Hart Breaker

by J. D. Mason

  She didn’t want to be alone tonight. Farrah went through mood swings like that. There were times when she kept to herself, working out whatever it was she needed to work through to move forward another day. Jackson understood what that was like. He’d been through it himself after the team released him. People expected him to just snap out of it and get on with his life, but he didn’t even know what that meant back then. What life? And how do you get on with something that doesn’t look the way you thought it always would?

  Farrah had opened up to him gradually. Her man, this Mateo, had been abusive. He was some kind of gangsta bad guy that she made sound dangerous. For some reason, she seemed to think that this dude was too damn dangerous for a bama like Jackson to handle, so she called herself trying to keep Jackson safe from any threat of this dude showing up in Blink. Farrah was still looking at Jackson like he was some little kid who needed somebody to watch over him and it pissed him off. But her concerns were coming from a good place, and he couldn’t stay mad at that.

  He didn’t want her to leave tonight. As soon as the credits on one movie started to roll, Jackson immediately started another one, and then coaxed her into sitting through just one more of these shitty flicks, until Farrah finally drifted off to sleep next to him.

  So, how was he going to do this and keep her from jumping up and running back to that carriage house? Jackson turned off the television, raised his arm and let it down gently on her shoulder, and pulled her into his chest.

  “Mmmmm,” he heard her say, and he smiled.

  He gently reached across her lap, pulled her legs up onto his, then turned his hips toward her, and raised his legs up on the couch. In her sleep, Farrah instinctively stretched out on top of him. Jackson sighed, scooted down until his head rested on the arm of sofa, and closed his eyes. His neck was going to hurt like hell in the morning, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make, for this.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Dejó ir, Mateo.” Let her go, Mateo.

  Sometimes all you needed to put out the fire was time. In time it would burn itself out. Mateo had learned that lesson long ago. He wasn’t a good man. And he’d always known that about himself. Farrah should’ve known it by now too, but she would lose herself to the fantasy of things that were impossible. She closed her eyes to the obvious because she’d never had the courage to see the truth. For a time, that was fine. Mateo loved the sweetness and the innocence of that small-town girl who wanted to live a big-time life. He indulged her with pretty and expensive things, and drowned his own sorrows in the pools of her naïveté. Farrah had been the most pure creature he’d ever known and he had fallen in love with her because of it.

  Farrah’s beautiful mouth was filled with the sweetest tastes. He loved her mouth, until she put her foot in it and said stupid things. She’d made the mistake of challenging him in front of his colleagues, and before he could stop it, Mateo’s temper got the best of him, and of her. But a man in his position couldn’t afford the luxuries of more common men. Disrespect could get him killed and if he had allowed it that day, then it could’ve been the end of him. She knew that. Farrah had been with him long enough to know when to open her beautiful mouth and when to keep it shut.

  Mateo, wearing a black patch over one eye, stood on the balcony overlooking the massive pool, when a pretty girl with long, blond hair and blue eyes slithered up behind him, and pressed her bare skin against his back. “I’m hungry, Mateo,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m going to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”

  In that moment, he wished he could remember her name. “No. Don’t worry about me.”

  The beautiful girl gave him beautiful head and he loved her for her passion for the task, but she was as temporary as any of them.

  The women came and went, but Mateo never loved them the way they wanted him to. His soul belonged to Farrah, for reasons even he couldn’t understand. She had been his first. Perhaps that was it. The first woman he’d ever loved, truly. Farrah had been gone for a little more than two months. And in the beginning, he was thrilled that she’d left him. The two of them had been together too long, the fire of their relationship had long since burned itself out. She was still a beautiful woman, but the years had changed her. The light that had once been in her eyes, that he’d been drawn to like a moth to flame had faded. The young and excitable girl had grown up and her lust for him, for this life he had offered her no longer made her smile.

  So, Mateo found other women, young women who relished the lavishness of everything he had to offer in ways that Farrah no longer did, and he spoiled them. He made love to them, kept them like pets, played with them, until he had had his fill and then he discarded them. None of them were her, though. None of them could ever ignite that passion in him that she once did. Mateo supposed that he kept Farrah close, in the hopes that someday they could rekindle the romance that they’d once had and that she would fall in love with him again.

  He wasn’t surprised when his cell phone rang. Mateo had been expecting the call. “Yes.”

  “She is in Blink, Texas,” the person on the phone said simply. “She is working at a school there.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “At an address listed under the name of Jackson Burris. I’ll text it to you, along with a phone number.”

  Mateo swallowed his emotions and hung up.

  Had she tried to replace him already? His lovely Farrah. After all this time, she’d probably thought that he wouldn’t search for her. But she was wrong. Farrah belonged to him as much as anything he owned. And he was hers. Couples who had been together for as long as the two of them had been together fought. It was inevitable. And sometimes, they even separated. But he believed in forever where Farrah was concerned. Her leaving the way she did had been like tearing off his right arm. Mateo could function without it, but he’d much rather have it back.

  * * *

  Jackson was neck deep in demolition at Farrah’s old house when his phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered hastily.

