Hard Lessons

by Jasmin Quinn

  She ran her hand across the back of the couch her eyes seeking the spot on the couch where she and Jack held each other. Where she’d let herself go, where she took what she wanted from him for the first time this weekend. Maybe he was right. She’d needed to grow up to be able to take him on. Her younger self would have been shaped by him, in his shadow, never challenging him. This self, this Mira, understood that she had power too.

  She turned her back on the couch and walked to the entrance doors, to the entry box. She’d got 11 then missed the next number, but then after that, the number was a 1. So 11x1x. She didn’t have to guess. She knew. 11813. The day and year that he had first seduced her. She never forgot it, would never forget it. It was her birthday. November 8th. They’d met three weeks earlier in her law firm’s boardroom. She’d been taking notes for the meeting, finding herself seated next to him. The way he acknowledged her with a welcoming smile when he seated himself beside her, the slight scent of an expensive masculine aftershave, the way his suit jacket brushed her bare arm, the bob of his throat as he swallowed a drink of coffee. It made her heart beat like crazy and her brain uncooperative. She had trouble convincing her fingers to type fluidly on the keyboard of her laptop.

  As they took a small break, he’d cocked his head, grinned and then pointed out the error she’d made spelling ‘public’. She’d dropped the ‘L’. She knew she was flushing even as her heart jumped to her throat and her panties got inexplicably wet. It wasn’t the only typo in the text, but it was the one he chose, easily, deliberately. Then he stood up, took his coffee cup and hers and walked to the coffee pot, refilling them both, bringing hers back with him, brushing her fingers as he handed it off to her.

  Mira took a deep breath to steady herself from the memories. He was so solicitous of her that day and the next and every time they were together. He was maybe ten years older than her and all his worldliness, his maturity, his attentiveness grabbed at her in a way she couldn’t resist. He owned her from the moment she met him. Her birthday, their first date. He’d insisted, publicly, in a meeting that she have dinner with him. It wasn’t right to spend her birthday alone, working on bullshit briefs for these assholes who were going to cut her loose as soon as her articling year was up. The assholes in question were in the same room and laughed with Jack.

  She’d already had plans, didn’t think she should change them, but the partners insisted in a way that made it impossible to say no. And it was Jack, the man she’d been thinking about non-stop. Of course she said yes. It was the best birthday she’d ever had. He took her to dinner, to Joel Robuchon, a place normal people had to make reservations three months in advance. Yet, he walked right in, with her on his arm. They drank expensive champagne, ate amazing French food, and then he took her to his room, a penthouse suite at his hotel. He seduced her completely, kissed her, touched her, made love to her in a way she’d never experienced then or since. And after, she curled in his arms and he held her.

  Mira blinked her eyes at the unexpected tears. It had been perfect. Her young heart thought she’d found the man of her dreams. Back then, she didn’t know how dangerous the Creeds were. And even if she had known, she doubted she would have been swayed. She would have given up everything for him, her dreams, her goals, everything.

  How could she not have fallen in love? The next morning, he made love to her again, slowly, lingeringly, touching her, kissing her. Then breakfast outside on the deck, talking together like they were the only two people in the world, laughing. He was so indulgent, so attentive, so loving. For a few precious weeks and then he crushed her. The tears slipped out as the pain lanced through her, the memories making it fresh.

  And his admission yesterday. That he did it for her. It told her how messed up he was. That his way of dealing with an issue was to make it stop, one way or another. She stared at the number pad in front of her. What would happen if she opened the door? Would an alarm go off? She deliberated then decided to risk it. As she tapped the numbers in she knew Jack chose them deliberately, specifically for her. Maybe to test her, see if she remembered. Asshole. It was burned into her brain. No woman forgot her first heartbreak.

  The locked buzzed and the bolt slid back. She allowed herself a small smile. She’d passed his test.

  She opened the door and peered into the hall. Light filtered through from the windows on the main floor as she stepped out and looked over the railing. No movement, no bodies, alive or otherwise, she noted sardonically. She ran her hands across the top of the railing as she stepped softly down the hall, past Jack’s office door, which was ajar. She almost stopped at the office, almost walked in, but something stopped her. It was his sacred space and it seemed wrong to step across the threshold without being invited.

