Lone Wolfe

by Kate Hewitt

  I never should have suggested such a thing.

  Would he reject her if she actually came to him, told him what she wanted? Showed him, even? Could she risk it?

  And, the far more important question was, if he didn’t turn away, if he accepted her offer, could she risk that?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Abruptly Mollie sat up. She’d lived life on the sides and in the shadows for too long: most of her childhood, most of her adult life. There had been a few sweet years in university when she’d felt a part of things, happy and normal, but the rest of her life had been cloaked in isolation.

  No more. She was tired of it, tired of the loneliness. She wanted to live. She wanted Jacob.

  Quickly, before she lost courage, Mollie threw off her pyjamas. She could hardly seduce Jacob in nubby fleece, yet she wasn’t quite bold enough to go stark naked. She put on her silk dress instead; she felt beautiful in it, and she needed that boost.

  Then, taking a deep breath, she opened her door and headed out into the darkened hallway.

  The entire suite was bathed in silence, and she could hear the steady ticking of the clock—or was that her heart? Letting out a little breath of laughter, Mollie pressed her hand against her wildly beating heart, far faster than the clock. Heaven help her, she was so nervous.

  She tiptoed along the hallway towards Jacob’s forbiddingly closed door; no light shone from underneath. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he had no reason to feel restless and edgy and aching, the way she did. Maybe she’d imagined it all. Mollie hesitated for a second, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Then, possessed by both a boldness and a courage she’d never known she had, she turned the knob and, with another deep breath, pushed the door open.

  The bedroom was empty.

  Mollie felt it before she saw it; it took a few moments for her eyes to accustom to the darkness. At least the hallway had been lit from the lamp left on in the living room.

  The room felt empty, the door to the dark en suite bathroom ajar, and Mollie saw the bed was untouched.

  Jacob had gone.

  This was the test: a tumbler of whisky, glinting under the low lights from the bar. Jacob placed it in front of him and folded his arms. Then he waited.

  He hadn’t performed this test in years, for it had become too easy. He needed greater challenges, bigger proofs of his self-control.

  I am not that man.

  Yet now he’d been reduced to what he always feared: that he was that man, the man his father had been, the man he’d shown himself to be when he’d lost control that terrible evening … no matter what the justification. He was just like his father.

  No. He could conquer that impulse, control it. He had to, because if he didn’t—? What then? He would be no better than his father. No better than the boy who had placed his fist in his father’s face with so many years of pent-up rage, who had raised his hand to his own precious sister in a moment of anger.

  He was that man.

  Yet when he performed these tests, and succeeded, he felt, at least for a moment, that he wasn’t. Tonight he needed an easy victory. God only knew walking away from Mollie—from her mouth and her eyes and the sweet scent of her hair—had been far too hard.

  Yet victory, tonight, did not come easily. He stared at the tumbler of whisky for twenty minutes. Once he reached for it. His hand trembled and he was appalled. He hadn’t reached for the glass in years. A decade, at least. He jerked his hand back, folding his arms so his fingers curled around his biceps hard enough to hurt.

  He was so weak.

  ‘You going to drink that?’ The bartender glanced rather sourly at the untouched glass; undoubtedly he’d been hoping for a more lucrative barfly. Jacob smiled tightly. ‘Leave it.’

  Shrugging, the bartender turned away. It was only a little past eleven, but Jacob was the only customer in the hotel bar. This wasn’t the kind of place to encourage drunks to order another round. Everyone else had retired to their far more comfortable hotel rooms.

  Jacob knew he couldn’t go there. Not when Mollie would be so close, maybe even waiting. He’d fail that test for sure.

  ‘Jacob …?’

  Jacob stiffened. He turned slowly to see Mollie standing in the entrance to the bar. She still wore her beautiful dress, but her hair was wild and unruly, her face pale and shocked. He could see the freckles standing in bold relief on her nose.

  He almost reached for the whisky again.

  He curled his fingers tighter, his nails biting into his own flesh, and nodded tersely, feeling something close to resignation. There would always be a test he could not pass. A way to fail.

