This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Hearts of Winter copyright @ 2014 by Olivia Stephens. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
PREVIEW
PROLOGUE
There’s nothing like sifting through the soot-stained wreckage of your home to give you some perspective on your life. I find that I keep going back to the remnants of the building where I grew up, the place that had been filled with so many memories, good and bad, filled with so many ghosts. I wonder if this is how it is all going to end: in a fireball that leaves everything blackened and charred behind it, destroying the very foundations of our lives. But I can’t let myself believe that. I refuse to lose hope. I can’t, because if I do then what is left? What is left behind when everything else comes crashing to the ground?
It was something that my dad had told me, one of the many phrases of his that I carry with me in his absence. They’re my security blanket. “Keep the faith, hold on tight to it; if you have hope then there is always a chance that tomorrow will be better.” That night he had been comforting me after some bigger kids at school had been picking on me and calling me names because I was so tall. But I cling onto those words now, wondering if he had been hopeful that awful night when the leader of the Bleeding Angels, Scar, took him away from me. I wonder if my father really believed that things were going to get better. I have to think that he did, I need to believe that he was right—that all is not lost. That as long as we trust that tomorrow will be better than today, then we’re on the right track.
But it’s getting harder and harder to see how things can ever improve in Painted Rock. After everything that has happened to my family, to my friends, to the man I love, I wonder if hope is stronger than the fear and cruelty that the Angels use to keep this town under their control.
As I stand up and begin walking away from the wreck of rubble that was once my home, the sky starts to break out into an array of colors. There are oranges, reds, yellows, and all the shades in-between bouncing around the heavens as the sun starts to rise. I could ignore the beauty of the sunrise and take it just as the normal start of yet another day, a day that takes us closer to the horror that awaits us. I could do that. But I won’t. Despair and hopelessness would be easy and I never had been one to do things the easy way.
“I’m listening to you, Dad,” I say, staring up at the sky and drinking in the beauty of what I’m seeing. I stand like that for what must be nearly twenty minutes as the sun rises and the colors of the sky change and morph spectacularly. “I’ll keep the faith, I’ll keep trying,” I pledge softly, and I start making my way back towards the body shop. As I walk I let an unfamiliar feeling overcome me and it takes a little while for me to recognize it; it’s hope.
CHAPTER ONE
“I think we should just spend all our time right here,” I sigh as I lay my head contentedly on Jake’s muscular chest.
“No argument here,” Jake replies as he absently strokes my back, tracing his fingers softly over the skin. “It’d help if you stopped sneaking out during the night,” he points out, and I don’t argue. I know he’s right, I just hadn’t realized that he’d found me out.
We’re all tangled up in the sheets, our legs wrapped around each other, our bodies so close that there’s no telling where one ends and the other begins. It’s only been a few days since our lives were turned upside down but, lying in bed together in Jake’s makeshift studio above his father’s body shop, all of that feels like a world away.
“Winters, I can hear the cogs in your brain turning,” Jake shifts us both so we’re facing each other. “What’s up?” he asks, his voice soft and full of concern.
I look in his brown eyes and, for a moment, I forget about the reality of what our lives have become; the reality that we only have a few short weeks together before the Bleeding Angels come for Jake. I reach across to trace the line of dark stubble along his strong jaw-line and wonder again at how long it took me to realize that my best friend was so much more than that. Now that I know what Jake means to me, I’m even more scared of losing him.
“Just thinking,” I reply, shrugging. I don’t need to say any more than that—his eyes show his understanding and he pulls me tighter to him. He knows exactly what I’ve been thinking about.
“We have a month,” he reminds me, “We can’t spend all the time we have thinking about what’s going to happen at the end of it. It’ll just drive us both crazy.”
“I know, I know,” I concede; he is right after all. “But we can’t just forget about what’s going on, what’s going to happen. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we’re going to need to start making plans.”
“Plans for what, Aimee?” he asks, suddenly frustrated, sitting up in bed abruptly and releasing his hold on me.
“To get out of here,” I remind him.
“Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that there was any way that was possible—how would we do it?” Jake asks, getting out of bed and pulling on his crumpled jeans from the floor. He starts pacing around the studio floor, looking anywhere but at me.
“All we need is a car. We just drive, get out of this town,” I tell him. It’s so hard for us to have this conversation, and I if it’s going to get any easier.
“And what stops the Angels from coming after us?” Jake asks, as he starts fiddling with the coffee filter.