  On the first-floor landing, she peered around again. The house seemed massive. Jack’s private apartment was as large as her house if not bigger. The foyer of this house was open and sweeping, teasing of other rooms, living rooms, libraries, studies, kitchens. She didn’t know and didn’t want to right now. She reached for the lock on the front door, wondered if it was alarmed and then shrugged. She didn’t really know what she was doing, didn’t really have a plan. She just wanted to keep going. If she was caught, if she was brought back to Jack, what’s the worst he’d do? His admission yesterday removed the last of her lingering doubts. He wasn’t going to kill her and he’d already done his worst to her in the playroom as her traitorous body begged him each time he touched her.

  She undid the bolt, twisted the knob and opened the door. No sound, nothing, and she stepped out in her bare feet into the early morning light. It was heady and liberating and she breathed in the desert air. Cool still, it would heat up soon, but for now her nipples and her skin responded to her underdressed state. She let it be and stepped down the stairs to the walk below. The driveway was circular, a fountain and desert brush in the middle. A car sat off to one side, next to a curb, beckoning to her.

  She thought back to Friday night, when she’d arrived here. The property was gated and guarded and a sweep of her eyes confirmed this. Even if the car was unlocked, even if it had the keys in the ignition, even if she could start it, how would she get past the guard house? And where would she go? But neither of these questions were as disturbing as her next one. Did she really want to leave? She rubbed at her arms as she stood at the curb, breathing in the air, looking at everything, the car, the fountain, the fences, the desert. Then inexplicably, at least to her, she turned around and went back inside.

  Mira locked the door behind her and retraced her path up the stairs. As she passed Jack’s office, his voice floated out to her. “Mira.”

  She stopped, a flare of panic in her stomach. He was in his fucking office. He would have seen her walk by on her way out. Why didn’t he stop her? She struggled with what to do, knew there was only one thing she could do, and turned towards his voice, walked into the office. He was seated in his chair, behind his desk, a laptop open in front of him.

  “You’re up early,” he noted, a smirk toying at his lips.

  “Yes,” Mira said, then cleared her throat to make her voice stronger. “I thought I’d take a walk. I didn’t realize you were up.”

  He gazed at her for a few seconds, his eyes dark and shuttered. “There’s coffee.” He waved his hand vaguely to the bar. “Get yourself a cup and sit down over there.” He pointed to a chair in front of his desk. Not there on Friday, but very specifically there now. For her. He looked back at his keyboard, typing a few words, dismissing her. “I just have a few emails to tend to, then we’ll talk.”

  A dangerous promise.

  Mira did as he instructed, pouring herself a coffee, bringing it back with her and seating herself in the chair. Keeping her eyes lowered, she sipped at her coffee. It was torture, sitting there in the silence, the rising sun casting a halo on her, spotlighting her. And Jack not once looking at her, his fingers clicking at the keyboard, moving the mouse, eyes steadily drawn to what he was doing. Then he slamme
d the lid of the laptop closed and Mira jumped.

  He grinned as he rose, plucked his cup from the desk and hers from her hand and carried both to the bar, to the coffee urn, refilling them, returning, handing hers off and then reseating himself across from her. “How are you, Mira?” he said softly and she realized that this was how he started when he was about to start playing.

  She licked her lips, taking a risk in not answering his question. Instead, she asked one of her own. “Were you testing me, Jack? Dropping the breadcrumbs, seeing if I would follow them?”

  “You could have left. The car was there for you, the guards were told to let you pass. I think you knew that. Why’d you come back?”

  Mira shifted in her chair, setting the coffee cup on his desk. Her hands were shaking and she clasped them together, setting them on her lap. She hated that he had this affect on her, but then realized she also didn’t. “I was hungry,” she said.

  He laughed. “Now you’re hungry.”

  She smiled. “You owe me an hour of unfiltered conversation. I want it.”

  Jack stood up and walked around his desk, dropping to his knees in front of Mira, circling her waist with his hands. “It’s a little early for breakfast.”

