Stupid Jennifer.
"Are we fighting again?" she asked.
"No." He cleared his throat and turned on the car. "I'm just..." his voice trailed into thought.
"Just what?" she asked.
"Just, taking you home." He forced a smile in her direction. "You like music?" He switched on the radio.
"Sure." She sat back in her seat as a familiar tune filled the car. Something about destiny... She wondered how she had ever thought that turning on the radio to avoid a conversation wasn't blatantly obvious that that's what she was trying to do?
"I had tickets to this concert." Nick mused.
At least he was talking. "Who is this?"
"O'Shara."
O'Shara. "Oh yeah? I uh..." Jennifer started then stopped herself. He didn't want to talk she reminded herself.
"What?" Nick asked.
"No. It's nothing," she said, giving him his distraction. She turned her head toward the window to hide her tears.
She wasn't sure what had changed but she had a pretty good idea it was something she'd done. Naïveté was something she couldn't deny. She had that in spades. And she felt like she was being punished for her own stupidity.
He pulled the car to a stop in front of her apartment. She could tell that he was waiting for her to get out of the car. He flashed a forced smile in her direction, turned off the car and got out. He was on his way around the car to open her door when she opened it herself and got out.
"Chivalry not your thing?" he asked.
"Not when it's used to hide behind," she retorted.
He just shook his head.
"Why won't you just talk to me?" she asked.
"Jen," he scoffed. "I've been talking to you all afternoon. You know practically my entire life history. All I know about you is that you don't like warm pickles and that you've been to Mount Rushmore."
"What do you want me to say?"
"You don't have to say anything," he shook his head, his eyes down. "But it would be nice if you actually wanted to."
"I do want to," she started, stepping towards him.
In a reaction she hadn't expected, he matched her movements, stepping close to her; he slid his arm around her waist, and pulled her tight against him. He locked his eyes on her. Those beautiful jewels, his intoxicating smell, and his soft, warm lips. His lips. They were only inches away. She wanted them. She wanted him.
"We'd be like magic you and I, the chemistry between us is practically electric," he breathed. "But I've been down that road. I've been with a lot of women, Jen."
"A lot?" How many was a lot?
"A lot," he affirmed. "But it was never enough, Jen. It was never enough because it was never what I needed. It was just sex. I want more than that." He let go of her and took a deliberate step backwards. "I thought maybe you and I... but I guess not." He turned to leave.
It was hard to take a breath suddenly, a flush of heat ran through her, and her heart felt heavy as it began to pound, like a rock in her chest.
She was losing him.
Of course she was. That's what her life was now. If you love it, you lose it. Right? But she wasn't sure if her heart could take this kind of pain again.
It was easier before, when she could lie to herself and pretend that she hadn't lost everyone, but that she'd just gone away, like she'd planned, except it was to work in a sandwich shop in San Francisco instead of going to school at USD in Vermillion.
"Please," she squeaked, desperate, but her voice was barely even a whisper. She had to consider, that maybe it was for the best, after all, she wasn't even a real person. She watched him climb into his car and shut the door. Strange, how it made no sound.
"Genevieve," she heard a small unfamiliar voice in her thoughts, and then all was black.
Chapter 15
Deals With The Devil
She'd been following someone. But now she was crouched down in a dark place, hiding. The image of the Hunter's hollow eyes filled her thoughts. He was close and he was looking for her; still so angry that she had gotten away... again. But she couldn't hide forever. She was close now and he knew it. Soon he would find her, and then, he would kill her.
"No!" she opened her eyes. She was on the couch, in her apartment. Her head was throbbing, even more so as she tried to sit up. She reached her hand to the epicenter of the pain. There was a rather sizable bump swelling on the back right side of her head. What the hell had happened? Had she passed out? How lame. And what on earth had she hit her head on, a swinging bat?
"Look at me," Nick said curtly as he squatted down in front of her, with a glass of water in one hand and a towel full of ice in the other. He handed her the towel of ice and took her chin in his free hand. He turned her head towards him and looked at her eyes. It's funny how different an intention could make a look. His eyes were on her, but he wasn't looking at her, he didn't see her. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.
She wanted to be snarky and say seven but it came out as, "Two."
"You'll be okay," he concluded. "Here." He stood and handed her the glass of water. "Who's Ian?" he asked.
"What?"
"Ian," he repeated. "When I was bringing you in you said Ian. Who's Ian?"
"I don't know anyone named Ian." She searched her memory. "I don't think I've ever known anyone named Ian. Are you sure I wasn't just moaning or something?"
He shrugged.
She took a drink of the water. Not water. It burned her throat. She spit what she hadn't swallowed back into the glass. "That is not water," she grimaced and shuddered.
"It's vodka. I thought you could use something to calm you down. I guess you're not much of a drinker."
She might have laughed at the fact that that had been her first drink, if not for the throbbing pain encircling her head. She set the glass of not water on the end table.
Nick's eyes were on the door. Of course they were. "Thank you for helping me," she managed through the growing tightness of her throat and chest. "You don't need to stay."
