by Lora Leigh
He parked in front of her apartment, breathing in roughly as he forced himself to move. He made his fingers uncurl, one by one, from the handgrips, before swinging from the seat. He felt like an old man, every bone and muscle protesting the journey he was about to make.
He walked up the cement walk, staring straight ahead. He had never shirked his responsibilities in his life and he wasn’t going to start now. His knuckles landed heavy on the door as he felt the muscle in his cheek jumping violently in response to her call to enter.
Her voice was like honey, hot and sweet, making his dick jerk and throb with a hunger he knew had no choice but to go unquenched.
He opened the door, stepping in slowly, his gaze instantly finding her by the small dining-room table, a halo of candlelight surrounding her from the tapers she had set in the center of it.
He stopped, ensnared by her, entranced by the vision standing before him. Slender feet were encased in black heels that lifted and arched her graceful feet so erotically he almost howled in pain. A short, clinging black dress covered her breasts, cupping them, shaping the sweet mounds before sliding down her body like a fall of night.
She was so fucking beautiful that for one moment, for one blinding, weakening second he nearly took what his cock was screaming was his before doing what he knew he had to do.
Protect Jessie. The impulse was so ingrained, so profound, even the ravening hunger building inside him couldn’t overrule it.
“Slade?” She tilted her head, her hair falling over her shoulder like a silken shadow as she stared back at him. “Are you okay?”
Okay? God no, he wasn’t okay. He was dying inside. He stood staring at a vision any man would kill to have and he was going to turn his back on her, rip her tender heart out of her chest and walk away. He was just going to walk away, and die a thousand deaths when he did so.
He reached to his side and flipped on the overhead light, watching her blink at the sudden brightness as a glimmer of foreboding filled her gaze. The smile that had curved her lips eased away and within seconds her expression was somber.
He cleared his throat, glancing away from her, fighting for the strength, the self-control to do what he knew he was there for.
Her lips tightened, pursing as they trembled lightly, before she stilled them, her breathing beginning to accelerate. He could see the slowly dawning awareness in her eyes, the flash of horror, of denial, the pain that for a moment twisted her features and left her swaying before she gripped the back of the chair, holding tight, and facing him anyway.
God, she was so young, so beautiful, and so fucking strong that in that moment, he knew exactly what he was walking away from, and what he was headed toward. And it was going to be hell. And he had brought it all on himself.
“Just say it.” He watched her steel herself. Saw the tightening of her shoulders, the knowledge that filled her eyes. Her voice was low, lacking the bitter anger he had expected, the tears he had been certain she would shed. The thought of those tears terrified him. How was he supposed to fight her tears?
“Do I have to?” he asked, not certain if he could say the words, thanking God with every thought that she knew what he had come here for, that he wouldn’t have to say the words, wouldn’t have to let her see it was killing him to do this.
“Oh, I’ve heard about that part of your relationships as well.” Her voice was bleak, her words echoing with a pain she couldn’t hide. “I guess I was foolish enough to think it would last longer than a weekend. I have to say, at least I broke a record. Your shortest relationship. Lucky me.”
She was breaking him. She was breaking his will, ripping something inside him that he didn’t know existed, with her pain-laden voice and her dark, agonized gaze.
He wanted to comfort her. Everything inside him was screaming at him to go to her, to hold her, to tell her, to explain everything. She would understand. God help him, if he had ever believed anyone had loved him in his life, he knew Jessie did and he was a goddamned fool to walk away. But he knew there was no other choice. The best gift he could give her was the lack of hope. To be a bastard in the purest sense and allow her to get on with finding someone…
He couldn’t finish the thought. Sons of bitches, he would kill the prick brave enough to lay the first finger on her where he could see it. He wouldn’t be able to survive if he saw another man touching her.
“I’ll leave then.” He had to force the words past his throat. “You were good, Jessie. Damned good. But you were right, not mature enough…” The words stuck in his throat as he watched her flinch. As though someone had laid a lash to her soul, she jerked so hard he felt the pain himself.
“I understand.” She turned away from him, a shudder racing up her back as she bared the delicate naked flesh that ran to her hips. There was no back to the dress, just slender straps holding it in place.
His hands fisted. He couldn’t touch her. He wouldn’t touch her. But son of a bitch if it didn’t hurt to breathe, to drag each lungful of air into his chest, to survive without touching her. How the hell had he let this happen? How could one person have so much power to hurt another?
And he didn’t love her. It became a mantra within his mind as he watched her. But she believed she loved him, how much worse was it for her? The ragged wound digging into his very spirit became deeper at the thought.
The candles extinguished but she didn’t turn around.
“Leave. Now.” Her voice was low, nearly incoherent as her shoulders shuddered. “Just leave, Slade.”
He pressed his lips tightly together, stilling the violence inside him, the need so overwhelming it locked in his soul and screamed out in bitterness to tell her the truth. He breathed out wearily instead, turned and did as she asked.
He left.
As the door closed behind him, Jessie felt herself collapsing, felt her breathing falter as the pain erupted in her chest. She didn’t bother to find the chair or to stop the slow slide to the floor. She was only thankful the leg of the table was there to brace her back, to hold her upright as she stared before her, dazed, disbelieving.
