by Ivy Layne
"Do I really have to explain this to you?" I asked, wondering why he was making me spell it out. "I came to you because I needed help taking care of my mother. I still need your help. And as long as I do, as long as you're paying for her care, you're my boss. I can't pretend to have a real relationship with you. Don't you get it?"
Jacob threw his hands up in the air and let out a gust of breath. "This is why I don't want a girlfriend. I will never understand why women feel the need to overcomplicate every fucking thing. Your mother is taken care of, and we're enjoying each other's company. Why can't we just leave it at that?"
"I don't understand why you need to oversimplify everything," I shot back. "Sure, this is easy for you. You have all the power. You're the one keeping me safe, you're the one keeping my mother at Shaded Glenn. I'm completely dependent on your goodwill, and you can't see how that makes things complicated for me?"
Jacob re-crossed his arms over his chest and looked to the side, gritting his teeth, but saying nothing. Unable to resist pushing harder, I said, "Why do you have my earring in your desk?"
Jacob shrugged, still not meeting my eyes. "I found it, a long time ago."
"A year ago," I clarified. "Did you know it was mine?"
Jacob nodded. "I did."
"Why didn't you give it back?" I pushed.
Jacob didn't answer at first. Finally, he said, "I don't know what you want from me."
"Neither do I," I said. It was a lie. I knew exactly what I wanted from Jacob. But he wasn't going to give it to me. I'd given him so many openings to tell me he had feelings for me, and he hadn't taken a single one. I was vulnerable and dependent enough. I wasn't going to tell him how I felt. Anyway, he probably already knew. I was stuck for the moment, and the least I could do was protect myself.
Jacob met my eyes before he gave me a slow appraisal, taking in my loosely belted robe, his gaze lingering on the curve of my breast and my exposed legs before resting on my toes, then flicking away. I saw heat there, and for a moment, I thought he was going to try to end our argument with sex.
Something inside me, some tiny bit of hope I hadn't realized I'd nurtured, shriveled at the thought. If he did, if he wanted to fuck me, I wouldn't be able to say no. Saying 'no' wasn't part of our deal. It had never been a problem before. I'd never wanted to say 'no' to Jacob.
Just then, raw and bruised from his rejection, I couldn't stand the idea of him touching me. The thought that I'd have to let him do what he wanted, would have to fake it and pretend nothing had changed, turned my stomach and bruised my heart. Maybe he saw something in my face, because his eyes cooled and he took a step back.
"I'm going back to work," he said. "I'll be late. Don't wait on me."
I flinched as the door slammed behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
JACOB
* * *
I nodded to the guards at the door and stalked back to the elevator. Rachel was still at her desk in my office. She looked up and hid her surprise at seeing me return so soon after I'd told her I was gone for the day. I ignored her, and wisely, she did the same for me. I just barely stopped myself from slamming my office door. Instead, I closed and locked it behind me.
Helping myself to a glass of Macallan single malt from the bar in my office, a bottle reserved for guests, I shot back the first pour and refilled it, slamming the crystal decanter back on the bar. I paced my office, glaring at everything in sight, especially the chair opposite my desk. The chair Abigail had sat in that first day she'd come to me for help.
What the fuck had I been thinking? It had seemed so simple at the start. I knew what I'd been thinking. I'd wanted to fuck Abigail Jordan. She needed help, and I wanted to get her naked. It didn't get much more simple than that.
So how the fuck had it gotten so complicated? And what was it about Abigail that turned me into such an asshole? I'd been trying to ignore our situation from day one. Maybe if she hadn't so enthusiastically participated in everything I'd suggested, it would've been harder to pretend. But it turned out that sweet, innocent, gracious Abigail Jordan had a kinky side. She loved everything, the spanking, the nipple clamps, eating dinner naked—everything I did with her, to her, she loved. So I fooled myself into thinking that made it all okay.
