Our eyes meet and the warmth of that connection seeps into me. I feel light-headed from her beauty and its stunning, savage power over me.
“I just want to make sure he doesn’t come near you again,” I say. “I won’t do anything crazy. You can trust me.”
“He’s ridiculously loaded,” she says.
“So am I.”
“He has a feral team of lawyers.”
“So do I.”
“I don’t want you thinking you need to get revenge, Jake. You’ve got that look in your eye.” She smiles again.
That she might know me well enough to read me makes me ludicrously happy.
Happy.
It’s not an emotion I’ve had a lot of experience with. I decide I like it.
She’s the only one who’s ever made me feel this way. All those women from my wretched past who tried to convince me of things I never believed; none of them ever got close. And then this happens … this little goddess swans into my life and slays me, with no effort at all. A blink of those long, red-tinted eyelashes in my direction was all it took. I’ve known her for a few weeks. I’ve spent two or so hours in her company. And I’ve felt more happiness during those hundred minutes than in all the rest of my twenty-seven years combined. Ridiculous but true. My mother died when I was two. My father died when I was four. Alexander raised me and did the best he could but it was hard. He was driven to succeed so he could get us out of the poverty we found ourselves mired in and it took its toll. We struggled. And I mean we fucking struggled. We had nothing. We lived in shacks and under bridges and even in a chicken coop at one point. We were hungry all the time. He was forced to leave me alone so he could go to school and work to try to get us the money we so desperately needed. He didn’t know how all that would turn out until it was too late. How leaving me alone would make me vulnerable to the twisted agenda of our sadistic uncle …
But that’s a story best left alone.
All I know or care to think about is right here and now and in the suddenly-shining future. The minutes and hours I might be allowed to spend with her, this exquisite, dazzling girl.
So I tell her truthfully: “I promise: no revenge, unless he comes back for more. In the meantime, you’ll be safer if I make sure he can’t stalk you or follow you or somehow try to blackmail you again. I know people who can make sure that doesn’t happen. And I can make sure it doesn’t happen. I can watch over you. And protect you.” I realize what I sound like and I don’t want her to think I’m walking some kind of stalker-lunatic line. So I keep it light. “If you want me to. If I have time.” Who are we kidding: I have all the time in the world. Even if I didn’t, I’d fucking make time.
“His name is Butch Flint,” she says, relenting. “But Jake, please don’t do anything. Please just stay away from him.”
“As long as he stays away from you, I’ll stay away from him.”
She smiles at me and there are layers to that smile. Like she’s not sure why I would offer such a thing. Like she’s grateful but guarded. Which is fine. I’ll take it slow and allow her to adjust. She’ll learn that I’m too far gone, already. All I need to do now is convince her that she needs me as much as I suddenly, rapturously, completely need her.
“Is your mother at home with him?” I ask her.
“You’re sweet, Jake, to ask about her. But no. She’s in Ireland. Looking for …” At this, her eyes well up.
“Hey,” I say gently, wiping her tears with my thumb before I even think to wonder if she would want me to. But she doesn’t seem to mind.
“She’s looking for my father’s house. The one he grew up in. She misses him so much.”
I’m wiping her tears and carefully smoothing a strand of her hair from her damp cheek and I hardly recognize myself. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I tell her.
I put my arm around her and just hold her like that for a while, smoothing her hair, keeping her warm, until her eyes start to close. Her adrenaline rush is wearing off.
“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For getting me out of there.” Her eyes are pools. “That was so crazy. I was so scared.”
“Everything’s okay now. He’s gone. He’ll never come near you again.”
She drifts further towards sleep and her body goes pliant, soft, fitting perfectly against mine. My throat aches from the perfection of her and how she feels, here, with me. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I kiss her head, holding her gently in my arms.
“Do you believe in true love, Jake?” she says sleepily.
I didn’t. But now I do. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“I thought I did,” she murmurs. “But I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
It is worth it, I almost say. It’s worth everything. I’ll convince you. But it’s too soon for that. You hear about these things happening, like those t.v. commercials or movies where one tiny event can trigger a total change to a person’s life. Suddenly, nothing’s the same anymore. You’re spiralling out onto some new trajectory that was never there before. And that’s what it’s like. Last month I was walking down the same old dead-end road. Then she walked in to my life. I’ve turned a corner, following her glittering trail, and now the landscape is new and unfamiliar and wildly beautiful.
The only thing I know is this: because of her sudden lightning-strike appearance in my life that’s changed every detail of my reality and my outlook, as of right now, I believe in true love.
Here it is.
Now all I have to do is convince her.
Before I even open my eyes I’m aware of a throbbing pain in my head that makes me moan. My eyes open and for a second I have no idea where I am. I look around.
I’m in someone’s huge, incredibly plush bed and it’s still night but the lights of the city outside the window give the room a soft glow. Then it clicks. Holy shit, I’m in that hot gypsy’s apartment.
Someone’s walking into the room.
Oh, Jesus.
It’s him.
Jake Wolfe.