How could she have been so wrong? It didn’t make sense, he was supposed to shower and come back with a change of clothes. They were going to eat dinner, then have dessert in her bed. They were going to… Nothing.
She felt the breath hitch in her throat, felt the tears that scalded her cheeks a second before a sob echoed in lonely misery around her. For five years she had waited on him, certain more awaited her than a single fool’s weekend. Certain that even if the relationship didn’t work out, she would at least have the chance to try. He was a hard man, his life had been hard, but she never believed he would take her to his bed, that he would tease and promise to wait for her, if he hadn’t wanted more than a weekend.
She leaned her head against the leg of the table and she cried. She had no intention of holding it back, or “bucking up” as her father called it when one of his children cried. He had never been able to handle the tears. But he wasn’t here now. He was gone, and the misery inside her soul was ripping her apart. It was cry or die, and she would be damned if she would die for Slade.
She loved him. It wasn’t a death sentence, she was young, and she would get over it. Right?
“Oh God.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, leaning forward with the convulsive shudder of agony that shook her from her soul outward as she heard the motorcycle start up, heard it scream from the parking lot. “I love you, Slade,” she whispered, knowing that all the love in the world could never hold what wasn’t hers. “I love you.” And it didn’t matter, not really, because she wasn’t mature enough, wasn’t slick enough to fit in his world. The only difference was he had realized it before it was too late, where she had continued to hope. And to dream.
Chapter Seven
The world didn’t end with a broken heart. There were still classes to attend, a job to hold down, and Jessie did both on autopilot. The only difference was that she immersed herself now in bo
th school and her job, working herself to exhaustion, praying that the night would come when she would fall asleep and she wouldn’t dream of Slade.
She stayed away from the parties and the forested clearing where they were held, avoiding it with a desperation that clawed at her as each weekend rolled around. Was Slade there? Of course he was, he was a steady there, rain or shine, and there was no way she could face him, no way she could face the pity if anyone ever learned how easily, how casually he had dropped her. How deeply he had hurt her.
Even now, three weeks later, the open wound that had once been her heart, ached continually. She dreamed of him, of loving him, of hearing him whisper his love for her, of his arms surrounding her, protecting her. She awoke to a cold, lonely bed and the tears. There were enough tears to drown her.
She pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. She breathed out tiredly as she glimpsed the two Harleys parked beside her spot and the men resting casually on them. Jazz and Zack were good friends but it was after midnight, the shift she had pulled at the local Wal-Mart had been a hard one. She wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.
She had a feeling though they were after more than chitchat.
She pulled the car into its slot, staring at the two men through the window as she shut the engine off, grabbed her purse and opened the door. They straightened from their bikes, lean, muscular bodies and eagle-eyed expressions tense and waiting.
“Hey, Jazz. Zack.” She threw the strap of her purse over her shoulder as she locked her car and headed for her apartment. “What are you two up to this late?”
She pasted a cheerful smile on her face as she pushed the key into her door and glanced back at them. She restrained her sigh as she saw they had all intention of going in with her.
“Checking on you, little girl,” Jazz grunted as they followed her into the apartment, closing the door and waiting as she disengaged the alarm.
“Checking up on me?” She threw her purse to the chair beside her before striding into the small kitchen. “Want a beer?”
“Yes to both questions,” Zack answered as they stood in the middle of her living-room floor, waiting.
Hell, she just didn’t need this. Not right now. Not until she managed to patch the open wounds inside her.
She carried three long-necks into the living room, passing each of them a cold bottle before moving past them and settling back in the large, comfortable chair that sat several feet from the front door.
The room wasn’t large. It held a comfortable couch, chair, coffee table and the entertainment center that housed her small TV. But the rent was cheap and the location close to school and work.
Jazz pulled a chair from the small dining-room table, setting it across from her as he straddled it and stared at her with midnight-blue eyes. Zack sat back on the couch, one foot propped on his knee as they both watched her silently.
She hated it when these two went silent and just watched. It usually meant they were seeing much more than anyone wanted them to know.
“I’m not ready.” She knew what they were after, there was no sense in playing games, but she had learned she wasn’t nearly as adept at reading men as she once thought she was. “Just go away for now.”
She lifted the beer, taking a long, slow drink, needing the false courage she gained from it.
Jazz glanced at his partner before staring back at her. Neither said anything as her stomach began to cramp with tension and her throat thickened with tears that were only shed in the darkness of night when she awakened in her cold, lonely bed.
“Get your bathing suit.” Zack’s voice brooked no refusal. “You don’t have school tomorrow and you’re off for the weekend—”
“Wrong.” She flashed him an enraged look. She would not be forced into something she couldn’t face. “I signed up for weekend classes and I had my work schedule changed—”
“And I called your fucking boss an hour ago, right after you got off work. Get changed, dammit, you’re coming to the clearing if I have to carry you there.”
“Why?” She slammed the bottle to the table, furious. “And who gave you leave to fuck with my schedule or my life, Zack? You’re not my father or my fucking husband, so get off.”
