Page 47 of Xander

Chapter

Fourteen

XANDER

Present

With my eyes still shut, I recounted Jordan’s participation in the worst day of my life. The same recurring nightmare had haunted me for years. I promised to move on, but the rage simmering under my skin refused to die out. She could’ve walked out with me that day. I gave her a choice, and she chose him, albeit Henry didn’t leave her with many options.

My life had remained frozen where she left me—the altar where she married someone else after refusing to run away with me. Looking back, perhaps demanding that a woman change her entire outlook five minutes before her wedding was an unreasonable expectation, especially since Henry had leverage on her.

All the same, my emotions spiraled into anger, even as I tried talking myself down. I didn’t snap like Jasper or blow everything off like Caden. I was supposed to be rational and patient, though Jordan constantly made me contradict these traits.

A jarring noise made my head reel back in surprise. I recognized the sound. It was my phone that had dropped on the coffee table at some point.

“Shit,” I mumbled, still intoxicated and half asleep. I cracked open one eye in the dimly lit room, only to find Jordan’s head resting on my shoulder. She fell asleep in my arms after I took her a second time, trying to convey everything I felt for her with each powerful thrust.

The memories of our drunken encounter flooded my mind, bringing a smug smile to my face. We never made it to the stateroom and ended up on the rug under a pile of throw blankets and a pillow borrowed from the sofa. It was a good thing the boat wouldn’t see passengers for another several weeks, and the staff were told not to venture to this common area.

When my phone vibrated again, I lifted my free hand to grab it off the coffee table. Narrowing my eyes at the blurry screen, I attempted to decode the incoming texts.

Henry: I ought to rearrange your face for the shit you pulled.

Henry: You ruined the Maxwell name.

Henry: Is Jordan with you?

Decoding the messages in my inebriated state was next to impossible. I made out the gist of it, though. Henry was shifting the blame as always.

I was sure I’d killed him last night. He was still lying there like a sack of flour by the time we left.

I guess he survived, I thought distractedly, my gaze sweeping over Jordan’s soft, naked body.

Basking in her presence was the least the universe owed me after three miserable years. Although somewhat reluctantly, Jordan gave herself to me. My wildest fantasies had finally come true, and I wouldn’t waste more of tonight on sleep.

I brushed my knuckles over her collarbone. She flinched in her sleep when I touched one of her bruises. I quickly retracted my hand before it fisted in rage. Although I didn’t relish the idea of going to prison, I wished I had killed Henry.

Luckily, identifying superficial from deeper injuries had become a job hazard of mine. There was no major physical damage, though the emotional scars would take a while to heal. When I brought her to the boat, I planned on taking care of her and doing the honorable thing by being a sexless shoulder to cry on. But she triggered me. I had never been with someone so independent and capable, who blew me away with her beauty and limitless compassion with every breath. She didn't need me—or thought she didn't—and I had my hands full, proving to her that I was more than worthy of being in her life.

My lack of self-control around Jordan was laughable at best. After last night’s encounter, my obsession had reached new heights. Just as I had presumed, no one else measured up to her.

Primal instincts were taking over my sanity yet again. Perhaps the alcohol was impairing my judgment. In any case, I was experiencing withdrawal from her as if I were a junkie. I was practically shaking with my irrational need for her.

I rolled her onto her back, mindful of her bruises and recent injuries. Placing my hands on either side of her head, I hovered to study her beautiful face. What was it about her that drove me insane?

Unable to help it, I planted soft kisses over her face and hummed in approval when she relaxed under my touch. Knowing it set her off earlier, I nipped at her breasts and sucked on her neck, too. My mouth curved when she uttered my name in her alcohol-induced slumber.

“Xander,” Jordan murmured, pulling at the quilt covering her.

I pressed my forehead against hers, reveling in the sound of my name on her lips. The blankets were tangled around her ankles, and I kicked them out of the way to make room for myself. I cursed when my foot accidentally hit the coffee table.

I was slightly drunk and uncoordinated. She was plastered and could barely open her eyes. This was a bad idea, but the dark need festering inside me was too strong. It wanted to fill her with my seed.

Jordan had once been my best friend; I knew her better than anyone. She wasn’t the kind of woman who’d consider a relationship with her husband’s son. As much as I hated that word, it was the truth. Her feelings for me remained unsorted.

What if she left me, and once more, I had to spend several more years without her?

Panic gripped me in a chokehold.