He stands next to the bed and looks down at me. For a few seconds I forget about my headache. His dark hair is gold-tinted in the low light. The only thing he’s wearing is jeans. The shape of him, the outline of his bare, muscled shoulders is mesmerizing, like he’s been carved by a master. I can see the outline of his tattoos on his skin but it’s too dark to make out exactly what they are.
He picks up a glass of water and slides his strong, warm hand behind the nape of my neck to help me drink. He hands me two more pills. “These are pain killers. Strong ones. They’ll help.”
I do as he says but it’s hard to swallow. My head is pounding and my eye hurts but I’m thirsty. I end up drinking the whole glass.
“That’s a good girl,” he says.
It occurs to me that I’m in this burly stranger’s apartment, locked away, and he’s just given me some kind of drugs. I must be crazy, to put myself in this kind of danger. He looks dangerous. He could do anything he wanted to me and there’s not a damn thing I could do about it. The thing is: nothing about this place or this man feels dangerous. My instincts, which are usually pretty reliable, are curled up in some comfortable corner of my psyche, happily asleep. I have no idea why, but something about Jake Wolfe feels like a beautiful haven. Like the kind of place you never want to leave.
His face is so dark. Unreadable in the shadows. All I can comprehend of him is his unfathomable, shaded beauty. “Why are you helping me?” I ask, and my voice is barely above a whisper.
“Because you’re letting me,” he says, lowering my head to the soft pillow. “Lie back. Sleep. You’re safe here.”
I should go. I should get up and go to work but I can’t. I’m too tired. “Just for a while,” I murmur.
“As long as you want,” he says and I feel myself drifting away. “I’ll watch over you.”
The next time I wake everything’s quiet. The faint purple glow of pre-dawn colors the night sky over the flickering lights of
the city down below. A small digital clock on the bedside table reads 5:12. The left side of my face throbs but I feel almost outside the pain, light-headed and woozy. There’s an ensuite bathroom and I ease myself off the high bed and tread silently into the bathroom. I shut the door. My face in the mirror is shocking. I have a shiner from hell around my left eye. I’ll need a whole vat of make-up to cover this badboy up. There’s a bruise around my neck in the actual shape of a hand. Grip marks from A-hole’s fist. My eyes look wide and spooked.
Wow.
Thanks kindly, stepdaddy. For assaulting me. So brave and gallant of you.
I open the door and let myself back into Jake’s bedroom. I take my phone out of the small zipped pocket of my crumpled dress and I call Beatrice. Usually I get up at five to start baking pies, and Bea comes in at around 5:30.
“Bea, it’s me.”
“Hey, sweetie. Glad to see you’re late this morning,” she says. “I hope that means you got lucky last night.”
“I’m not sure I’d classify what happened to me last night as getting lucky, but yeah. I was wondering if you’d be okay to cover for me today.”
“Of course. Honey, you’re so overdue for a day off, it’s not funny. Take a few days, if you need to. I’ve got everything under control.”
“Thanks, Bea. I really appreciate it. Remind me to give you a raise.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“What guy?”
“Any guy who can keep you away from your pies must be some kind of magician.”
“Mmhm.” I neither confirm nor deny but she somehow figures it out anyway.
“So there is a guy? Tell me! Who is he?” How pathetic is my life when my friends get this excited when I’m late for work?
“He’s just … someone I ran into.” Literally.
“You finally hooked up? Give me details! What does he look like? Did you sleep with him? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even go there. But did you? Honey, I’m so happy for you! This is so overdue.”
Bea is always telling me I work too much and need to socialize more. “Nothing happened. Well, something happened, but nothing like that.”
“Oh, shit. Look at the time. You have to fill me in, honey, but it’ll have to be later. I have to get these pies in the oven or they’ll never be ready on time.”
“Okay. I’ll call you soon.”
“You better.”
“Thanks for covering for me, Bea. You’re the best.”
I end the call. Thank God I wore this dress with the pockets. Otherwise my phone would still be in Butch’s apartment, along with my boots and my earrings. Bastard.
I decide to call momma, just in case she changed her mind for some reason. I don’t want her anywhere near Butch Flint. “Sugar? Is that you, darlin’?”
“It’s me.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Something happened, though, that I want you to know about.”
“What? What happened?”
“It was Butch. He …” How do I even say this? How do I tell her what a creep he is? So I just blurt it out. “He filmed me in the shower. Then he tried to … momma, you need to divorce him and never go back to his apartment. Not ever. He’s an evil, horrible person and you’re much too good for him. Promise me you won’t go back there.”
I can hear her crying. “Are you okay, darlin’? I’m coming back. I’m coming to get you.”
“No. I’m fine. I kicked him and ran away. I managed to get his phone and he … well, he went home and I haven’t seen him since. I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to come back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s more important that you stay in Ireland and do what you went there to do.”
“But where are you staying?”
“With a friend.”
“What friend?”
“A friend that you haven’t met yet. The apartment’s very nice and not far from the restaurant. Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, my poor baby. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this has happened. I knew he was horrible but I never knew he was capable of … oh, God.” She’s crying again. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, momma. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. Just promise me you won’t go back there.”
“Of course I won’t,” she sniffs.