  Mira’s breath hitched as he settled his face between her breasts. She drew her hands to his head, hugging him closer to him. He turned his face, rested his ear on her heart. Then he pulled back, took her hands, squeezed them and stood up, pulling her up with him then pulling her into his arms. “I have something special planned for us today,” he said softly in her ear.

  She stiffened a little. She didn’t know why. Maybe she thought that playtime was over. Maybe she thought that after yesterday the relationship had shifted. Maybe she thought she had a little power. She pulled back and looked at him. “What?”

  “You’ll see.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, then let her go and reached for the cell phone behind him. He tapped in a name and waited. Then he said, “How long for breakfast?” Another pause and then, “Make it 10.” He ended the call, reached for Mira, and kissed her long and passionately.

  Fourteen

  Breakfast was spartan compared to the previous morning. Toast, fresh fruit and yogurt. Coffee of course, and fresh cold orange juice, but it arrived in the 10-minute time frame Jack had demanded and was ready and waiting when he led her from his office. They sat at the small breakfast table, in their established seats, Mira’s back to the French doors, Jack facing her. She spread some blackberry jam on her toast and took a small bite, chewing and swallowing before meeting Jack’s eyes. “I’m ready to listen,” she said.

  His eyes were serious as he gifted her with a ghost of smile. “Someone killed Amber to get to Rob. Rob and I tracked down that someone and killed him.” His words were blunt and uncompromising. His smile was gone, his eyes hard as he stared into hers.

  She picked up her coffee cup and cradled it in her shaking hands to make sure none spilled. Jack had just confessed to a murder. “Who?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jack said.

  Mira leaned her elbows on the table and took a drink from her cup. “It does matter. If we can prove the other guy’s guilt, we can prove Rob’s innocence.”

  Jack’s lips curled. “I like it when you use the word we, Mira. But you know that’s not possible. Not without a body and trust me, there is no body.”

  Mira couldn’t suppress a shudder. She had to remind herself who the man was sitting across the table from her. He was powerful, criminal, savage. Unrelenting. No one crossed Jack Creed and lived to tell the tale. “Why did this guy kill Amber?”

  Jack piled his empty breakfast dish on top of hers, then pushed them out of the way. He placed his arms on the space he created and leaned towards her. “He was hired to.”

  “Who hired him?”

  “Unimportant.”

  “It’s not Jack,” Mira said, a little crossly. “If we prove his guilt, it gets –“

  “No, Mira. That too will get resolved, but not through the courts.”

  “You’re not giving me much to work with.”

  “Rob didn’t kill Amber, but he’s willing to take the fall for her death. He’s willing to vilify himself and their private lives for the sake of our business operations.”

  “Do you hear what you’re saying?” Mira stood up and paced away, running a hand through her hair, shoving it off her face. “Your business is more important than family.”

  Jack snarled and shot to his feet, facing Mira. “Don’t be accusing me of putting my business before Rob!” He’d raised his voice, and his hands were clenched at his side, his posture rigid. “He’s my family, my only family. This was his fucking decision. I didn’t want it. And Amber, a bright little light in his bleakness. She and Rob should be married by now, having babies. I lost her too. She made Rob whole.”

  Mira stopped and considered him. “I’m sorry.” It was a soft whisper, but it needed saying. She held herself back from going to him and wrapping him in her arms. Instead, she returned to her seat and looked up at him. “Tell me about Amber and Rob so I understand.”

  Jack hesitated, then followed her lead, sitting down and picking up his cup. “They met a few years ago, at our nightclub, Barrage. He was drawn to her because her arm was badly bruised. She was young, 19, shouldn’t have been in the club, so it gave Rob an in to talk to her. She said she was clumsy, but Rob knew better. The bruise on her arm didn’t happen because she fell. He plied her with drink, took her to his place, and undressed her. She was bruised everywhere. Rob thought it was a boyfriend at first. Freaked out. Was going to kill the sonofabitch. Turns out it was her parents too. Good upstanding folk but controlling as fuck.” He glanced at Mira like he was confirming that she was listening.

  She nodded.