  ‘Hello, Mollie.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MOLLIE stepped into the bar, amazed to find Jacob there. She’d been wandering through the hotel, down empty corridors, disconsolate, uncertain, wondering where he’d gone, why he’d gone.

  And then she’d found him here.

  Cautiously she slipped onto the stool next to him and nodded towards the tumbler. ‘You aren’t going to drink that, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked softly. There were so many whys: why was he here, why did he look so conflicted, why didn’t he want to kiss her any more? She left it simply at Why? and let Jacob choose which one to answer.

  ‘The point,’ he said carefully, his tone clinical and even a bit cold, ‘is not to drink it.’

  ‘Why?’ Mollie asked again.

  Jacob paused. He smiled, and it looked brittle, fragile. Like his whole face, his whole self, might splinter apart. ‘It’s a test,’ he said simply. ‘How long can I sit here without touching it.’

  ‘You’ve been here a while already,’ Mollie said quietly. ‘How long do you intend to torture yourself, Jacob?’

  He laughed rawly. ‘You have no idea.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Tell me.’ Jacob shook his head, the movement no more than an unsteady jerk. ‘Is it because of your father? Are you worried you might have the same problem with alcohol that he did?’

  ‘Alcohol is the least of it.’

  She laid a hand on his arm. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Annabelle never told you?’

  The question startled her. Annabelle? ‘No …’ Mollie felt as if she were spinning in a void of uncertainty, a world of ignorance. There were so many things she didn’t know.

  Jacob drew in a shuddering breath. ‘After my father died—after I killed him—’

  ‘Don’t—’

  ‘It’s the truth, isn’t it?’ Jacob smiled grimly. ‘Never apologise for the truth.’ He lowered his head, his hand lying on the table now, a grasping fist, closer to the tumbler. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘It was an accident, Jacob,’ Mollie said firmly. ‘And you were protecting Annabelle. Everyone knows that. You did the right thing …’

  ‘And I didn’t protect her, did I? Everyone can see the scars.’

  What about your scars? Mollie wanted to ask. Who sees them? They were all on the inside, and for so long she’d had no idea they existed at all. How could she have assumed that Jacob had left all those years ago without a care in the world, selfish, self-centred? How could she have judged him so utterly? Yet she had, and his siblings had as well. Everyone had.

  Especially himself.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said roughly. He pulled his hand away from the bar. ‘The point is I failed—just as my father failed.’

  ‘No—’

  ‘The day I left, Annabelle found me in my father’s study. It was noon and I was already half drunk on his whisky.’ He spoke with revulsion, but Mollie refused to give in to it.

  ‘And so one moment of weakness condemns you, nearly twenty years later? I don’t believe that, Jacob.’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know,’ he told her in a low voice.

  ‘I’m sure there is. There’s a lot you don’t know about me too. One morning when my father was ill, he couldn’t remember anything. Not my name, n
ot that my mother had died decades ago. He was confused and scared and he started to cry.’ She drew a breath, the memory still shaming her. ‘And I yelled at him. I yelled at him like he was a naughty child. As if he could help it.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I’m ashamed of that.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be ashamed.’ Jacob’s voice was low. ‘You stayed, Mollie. You saw it through.’

  ‘And you blame yourself because you didn’t stay?’

  ‘No. I blame myself because I couldn’t.’ Jacob drew a shuddering breath. ‘If I did …’ He stopped, shaking his head, closing himself off. Mollie wouldn’t let him.

  ‘Our mistakes don’t define us, Jacob.’

  Jacob’s voice was so low she could barely hear it. ‘This is more than a mistake. This is who I am.’