He rose to his feet.
“I don’t have a problem carrying you in, girl.” He smirked. “You’re not going to hide like this. Everyone will figure out why—hell, they’re already wondering. You’re getting your butt out there and you’re going to party and laugh. You and Slade both missing on the weekends is causing tongues to wag.”
Her breath stopped at his name. She forced herself to breathe again, to work past the agony clenching her heart.
“What does he have to do with anything?”
“Don’t play games with me, Jessie,” he snarled. “He’s a big boy, he wants to fuck his life up, I’m all for it. But I’ll be damned if you’re going to let wagging tongues hurt you. Now get that goddamned suit and let’s go.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Sure you do.” Zack picked up the small bag he had carried in with him. “Here it is. We don’t want excuses, you’re tougher than this, Jessie—”
“Don’t tell me to buck up,” she snapped, pushing her fingers through her hair as she paced across the room, unable to stare them in the eye, to see the knowledge there. “I can’t do it. I’m not ready.”
“I don’t give a damn what you think you’re ready for,” Jazz growled. “Get dressed and let’s go.”
She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t face him.”
“If he’s there, you won’t have a choice,” he snarled. “He hasn’t been in three weeks, and talk is starting. I won’t have you on the tip of wagging tongues, Jessie. Not like this.”
She wrapped her arms around her chest, swallowing convulsively.
“It will kill me to see him…”
“It will hurt. It will rip your heart apart, but you’ll smile and laugh and pretend he doesn’t exist, or so help me I’m going to end up beating the hell out of him for it. So it’s your choice, play the game or he’ll go home from the office Monday bruised and bleeding from one end to the other.”
She swung around in shock.
“Why?” she questioned, furious, hurting. They were Slade’s friends. It didn’t make sense that they would turn on him over her.
“Because he knew better.” Jazz finished his beer, taking the bag from Zack before handing it to her. “You didn’t. Now get it on and pull on some jeans and a shirt. You’ll ride in with one of us, and one of us will take you home. But you are going. And you will have a good time if it kills you.”
And it was going to kill her. The next night, exhausted, with too many beers speeding through her system, Jessie laughed and joked and partied the night away, feeling the sting of Slade’s eyes on her, the pain lancing inside her.
He had pulled in hours before, securing his RV to its spot against the riverbank beside Jazz’s. The bonfire was glowing on the bank, music pulsed and pounded in the air as laughter and drunken revelry filled the clearing. There had to be nearly forty people spread out along the wide clearing that led to the bank of the river.
Fourth of July weekend, she had forgotten it was even a holiday weekend. She stood beneath the awning of Ron’s RV, sipping at another beer, watching the antics of the men and women shedding the week’s tension and enjoying the night to its fullest. Jessie just wanted to go home. She could feel Slade watching her, no matter where she moved, his brooding gaze biting through her control as she danced too much and fought to stay one step ahead of the groping hands.
“Hey, pretty girl, when do you intend to dance with me?” Raw-boned, broad as a Mack truck and as dark as Slade was blond, Jazz moved up to the sheltered RV, watching her with quiet blue eyes despite his smile and booming voice.
His gaze flickered up the line of RVs and vehicles, stopping at Slade’s before his gaze came back to her.
Jessie leaned against the side of the RV, smi
ling back at him as she shook her head in exasperation. “Who’s going to hold the other up?” She laughed as he weaved a little drunkenly. She knew she would be no steadier on her feet than he was on his. But he had kept his promise, he hadn’t hit Slade, he hadn’t even acted as though he were pissed at the other man.
“We can prop each other up.” He spread his arms wide. “Come on, one dance then I can find my bed and sleep like the angel I am.”
She snorted at that, though she stepped carefully from beneath the dubious protection of her shelter. She was trembling at the thought of dancing, of having another man touch her, hold her. The music was slow and dreamy now, romantic, enfolding the night with a hint of passion and seductiveness.
As his arms went around her waist, she shuddered.
“Hold on, sweetie,” he growled in her ear. “If you don’t dance, everyone will know you’re hurting. Me, Zack and Capt’n Ron are the only ones in the know right now, let’s keep it that way.”
He wasn’t nearly as drunk as he pretended to be.
Jessie lowered her head, letting him lead her as they swayed to the music, swallowing the unbearable need for another man’s arms.
“He’ll drink his limit and run and hide soon,” he soothed her as she shuddered again. “Just dance here with me a bit, then I’ll take you to my little home away from home and let you hide there for the night. I think you’ve been brave enough, little soldier.”
Gentleness filled his rough voice as her breath hitched and she cushioned her forehead against his shoulder.
“Tell me how to make it stop, Jazz,” she whispered, weak, fighting every instinct inside her that screamed out to her to go to him, to scream in rage that he had thrown her away so carelessly.
“Takes time.” He laid his head against the top of hers. “Just close your eyes, pretend he’s holding you—I won’t care a bit—and save face. Then you can go lick your wounds so you’ll be able to do it again tomorrow. You’re doing great. No one knows you’re breaking inside.”