  “Rob kept her. Wouldn’t let her go home. Didn’t touch her after that first night, not for a long time. He wanted to kill the parents. Amber and I talked him out of it. She didn’t want that – she still loved them for some unfathomable reason. I didn’t want it either – Amber made Rob reckless. I think he loved her first, then she grew to love him. I don’t know.” Jack grinned, but his eyes were distant. “He and I don’t exactly sit around over beer and talk about our feelings.”

  Mira threw him a soft, lopsided smile. She understood.

  “They became a couple and Rob settled down. She was good for him.”

  Mira had to ask. “And the BDSM?”

  Jack narrowed his eyes, “What about it? It doesn’t factor in.”

  Mira shifted, uncomfortable under his heated gaze. “It does, Jack. Because Rob used it as a defence against first degree murder charges.”

  Jack tapped his fingers on the table. “And you ran with it. Without investigating it.”

  His agitation, his anger, his rigidness was not going to move them forward. It might only move them back to the playroom. She needed to diffuse the conversation, so she dropped her hands to her lap and her eyes to her hands. “I’m sorry that I didn’t investigate it. I jumped to the wrong conclusion based on what I’ve read in the papers about you and Rob, your operations. I believed what Amber’s parents said.”

  Jack snorted. “Are you really sorry, Mira? Your tell is showing.”

  Mira looked up at him, startled. “I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t think anything I say will be enough.”

  “Just say the fucking truth!”

  “Fine, I will!” She’d raised her voice too. None of this was fair. “I have so many caseloads on my desk that I work 12-15-hour days, seven days a week. When I’m not working, then I’m thinking about work. So when someone comes in the door, confessing to murder, explaining why and how it happened, I don’t spend a lot of time looking deeper.”

  She slapped her hand on the table, glared at Jack, knowing she was being reckless, but knowing she needed to say her words. “BDSM is not something I ever participated in. It is… was… peripheral to my life. Because I don’t have time to have a sex life, let alo
ne a kinky one. He said that’s how she died and why should I have questioned it?” She gritted her teeth as she shoved her back against her chair, crossed her arms and clenched her fists.

  “See, that’s the problem. You decided to be disgusted by something that you knew nothing about. So you blindly pushed for second degree murder rather than running with manslaughter.”

  “And in the end, you all agreed to it. Why didn’t you talk to me, Jack? Before?”

  Jack’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling than back to her. “Really, Mira. I should have walked up and said, ‘Let’s have dinner. I want to talk.’ I suspect that would have worked about as well as it did on Friday.”

  “Ahrggh,” Mira snarled, rubbing her face with her hand. “You helped yourself to me Friday. Why’d you wait?”

  Silence stretched between them like a taut rubber band, then Jack said, “Because I thought that my fucking well-paid lawyers would be able to talk you down to manslaughter. And then it was too late.”

  Mira blew out a tense breath. “It’s too late to get the charge reduced.”

  “You were good enough to get the second-degree verdict, you’re good enough to get the charge reduced.”

  Mira’s mind darted around inside her head, trying to find a hole in her own approach. Trying to invent a reason to take another look at the case. “I need to talk to Rob,” she said. “Without his lawyers.”

  Jack nodded. “I can arrange it.”

  “No one can know about this conversation, about us.”

  Jack’s eyes flicked to his hand on the table then back up to Mira. “That goes without saying.”

  They were quiet again, Jack staring at her, Mira avoiding his eyes.

  He said, “Tell me how you’re doing, Mira.” This time his voice was soft, not mocking. The question was genuine.

  She brought her eyes back to his. “You hurt me this weekend, Jack.”

  “I liberated you this weekend.”

  Mira shifted. He was right. Except for Jack, her sex life had always been vanilla. Okay, but not anything that left her thoughtful or panting for more. She hadn’t come that night in New York with Nick. She lied to him and said she had, because that’s what he wanted to hear, what so many men want to hear. They need to think that they’re virile enough to just stick their cocks in and it’s all their partners need. Too impatient, maybe too lazy to take it slow, explore the woman, find out what she needs. Not really interested in their partners’ pleasure, thinking of it as a by-product of theirs.