Read Online Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel by Megan Mitcham - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Megan Mitcham
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he asked.
“My right elbow too,” she added.
Law stepped around her and looped his left arm, bag in hand, around her back, careful not to brush her elbow, then curled his other arm behind her knees. “You can let go of the car. I’ve got you.”
He expected a fight, but she didn’t give him one. That told him how spent she was and boiled his blood into furious steam. For someone to steal her spunk, the vibrant personality that now haunted his days and nights, even for a minute, stirred something inside him so long dead it’d mummified, ground to dust, and set to the far reaches of the globe on a strong wind.
She released her hold and eased back into his arms, fitting like a missing puzzle piece. Cold fingers wrapped around his nape. Her wild tresses tickled his neck as she relaxed and curled into him.
“You’re freezing,” he whispered.
She nodded ever so gently.
His jaw clenched. The temperature rose to the high seventies in the afternoon and the air wasn’t much cooler now. An ever-present blanket of clouds maintained the sticky heat. Sweat broke along his torso and it had nothing to do with the climate.
Whoever hurt her better hope her injuries were superficial. They better pray to every god ever worshiped by every culture past, present, and future that the muted fire in her green eyes roared to life faster than a pub crawler chuffed a smoke. Or they’d walk with a permanent limp and only see out of one eye. They could have one. They’d need it to watch for his return, peer around corners, and sweat about the possibility for the rest of their days.
With a bowed head Law acknowledged the cabbie. The young man flicked a wave, started the car, and crunched gravel on his gentle departure.
Law strode through the open door, and then kicked it closed with his foot. At the archway, past the entrance, he turned. The light filtered through and he navigated the steps into the rich wooden den. Rounding the lush leather wing-backs, Law continued across to the matching sofa. He plopped her bag onto the wide coffee table sturdy enough to host a small pub band.
Kneeling, Law guided Magdalena to sit on the edge of the soft hide. He pulled the blanket from the high back and settled it carefully around her shoulders. The fireplace gaped like an empty mouth. A damn shame, since that thing could warm the frost off an eskimo. He reached past her and clicked on an ornate standing lamp.
Blood crusted above her red lips, which weren’t adequately described as merely lips. They were soft pillows of silky skin crafted for kissing and spine-bending eroticism. Not hitting. Crimson spotted the alabaster of her chest and white of her blouse. Law’s mind reeled at the possibilities of the trauma she’d faced. She didn’t mention other injuries. Then again, if she’d been sexually assaulted she wouldn’t share that information in front of a cabbie. He breathed past the sudden twist of his heart, and then winced at another realization. She probably didn’t feel comfortable enough with him to share that sort of information. With the two-and-a half-hour drive from Cardiff to London she’d likely spent more time with the carriage kid.
Rage stoked inside his chest. As incomprehensible as it seemed, he wanted her to trust him. Confide in him. He wanted to care for her. Avenge her. Even while another part of himself revolted, petitioning him to toss her into Baine’s arms and run as far and as fast as he could.
“You should have told me you were in trouble last night. I’m not your family, but Baine is my adopted family and you’re his. So, I’d say that makes us at least…I don’t know what.” He scraped a hand over his scalp and exhaled. “You can trust me, Magdalena. I’ll never hurt you and I’ll make damn certain no one else does, ever again.”
A puddle of tears pooled beneath her green eyes and he’d swear someone kicked him in the nuts. One crystalline drop spilled over the lower lid, rolled down long lashes
“My right elbow too,” she added.
Law stepped around her and looped his left arm, bag in hand, around her back, careful not to brush her elbow, then curled his other arm behind her knees. “You can let go of the car. I’ve got you.”
He expected a fight, but she didn’t give him one. That told him how spent she was and boiled his blood into furious steam. For someone to steal her spunk, the vibrant personality that now haunted his days and nights, even for a minute, stirred something inside him so long dead it’d mummified, ground to dust, and set to the far reaches of the globe on a strong wind.
She released her hold and eased back into his arms, fitting like a missing puzzle piece. Cold fingers wrapped around his nape. Her wild tresses tickled his neck as she relaxed and curled into him.
“You’re freezing,” he whispered.
She nodded ever so gently.
His jaw clenched. The temperature rose to the high seventies in the afternoon and the air wasn’t much cooler now. An ever-present blanket of clouds maintained the sticky heat. Sweat broke along his torso and it had nothing to do with the climate.
Whoever hurt her better hope her injuries were superficial. They better pray to every god ever worshiped by every culture past, present, and future that the muted fire in her green eyes roared to life faster than a pub crawler chuffed a smoke. Or they’d walk with a permanent limp and only see out of one eye. They could have one. They’d need it to watch for his return, peer around corners, and sweat about the possibility for the rest of their days.
With a bowed head Law acknowledged the cabbie. The young man flicked a wave, started the car, and crunched gravel on his gentle departure.
Law strode through the open door, and then kicked it closed with his foot. At the archway, past the entrance, he turned. The light filtered through and he navigated the steps into the rich wooden den. Rounding the lush leather wing-backs, Law continued across to the matching sofa. He plopped her bag onto the wide coffee table sturdy enough to host a small pub band.
Kneeling, Law guided Magdalena to sit on the edge of the soft hide. He pulled the blanket from the high back and settled it carefully around her shoulders. The fireplace gaped like an empty mouth. A damn shame, since that thing could warm the frost off an eskimo. He reached past her and clicked on an ornate standing lamp.
Blood crusted above her red lips, which weren’t adequately described as merely lips. They were soft pillows of silky skin crafted for kissing and spine-bending eroticism. Not hitting. Crimson spotted the alabaster of her chest and white of her blouse. Law’s mind reeled at the possibilities of the trauma she’d faced. She didn’t mention other injuries. Then again, if she’d been sexually assaulted she wouldn’t share that information in front of a cabbie. He breathed past the sudden twist of his heart, and then winced at another realization. She probably didn’t feel comfortable enough with him to share that sort of information. With the two-and-a half-hour drive from Cardiff to London she’d likely spent more time with the carriage kid.
Rage stoked inside his chest. As incomprehensible as it seemed, he wanted her to trust him. Confide in him. He wanted to care for her. Avenge her. Even while another part of himself revolted, petitioning him to toss her into Baine’s arms and run as far and as fast as he could.
“You should have told me you were in trouble last night. I’m not your family, but Baine is my adopted family and you’re his. So, I’d say that makes us at least…I don’t know what.” He scraped a hand over his scalp and exhaled. “You can trust me, Magdalena. I’ll never hurt you and I’ll make damn certain no one else does, ever again.”
A puddle of tears pooled beneath her green eyes and he’d swear someone kicked him in the nuts. One crystalline drop spilled over the lower lid, rolled down long lashes
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