  The raw grief in his voice shook her. Why did he think so badly of himself? What was he not telling her? ‘You’re the boy who took care of his family, Jacob,’ she said firmly. ‘The man who saved his sister …’

  Jacob shook his head, the movement violent and instinctive. ‘You don’t know—’

  ‘No, I don’t. I never could. I know your whole family suffered under William’s hand, although I’m sure I could never guess how much. And,’ she added softly, ‘I’m sure, as the oldest, you endured the most of all.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘Why do you carry so much guilt, Jacob?’ Mollie asked softly. ‘Why is it all your fault?’ ‘Because …’ He stopped, shaking his head.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No!’ The word was a roar. He dropped his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his hair. ‘I can’t. If I told you …’

  ‘What? What would happen?’

  ‘You might hate me.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I couldn’t bear that.’

  Stunned and humbled, Mollie remained silent. Then she acted out of both instinct and a newborn confidence. She reached out to draw Jacob’s hands away from his face, his head still bowed. He lifted it as she took his hands in hers, curling her fingers around his as she half slid off her stool to do what she’d wanted to do for so long, what she needed to do.

  She kissed him.

  Jacob’s lips slackened under hers in surprise for a single second before he responded, his arms coming around Mollie’s shoulders and drawing her closer to him so she leaned against him, half sprawled on his stool.

  He kissed her with a pent-up passion that felt like fury and yet tasted so achingly sweet. He tasted sweet, and as she surrendered to the kiss he’d made his own she knew she would never get enough.

  He pulled away for a brief, aching moment and shook his head. ‘Not here.’

  Mollie nodded, accepting, and then he took her hand and pulled her with him away from the bar, flinging a few crumpled notes on its polished surface. She followed him across the hotel’s opulent lobby towards a gleaming bank of lifts; trepidation curled in the pit of her stomach. She was afraid this silent walk would give Jacob space and time to change his mind. To decide he didn’t want her after all.

  He jabbed the lift button and the doors swished open. The moment they closed again, Jacob turned to her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her with an abandoned hunger that thrilled Mollie to her core.

  She responded, every inhibition and uncertainty scattering to the winds as she tangled her fingers in Jacob’s hair and pressed her body against his, wanting and needing to feel all of him. Wanting and needing this, only this, this moment, this kiss—it was everything, her whole world wrapped into one embrace.

  They stumbled back against the wall of the lift, fingers scrabbling at each other’s clothes, their breathing ragged and desperate and yet the kiss went on, urgent, endless, demanding and satisfying at the same time. Jacob’s hand pulled at the zip of her dress and he tugged impatiently; in one slithering movement it fell to the floor of the lift. Mollie kicked it off, pulling at the buttons of his shirt and hearing them pop and scatter across the floor as the lift began to slow.

  She could hardly believe she was being this daring, this reckless; she was in a hotel lift in nothing but her bra and panties. And Jacob … to have him so urgent, so hungry. He was losing control, and it thrilled her.

  He pulled her towards him, kissing her again with that same deep urgency. The doors whooshed open and in one easy movement Jacob scooped her into his arms and carried her into their suite.

  He brought her to the bed, laying her gently down before he reached for the buttons of his shirt, most of which she’d already wrenched apart. Mollie watched him undress with desire-dazed eyes; he was so beautiful. He shrugged out of his shirt, the muscles of his shoulders and chest rippling with the simple movement. His hair was rumpled, his breathing ragged, and his eyes—

  Oh, his eyes. There was so much pain in those black, black eyes, it made Mollie want to weep. She lay there, her mind still fogged with desire, and yet the pain she saw reached out to her and wrapped around her throat. Her heart. She could barely speak, barely breathe, so she just held her arms out to him in silent supplication.

  He came to her.

  He fell upon her with a hunger and a need Mollie hadn’t expected, even now. It humbled her, excited her, made her feel sexy and beautiful and, God help her, even loved.

  He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his hands roaming over her body, down to her stomach, his fingers skimming across the tender flesh of her inner thighs. She gasped under his touch; it had been so long. It had been for ever, because it had never been like this before.

  ‘Mollie …’ Her name sounded like a plea, and she rose to answer it.

