Defiance of the Heart (Book 2) Read online

  Eyeing it, I cock my head to the side, remembering when Lincoln gave it to me. I was happy, or so I thought I was. I mean, wasn’t this the next step? But who sets the ground rules? If one doesn’t follow the norm, are they predestined to fail?

  Relationships shouldn’t be methodical or follow a code of conduct. Relationships should be spontaneous and set you alight with a look alone. Like right now.

  London looks a little concerned and a lot pissed off. That ring is burning a hole straight through him, but he stands unmoving because the next move is all mine. I cringe, wishing I’d opted for a better choice of words.

  With a smooth sweep, I reach for the ring, but the moment my fingers brush against his, I whimper, the mere touch of him sending my heart into overdrive. He feels it too but dares me to make the next move when a lopsided smirk tugs at his full lips.

  I do.

  I pluck the ring from between his thumb and forefinger and shove it into my back pocket, proud of myself for touching it without wanting to puke. “I was just on my way out,” I explain, needing to put some distance between us.

  London however has no issue invading my personal space as he ambles forward. I stagger back and bump into the door. “Where are you going?”

  Breathe, I remind myself.

  “No surprise, but Lincoln isn’t here. So he’s left me with no other choice but to go find him. He can’t hide forever,” I say, resting my palms flat against the woodgrain as London closes the already impossibly small space between us.

  “I almost feel sorry for him. Almost,” he adds. Leaning in close, he places a hand on either side of my head. I’m trapped in a London prison, but that would imply I don’t come willingly.

  When he surveys every inch of my face, the steady rise and fall of my chest betrays my untamed pull toward him. Before everything turned to shit, we had established that our love ran both ways, and it had never wavered after all this time.

  But I don’t know if those rules still apply.

  He is deliciously sinful, and I can’t help but acknowledge how appropriate his nickname is. London Sinclair is utmost sin, a decadent flavor on my palate. Unable to stop myself, I sweep my tongue along my bottom lip as I’m suddenly parched.

  London follows the movement and inhales. “Take a drive with me.” It’s not really a question as it appears this isn’t up for negotiation.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, surprised I can construct a sentence right now. Taking a drive is not on the agenda. Finding Lincoln is. But when London leans forward, his lips hovering an inch from mine, I know I’d follow him into the burning pits of hell—which is no doubt where I’m headed—if he asked me to.

  “Come with me and find out,” is his effortless reply.

  This magnetic pull has always been present, and it’s been our downfall since the moment we met. He knows the effect he has over me, but it runs both ways, which is how London and I have always worked.

  The throbbing of his pulse draws attention to the smooth sweep of his throat. Like a candied apple, I want to take a bite. Just as in high school, when this temptation is what animated my every breath, I blink once, feigning innocence as best I can.

  Surely, he will see through my ruse. But he doesn’t. A low hum slips past his lips and bathes my cheeks in sex and pure sin.

  And just like that, I feel like me again.

  “London,” I purr, eyeing him closely just as he does me. His name is like melted butter on my tongue.

  “Yes, Princess?” he says, his tone matching my own.

  I bite my lip theatrically while a subdued grunt escapes him. I can’t believe he’s fallen for this act—again. What a chump.

  “I thought you’d have learned by now. Don’t…” I lay a chaste kiss on his lips. But when he attempts to deepen the connection, I pull away with a conceited grin. “Tell me what to do.”

  He groans with a humored sigh, tipping his head backward.

  “I can’t believe you fell for that again.” I chuckle, unable to silence my laughter. It feels good to laugh.

  Once he picks his pride up off the floor, he pushes off the doorway, releasing me. I instantly miss his warmth. “Old habits die hard,” he says—the perfect analogy to sum us up. “C’mon.” He gestures with his head that we’re to go.

  I suppose I could go for just a little while. It’s not like Lincoln is going anywhere. Deep down, I know I’m just prolonging the inevitable, but I nod all the same.

