Page 101 of Crossing the Line
He shoved the thought aside.It was dehydration and hormones from the four most soul-shredding orgasms he’d ever had, he told himself. She’d had double that number and had promptly passed out after their last tangle between crisp white sheets with moonlight playing across the bed. She’d remember this night for as long as she lived, and he wasn’t likely to forget it either.
His mind moved methodically on to the next area of concern. Ganim. The man had been in the wind for six days now and hadn’t tried to communicate once with Waverly. Xavier knew because he checked in daily with Kate. What obsessed individual was able to go to ground and not give in to the impulses to reach out to the target of their unwanted affections? What was Ganim’s next move? Xavier needed to be able to anticipate it, plan for it, and take him down.
Waverly wiggled against him in her sleep. Her lips whispered something softly against his neck. He held her a little tighter and brushed his lips across her forehead. It was time to put everything aside. He had a beautiful woman nestled in his arms who needed him to keep her safe.
No one would touch her, Xavier vowed.
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Dawn was breaking when the tender bumped gently against theSea Goddess’sstern. Xavier got out first and lifted Waverly aboard as if she were precious cargo.
She was stunning in her new dress. Her hair hung long and loose, teased by the sea breeze. He took credit for the fresh glow on her cheeks, which came entirely from their pre-dawn lovemaking rather than any palette of paint.
“Go pack your things, Angel. I’ll break the news to your parents that we’re heading to London early,” he said, skimming his hands down her arms.
“I’ll go with you,” she told him with a reluctant sigh. “I’m not going to hide from them now. It’ll just make going home more awkward in a few weeks.”
He resisted the urge to talk her out of it. The last interaction he’d witnessed between Waverly and her parents had been unstable to say the least. Logically, he knew that Sylvia had a disease. She was a sick woman. It wasn’t an excuse, but it was a “why.” However, the why had ceased to matter when she’d struck Waverly. No one touched her. Not while he had anything to say about it. He didn’t care that the Sinners were footing the bill for his services. That didn’t give them the right to abuse their daughter.
Xavier couldn’t let Waverly stay with them, not when his job was to protect her.
He planned to have a very blunt conversation with Robert to make sure the man understood the consequences of everything that had transpired.
Well, perhaps not everything.
Last night had been fantasy come to life. And there would be consequences there, as well. Professionally and personally. Maybe even spiritually. Loving every inch of Waverly Sinner had been like a religious experience, one that he wasn’t ready to turn his back on.
He let her lead the way up the stairs to the salon on the main deck, doubting that anyone onboard was awake yet. After the amount of liquor Sylvia had managed to down by evening, she should need nearly a full day to sleep it off.
When Waverly slid the rear salon door open, he smelled it. Sickness and blood tangled with the breeze that played off the water.
“Oh my God,” Waverly cried and rushed forward.
He made a grab for her arm intending to stop her, but then he too spotted Sylvia and let her go. The woman was sprawled between one of the overstuffed couches and heavy coffee table.
She’d bled into a sticky puddle from a wound on her forehead that was now dried on her skin and matted in her hair. There was vomit near the bar and again next to her head where she’d fallen.
Waverly was trying to move the coffee table, but it was bolted to the floor. He dragged her up, moved her out of the way. “Go call Cedric or Nestor,” he told her. One of the guards would be able to help him pull Sylvia out.
“Is she okay?” Waverly asked, shoving her hands through her hair. Tears of worry clouded her eyes.
Xavier found a pulse, saw her chest rise and fall, and when she gave an unladylike snore, raised an eyebrow at Waverly. “Barring any head trauma, she’ll be fine.”
Waverly ran to the phone and spoke quietly, she returned and knelt on the other side of the table. “Nestor’s on his way up,” she told Xavier.
Xavier called Sylvia’s name. “Come on, Sylvia, wake up.”
She frowned in her sleep, and lines furrowed her brow. She made a grumbling noise.
“That’s right, come on now. Open your eyes.”
When Sylvia’s lashes fluttered, Xavier looked up at Waverly.
“Can you find me a flashlight, Angel? Check in that desk over there,” he said, pointing.
Waverly scrambled up and dug through the drawers before triumphantly returning with a small flashlight.
“Good girl,” he told her. “Sylvia, open your eyes.”
