Breaking Leila (40 page)

Something like
the moment I stepped into that hotel room and laid eyes on my boss
and colleague, maybe? “Go on.”

“I’ve not met a
woman who wants what I want. Not without throwing money at her
first. I know your parents have problems, but I knew it even before
you said…” Soft kisses along my collar bone. “You weren’t doing
this just for the money.”

“There are
events you can go to for this type of thing,” I said dryly. “Have a
quick Google and knock yourself out.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t want to sign up for all the safe and
sane shite any more than I do. Because we’re not.” They were
playful, those words, but he meant every one of them. “Besides, if
it’s so easy, why haven’t
 
you
 
been to one?”

I–well.

“I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure it’s
 
risk aware
, not...shite.”

He drummed his fingers over my nipple. “Some people do all
this stuff with rules. Each to their own and whatever. But we can’t
just go out to a meeting and pretend we’re like them, that
what
 
we
 
did
is
 
okay.
 
I’ve got no interest in that, Leila. There’s only so much you
can be aware of when you’re dicking about with a huge
knife.”

“Like you
haven’t been practicing on oranges, Mr Merchant.”

“Oh yes. I am
Joe, fuckwit at law and mutilator of citrus tits. Of course. Don’t
pull that face.” He brushed my bottom lip. “You know what I
mean.”

”I’d like it if
you shut up now.”

He squeezed me
between his thighs. “You like it all being fucked. Being afraid. I
liked it, too. It’s the whole reason we did that.”

“I
 
like
 
having a safety word.”

“Only because
you know I’ll honour it.”

Yes, yes.
 
That.
 
But...“You digressed. Tell me about Matt.”

“Ah. Well. He
would moan a lot about the girl he was seeing, after a few drinks.
What was her name?”

“Niamh.”

“Niamh. I
suggested many times that he get over himself and hire a girl. He
would dissect that relationship until we were all sick of hearing
about it. He might as well just cut to the chase. He
disagreed.”

“He would.” I
smiled faintly.

“And then…then
I found you, and I wondered if you would be the one to break
him.”

“So you were
doing it for his own good,” I mused. “I think your pants are on
fire, Joe.”

He laughed.
“I’d seen the pair of you flirting. I wanted to watch you fuck.”
His hands slid to my breasts. “I didn’t know he’d decide to fight
for territory afterward.”

“Human nature,
I suppose.”

“Don’t give me
that. People credit nature with way too much–jealousy, violence,
sex.” His tone solidified. “They might be chemical, but they aren’t
inevitable. I fucking hate the caveman excuse.”

“Said by the
biggest alpha going,” I teased.

“If that’s what
you want to call it. Doesn’t make me any more of an ape.”

“You’re a wolf,
if I remember correctly.”

“I’m a lot of
things.” He smiled. “I choose most of them.”

“Joe…I’m still
dizzy and now you’re drugging me with drink. Can we skip the whole
free will debate until tomorrow?”

“It’s pointless anyway. Still. Makes a change from being
asked what I’m…” He paused to inject sarcasm. “
Thinking
.”

“What
 
are
 
you thinking?”

“That I
neglected these. They’re unmarked.” He squeezed my breasts and I
mewed, arching my back.

“What’s wrong
with that?”

“Not what
Isobel wanted to hear.”

That name
chilled my throat. It was awkward talking about Isobel at all, let
alone negatively when I felt so responsible for her.

“You wanted to
know what happened between us,” said Joseph. “Remember?”

“I think you
offered, actually.” I teased along his inner thigh with a nail.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, though.”

“And I’d know
if you were lying. Always do.”

“Tell me,
then.”

It was his turn
to shrug and my breasts sailed upward in his hands.

“We were badly
matched at the most base level. My fault though, utterly mine. I
don’t even know why I bothered trying to change her…I didn’t care
enough as it was.” He sprinkled Champagne across my nipple, fingers
swirling, and I gave a low moan. “She didn’t really want to be
corrupted. She did it all for me. My grandmother–she’s more like my
mother, really–she sent me her engagement ring recently so I could
have it reset. She doesn’t know about Isobel, but she wants me to
use it when...well. You know.”

“Isobel thought
it was for her,” I said.

“She was
livid.”

More of the
prickly liquid now, painted down toward my naval.

“Even then,
when I said I’d never marry her, she wouldn’t give up. I had to
give her a catalogue of grotesque reasons to finish with me.”