I didn't want to admit she was right. I'd been telling myself I could just order her to stay in my room and things would change between us naturally. But Abigail was right. I had all the power, which meant that nothing between us could evolve naturally. I'd wanted to buy some time, time to figure out how to fix things. And, yeah, I won't deny it. I thought if I could talk her into bed, she'd forget she was so pissed at me.
At the flat, empty look in her eyes, I'd realized I was wrong. Sex was not going to fix this. Sex was the last thing we needed. Who would have thought I'd ever say that? I'd stared at her, realizing she wore nothing more than a fluffy cotton bathrobe, and I'd watched her face go blank. In that second, I knew. I understood exactly what she'd been trying to tell me.
As long as her mother was alive, as long as Big John and the Raptors were after her, she would never be mine. She might give me her body, but I'd stolen her choice. I'd already figured out I wanted far more from Abigail than just her body. I wanted her heart. Her soul. I wanted everything that made Abigail, Abigail—her loyalty, her love, her affection. And I wouldn't get any of it unless I figured out a way to get both of us out of the mess I'd created.
I swallowed the rest of the whiskey, silently apologizing to the gods of alcohol for treating thirty-year-old single malt Macallan like cheap swill, before pouring myself a third and final glass and taking a seat behind my desk. Picking up my phone, I said, "Rachel, put me through to Dave Price."
The receiver clicked twice before I heard ringing on the other end. If I knew Dave, he'd still be in the office. I didn't care what it cost. I'd give him whatever he wanted to draw up the papers I needed. He couldn't help me solve all of my problems. A lawyer wouldn't help with Big John or the Raptors, but Dave was a start.
He picked up the phone, and I explained what I wanted. I hung up twenty minutes later, knowing at least one of the problems standing between Abigail and me was under control.
Sitting back in my chair, I surveyed my office and sipped the remainder of my scotch, trying to figure out what to do about Big John. I didn't think Abigail would leave Atlanta with her mother so weak. That goddamned voice, the one I'd been running from since Abigail had walked into my office, the one that sounded suspiciously like my usually quiet conscience, piped up—You could just tell her you're in love with her. That would fix everything, you fucking pussy.
I could. It wouldn't be a lie. The more I ran from the idea, the more certain I was that this wasn't lust and it wasn't affection. I was in love with Abigail. Telling her should have been easy. But then, I was pretty sure she was in love with me, and she hadn't said a thing when we were fighting in my office. Again, that fucking voice piped up—That's because you have all the power. If someone's gonna say it, it has to be you.
It occurred to me that if I manned up and told Abigail I was in love with her, maybe that fucking voice would shut up. I shook my head and took another sip of the scotch. Easier said than done. I could count on one hand the women I'd said those words to, and I was related to every single one. I'd never said it to a girlfriend. I'd never had a reason to.
I looked at the stack of papers on my desk, evidence of the work I'd been ignoring over the past week. I would deal with Abigail, and my unexpected feelings for her, later. I wasn't going home for dinner. I wasn't going home at all until I figured out what to say to her.
As it always did, work sucked me in. Rachel went home at least an hour after the rest of the office emptied. Dinner time passed, and I grabbed a sandwich from the fridge in my office, wishing Abigail had made it instead of the deli down the street.
No one cooked like Abigail. I ignored the impulse to go upstairs and beg her forgiveness, forcing myself to get back to work. I'd caused enough trouble
by being impulsive. I wasn't going to confront Abigail until I was sure I could win her over. Seduction, I could handle. Baring my heart and soul to win the woman I loved? I had no clue.
I might have stayed there all night, buried in work and avoiding home, if it hadn't been for the explosion. At 9:13 pm, the building lurched with a violent surge of energy, and fire erupted in the street below. It looked like I wouldn't have to figure out how to draw out Big John. He was here, and he had a plan of his own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ABIGAIL
* * *
Jacob didn't come home for dinner. I didn't care. I didn't even bother to cook. I was heartsick and disgusted with both of us. Jacob had behaved like an ass, but I should have expected that. He was used to getting his way. Why would he think I would be any different?
