by Stone, Holly
“No? Sure feels that way,” Jared said, handing over the money for his order.
“They’re just curious,” Emma said softly in the way she used to talk to him when they were teenagers, with all the gentleness that had made him fall in love with her so easily.
Her pretty, grey eyes were soft too, as though she wanted to wrap him up in a warm blanket, away from the prying eyes that surrounded them.
“I’m not going to stay long.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “Did you like the sandwich?”
Jared shook his head, exasperated. “You know I did. What kind of man wouldn’t like a homemade meatball sandwich?”
Emma laughed, which Jared thought was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “I was kind of banking on that.”
“You’re not playing fair,” he said, finding it impossible to be mad with her.
“Neither are you,” she said, suddenly serious. “You’re making decisions for us that I don’t agree with. You’re telling me it’s for the best, but it isn’t what I want.”
“Emma,” he said with an undertone of warning.
She leaned in close to his ear. “I’m okay, you know, Jared. I’m not broken, I’m not ruined, and neither are you.” She reached down and grasped his empty hand, holding it tightly. “These hands are gentle hands.” Jared shook his head, not wanting to hear anymore. He could smell the apples in her hair and it almost took him back to a time when he wasn’t tainted by his actions, when he had so much warm feeling inside him he felt as though he might burst. “They are,” she continued. “They’re the hands of a good man, a man who’d do anything to protect a person he loves.”
Jared pulled his hand from her grasp, feeling stung by her words. He had murderer’s hands, and they had no place touching her sweet, innocent body. He rested his beer on the bar, turned away and started towards the door and she followed, catching up to him when he was through the door, slipping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his spine.
“Stop, okay? I love you. I have for so many years I don’t even remember a time when I didn’t. Don’t do this, Jared. Whatever’s going on with you we can deal with together. We have all the time in the world to fix things. Please.”
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he relished the feel of her arms around him and her sweet curves pressed against him. In all the ways he’d changed, she had too. Gone was her skinny frame and the roundedness of her cheeks. Emma was all woman now, and he couldn’t reconcile how it should change how he felt. Would she still want him so badly if she knew the truth?
At his trial, she'd stood her ground and defended him to the world. It was her testimony that led to the less severe charge of voluntary manslaughter. The prosecution had tried hard to twist things against him with accusations that he’d had an inappropriate relationship with Emma before the attack, and that he’d been fuelled by jealousy. He’d shaken with rage when their chaste relationship had been made into something so sordid in court. They’d been two teens holding hands and talking about their futures; it had been so innocent. The court had to drop the statutory rape charges against Jared altogether when Emma had demanded a medical exam to prove he'd never touched her inappropriately.
And he hadn't, it was true—but not for a lack of desire.
"I’m not good enough for you,” he said. “You made them believe that I was some kind of hero with a noble heart, and goddamn if I don't want to believe it too. Maybe in the grander scheme of things, it's true. But it's not the truth about that night. I didn't kill him because I'm a good guy who wanted to protect an innocent girl, Emma."
"Then why did you?" she challenged him.
He grasped her hands that held him around his stomach and drew them apart. "I did it because I wanted you for myself—pure, untouched. And I'd do it again for the same reason."
"And you think I care about that?" she asked, sounding totally baffled by his evident feeling of conflict. "Dear lord. Did you actually read the letters I sent you?"
"Of course I did; but that's not the point." It was hard to remove her hands from him when he wanted to pull her close and hold her tight, when thinking about their bodies so near to one another made him want to get under her clothes off, to claim her as his own. But he forced himself to step away. Emma pulled him by the back of his jacket, pressing their bodies purposefully together again.
"Then you know how long I've wanted you," she said softly, leaning close against him as she wound her arms around his body. "I don’t understand what the problem is."
"The problem is that you were fifteen years old," he growled. "And you remained looking fifteen years old, in my head, for the last eight years—but that didn't stop me from lusting after you, fantasizing about you, imagining in every detail how and when and where I would finally have my way with you."
"And that disturbs you?" she asked, sounding baffled.
"Fucking hell, of course it disturbs me. I was and am a grown man, so infatuated with a girl that I killed my own father to keep her for myself," he snarled softly. "Tell me how I'm not a monster."
Memories of their last night together flashed through his mind, an amalgamation of scent and sound. The vacant look in her eyes that day had fueled eight years of nightmares. What if something happened to her while he was locked up? His father may have been gone, but the world was full of predators.
