Dangerously Broken

by Eden Bradley

  She shook her head so hard she felt her neck crack, heard it echo in her hollow ears. Then she fumbled with numb fingers until she’d managed to unbuckle her seat belt, then pulled the door handle. From the corner of her eye she saw Jamie starting to unbuckle his as well, but she wasn’t waiting for him. He could fucking talk to her, or he could leave. But she wasn’t going to sit in his car, shivering in her drenched clothes, waiting for him to make up his mind.

  She grabbed her small purse from the seat and jumped out of the car into the pouring rain. She could barely see as she made her way to the door. Just as she stepped onto the first step leading to her porch she felt a hand on her arm and Jamie whipped her around to face him.

  * * *

  JAMIE FELT HER trembling under his hands and he wanted to kick himself. He’d just felt so stunned. His brain had shut down so damn fast he couldn’t have explained to anyone what was going on inside him right then. But now . . . now he could see the tears on her face even through the rain and he felt like absolute shit.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “And you are far from being a dungeon groupie, and you deserve everything. Everything. I’m being an ass. I’m sorry, Summer Grace.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “You damn well should be. You can’t keep doing this to me. I won’t have it. I mean it, Jamie.”

  The knot that had tied itself up in the middle of his chest back at Jackson Square gave a sharp twist. “I know you do. Can we get out of this rain so I can apologize to you properly?”

  She cracked a smile, even though he could tell she was still hurting. “Which I suppose means with your ever-ready cock?”

  He gave her a wry grin. “I’d like that. I really would. But I think this time we really do need to talk. I figure I’d start by clarifying a few things.”

  She bit her lip, then dropped her arms and turned away from him. “I suppose that’s okay. As long as we end up with your cock telling me how sorry you are.”

  He smiled, but not too broadly as he followed her into the house. He knew her sass was cover-up for real distress. And knew that he’d caused it. He had to man up and try to fix things, to make it right with her.

  It was warm inside the house. She dropped her keys in a big green glass bowl on the old sea chest by the front door and went off down the hall.

  “I’m getting a towel,” she called over her shoulder. “If we get pneumonia, it’s your fault.”

  His stomach tightened. It would be.

  Fuck. Stop it.

  No one was dying tonight.

  She came back and handed him a towel, and he wrapped it around her shoulders and began to dry her hair.

  “Jamie, you don’t have to do that—I can do it myself.”

  “I know.”

  He was glad she didn’t argue any further. Despite ending their quick argument on the front steps with teasing, he needed a little time to think. To process. He bunched the ends of her long hair in the towel and pressed, moved the towel and did it again before patting at her damp cheeks. She was watching him, blinking fast, her thick lashes coming down on her pale cheeks.

  He cleared his throat. He didn’t want to have this discussion with her. With anyone. But he knew he had to do it.

  “You’re probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Well.” He rubbed a hand over the stubble of his hair. “Sometimes I wonder, too. But at this point I owe you an explanation.”

  “Yes, you do,” she said calmly, pushing the towel from her. “Dry yourself, Jamie.”

  He scrubbed the towel over his head, his face, buying a little more time.

  “Do you want to sit down?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Is this one of those conversations I need to sit down for?” she asked, and he saw a flash of fear in her eyes.

  “Aw, no, sugar. No, not one of those talks. But it’s been a long night and I thought you’d want to be comfortable.”

  Her shoulders dropped. “Good. Let’s go sit in the kitchen.”

  He followed her into the old black and white kitchen with its vintage tile. She’d redone the old wood floors after Katrina and repainted the white cabinets, but she’d kept the original feel to the room. It was a cozy spot for a hard talk. He sat at her small table next to the window, his long legs barely fitting. The rain was really coming down outside, thunder rumbling like a lion in the still-dark sky, the sun beginning to rise behind the heavy storm clouds.

  “Do you want me to make some coffee?” she asked.

  “You don’t need to make coffee. And you don’t need to tiptoe around me. Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be gruff with you—I swear I don’t. I’m just all kinds of fucked up tonight. It’s no excuse. I know that.”

  She shrugged and sat across from him. “Just tell me what’s going on with you.”

  Of course, she knew some of it already. Most of it. But he knew he had some explaining to do. He pulled in a deep breath and ran a hand over his buzz cut, trying to sort it out enough in his head to verbalize some of the fucked-up shit that was making him spin out. “Yeah. Okay.” He took another breath, exhaled. “Okay. You know I lost Ian when we were seven.”

  “Of course.”

  “And then there was Brandon.”

  “Yes. And then there was Brandon.” She ducked her head for a moment and he could see her forcibly swallowing down her own issues around losing her brother before she looked up at him again. “Jamie, I know the Death card freaked you out, and I get that. But your reaction—.”

  “Yeah,” he interrupted. “Except there’s more to it.”

  “More? I’d think that was plenty to shake you up. It shook me up for a minute but then . . . Okay. I don’t mean to invalidate what you’re feeling. Go on.”