  “Jackson. Jackson Burris.”

  “Speaking.”

  The man on the other end of the phone hesitated so long that Jackson thought he’d dropped the call and almost hung up.

  “I’m looking for Farrah Hart.”

  Jackson stopped what he was doing. “Who is this?”

  “Farrah Hart,” the person repeated.

  He thought that he detected an accent, and because of that, the first name to come to mind was Mateo.

  “Is she there?”

  Jackson paused. “No. You have the wrong number,” he lied.

  “Gracias.”

  A knot tightened in his stomach. Before Jackson could cuss that sonofabitch out, he’d hung up. Jackson checked his phone and saw that the number he’d called from was listed as “Unknown.”

  The longer he thought about that phone call, the more pissed he got. This is what she’d been afraid of, and she’d had every right to be. This motherfucker had found her, through Jackson, but if his ass thought that he was bad enough to bring it here to try and take her back to fucking Arizona, then he’d better get ready for a fight because Jackson wasn’t about to let that happen.

  He wouldn’t relay that bastard’s message either. Farrah would likely run like a rabbit if she knew, and running wasn’t the answer. Besides, he still held out belief that he could convince her into staying. She had no reason to run because she wasn’t going to fight this battle on her own this time. She’d never gone into detail about what kind of man Mateo was. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let this fool get to her. If he had Jackson’s phone number, then he probably had his address too. So, the first line of defense between Farrah and that Mateo character would be Jackson. He’d see to it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jackson had been unusually quiet for the last few days, so Farrah was a little surprised when he invited her to go out with him and some of his friends. She’d offered to meet them there, but Jackson insisted on waiti
ng for her so that the two of them could ride together.

  The club they went to wasn’t actually in Blink. It was in the next county over called Clark City, a dive of a place hidden back off the main thoroughfare, down a frontage road with a left turn down a dirt road to a parking lot filled to capacity, and music so loud that it shook the fragile walls of a building that looked like it was about to crumble and turn to ash if the wind blew too hard.

  Jackson held her hand as he threaded the two of them through the crowd to the pool table area at the back of the club, which looked considerably bigger on the inside than it did from the outside.

  “J. B.!” one man said, holding his hand up. “’Bout time you got here, man!”

  Two women came rushing over to Jackson. One wrapped both arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. The other patiently waited her turn. Both of them glanced over at Farrah real quick, then started cackling like hens to him.

  “Where’ve you been? I called you. How come you didn’t call me back?”

  “I thought you were coming to the cookout at Desmond’s?” the other one said. “He said he’s gonna cuss you the next time he sees you.”

  Several other men gave head nod acknowledgments to Jackson and then locked in on Farrah.

  “Hey, everybody,” Jackson finally said over the noise, reaching around to Farrah. “This is Farrah. Farrah Hart.”

  The men smiled, or nodded. The two women looked her up and down in that “I’m not giving you the once-over but I really am” kind of look that women tend to give each other.

  “Oh, you’re the one who used to babysit Jackson and his sister,” said the one who’d wrapped her arms around him like an octopus. “I think you went to school with my cousin.”

  “Really?” Farrah said, guarded. “What was her name?”

  “Felicia Mathers.”

  Farrah thought for a moment. “Yeah. I remember Felicia. How’s she doing?”

  Not that she cared because she and Felicia were never friends.

  “Fine. She’s got two grandbabies now. How many do you have?”

  There it was. A little dig from Jackson’s want-to-be girlfriend.

  Farrah planted her hands on her hips. “Do I look like I have grandbabies?” she said, smugly.

  Every man in the area, some Jackson knew, and some he didn’t, all answered the question.

  “Nah!”

  “No.”

  “Oh, hell no.”

  The little cow rolled her eyes and turned to her friend. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

  She remembered those days, when she was too young to go to the bathroom on her own.

  As it turned out, Farrah had gone to school with several people in the club. She hadn’t seen these people since graduation and as the night went on, Farrah relished the trip down memory lane that she shared with some of her old classmates while Jackson played pool with his buddies. They all had kids, most were married, or married again. And yes. Some did have grandbabies.

  Farrah was actually enjoying herself. She danced with a few folks, laughed until she nearly cried, and forgot all about the fact that she’d run as far away from these people and this place as she could when she was eighteen. Now, for the life of her, Farrah couldn’t remember why.

  “Dance with me?”

  The sexy voice over her shoulder certainly caught her attention. The handsome man standing behind her looked familiar, but it was obvious that he was older than Farrah. She took hold of his hand and he led her out onto the dance floor.

  “You look familiar,” she said, leaning closer to him.

  The salt-and-pepper goatee framed his full lips nicely and was a perfect complement to the close-cut, dark hair on his head.

  “I went to school with your brother,” he told her. “John Brewer,” he introduced himself.

  Farrah’s eyes lit up. “I remember you!”

  She’d loved him with all her heart when she was ten.

  He laughed. The casual dress of this man could not hide his elegance. He fit in here because he wanted to. But he could’ve just as easily fit in at some exclusive club in Europe.