  We walk down the steep driveway as London has clearly parked on the street. The fact reminds me of when he turned up on my parents’ doorstep ten years ago. He has some balls repeating history, but when it comes to one another, it doesn’t seem like we have much of a choice.

  Staying away from him is like defying nature, akin to defying my heart.

  His truck is parked at the bottom of the drive. We both enter in silence. The engine starts with a roar, promising to drown out the voices in my head. My mind wonders as I have no idea where London wants to go.

  However, as we begin our journey, I come to realize I don’t care. Anywhere with London is better than right here.

  The talk show on the radio is a gentle hum in the background, filling the sudden static between us. It’s apparent neither of us knows what to say. I should feel guilty for not bothering to hear Lincoln’s side of the story, but I don’t.

  This entire time, what I felt for him wasn’t love. It wasn’t anything close to it. He didn’t set me on fire, but I learned to accept that as the norm between us because the one man I had that with broke me forever. But now that he’s sitting beside me, I want to throw caution to the wind and experience that euphoria with him again because being loved by London is indescribable.

  I feel alive. And I feel like me.

  But the path before us isn’t without potholes. Honestly, I don’t even know how we could make this work. Apart from the fact our families are feuding enemies, and he pisses me off continually, we live worlds apart.

  He can’t leave LA because he’s a…father.

  God, the thought suddenly crashes into me, and I grip the seat belt, needing something to anchor me before I pass out.

  When he pulls the truck up in front of a chain, hanging across a path with a no trespassing sign dangling in the wind, I don’t even recognize where we are. Turning to my right, I see the infamous Hollywood sign. Memories plague me because this sight was once my compass, a reminder that I would eventually leave this place and not look back.

  But here I am, older but definitely not wiser.

  London kills the engine and jumps out of the truck. Clearly, that is my cue to follow. The summer breeze thaws the chill I feel in my bones, and I take a deep breath. Cupping my brow to shield the sun, I peer from left to right, wondering where we are.

  However, the moment I observe the rocky terrain up ahead, I gasp, spinning to face London. His dark shades shield what’s going on behind his eyes, but the firm press of his jaw exposes the impact this place has on us.

  He steps over the chain, offering me his hand when on the other side. Without question, I walk toward him and automatically slip my hand into his. The moment we touch, a shiver rattles my core, but I ignore it and step over the chain.

  We’re face to face, and I’m expecting London to let me go, but he doesn’t. He skims his thumb over my knuckles, an air of nostalgia enclosing him.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I’m almost afraid to ask because he’s brought me to our high school hangout. We used to call it Haunted Hollows, but who knows what the kids nowadays call it.

  He circles his thumb over my racing pulse before licking his lips. I’m anticipating an answer, but I don’t get a response. Instead, he severs our connection and begins the steep hike up the laborious landscape.

  I watch closely, envisioning London as the sixteen-year-old boy he once was as he approaches the hollowed-out sycamore tree, the very one I walked past on the night that set off an unforeseeable chain of events.

  However, he v
eers left, which is not the way I would usually go.

  Completely intrigued, I chase after him, curious to see where this path leads. London doesn’t offer to help, he simply guides, and I follow, which is okay with me. We continue this way for a few minutes until the terrain becomes less punishing, and we reach a paved path.

  It doesn’t take me long to realize where we are.

  Tears well behind my eyes as this place holds such fond memories, but they have nothing to do with the infamous parties my classmates held here. The winding trail soon levels out, and we’re on the paved path I used to escape from London the night we got arrested.

  This trip down memory lane leaves me winded, so I stop to catch my breath.

  It was pitch black the night the LAPD found us trespassing, the night London saved my ass in ways unimaginable. However now, the pulsating sun is out in full blast, so I take a moment to appreciate the low-hanging trees and the bursts of color from each flowering shrub.

  A wave of nostalgia knocks into me when images of lying beneath London as he attempted to protect me from trouble flash before me. He could have let me get caught, but he didn’t. He even shouldered the blame and went to juvie for me.

  And I thanked him by breaking his heart.