“And promise me that you’ll stay in Ireland and find out everything you can about my father.”
“Oh, Sugar.”
“It’s late here. I’m going to go now. And please don’t worry about anything. I’m fine. You’ll be fine, too. Okay? Everything will be okay.”
“I love you, darlin’.”
“I love you, too. We’ll talk soon.”
I end the call. I put my phone down and touch my fingers to the bruises, which throb lightly but don’t hurt as much as they did before.
I peek through the door into the living room and see Jake Wolfe’s big body stretched out on the enormous couch. He’s still asleep. He’s lying on his back with one arm curved around his head. A blanket covers … very little. I’m a little shocked by the sight of him lying there almost naked. His body is long and powerfully muscled and his skin is dark. I can make out now that one of his tattoos is of a wolf. Another looks like a dragon, curving up his arm and over his shoulder. His longish hair falls across his forehead in a thick, unruly sweep.
Jake Wolfe doesn’t look dangerous when he’s sleeping. Well, not as dangerous.
He looks incredibly beautiful, in a dark, reckless sort of way.
And weirdly, I’m glad to be here. I’m glad he’s here. Guarding me. Acting as some kind of buffer between me and the big bad world. Or, more specifically, me and the big bad real estate mogul.
Watching him here in the cocooned darkness I can’t help but remember my reaction to him when he first came into the restaurant. Because it’s happening again. Holy hell. The man must give off some seriously potent pheromones. He’s like some kind of masterpiece, sleeping here sprawled out all brawny and long-limbed. Despite the dulled pain of my injuries and the strangeness of this whole situation … I feel his effects. I can smell him: that spiced, animal man-scent. His presence is like an invisible laser that touches me in the most intimate places imaginable. I feel a warm pulsing softness, there.
I want to touch him.
I have this crazy urge to run my fingers through that thick hair and touch his bronzed, tattooed muscles to see if he’s as hard and warm as he looks.
I remember those things he’d said to me last night. Had I dreamed it? Or had this mysterious stranger confessed that he’s thought about me … as much as I’ve thought about him? I remember my new outlook and my plan. To seduce him. To thoroughly cash in my virginity and all my delusions about true love in one fell swoop.
But then I feel a wave of extreme light-headedness and I swoon a little. God, the aftermath of my shock and my psychodrama from last night must be playing with my equilibrium. I feel like I might faint. I grab onto a chair but accidentally brush against the wall and there’s a standing lamp that knocks against a bookshelf. Jake bolts awake, sitting upright. He looks spooked by something, like his dream – or maybe nightmare – is still holding on. His blanket has slipped a little with his sudden movement and he’s barely covered at all, which makes me swoon even more but I’m holding onto the chair and manage to keep myself steady.
“Hey,” he says, reconnecting with reality. “You all right? You’re supposed to be in bed, resting.” God, his voice. I love the sound of it. All those bass notes layered with that surprisingly sincere kindness.
“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I’m going to pass out.”
He jumps up, holding the blanket to the front of him, and is almost instantly by my side. He scoops me into his arms, like I’m weightless. He mutters a curse as he drops his blanket but he doesn’t let go of me to pick it up. As he’s carrying me back to bed I’m thinking, holy shit, he’s naked. He’s naked I’m practica
lly naked, covered only by this thin little dress with nothing underneath and he’s carrying me to bed.
Even like this and after all that’s happened, I feel utterly safe with him, like I can see straight through all those big muscles and tattoos and the tough-guy surface to the shining golden heart of him. So clearly. And I don’t know why – maybe it was my brush with death or lack of sleep or just the crazy presence of this ridiculously gorgeous man – but all my inhibitions have faded away. Maybe it was those pills he gave me, messing with my head. I have to admit, though, all the aches and pains are completely gone.
“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re beautiful. Not just the way you look, which is, well, amazing, but your heart, too. You have a good heart. And a good soul. I can tell.” Now that I’ve said it I wish I could take it back. What the hell? Why would I say something like that?
But Jake’s smiling. I never knew it was even possible for a person to be so fierce-looking and sexy and hot as he so unfairly is.
“Thank you. I’m not sure I agree with you, but that’s nice of you to say.”
“Sometimes you sound like a Texan,” I tell him. It’s true. There’s a little twang to some of the stuff he says.
“I lived in Texas for a while. In Houston.”
“I’ve traveled around the world but I’ve never been west of Atlanta. One day I’m going to go to some of the places I’ve always wanted to go to. Like New Orleans. I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans.”
He’s lowering me onto the bed now. “Then I’ll take you there. After my sentence is over. Do you want to close your eyes for a second while I put on some jeans?”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Sorry about that. I hate sleeping with clothes on.”
“Me too,” I say, even though I’ve never slept without clothes on in my life, and the comment kind of hangs there between us and all I can think of is him being naked and how I always used to feel like when Mr. Right walked into my life I would know it. I would feel it. And now that I’ve decided not to wait for Mr. Right, now that I can just relax and take his nakedness in my stride without overanalyzing whether or not it’s meant to be or not … I forget where I was even going with this.
JAKE Page 6