Nick let out a long sigh. "You're so polite," he mumbled and lowered himself onto the couch next to her. "Put that ice on your head," he ordered, though his tone was softer now.
She didn't want to put the ice on her head. It hurt to even think about her head — and he wanted her to put a hard thing of jagged ice against it? No thanks. When she did nothing he huffed a sigh, took the towel from her and pressed it gingerly to the back of her head.
"Ouch," she grimaced, pulling away. "I don't think that's helping. It hurts."
"Sorry," he said. He held the towel in his hand for a minute then took his hand, now cold from holding the ice and held it to her head. His fingers in her hair, his warm body so close to hers, his intoxicating smell. This hurt too, but in a much, much different way.
She hated who she was right now, maybe even more than she'd hated who she'd been. How stupid of her to think that they could ever be... It was simply not meant to be, she told herself. This life, Jennifer Hollis's life, was just another lie.
Hot tears stung her eyes. She took a breath, and in one motion, stood and stepped away from him. She might have overestimated her current abilities just a tad. The room wobbled and she swayed; her arms flailed out to her sides to help her balance.
He reached towards her, to steady her, or maybe to catch her if she fell again.
"Please don't," she recoiled, unable to look at him, tears welling in her eyes.
Stupid tears.
Stupid Jenni—
Stupid — whoever she was.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry. I should never have—." She couldn't bring herself to say the words, kissed you, wanted you, fallen for you. Instead she just waved her arm about in front of her, in the same stupid fashion she always did when she didn't know what to say.
"Jen, what happened to you?" Nick hovered, concern in his eyes.
She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything, but she knew she shouldn't. Couldn't. "Too much," she said.
She hated the look of sadness, remorse, and pity in his eyes. "But I don't need you to save me."
"I don't think you need saving, Jen. I think you need a friend."
"You should go." She met his eyes long enough to suggest that she meant what she said.
"Do you really want me to go?"
No, she heard her mind say. "I think it would be best," she managed.
"You were shaking your head as you said that."
Damn it.
She took the ice-filled towel from him and walked to the kitchen. She dumped the ice into the sink, and wiped the tears from her eyes, before she turned to face him again. "Nick—," Something moved behind him, she only caught a glimpse of it, but it looked solid, pale, and human-shaped. The shock of made her gasp. She looked around Nick's shoulder, her eyes scanning to see where the figure had gone.
Nick turned to see what she was looking at. Which at the moment was a rather ordinary looking wall.
"What? What's wrong?" he asked.
"I don't know. Nothing. I just thought I saw someone behind you."
"Saw someone?" he asked looking around the room.
"It was nothing," she said. "Probably just a trick of the light, or a maybe it's a brain damage induced hallucination or something."
"Has that happened to you before?"
"Has what happened to me before?"
"Where you've seen them," he stressed. "Because that's very rare. Cool, but rare."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, her tone utterly defeated.
"Haven't you ever felt that you weren't alone, even though you knew you were, felt someone watching, looking after you almost? Alone in a crowd, but never alone?"
"You sound like Marcus."
"Was he wrong?"
"The only thing I've ever felt when I was alone was alone," she said flatly. Always alone — except for when she was with him. She pushed the thought from her mind and clenched her jaw tight. She was not going to start crying again. "You know this kind of talk is only going to lead us to another argument. You really should go," she said.
"Why won't you just talk to me?"
Damn it. She hated that he was using her own words against her. "I can't."
"Can't? Or won't?" he asked. "You act like you're in witness protection or something?"
She didn't respond.
"Wait. Are you?"
She shook her head. "It's more like the 'or something.'"
"But something terrible happened, didn't it?"
She thought of Xavier. The gunshots. The Hunter. Just a dream, she reminded herself, just a dream. But the letter was real; the danger — in some form — was real. "I don't know," she shuddered as chills snaked their way down her spine. "It's complicated."
"Like not knowing when your own birthday is, complicated?"
"No one knows that," her tears threatened. "No one was ever supposed to know that, and I told you in casual conversation. I don't trust myself around you. The next thing you know I'll be telling you..." she stopped, waving her arm out in front of her again.
He stepped close to her, and took a hold of her hand. "It's okay," he soothed, "I get it."
She wanted to pull her hand away, reject his advances, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that if she let him in she would only end up hurting him. How selfish of her.
He held her hand to his chest, over his heart. "I give you my word that I will never tell anyone anything about you that you don't want them to know. You can trust me. And you can trust that your secrets will always be safe with me, no matter what."
She met his eyes. He looked so sincere. She wanted to believe him, to believe in him, but could she? Should she? She moved to step around him, away from him.
He matched her movements, as if they had been an invitation to dance. "Now you can accept my offer as given, or you can negotiate the terms. Once terms are agreed upon, we can seal the deal with a kiss or a handshake if you'd prefer — to make it binding."
A kiss.
His kiss.
She tried to keep her anger about her, but she could feel herself giving in to him. "I've heard about deals like this. Shouldn't we be standing at a crossroads or something?" she chided.
A chuckle escaped his lips as he smiled. "Or an altar, but I think those are more for show than anything else. So, do we have an agreement?" he slid his hand around her waist, and pulled close to her.