No, I was mostly disgusted with myself for debasing myself with this whole deal in the first place. I should have known it wouldn't end well. Never mind that I hadn't seen another way to take care of my mother. Hadn't I also wanted Jacob? I'd hoped, in the secret part of my heart, that I could keep my mother safe and have Jacob too. Stupid. I'd managed to keep my mother in Shaded Glenn, but I'd traded my body for security and lost my heart in the process. All along, I'd told myself that falling for Jacob would make me the worst kind of fool, and here I was.
I ate a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, washing it down with a glass of milk. Nursery food, but it was comforting. I was still wearing my bathrobe. I hadn't been able to bring myself to do anything. It was as if moving out of Jacob's bedroom had been my one big act of rebellion, and now that it was done and the confrontation was over, I didn't have the motivation to do anything else.
I'd never felt degraded by my deal with Jacob. I'd felt like I was getting away with something, sneaking a treat just for myself, and solving a problem at the same time. Tonight, I hadn't been able to bear for Jacob to touch me. Knowing I loved him and he'd never return my feelings, but I'd still have to sleep with him, made me feel dirty for the first time. Sordid.
If I couldn't bring myself to touch Jacob, I'd have to leave. I couldn't live here if I wasn't capable of doing my job. And if I left, he might get angry enough to take it out on my mother. My heart immediately rejected that thought. Jacob would never take his anger out on my mother. On me, definitely. But not on a sick woman. He could be an ass, but he wasn't a bad man.
I rinsed the crumbs from my plate and put it in the sink, along with my empty milk glass. I didn't want to go to sleep. It was barely evening. Defeated, I curled up on the couch and turned on the television, settling for a random cooking show. Pulling my robe around my body, I stared blankly at the screen, blurred by the tears in my eyes.
I think I drifted off, but I'm not sure. All I know is that one minute, I was watching a baker artfully frost cupcakes to look like snow-capped mountains, and the next, the building shook so hard, the pictures on the shelves fell over. I sat bolt upright, wildly looking around the empty penthouse for a clue as to what was going on. I got nothing. Other than the shaking, everything seemed normal. It wasn't an earthquake. We didn't have earthquakes in Atlanta.
Cautiously, worried the building might move again and knock me off my feet, I got off the couch and went to the window. Smoke rose from the street level. My mobile rang in my robe pocket, startling me. Jacob. I answered, dreading the sound of his voice.
"Abigail. Are you okay?" He asked, sounding out of breath.
"I'm fine. What's going on? I see smoke."
"Get away from the windows," he snapped out. "There was an explosion in the street, and the retail level is on fire. It's contained for now. We're evacuating the lower levels, but I want you to stay where you are."
I got his meaning immediately. "The explosion was deliberate?" I asked.
"We think so. It's going to take me a few minutes to get to you. The stairwells are blocked off. You should be secure in the penthouse, but I want you to go to my office and hide in the closet. It's a safe room. Lock the door behind you and stay put until I get there to let you out."
"Are you okay?" I asked. Shouts and sirens sounded over the phone, the sirens echoing from the street outside.
"I'm fine. Get into the safe room now. Don't open the door for anyone but me. I'll be there soon."
The phone disconnected, and I stared at it for a second, trying to catch up. Outside, lit by the moon and street lamps, the air outside the penthouse window was stained with clouds of dirty smoke. I shoved the mobile in my pocket and turned for Jacob's office. Gunshots sounded on the other side of the penthouse door. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Short and not as loud as I would have expected. A weight struck the door, the wood creaking as it hit. I took off, running for Jacob's office, dodging around the coffee table and L-shaped couch, my eyes on the front door.
Another crash, and the door frame buckled, the wood around the deadbolt splintering. My foot caught on the leg of an armchair, and I went sprawling. I should have been watching where I was going, but I couldn't take my eyes off the door. I scrambled to get to my feet, my legs tangling in my long robe, when the door slammed open, bouncing off the foyer wall. A huge body filled the doorframe, blocking the light from the hallway. My heart sank in dread.