  “Why?” I ask in a whisper. I’m not even sure he’s heard me, but when he freezes, his shoulders raised, I know he’s heard me loud and clear. “Why are we here?”

  I stand my ground, refusing to move an inch until he answers me.

  His body language is a warning…telling me he’s seconds away from exploding. But I don’t take the hint.

  “London, why?” I press, firing my question at his back as he stands rigid, unable to face me. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” As a tear scores my cheek, I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “Why did it have to be this way for us? Why were we born to be each other’s enemy?”

  A heavy sigh leaves him as he hangs his head low. But he allows me this purge because this place is safe; it’s the place where I fell even deeper under London’s spell.

  “Everyone shaped us into the version they wanted. Everyone. Things could have been so different for us,” I cry, unable to erase the vision of London on top of me as he shielded me from harm.

  My chest rattles with the strangled tears I attempt to hold at bay.

  “No one wants us together,” I confess, hating how bleak I sound. I want to add us being together isn’t that simple, but I suppose it never was. “My parents hate you. Your parents hate me. Our parents hate one another. How is this supposed to work?”

  Just as I’m about to march toward him and beg him to tell me it’ll be all right, he runs his long fingers through his hair, fisting the longer locks on top of his head. “What do you want, Princess?”

  His question stuns me because for once in my life, I’m given a choice when it comes to London. “It’s too late for what I want,” I reply, but London refuses to accept my answer.

  He spins with a force so great, I retreat, fearful of what he’ll do. But he marches toward me, gripping my upper arms as though I’ll run from him if he doesn’t. I attempt to pry myself free, but he tightens his hold, rocking me lightly. “Don’t you say that,” he exclaims with a passionate tenacity. “We are not our parents. We are you and me, who we’ve always been, and fighting this, Princess”—he shakes me once—“is like fighting nature. We don’t stand a chance. I love you, Holland. So fucking much it hurts.”

  A sob escapes me when his face twists in agony. “When you left me, you didn’t just tear out my heart. You took me with you. I am nothing, nothing without you.”

  His confession is too much, and I burst into ugly tears. “Yes. Things could have been different for us, but it doesn’t matter. We can’t change the past, but we can make our own future. Don’t let the sins of the past win.” His words are exactly what I needed to hear, but we can’t ignore that the odds are stacked against us.

  He translates my withdrawal and shakes his head violently. “What do you want me to say?” He abruptly releases me and rips his sunglasses from his face. His eyes are begging me to believe him and not to run away—not again.

  “London, I—”

  But he refuses to listen. Instead, he drops to both knees, gripping my upper thighs as he surrenders before me. The sight breaks me. His feral gaze holds so much emotion. I can’t stand to see him so vulnerable. I attempt to pull him up, but he stubbornly stands his ground.

  “You don’t understand, Princess. I don’t exist without you. You are a part of me.” He thumps his fist over his heart, pressing it hard against his chest. “You always have been.”

  “But other pe-people—”

  “I don’t care about people!” he cries, staring up at me, squeezing my legs. “I only care about you because it was always…it was always you. I love you without apology, and that’ll never change. So whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it because I can’t stand to lose you again.”

  He bows his head, the ultimate submission as he accepts his fate.

  My chest heaves with the utter emotion pouring from me as words escape me. On his knees, in the dirt, London has just declared his undying love. He isn’t hiding behind smokescreens. This is what we are—primitive, passionate, and real.

  This is why he brought me here. He wanted me to see that, underneath it all, we are still the same people who somehow fit together.

  I’m drowning in a torrent of tears as I respond the only way I can—I drop to my knees and surrender to him. Placing both hands on his cheeks, I coax him to look at me because we’re in this together. His anguish tears me in two.

  Searching his face, I stroke his beard, needing him to know that everything he just said, I feel too. He leans into my touch, a contented sigh leaving him. “You are impossible,” I whisper, the soft bristles of his scruff tickling my fingers. “Us being together is defying all odds…but I’m game if you are. I can’t stand to spend another ten years without you. I don’t think I could.” I run my fingertip over the smooth scar above his lip, cementing my promise.