  “I remember you too, although back then I think you still wore pigtails.”

  John Brewer was almost as tall as Jackson. He had a leaner build, but it was still athletic.

  Farrah felt like she’d hit the lottery. He’d never given her the time of day growing up, and now, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. Score one for Farrah!

  The DJ gradually began to mix in some salsa music. “Do you salsa?” Farrah asked, excited for the opportunity to dance to music she truly loved.

  He reached for her hands and Farrah placed them inside his. “I’ll do my best,” he said seductively.

  “Watch my feet,” she said, guiding him through the steps.

  Jackson suddenly appeared behind the man, and tapped him on the shoulder, indicating that he was cutting in. John Brewer complied as a gentleman, but not without letting her know that his disappointment was real. Jackson stepped into his place, put one arm around her waist, and took her hand in his.

  “You can salsa?” she asked, surprised.

  “The question is,” Jackson said confidently, “can you Kizomba?”

  “Of course I can,” she responded coolly.

  He pulled her close, moved his hand high up on her back. Farrah leaned into him, resting all of her balance in his grip.

  Jackson smiled. “Let’s show these people how it’s done.”

  Kizomba was a very sensual, Angolan dance that drove people crazy to watch. It was as intimate as two people could get on the dance floor, a beautiful dance that had the power to close off the whole world to everyone but the dancers. And Jackson was masterful at leading. Farrah arched her back and carved out invisible lines with her hips. The beauty of this dance was in the subtlety of it. There were no big, sweeping moves, spins, or tosses in the air. There was just the two of them, close enough to taste each other’s breath, to feel each other’s heart beating, and the power of closeness.

  As they continued to dance, neither of them noticed that all the other dancers had cleared the floor and stood around, mesmerized by the two of them. They didn’t notice the DJ remixing the song, making it last longer than it was meant to. As big as Jackson was, he was so fluid, so commanding that Farrah almost felt as if he were moving her body for her. Resting her head against his cheek, she’d never felt more safe, more secure. She hadn’t trusted anyone like this in decades.

  Jackson’s cock began to harden between them, but Farrah welcomed his excitement, because she felt it too. And she wanted him, not just in her bed, but in her, in her life, in her soul.

  * * *

  Farrah’s hips flowed like water against him. She fit him, like that missing puzzle piece he’d always wanted. The moved together as one, intimately, seductively, until she was the only thing in the world to him. He pulled back and gazed deeply into her eyes, like he was seeing her for the first time. The music gradually began to fade, and the sound of applause erupted around them, snapping both of them out of this … this, whatever it was that they had both gotten caught up in.

  All of a sudden, Jackson realized that he had the biggest hard-on he’d ever had in his life. Farrah realized it too.

  “I think I need a drink,” she swallowed and said, nodding.

  He nodded too. “Yeah. Me too.”

  How in the hell was he going to … At least the room was dark. She started walking toward the bar, but he gently grabbed her by the elbow and positioned her in front of him as they both walked over to it. If his ass didn’t know better, he’d think he was fucking blushing.

  Jackson nervously cleared his throat. “What you want?” he asked her.

  “Beer.”

  The bartender came over. “What can I get you?”

  “Beer,” Jackson said simply.

  “Light beer. Draft beer. Domestic…”

  “Just … beer, man!” Jackson snapped.

  Why the hell was
he embarrassed? Because the whole damn room was watching. That’s why. And in this town, word of his monster erection would spread faster than a wildfire. This time tomorrow, that shit might be on the evening news.

  Neither of them looked at each other. The bartender set two glasses down in front of them, and Jackson knocked his back in one gulp.

  “Are you all right?” Farrah finally asked.

  No. He wasn’t all right. Jackson was mad. Mad that he couldn’t do what he should’ve done when he had the chance, and mad because she wasn’t letting him do it now.

  “Jackson?”

  He lowered his head. “We should go home.”

  This was a bad one. This was one that he probably wasn’t going to be able to just take care of in the shower the way he’d been doing since her ass moved into his carriage house.

  “Now?”

  “Farrah,” he said, finally looking into her eyes. This woman needed to understand the gravity of the situation.

  From the expression on her face, after looking at his face, she did.

  “That’s not a good idea, Jackson. And you know it.”

  “Why not?” he challenged. “Don’t tell me that you don’t want me too. Don’t tell me that, because I know better.”

  Farrah just stared at him. “I just—”

  “I need you. I want you. I don’t know how many different ways I can let you know that, so coming out and just telling you is all I got right now.”

  “I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” she said.

  “That’s a weak-ass argument and you know it.”

  “Well, maybe I’m not ready to be with anybody right now,” she shot back, starting to sound as frustrated as he was. “You have no idea what I’ve been through, Jackson, and to start up with someone else right now isn’t a good idea. Trust me.”

  “Jackson? Let’s dance.”

  “I’m talking, Carla,” he snapped.

  She pouted and walked off but he didn’t give a damn.

  “Maybe we should go,” Farrah finally said.

  Jackson took a couple of deep breaths, and adjusted himself in his pants. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”