"Jared, you’ve got it all wrong in your head. What you thought about me isn’t a bad thing. It was natural for us to feel lust for each other. The difference is that you would never have followed through on any of your thoughts before it was the right time. You were waiting for me to be grown. And I’m grown now, baby. I’m not a girl anymore, and any thoughts you’re having aren’t wrong. There’s nothing sordid about this thing between us," she released her hold on him and turned him until they were face to face. The adoration in her eyes was almost more than he could bear. Reaching up, she trailed her fingertips over his cheek so gently he closed his eyes at the sensation.
"Then what would you call it?" he asked.
"Jared," she sighed, leaning up until her lips nearly touched his. "It's true love, of course. What else could it be?"
9
He’d walked away. She’d given it everything, tried every argument she could think of to convince him, but he hadn’t listened. It was worse than she’d thought. Instead of him being disgusted with her he was disgusted with himself. When he’d called himself a monster she’d wanted to cry. He was her savior, her rock and her love. She couldn’t bear to think he might despise himself for the very things she was most grateful to him for.
They’d been through something so terrible together, but it had proven to her things that most women never had confirmed about the person they love. Jared had gone all the way to protect her. He’d committed a terrible crime—patricide—throttling the life out of the man who’d given him his. He’d sacrificed eight years, and now he was trying to sacrifice himself again. She knew he’d lay down his life for her, and for that she was prepared to give him hers.
As he stalked across the car park she’d called out to him, hoping he would turn.
She’d said, “Come to me tomorrow night. I’ll be waiting for you. This is our time now and there’s been no one else, Jared. I’ve waited for you. Come and take what you’ve been waiting for.” In the middle of her pleading he’d stopped. Maybe when he’d realized what she was saying, that she was a virgin and that she’d kept herself for him. He’d flexed his hands and then turned to look at her with blue eyes so filled with fire they seemed to flash in the half light.
Then, after a moment of tense silence, he was gone and she was none the wiser as to how he was feeling.
But she was hopeful, which was why she was standing in her bedroom, dressed in pretty cream satin and lace pajamas, hair in soft waves and the barest hint of makeup, waiting for a man that might never come. God, she hoped he would come.
There was a knock at the door. It was him. It had to be him. S
he said a silent prayer on her way down the stairs and when she looked through the spy hole Jared was there, face lowered and covered by the bill of his cap. When she opened the door his eyes raked over her with a desperation and hunger that sent shivers up her spine. He seemed to inhale, nostrils flaring slightly as he tried to remain in control. At least, that’s what she hoped.
She was panting, her breath coming shallow and faint.
And then he was on her, pressing her against the wall as the door swung shut behind him. “Don’t say anything." He put his hand over her mouth and Emma had half a mind to bite it, but his eyes were frantic and pleading and she waited as he seemed to war with himself. “Just let me think,” he said in a voice so gravelly she shuddered. He was trembling too. The hand on her shoulder seemed conflicted as his fingers dug into her flesh and then released. When he released her she struggled out of his grip to stand defensively in the hall.
"What’s going on, Jared?” she demanded, glaring at him as he stood with his legs apart, braced for an argument.
"Too many things to count," his gaze never left her, heated and dark as he looked her over. Advancing slowly, he followed as she backed down the hallway, her heart beating erratically. There was a wild look in his eyes that sent a shot of adrenaline coursing through her.
"You told me to come and take what’s mine.”
"I did,” she said, wondering what he was thinking. The man in front of her wasn’t the Jared she’d held last night. He seemed aggressive but still just as torn, as if the very act of coming to her had broken all of his thinly controlled restraint. His gaze flicked over her again, his scrutiny intense.
“Look at you,” he said, almost reverentially, removing his cap and dropping it to the floor. “Where’d that girl go?”
“She’s still here, inside.” Emma touched her hand to her heart and his eyes followed, looking at the curve of her breasts in a way that hardened her nipples.
He advanced on her again, until she was backed against the far wall of the living room.
Emma stared up at him, feeling the hairs on her arms rise straight up at his proximity. The look in his eyes lit a fire in her blood. Breathe, she had to remind herself. Were her fingertips trembling? She balled her hand into a fist to contain the movement.
"I’ve been waiting for you for so long," she whispered, turning away as he leaned closer to her, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer size of him and the burning heat that raged between them. The tip of his nose touched her ear, moved over her hair as he inhaled her scent. She breathed him in too, realizing it was the same manly fragrance that lingered on the paper of every letter he’d ever sent her. Smoky and masculine, it got to her like some kind of drug.
"Waiting for what?" he asked softly. The warmth of his breath teased across her ear, a delightfully sensual caress.