Butterflies teamed within her. "Are you the Devil?" she asked.
"No," he smiled a devilish grin.
"A Demon?"
"That's a debatable point, but no," he gave a half shrug. "Not really."
Not really? What did that mean? Strange how she didn't care — wouldn't have cared if he had said yes. He bent his head to her, bringing his lips within kissing proximity, but he made no motion to kiss her.
"Do you deal this way often?" she asked.
"No." he whispered against her lips, his breath like the ghost of a kiss.
"Promise you'll always be honest with me."
"I promise," he whispered.
She held her lips next to his, desperate for him to close the gap and kiss her, but she knew he wouldn't. She wished she had his strength of will. So much of her wanted to resist him as much as she wanted to kiss him. But all of her wanted to stay forever in his arms.
A shock of electricity, like the one she'd felt just before she'd met him, before she'd met Xavier – but stronger than both had been — surged through her. She pressed her lips to his alighting the butterflies and sending them into a frenzied, electrified spin.
He moaned and pressed himself against her, causing a whimper to escape her lips. She tightened her grip on him, needing him closer, closer. Doubting he could ever be close enough. The lights above them flickered along with their surge of passion.
Nick pulled away from their kiss, looking almost wary. "Does that happen often?" He motioned with his head toward the lights.
"I don't think so."
A smile lit his face and he met her eyes. "How's your head?"
"It's okay. Better." She had always healed quickly. She ran her fingers over her sore scalp. Still tender, but she was sure it would be gone before bedtime. "I'm not even sure what happened. It was like... one minute I was upset and the next I was asleep." Deep in a nightmare. She shuddered.
Nick ran a hand down her arm. "You fell and beaned your head on a flowerpot."
"I didn't hurt the flowers did I?"
Nick chuckled. "You cracked the pot, but I'm sure the flowers will be fine."
Jen made a mental note to buy a replacement flowerpot. Then she excused herself to go to the bathroom. Good thing too, she was a mess. Her make-up was smudged, and her hair looked like she'd been doing cartwheels. She smoothed out the smudges and ran a brush through her hair, being careful to brush lightly around the tender spots.
Nick was on his cell phone when she returned, which reminded her that hers needed to be charged. She retrieved it from her pocket and headed down the hall to her room. He was standing in her doorway when she turned back around.
"Wow," he remarked. "Sparse."
She eyed her meager surroundings. Four empty walls, a bed made with a flowered spread, and a small side table that held her now charging phone and the rose quartz heart he had given her for her not-birthday.
"It's never really felt like mine," she said.
"That must be why it doesn't feel like you," he commented, stepping into the room.
"It's a place to sleep," she justified.
"Maybe we'll have to change that." The edge of his mouth curled into a smile.
A sudden panic shot through her. Not from his comment, but from the realization that for him, she would. Right now. No commitment. No questions. All he'd have to do is ask. No, not even that. All he'd have to do was let her know that he wanted it too.
But why were her standards so different when it came to him? Why was the thought of slipping into bed
and into sweet ecstasy with him — at least, she assumed it would be that way — not something she felt she needed to spend some time thinking about? Was it because she'd already thought about it more times than she could count — and it had been pure ecstasy every single time — or was it something else? What had happened to her ability to be rational?
His kiss, his touch, even just having his eyes on her was more than tempting, but jumping into bed with him right now probably — no definitely — probably definitely — maybe wasn't the most appropriate idea. Right?
He must have seen the panic in her expression. "I didn't mean it like that," he reassured.
She was both relieved and slightly disappointed. She knew she wouldn't have regretted being with him, but she was pretty sure she would feel bad about not feeling bad about seeming to have absolutely no moral boundaries.
"I grew up in South Dakota," she changed the subject. "I had four brothers and three sisters — all younger, and too many pets to mention. I had no idea who I was or where I was going with my life, but I had a plan — not a good one, but it was something. And then one day, my parents told me that my entire life was a lie. They weren't really my parents, not my brothers and sisters, not even my birthday."
He crossed the room to her, and took her into his arms. "Is that when you left?"
She wiped a tear from her cheek, as she nodded. "Damn it. You know I never really cried much before that day, now it's like that's all I ever do. It's like my freaking tear ducts are broken or something."
"It's okay," he said as he stroked her hair.
"Leaving wasn't my idea," she continued. "Nothing was ever my idea. I always just did what I was told, what I was expected to do. I had a plane ticket and some cash, and I was just supposed to forget my entire life."
"Is that when you went to Colorado?" he asked.
She shuddered involuntarily, forcing the nightmare from her mind. He gripped her tighter in his arms.
"Yeah, sort of. That's one of the more complicated parts. And it didn't exactly work out like it was supposed to. But then, for the first time in my life, I had a chance to make a choice, a chance to decide what my life was going to be, what it could be, and so I took it... It hurts when I think about what I've lost, but I'm happy here. I like it here. I feel at home here. Well, maybe not here, here." She shot a look around her sparse room.
The Aeon Star Page 12