  “Princess…” His voice is low, perforated with emotion.

  He mimics me, pressing his large hands to my face. With the tips of his fingers, his thumbs, he brushes away my tears with a frown. “Don’t cry. I promise to do everything I can never to see you cry again. Forgive me for everything I’ve done.”

  A sob rattles my chest as I weep, touched by his promise. “I forgive you. Forgive m-me too?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” He shakes his head, still caressing my cheeks.

  “This isn’t going to be easy. You’re a father,” I declare, needing to address the obvious. “You’re the father to my ex-fiancé’s daughter, a daughter he has neglected for so many years.”

  “I know. I’m sorry my life is complicated. But this is me, and I’m offering everything I am to you,” he replies, caging me with his honesty. “Will you have me?”

  “Even with everything stacked against us—your parents, mine, Belle, distance, Lincoln, the past…there really is only one answer.”

  He waits with bated breath, not pushing as he knows my answer has the ability to change us forever.

  Placing my hand on his chest over his heart, I smile a bittersweet smile. “Yes, London, I’ll have you. Now and always.”

  The moment that last word slips past my lips, he swoops forward and closes the distance between us once and for all. He kisses me with such fierce tenacity, I almost topple, but he wraps an arm around my waist, anchoring me to him.

  Our kisses are frenzied as he parts my mouth with his tongue. He cups my chin in his palm and maneuvers the depth and speed to leave no part of me untouched. I surrender, just as he did moments ago.

  He bites my bottom lip, then suckles it with a sharp tug. He isn’t gentle, and I like it. I wrap my arms around his neck, unable to get close enough. I whimper into his mouth, tugging at his longer strands of hair. The harsh, breathy sighs which leave him have me buckling because they hint at how
affected he is by our union.

  He samples me ferociously, the coarse bristles of his beard abrading me in just the right way. His fingers tighten around my waist, and I’m certain I’m on fire from his touch alone. I can’t help it, but I want him, here, now. And it seems fitting we consummate that desire in this very spot.

  I tug his head back when I unbuckle his belt and unfasten his fly. With his neck arched backward, he watches me closely, a cocky grin slathered across his swollen lips. I find him hot, hard when I plunge my hand down his pants. We both moan at the connection.

  I stroke his shaft, growing wet between my legs when I remember the depravities we engaged in last night. He skims his finger along the flesh at my hip, humming when I increase my tempo. I am driven by pure lust when I bite over his throat.

  “Oh, fuck, Princess,” he grunts, thrusting his hips wildly.

  I need more, so much more, and so does London when he leaves wisps of hair between my fingers as he rips from my hold and kisses me madly. He devours me, owning me as he rubs over my core in a wide circle. Through my jean shorts, he drives me insane—exactly the response he wants.

  I want him everywhere, all over me, but most of all, I need a taste. Breaking the kiss, I make my intentions clear when I attempt to push him onto his back, but he shakes his head. The wind gets ripped from my lungs when he stands and takes me with him.

  On instinct, I wrap my legs around his waist, biting the inside of my cheek when I come in contact with his red-hot erection. He walks us toward a towering tree and slams my back against the thick trunk. Here, with lips still feuding, he unbuttons my shorts and yanks them down my legs as I untangle our limbs. His gigantic body engulfs mine, and I love it. I love the feel of him as he works a finger into me, stretching me wide.

  The coarse texture of the tree rubs me raw, but it only adds to the pleasure of London consuming me whole. “I want you inside me,” I beg, writhing. “Please.”

  My plea is both our undoing, and he gives in.

  He tugs down his jeans, lifts me, and sinks into my sex with one fluid motion. A scream spills from me when he doesn’t allow me to adjust to his size and drives into me hard. I hold on tight, legs and arms wrapped around him as he suspends me on his cock. We pause, cherishing this connection because it’s all that matters.