  “You’d think that would be enough. For both of us. But there’s something I need to tell you now.” He rubbed his palms together under the table. “It’s something I’ve never talked to anyone about. Partly because it wasn’t really anyone else’s business, and partly—mostly, I guess—because I felt kind of . . . I don’t know. Superstitious about it.”

  “You? Superstitious? You agreed to that Tarot reading because I wanted to do it. I thought you were the eternal skeptic.”

  “I am, mostly. But I don’t know what else to call it, so yeah. Superstition. It’s gelled in my head that way and it’s been there for a long time. You remember when I was married to Traci?”

  “For about a second, yes. You married her right after Brandon died. But to be honest, I don’t remember too much about that time.”

  He nodded. “We got married about eight months later. It was way too soon, and we were way too young.”

  She nodded. “It made sense that you guys broke up for her to go away to graduate school.”

  “It did. But there’s another part of the story.” He had to stop and take in another deep breath. Just say it. “There was a baby, Summer Grace.”

  “A baby?” She looked stunned. She looked exactly like he’d felt when Traci told him about the pregnancy all those years ago. “You have a child, Jamie? You have a child and you never told me?”

  “What? No, I don’t have a child. The baby . . . Traci had a miscarriage.”

  Summer Grace laid a hand on his arm. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

  Feeling as if he didn’t deserve her touch, her comfort, he drew his arm back and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. It was hard to look into her concerned blue eyes as he said the words aloud—words he’d never spoken to anyone but his ex-wife. “You’ll probably think this is stupid, but . . . I’m a death magnet. I am. The card tonight confirmed what I already know. Everyone I love—truly love—dies.”

  “Jamie, that’s . . .” She stared at him, wide-eyed. “That’s what you’ve been carrying around all these years? You think you invite death somehow?”

  “I know I do. The people
I care about are in danger, especially those closest to me. It’s one reason why I stayed away from you—not just because it was Brandon asking me to take care of you, to make sure you were all right, but because the best way for you to be all right was for me to keep some distance between us.”

  “Shit.” She pushed her hair from her face, shaking her head, then looked back up at him. “That is some seriously crazy stuff.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t get it.” He started to stand up.

  “Jesus, Jamie, will you sit down and let me talk?”

  He grunted as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “So talk.”

  “I said it was crazy. I didn’t say I don’t understand how you feel. Because I feel it, too. Not death, maybe, but I feel like trouble just finds me. That bad things happen sometimes because of . . . me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is. It’s as true as you bringing death to the people you love. It feels true, which is sometimes the only part that counts. But that doesn’t mean it’s actually the truth in any way to the rest of the world. It’s not like we have some dark super-power. It just means you and I are a little fucked up, as you said. It’s one of the deeper things we have in common.”

  He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Maybe what she was saying was right. Maybe. He couldn’t take it all in. “I don’t know, Summer Grace.”

  She reached for him and pulled at his arms until she could cup his hands in her small ones, surrounding his in her warmth. “Shit happens, Jamie. All the damn time. Life happens, and just as often, death. And in case you’ve never looked at pregnancy statistics, most end in miscarriage. A lot of them are so early the woman doesn’t even know she’s pregnant, but it happens all the time. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s not. And certainly not yours. Not that baby or Brandon or Ian. Your brother had an accident. An accident. And my brother—that was caused by someone else’s stupidity. By the stupidity of the driver who hit him. None of that could possibly be your fault. What did you do, Jamie? Go to a Voodoo priestess and have her make some bad gris-gris? Sit in a corner and wish them dead? Come on.” She blew out a breath. “And I guess . . . I guess I didn’t do any of that to make my family fall apart, either.”

  “When you say it, it makes sense.” But even as he said the words he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea. “I’ve been carrying this around for a long damn time, though. It may take a while for me to change my thinking habits.”

  “It may take us both a while. But you can’t let fear rule you, Jamie—if I did I would never have let you take me out of that cemetery. And I would have missed out.”

  She stood and moved closer, until she could run her hand over the stubble on his head. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips so he could kiss her palm. “You are damn smart sometimes, sugar. I mean that.”

  She smiled and batted her long lashes. “I always knew I got all the brilliance in the family.”

  “No doubt.” He pulled her down into his lap and buried his face in her damp hair. Christ, she smelled good, which helped him to get his brain in order again, for some reason. “We are so alike, aren’t we? I’ve known you for most of my life, but I’m only just realizing it. We’re a matched set.”

  “Are we?”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly, working it out even as he spoke. “We both keep the hard stuff inside. You do it by being sassy and stubborn. I do it by being nice—or so Allie tells me—and stubborn, or by being an asshole and stubborn—or so Mick tells me. But in the end it’s the same thing.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes I hate that you know me so well.” She grabbed his jaw in both of her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “And sometimes,” she said, her voice going soft, “sometimes I sort of . . . love it.”

  Her eyes were shining. With emotion. With something else. And he understood how deeply he loved her. How much he had all this time. It still scared the crap out of him. But right now that didn’t matter. Not one damn bit.