“We have to try,” I say, trying not to wring my hands.
“Right.” He slams the jug into the machine and leans over the counter of what serves as his makeshift kitchen. “And once we manage to get out of town—that’s assuming the Angels haven’t followed us and dragged us back, or worse—what do we do for money? They took everything,” he reminds me.
“I know that, Jake.” For the first time, my voice grows louder and harsher. Rationally, I know that he’s still in shock over the events that took place only a couple of nights ago and I’m aware that he’s probably as scared as I am over what’s going to happen to him and to us. But I refuse to be his punching bag or the outlet for his frustrations. “I know they took everything; every damn dollar that I have been saving, I was there, remember? I was there when they burned my home to the ground. I haven’t forgotten, Jake.” I try to keep my voice steady, although it’s threatening to break at any time.
He doesn’t reply straight away. Instead, I see his chest rise and fall as he takes some deep breaths, getting hi
mself back under control. “I’m sorry,” he says after a few moments as the silence stretches out between us.
“It’s alright,” I reply automatically, suddenly not in the mood to talk about how screwed up our lives are. I jump out of bed and grab a band to pile my dark hair up on my head, not even looking in Jake’s direction. “I’m going to take a shower,” I throw back over my shoulder as I head to the bathroom. Jake fitted it out himself when he’d decided to move out of the Summers home and into the body shop.
I lean my head against the cool glass of the mirror, trying to get myself under control. I can feel my heart racing and my breath starting to come in gasps. I think about the fact that we have less than a month before the Angels come for Jake and we can’t even talk about what’s going to happen without fighting. I’ve suffered from panic attacks for years, and I know the only way to get past them is to breathe deeply, to try to calm myself down. It only takes a few breaths today—it’s not a bad one.
I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it and stare at my reflection. Green, catlike eyes stare back at me and I wonder if it’s just my imagination or if they look older than they did only a few short days ago. My vision is obscured by the steam settling over the mirror as the bathroom heats up. I shake my head, reminding myself that wallowing in how hard things are isn’t going to help anyone; not me, and definitely not Jake.
Stepping into the shower I gasp quickly as the hot water hits my skin, but it’s exactly what I need. The sound of the pounding water goes some way toward drowning out the nagging, anxious voices circling round in my mind. I pull the band out of my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders before I duck my head under the beating water. I close my eyes, starting to work the shampoo through my hair and I try to concentrate on the simple task of showering. It’s comforting to focus on standard, boring, day-to-day activities. Concentrating on them stops me from thinking about everything I wish I could forget about.
There’s a noise behind me that catches me off guard and I whip around, almost losing my footing on the slippery, wet floor, but a strong arm reaches out to steady me. I’ve been a little jumpy since the fire. I blink the shampoo foam out of my eyes to find Jake standing naked in front of me, his dark brown eyes looking even darker than usual. His proximity makes every part of my body feel like it’s standing to attention, as if I’ve been half-asleep until this moment.
“I’m sorry,” Jake says quietly, reaching out his hand and running his thumb over my cheek, an action that has become our shorthand.
“I know,” I reply, breathing out softly as my body responds to him immediately.
“No, really,” he insists, his voice serious. “I acted like an idiot. It’s not fair for me to take out the way I feel on you. Especially when you’re the reason we have this time together at all,” he says, leaning his head towards mine until my forehead touches his full lips.
“It’s okay.” My voice is breathless as his touch works its magic on me, giving me goosebumps and a feeling of warmth in my belly all at the same time. “I’m scared too,” I assure him. Even though he hasn’t said the words, I know that’s how he’s feeling. We’ve been friends for too long for me not to know Jake’s signs and tells.
“You know what scares me most?” he asks after a moment as he wraps his arms around me. He pulls me towards him so we’re skin to skin as the water keeps beating down around us.
“What?” I reply, laying my head against his chest and enjoying being safe in his arms.
“The idea of losing you,” he replies, holding me even tighter against him, as if he were trying to imprint my body against his. “The thought of losing you terrifies me—more so than me becoming an Angel, more so than anything they could do to me.” His voice wavers a little as he speaks.
“That’s not going to happen,” I assure him, pulling away just far enough for me to look up at him and for my green eyes to meet his brown ones. “You’re not going to lose me.” My voice is firm and filled with a certainty that I wish I felt. “Kiss me,” I whisper, lifting my face up towards his, and I don’t have to wait long before his lips meet mine.