  ‘Yes.’ She didn’t want his doubt. She was sure, so very sure, and she wanted him to be as well. She held his head between her palms, dragging him forward so she could kiss him, as if her kiss was a balm she was bestowing upon him to take that pain from his eyes. From his heart.

  And he accepted it, the tension leaving his body as he kissed her again, this time with a new, slow languor, a kiss to savour. He bent his head to her breasts, taking his turn with each, as Mollie gasped at the exquisite sensation. She felt Jacob smile against her skin, and then he moved lower. He covered every inch of her body, moving over her with his lips and hands, testing and tasting, treasuring her. Mollie arched beneath him, her voice a restless plea as the ache within her intensified, demanding release.

  Finally he rolled on top of her, and Mollie welcomed his weight, eager for the joining of their bodies. She started in surprise as she felt Jacob touch her closed eyelids. ‘Look at me.’

  Her eyes fluttered open. ‘Jacob …?’

  ‘Look at me,’ he said again as he entered her, filling her to completion, the moment of union so surprisingly, stingingly sweet that she had to blink sudden tears. Jacob braced himself on his forearms as he looked down at her, his eyes still so dark, his forehead furrowed. Silently he brushed the trace of a tear from the corner of her eye, and Mollie let out a gasping cry.

  ‘It’s all right….’

  It was more than all right; it was wonderful. She felt consumed, filled, whole. And as her body spiralled into a climax, with Jacob still gazing at her with such heartfelt solemnity, she felt that this was what it was to be known. And Jacob felt it too. No matter what questions or secrets lay between them, he knew her.

  And she knew him.

  Then the thought—all her thoughts—splintered apart as her body convulsed around him and she cried out in a pleasure so sweetly intense it felt almost akin to pain. Jacob buried his face in her neck as he found his own release, and moments later, their bodies still slick with sweat, he rolled off her, one arm thrown over his eyes.

  What had just happened?

  She lay there, naked, a little cold, conscious of him next to her, silent save for the ragged tear of his breathing. She rolled towards him, placed a hand lightly on the ridged muscles of his taut stomach. She couldn’t see his face. He placed his hand on hers, and Mollie’s insides lurched with disappointment as he made to push it away. Then, to her surprise
, he stilled. After a second’s hesitation his fingers curled around hers and he kept her hand there, wrapped in his. They lay together, holding hands, not speaking, until, exhausted, Mollie eventually fell asleep.

  Jacob listened to Mollie’s breathing slow as she relaxed into sleep. From the corner of his eye he could see the brightness of her hair against the pillow, the soft, smooth curve of her cheek. She let out a satisfied little sigh and everything in Jacob clenched.

  What had he just done? Where was his control now?

  He let out a ragged sigh and raked a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. His body felt good, satisfied and replete in a way he’d never experienced before, but his mind screamed and seethed in an agony of remorse. He’d done—again—what he’d sworn he wouldn’t do. He’d hurt someone. He’d hurt Mollie … or at least he would, when he let her down. When she discovered just what kind of man he really was.

  You’re not that man.

  Carefully Jacob shifted on his side so he could look at her. He kept her hand clasped in his, needing her touch even now. She was curled on her side, her mouth softened in a smile, her chest rising and falling gently in her sleep.

  She was so beautiful. So innocent. So good.

  How could he have seduced her? How could he have resisted her?

  Restless yet not wanting to disturb her, Jacob slipped from the bed. Mollie’s fingers clenched around his as he attempted to extricate his hand from hers; gently he laid it palm up on the sheets. He reached for his boxers and shrugged them on, then stalked to the darkened privacy of the suite’s living room.

  He stood in the centre of the room, listening to the distant noise of traffic, the relentless beat of his own heart. Corrosive guilt poured through his craven heart, seeped into its many cracks. He closed his eyes.

  He should have left her alone. He shouldn’t have touched her, taken her, dragged her down with him. For surely that was what he would do, if she ever knew. If he ever told her.

  Suddenly Jacob opened his eyes. He stared unseeingly out at the twinkling lights of the city below him, his own thoughts reverberating through him.