“She said you
told her about using prostitutes.”

“Mmm. It’s a
dirty word, that, isn’t it?” He pushed a cold, damp hand between my
thighs and I bucked against it as he parted me. My Chairman of the
Whored.

Charlotte sunk
away, now, as if a great ocean swayed between her voice and my
ears. Maybe it was the blood swilling, or the wounds that knitted
above. She lay sated. Content.

“Do you know
what the most ridiculous thing was?” he asked.

“Mmph.”

“She was pissed because it was an emerald. Apparently,
they’re vulgar these days. She didn’t understand why I hadn’t
bought a diamond.” He chuckled. “And that was
 
before
 
she realized it wasn’t for
her. Bitch. It’s probably worth more than anything from fucking
Tiffany.”

“And what's
that pet name she was using for you, the scary German one?”

“What,
 
schneemann
?” He scratched a temple.
“It means snowman. That kind of passive-aggressive shit was pretty
typical, actually.”

“Meanie.”

“She’s
ignorant.”

“You’re mean to lots of people. Matt,
Poppy…
oh
.” He
twisted cold fingers inside me.

“Maybe I know
things about Matt and Poppy that you don’t.”

“Is Poppy
whoring too?” I panted.

He laughed.
“Fuck, I hope not.”

“You really
 
are
 
mean.”

In one sharp
manoeuvre, he climbed up and pinned me to the bed. The vanquished
chocolate box tumbled to the floor in a little heap of paper cases
and a swish of cool air.

“I’m honest.”
He spread my legs with a jerk of his knee. “Nothing more honest
than this.”

“Not the kind
of thing I’d expect a man who doesn’t believe in human nature to
say.”

He entered me
then, a rough stroke that filled me effortlessly. “Well,” he
mumbled, shoving down on my branded belly. God, that smarted.
“Since I’m being honest…maybe Matt isn’t the only one up for a
fight.”

I’d wanted
everything to change tonight–to be shaped anew by the sodden sheets
and the man who wrought their tempests.

It’s happening, happening
.

“It’s all a
game to you,” I said, testing him. “The fighting. You like it.”

“No, it’s not a
game, Leila. It’s just necessary.”

He soldered
hands to my hips, held me still while I took him. I couldn’t buck
to meet his force, but my flesh swelled in effort all the same.

“What do you
mean?”

A whisper flooded my ear. “And this, it
 
feels
 
necessary. Don’t you
think?”

Honestly?
Yes.

I didn’t care
what it made me.

One last gasp, and Charlotte flashed a grin in the
darkness:
 
I’m still in your blood.

She and I were
a phoenix in the wreckage. Headed toward a happy ending,
perhaps–one besides the circles spilling into my belly. And Joseph
soared atop me, inside me, on his way to an unspoken war.

Where you
moonlight, you will find wolves, and your world will burn beneath
them.

I lay naked in
the embers. Held the man made of flames.

Close your
eyes. It’s not all right...but maybe it will be okay.

It all makes
sense, now. I am like him. A hunter. 

The world has
teeth and so do I.

END

The
story concludes in BREAKING JOSEPH, out now.

Books by Lucy V. Morgan

Breaking Leila

Breaking Joseph

Twisted Summer

Beautiful Mess

A Cliché Too Far
series

Tousle Me

Quest for You (coming
2014)

Acknowledgements

I had so much
kind input with this project. Thank you to Christa, Kenny and
Steve, who all offered invaluable advice and suggestions. Thank you
to the lawyers who proofread for me.

These books
have been through quite the journey from a little online series
years back to a much bigger release. If at any time we have
conversed about these works, thank you so much for your time and
your comments. I value each and every one.

Books can be
dangerous things to write. This one was certainly a double-edged
sword, but I’ve had so much support despite everything. You know
who you are.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lucy V. Morgan
writes sharp contemporary fiction, usually with a liberal splatter
of filth. She lives in England, where she also works as an editor.
She spends her spare time consuming lebkuchen, working through her
TBR pile, and pretending she's an urban fantasy heroine in body
combat classes.

She shares lots
of teasers on Facebook, so you should look her up right this
minute, really, shouldn’t you?

www.lucyvmorgan.com

www.facebook.com/LucyVMorganAuthor

@Rhiannon_Edits

[email protected]