Wicked Lovers 07 Ours to Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

confrontation. Xander had tried to reason with him . . . in his way. Javier had to
     admit that he hadn’t exactly been listening. Or been reasonable.
Shit.
But no denying that it had felt good to unleash his anger and tell Xander exactly
     what he thought.
    Javier ground his teeth together. “Did my brother say how long he intends this little
     visit to last?”
    “Sorry.” She shrugged noncommittally. “Um . . . not to overstep, but I’m a probation
     officer for Lafayette Parish, which means I’m part cop. But I’m also part therapist.
     I’d be happy to listen and talk things through with you.”
    The notion of spilling all his secrets, his anger, especially to a beauty he’d just
     met, horrified him. “You don’t even know me.”
    “Sometimes an impartial stranger can give the best advice.”
    Her kindness took him aback, and he felt the anger clawing up inside him again. “What
     is there to say, Kata? My wife ran off with her lover, who killed her brutally. I’m
     a little bitter.”
    “You have every right to be. Grief is a long, difficult process. I can’t imagine how
     difficult it is to lose a spouse, especially so violently.”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Okay. The offer is there. I won’t be offended if you don’t pick me, but you need
     someone to talk to who will listen and be an objective ear. And I think you need to
     stop looking for answers or absolution in the bottom of a bottle and find yourself
     again.”
    Her words stung almost as much as the burning embarrassment coursing through his blood.
     Damn, the woman thought he was a broken alcoholic.
    Are you?
He heard the whisper in his head.
    “I’m fine,” he barked at her.
    Disappointment settled across her delicate features. “Right. So is Xander, according
     to him. You like booze. He likes girls. Neither of you is remotely screwed up. Got
     it. I’m making eggs and bacon. Want any?”
    Her sarcasm didn’t quite hide her hurt. Javier held in a wince. He didn’t owe her
     any explanations, especially ones that would be like ripping out his entrails and
     handing them over to her on a platter, but shame that he’d upset her stung. He might
     not owe her his life story, but he owed her some damn courtesy. She’d only been trying
     to help.
    “I’m sorry, Kata. My head hurts. I’m mad at my brother.”
I don’t know where I’m going, what I’m doing, or if I even give a damn anymore.
“But I’d love some breakfast.”
    Not really, but for her, he’d choke it down. He’d already given her enough grief.
    “You’re a terrible liar, but I’ll do my best to make it worth eating.”
    “I’ll help,” he called to her retreating back, then looked around the room.
    He spotted last night’s trousers folded up on the dresser. They’d be a wrinkled mess,
     but that was the least of his worries now. Slowly, he stood, steadying himself with
     a death grip on the headboard. His headache had eased from a full-throttle, heavy-metal
     pounding to an annoying, repetitive gong. Finally, he made his way across the room,
     grabbed his pants, and found the bathroom across the hall. Kata had laid out a new
     toothbrush and comb for him. He took the time to use both before donning his pants,
     somewhat ready to face the world.
    After retrieving his coffee cup, he ambled down the hall to find Kata humming around
     the kitchen with the song on the radio, bacon sizzling in a pan. It smelled surprisingly
     good.
    “Can I help?”
    She sent him an amused smile over her shoulder. “Do billionaires cook?”
    “No,” he admitted sheepishly. “I set a mean table.”
    Kata laughed, then nodded to the little iron bistro breakfast set in the corner. She’d
     already done everything, including set out fresh flowers.
    “Well, then. I’ll go . . . admire your hard work.”
    “You do that.” She winked. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot. I won’t be much longer
     here.”
    Sure enough, they were scarfing down hot