The effect of his kisses on me is the same every time. I used to think that when people said they went weak at the knees, it was just a figure of speech. Now I know differently. That’s exactly what Jake’s kisses do to me. They make my whole body tremble with a need I had never even realized existed before that first time that our lips met. It’s as if he were the answer to a question I hadn’t even asked.
“You’re so goddam beautiful, Winters,” Jake says softly against my lips. He skims his hands up from my waist towards my breasts and I feel my nipples harden immediately as he brushes his hands over them. The ache blooming between my thighs is almost painful. “How far did you get?” he asks, looking at me with an expression on his face that just makes me want to melt.
“Hmmm?” I find it difficult to concentrate on what he’s saying while my whole body is buzzing with need.
“The soap.” He nods towards the bar that I’m holding in my hand. “How far did you get?” he repeats, a mischievous grin starting to spread across his face.
“Not far,” I reply, looking up at him from under my long lashes, knowing exactly what he has in mind.
“Well, I guess we’re just going to have to get you all cleaned up.” Jake sighs as if it were a chore, but the slow, deliberate way that he takes the soap bar and works it into a lather between his hands says differently. “Turn around,” he instructs, his voice level.
I obey automatically. When it comes to these moments, I don’t have any qualms about letting Jake take the lead. I trust him completely and all the hang-ups I have over my body all disappear when he touches me. He starts working the soap over my back, from my shoulder blades down my spine, just skimming away as he meets the top of my butt and I feel myself lean back against him unconsciously. His slick hands against my body are so erotic I can already feel the wetness between my legs and the ache there becoming more persistent. I can hear Jake’s breathing behind me becoming more ragged, mirroring my own. But I can’t think about that for long before I lose the ability to think clearly at all. His hands make their way up from my waist, over my belly, and up towards my breasts again.
“Jake,” I moan softly as he slides his hands over my slick breasts, pausing to squeeze my hard nipples gently. I lean against him, needing to touch him, to feel him, and I’m rewarded with his hardness against my ass.
“Looks like someone’s getting a little impatient,” Jake whispers against my hair as I push against him, rubbing him with my pert behind. The growl that reverberates in his throat tells me that he’s just as impatient as I am.
“I can wait,” I reply, struggling to keep my voice from betraying me. I peer over my shoulder at Jake and see his smile as he takes up the challenge. It’s a game that we have started to play. It came about completely unintentionally, but being the competitive two that we are, neither ever wants to let the other win. We drive each other crazy, touching, kissing, sucking, teasing. And whoever asks for release or reaches their satisfaction loses. To be fair, if you lost the game, you were really still a winner.
“Glad to hear it Miss Winters,” Jake replies teasingly. “We still have to get you cleaned up. Can’t have you showing up for lunch with the Summers clan all dirty.” He puts extra emphasis on the last word and I giggle in spite of myself.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” I reply solemnly. Although I can’t keep the twinkle out of my eye as I snake my hand around behind me to grasp the hardness of his shaft. I enjoy the looks of shock and pleasure that pass across his face in quick succession.
But I know Jake well enough to realize he’s not going to let me get away with that without retaliating. He guides me to turn around so we’re facing each other again and I drink in the sight before me. The muscular, lean body looks like it’s just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. I wonder again at how much time we wasted not touching and kissing each other. It’s hard to ima
gine why it took me so long to see what was right in front of me all this time.
Jake’s soapy hands make their way down from my hard nipples, over my flat stomach, and towards the dark mound of hair between my thighs. But he stops just before his destination, letting his hand drift aimlessly over the line of my pelvic bone, from one side of my hips to the other. I shiver as his other hand reaches up and gently tweaks my nipples, softly first and then harder and harder, teetering on that line between pain and pleasure.
My hand shoots out towards Jake’s cock and I close my hands around him, feeling how rock hard he is. I look up at him, daring him to say something or make a move as I start to run my hand up and down his shaft, squeezing and tugging in the way that I know drives him wild. Jake closes his eyes. He looks like he’s concentrating on regulating his breathing, but he’s fighting a losing battle. I can feel how desperate he is for this release.
I’m confident that I’m going to win this round when Jake starts to slip his hand over the mound of curls between my thighs. Sifting through them with his fingers, diving deeper, until he touches the slickness that he’s created there. He locks eyes with me, raising an eyebrow. “What do we have here?” he asks, taunting me with my own desire.
Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) Page 1