  He stood, setting her on her feet

  “Jamie?”

  He silenced her with a kiss, pressing his lips hard against hers, needing the contact. Needing her. He stuffed the damn fear down and sank into her lips, her small frame tight in his arms. He sank into the contrast of delicacy and unbelievable strength that was her. He couldn’t stand for there to be the boundary of their clothes separating them one moment longer. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

  * * *

  SUMMER CLOSED HER eyes as Jamie laid her down on the bed and undressed her. Silently. Gently. There was something commanding even about his tenderness, and when she let her eyes flutter open to look up at him and saw the expression on his face in the quiet light of the rising sun, her heart nearly burst from her chest. Everything they’d talked about—his fears and his doubts and his determination to get over it—seemed to be swamping him with emotion. She wanted to think some of that emotion was for her as well. She knew it was, but she almost didn’t dare think it. Because in this moment she loved him more intensely, more thoroughly, than she ever knew she could, and it felt like the biggest risk she’d ever taken in her life.

  One by one he pulled off her shoes, then her damp black dress, her bra, pausing with his fingertips under the edge of her panties to look down at her, to lock his gaze with hers. Her heart tumbled in her chest once more, and she had to swallow hard to even breathe as he slipped her black thong down over her thighs. Her body was melting already, but it was some simmering, languid sensation that was completely unfamiliar—something that had to do with the expression in his green eyes as much as it did his touch.

  When he had her naked he straightened and undressed himself slowly, still watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth loose. She recognized that he’d dropped some of the conscious control, and she had some idea of what it meant for him to get to that vulnerable place with her. With anyone.

  His shirt came off, and her body softened all over, and she admired his beautifully pierced nipples, the tattoo, memento mortalitatem tuam, running up his ribs—symbols of the raw edge that was such a part of who he was. She understood the meaning so much more now. He licked his lips, the damp point of his tongue moistening his beautiful mouth. She wanted him so badly it hurt, but she couldn’t move—all she could do was watch. Wait for him.

  Jamie.

  He toed his boots off, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down over his lean hips. He was naked underneath, and his cock was swollen with need—the same need her entire system was suffused with, drowning her in liquid desire. Jamie knelt on the bed, first one knee, then the other, straddling her. He reached down and stroked her cheek, her jaw, lingering at her lower lip, which had begun to tremble for some reason she couldn’t understand—not in any language, any words she was familiar with. And desire was some untamed animal that churned and snarled as she waited for him to take her—to take what was his.

  “Summer Grace,” he whispered. He shook his head, his face momentarily crumbling before he pulled himself back together a bit. She thought she might cry. “Jesus, sweetheart. So much time to make up for.”

  What was he trying to tell her? She couldn’t think straight.

  “Jamie . . .”

  He pressed his fingertips to her lips. “No more talking now. Just kiss me.”

  He pulled her up into his arms and covered her mouth with his, his lips impossibly soft. He kissed her, pulled back, kissed her again and again until she was dizzy. Her arms went around his neck and he pressed his lips to hers over and over, sweet, almost chaste kisses that touched her on some deep level, making her sigh. She was a confused amalgam of need and fear and love—and sorrow for the time they’d lost, for the time they may never have.

  No.

  Unacceptable.

  She pulled a breath into her lungs, pulled in his unique,
familiar scent. The Jamie she’d always known.

  Yes.

  Finally he laid her back on the bed and slid his body over hers, holding himself up on his elbows, touching her cheeks, her mouth, her hair. His brows were drawn in concentration, and she’d never felt more the center of anyone’s attention. It was as if he’d found something important in her face. It was an overwhelming idea, but one she could understand as she looked up at him. She loved this face—his face—because it was his. Because it was beautiful to her.

  She loved him. With every cell in her being. Exquisitely. Painfully. Undeniably.

  “Jamie . . .” she started, but she couldn’t say the words out loud.

  “Baby,” he said, cupping her jaw in both hands, blinking down at her. “Don’t say a word. We don’t need to tell each other anything, you and I. Not now. Now I need to be inside your body, to be a part of you. You need that too, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  What was he saying? Was he as afraid as she was? Or did he mean it in the sweet way it sounded if she didn’t try to read between the lines? Because he was sweet, her Jamie. And he was right—she needed him to be a part of her, and she of him.

  “Jamie, I need . . . everything.”

  Need to love you. Love you, love you, Jamie.

  Finally he parted her thighs and slipped into her, and desire was met with desire, emotion with emotion. There was still some play of power between them, but it was more an exchange than it had been before, because she truly gave herself to Jamie, on every level. And he gave himself to her, finally, in some way he never had before.

  Pleasure was a trembling sigh as it left her lips, a shiver of need as he closed his eyes and surged deeper into her body. Every touch was new: his hands on her breasts, his lips on her neck, kissing, biting gently. His body felt like a gift, like a new discovery as she traced the hard planes, the ridges of muscle in his back, the softer curve of his buttocks as they flexed, arching into her.