They didn't call him Big John because he was the elder of the two John Jordans. They called him Big John because he was huge. At least six feet six inches tall and built like a linebacker. For a such a big man, he should have been slow. He wasn't. I was just getting my feet back under me when he was there, his meaty fist swinging, catching me on the temple and knocking me back on my ass. My robe loosened, falling open around my legs as I sprawled on the carpet. My stomach turned at the dark, hungry gleam in Big John's eyes.
"Look at the little whore, on her back with her legs spread. You re-thinking my offer, Abby?"
I desperately wished I'd bothered to get dressed earlier. I didn't respond to his jibe. Wrapping the robe around my middle, I wrenched the belt tight and tied it in a knot. I didn't want him to hit me again—my head was pounding already, spots of light flickering at the edge of my vision—but I wasn't going to go quietly. Looking around from beneath my lashes, I eyed the door to Jacob's study. So close, only fifteen feet, but it was on the other side of Big John.
"My son's dead, and you thought you could trade up? It doesn't work like that, you little slut. Once a Jordan, always a Jordan."
"You had John killed," I accused, slowly getting to my feet. Getting Big John riled up was dangerous, but I needed to buy some time, and he wouldn't believe me if I pretended to cooperate. Not after all the trouble I'd gone through to escape him. He shrugged and stepped closer.
"What if I did? The boy was dead weight. He was supposed to bring in business, but all he did was spend money."
"So you had your own son murdered?" I asked, edging to the side. I was pinned between Big John and the armchair I'd tripped over. My shoulder nudged a narrow brass table lamp, almost knocking it over. I spun to catch it, and Big John moved, closing the space between us in a second, grabbing my long hair in one big fist.
"I take care of business, Abby. You should know that by now. You thought you could sic the Sinclairs on me? Cause trouble with my shit? You don't know who you're fucking with, girl. John isn't here to protect you. Now it's your turn to pay up."
He used my hair as a leash, yanking me off my feet and dragging me across the room to the front door. It hung off its hinges, half-blocking the entrance. In the hall, I could see part of a black boot on the floor. The guards were down. Of course they were. Big John would never have gotten into the penthouse if the guards had been able to stop him. My heart sank. I hoped they weren't dead.
Alive or dead, it was clear they wouldn't be able to help me. I thrashed in Big John's hold, my scalp on fire, still gripping the lamp in one hand but unable to get the leverage to do anything with it. My heels thudded on the floor in an uneven drumbeat as Big John dragged me to the exit. I screamed for help, gasping for air. No one came.
&n
bsp; I fought him with everything I had, but I was a butterfly batting its wings against a typhoon. I tried to flip over, only to be dragged on my knees. I'd just about given up hope when the broken door split in half and fell to the floor, revealing a man larger than Big John, his eyes narrowed in rage.
The intruder was even bigger than Big John, looming in the doorway, his black clothes and hair turning him into a malevolent shadow against the elegant white foyer. I caught a flash of apple green eyes through his shaggy, dark hair, an impression of bladed cheekbones and an unexpectedly lush mouth. I didn't have time to figure out what the new arrival meant for me.
Big John stopped moving so abruptly that the top of my head hit his foot. I managed to get to my knees, then my feet, yanking my hair from his loosened fist. I stood, got my balance, and swung the lamp I still held at Big John's head.
The dense brass connected with his skull. Both of us staggered at the impact. The lamp fell from my fingers and I let it go, my only thought to get to Jacob's office. I ran, ignoring the shout of "Abigail!" behind me. Jacob's office closet was in the far corner of the room, tucked behind his massive desk. I dove for the handle, not bothering to see if anyone was in pursuit. I couldn't afford to waste a second.
My fingers slid on the smooth metal handle before my grip tightened and I yanked it open. It swung toward me smoothly, but slowly. If Jacob hadn't told me the closet was a safe room, the door would have tipped me off. It was too thick and heavy to be normal a closet door.
I threw myself inside and shoved the door shut behind me, my fingers feeling for the lock, the sound of my gasping breaths filling the small room. My fingers closed on the bar of the lock, and I turned it as fists banged on the door, muffled and distant.
