a good friend. She was, shockingly, one of the few smokin’ blondes on the west coast that Drake and I hadn’t banged. I was grateful for that now, since the woman was often a refreshing and honest sounding board about all things regarding her gender.

  Tonight, about one particular member of that category.

  The Chicago society gossip mill hadn’t missed a beat. The story about Talia’s scuffle with Janelle had already been funneled into the news cycle, the word zipping even faster through SGC’s internal channels. Margaux was all over the bead in full mama-tiger mode, hounding me for an update about her friend.

  I swiftly keyed in a reply.

  She’s fine. No breaks. Have iced it. She’s halfway asleep.

  Let me know if I can help.

  You know I will.

  Is Drake there, too?

  For a second, just one, I contemplated just saying it was none of her business. But that would have been a response to the old Margaux, the angling, what’s-in-it-for-me princess. She wasn’t that woman anymore. She was the friend I’d heard Talia on the phone with this afternoon, listening to Tolly’s tears about the shit Drake had pulled. She was concerned.

  No. Not sure where the fucker is hiding.

  There was a significant pause before her reply.

  Don’t give up, Fletch. He’ll figure it out.

  I hope you’re right.

  If not, what T did to that ho will be child’s play.

  I grunted—then grinned. I believed her. Margaux was fierce with a capital F. Most men wouldn’t consider taking her on. If Drake didn’t come to light soon, I’d seriously consider texting her back.

  I set down the phone—but then scooped it up again. Against every single better instinct in my system, I decided to text the bastard himself. One last kick in the gut before we both met the Sandman. Why the fuck not?

  Dick. She’s fine. I know you’ll be up all night worrying. Or maybe I just hope it. Get your shit together and come home.

  I watched my screen as it cycled through the process.

  Sent.

  Delivered.

  Read.

  I waited a minute for the reply. Another.

  Nothing.

  I threw my phone onto the counter and went to bed.

  In the bedroom, Talia was fast asleep. Still tucked in, still looking half-goddess and half-angel, her big iced-up hand on top of the covers.

  I decided to wait about fifteen minutes, then take the ice pack off so she wouldn’t have to do it in the middle of the night. In the meantime, I stretched out beside her. Leaned on an elbow while watching her chest moving peacefully. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  A serene smile adorned her lips. I wondered what she was dreaming of. Happier times, obviously. Were Drake and I even a part of those visions?

  We’d had so little time together…before it had all fallen apart. And from that, the inescapable question loomed again. Where does that leave us now?

  The answer came down to two options.

  Both sucked major ass.

  Talia and I could try to make a life together, just the two of us.

  Or,

  I could set her free and have my brother back.

  Or,

  I could cut my balls off and toss them into the middle of the Loop at rush hour.

  Same agony. Same fucking loss.

  I came up with several other alternatives, all equally gruesome and unproductive, while waiting to remove the pack from Talia’s hand. When the time came, I eased off the tie and unwrapped the towel. The ice was half melted, so I put the bag in the bathroom sink.

  I climbed back into bed and sidled close to her warm, tiny body. She settled back against me, as if by instinct. Having her here felt just as natural—keeping her safe—part of the pieces that made my life right. And sane. And even more so, as I wrapped an arm around her waist and tucked her close, fitting our bodies perfectly together.

  How would I live without her?

  The demand howled inside my head. I fell into a fitful sleep, dreams chasing me, filled with strange images of being tied back while she kissed a faceless man…then introduced him to her family…then walked down an aisle to him, beaming and blushing in a frothy wedding gown…until he slipped the ring onto her finger. Suddenly, her white gown was stained red, her blood everywhere, her screams piercing out, begging Drake and me to help her…save her…

  In the morning, it felt like I’d run a goddamn marathon.

  That was only the start of the hell.

  Talia’s fingers were fine, so as she showered and dressed, she asked me to call and have the jet readied. She was pleasant about it… Too fucking pleasant.

  The strangeness continued during breakfast. As she cooked us a couple of omelets and chopped fresh fruit on the side, her demeanor reminded me of the early days, when Drake and I had worked with her on the SGC cosmetics line. She was cheery but not obnoxious. Friendly, but professional.

  And pleasant.

  Too. Fucking. Pleasant.

  The absolute worst thing? My direct line into her brain had been snipped clean. I wasn’t sure if she’d deliberately blocked our telepathy, or if something had changed in her mindset altogether. Every time I tried steering the subject to when she’d next be coming to Chicago, or any possible dates for a meeting again in San Diego, the conversation turned precarious at best.

  And ridiculous.

  Without Drake, plans weren’t worth it.

  And we both knew it.

  Which turned our goodbye at the terminal into a soppy, awkward mess.

  I couldn’t bear to let her go.

  She couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Though she was a nonstop flood of sniffles and tears, she pushed back from my arms without so much as a
parting kiss after. All but sprinted to the plane and up the steps, never stopping once.

  Never looking back.

  Still, I watched the plane rev up, taxi out, then take off. Forced myself to observe its ascent into the sky, finally vanishing beyond the veil of low clouds that haunted the horizon.

  Made my way back to the limo.

  Shut myself into the darkness of the back seat.

  And lost my shit.

  Stupid, huge, wracking sobs. Shameful sounds of weakness and heartbreak and grief.

  And I didn’t care.

  I never wanted to care again.

  I smelled her on my skin. I felt her in my arms. The only thing left empty was my heart. I searched for her inside it…for any resonance of hope she might have left behind. But just like Drake, she’d left.

  Even without the mental party line, I knew why. Even understood it, to an extent. Though she hadn’t said the words, our goodbye had been a festival of sorrow. Maybe Drake had been on to something. Cutting the losses before they cut first.

  Too late for me.

  This cut—deeply.

  Because, in the parts of my heart still capable of functioning—and the parts of my head lining up with them—one deduction kept ringing clear as our new truth…

  It was over.

  Chapter Ten

  Talia

  In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee…

  A long round of bangs vibrated the wall behind my couch. My new neighbor, obviously not a Rent: the Musical fan, hadn’t been too fond of its soundtrack set on repeat for the last three weeks. I missed Leese and Heather. They were a happily married couple who disappeared on long bike rides over the weekends and had always begged me to turn up the tunes, though their favorites had been the rock classics, Tommy, Hair, Jesus Christ Superstar…

  In the beginning of this hell, I’d actually attempted their version of musical therapy—but Roger Daltrey, for all his vibratos and angst, wasn’t cutting it for comfort.