Primal:London Mob Book TwoBy: Michelle St. James
London Mob Book Two
Jenna Carver looked down at the book in her hands, trying to focus on the words as the tube zipped through London’s underground. It was the time of day she hated most. One of the few times when her mind was idle, never a good thing because it always led her back to Farrell.
Even his name conjured dangerous memories, and she closed her eyes against the image of his head between her legs, his chiseled body moving over hers, taking her to a place where there was nothing but him — his body and his mouth and the heart that had seemed to beat in time with hers since the moment she laid eyes on him.
He was the stuff of every fantasy, every daydream, every regret since the shootout in Cornwall three months ago. It had almost cost her Lily, the daughter she and Farrell created before she fled to New York, scared and alone, desperate to shield their child from the criminality of Farrell’s lifestyle.
She’d been okay in New York. If not happy, then at least content. She had Lily, their little apartment, some money in savings. It was true that she’d been between jobs when her father was murdered, but she could have stuck to the original plan. Could have returned to London for the funeral and then gone back to the States. Could have kept her distance from Farrell, the only way to be sure she wouldn’t end up back in his arms — and his bed — all over again.
Instead she’d asked for his help, falling quickly into a tumultuous few days that only served to remind her of the singular passion he stirred in her. She could hardly think his name without remembering his strong arms, the feel of his lips on her skin, feverish with desire, the completion she felt when he filled her, the only time her mind wasn’t spinning with a thousand things. A thousand responsibilities and worries.
Still, the revival of her affair with Farrell wasn’t something she was proud of. Kate was the reckless, carefree sister. Jenna was solid. Practical. Reasonable.
Except when it came to Farrell Black.
She felt oxygen deprived when he was near, like she’d been standing too long atop a very high mountain, everything else small and diminished in the face of his presence. Nothing seemed to change it. Not the fact that he was head of the London mob. Not the five years she’d been in New York or the three months they’d been apart since Cornwall. Maybe it was her destiny to love Farrell Black. To love him and never be able to stand beside him.
She shook her head and closed her book as the tube came to a stop, then queued up to exit the train with all the other post-work commuters. She still didn’t love the fact that she was back in the old neighborhood. Back in the one place she’d promised never to return. But it made the most sense. Her mother had been attending AA meetings, and as far as Jenna knew, had been sober since the incident after her father’s funeral when she’d gotten drunk in front of Lily. Kate was nearby, too, still tending bar at the Dog and Bull, still shagging random blokes. It wasn’t perfect, but they were there. They were there for Saturday afternoon trips to the park with Lily. There for brunch on Sundays when Jenna couldn’t bear a whole day alone after Farrell came to pick up their daughter for their weekly visits.
And there were other advantages. Mrs. Hodges was able to keep Lily while Jenna was at work. It saved her money, but it also made her feel more secure. No one could love and care for Lily more than Jenna’s own family, and that included Mrs. Hodges, even if Jenna’s mother would object to the classification.
She exited the train amid the throng, avoiding elbows and bags as she made her way up the stairs and onto the street. They were in the heart of summer now, mid-July, and Jenna took a deep breath as she emerged into the daylight. It would be different in the winter, dark and cold and dreary, but for now there was still enough sunlight at the end of the workday to allow for a detour to the park with Lily. She felt a pang of fear at the idea of still being here six months from now, although she didn’t know if it was London she feared or being in the same place, doing the same thing, waiting with bated breath to see if Farrell would come to the door when he came to pick up Lily.
He’d been as reliable as clockwork, pulling up outside the apartment promptly at ten am every Sunday. But it was always Leo who came to the door to get Lily. He was wonderful with her, funny and warm, but he wasn’t Farrell, and she longed to catch a glimpse of the man who haunted her dreams.