"You know." She swallowed heavily, leaning back against the wall. Jared’s gaze was so intense, but she didn’t look away. The timid fifteen-year-old that she’d once been was long gone and he needed to know that, to really believe it in his heart so there was no guilt in their union. After seconds that felt like minutes had passed he chuckled softly, bracing one arm over her head as he reached with his other hand to begin unzipping his jacket.
"Suppose I don't," he said. Another tug and it was loose. His hand trailed up her front, barely grazing over the fabric of her camisole, until he reached her neck. She shivered, thinking about what those hands had done for her. In court, the pathologist had listed the severe bruising they’d caused to his father’s neck, crushing his windpipe in fury. She knew what Jared was capable of, but she felt no fear as he tilted her head slowly back to face him. "Tell me."
Emma wasn't sure she could breathe, let alone speak. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, fingertips feather-light against her skin. The pad of his thumb came to rest below the line of her jaw, just over the throbbing pulse-point in her neck.
Strength radiated from his fingertips, his dark-eyed gaze unrelenting.
"Tell me," he insisted, lingering close enough to brush noses lightly.
"I already did," she whispered. In letters it was easier to confess such things, and confess them she had; every forbidden, illicit desire that passed through her mind, her nearly feverish yearning to be reunited with him and to finally embrace him as a lover.
Why did he persist in tormenting her?
"Emma," he growled, and his fingers flexed briefly against her throat. "My sweet girl; tell me what you want. I have to hear it from you."
His mouth pressed against her temple, a chaste, heated kiss as he brought his other hand down to trail over her hair, watching as the silken strands slid smoothly beneath his fingers.
"Jared, please." She looked at him with the same ardent longing that'd she knew had been etched on her face during his trial, all the passion of youth still vibrant in her.
"Not until you say it," he whispered. His mouth was close enough to graze her skin, the lightest of touches that sent a tremble rolling through her.
"I want you," she said, reaching up to lay a hand on his shoulder. Her fingertips ran over the soft leather, the fine stitching. "I was waiting for you."
The rest of her response was silenced by the press of his mouth against hers. Gentle at first, he caught the soft gasp from her parted lips, the tip of his tongue reaching out to tease along her teeth. Threading his fingers through her hair, he cradled the back of her skull in his hand, encircling her waist with his other arm.
She groaned, leaning into his arms as her hands slid beneath his jacket. Warmth radiated from his chest, hot against her palms through the fabric of his shirt; she could feel his heart beating strong and steady.
Lord, she'd wanted him for so long. Now that he finally touched her, she could barely control herself. Every shred of passion within her seemed suddenly to spring alive. She hungered for the hot press of his lips against hers, sought his mouth and met his kiss with more than equal fervor.
The palm of his hand slid beneath the fabric of her camisole, the bare contact between their skins sending a jolt down her spine.
A sensation like liquid fire coursed through her veins as she felt the swell of his cock in the confinement of his jeans, and more when he pressed his knee between her thighs to tease her with the pressure. He felt big, bigger than she could have imagined, and she was suddenly nervous of what was coming, and how it might hurt when he first pushed to get inside her.
"Every day I thought of you," he said between layered kisses across her cheekbones, over her eyelids, the ridge of her brow. "Your letters, the memories of before. The first thing I wanted to do when I got out was come to you and take what’s mine."
"You shouldn’t have waited so long," she panted.
Pulling back slightly, he looked down at her, his eyes tracing every contour of her face.
He ran one hand up the smooth, bare skin of her back, reaching ever higher beneath the fabric of her camisole, teasing across the sensitive skin of her belly, fingers dancing over her ribcage. Hot and fervent, he dominated their kiss with his teeth, first nipping lightly, and then soothing her reddened lips with the tender touch of his tongue.
"You've no idea the things you do to me,” he growled between kisses.
Emma didn't respond, only caught his lips again in another searing kiss. She had a very good idea just what sort of effect she had on him. From the hard press of his erection to his ragged breathing, his arousal was evident.
Kissing and grappling with one another, they stumbled into the living room proper, practically falling onto the worn couch. Eight years seemed to have filled them both with an almost violent urgency to touch, to taste, and to join in the most intimate of ways.
Every light caress and hitched breath fueled her desire for him. Emma worked Jared’s jacket from his shoulders, then reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. His body took her breath away, skin so tanned from time spent in the exercise yard, muscles so defined they rippled as he moved, and a tatto
o she hadn’t seen before licking over his shoulder like fire. He was everything she’d fantasized about and more.
"Don't stop," she panted, gripping him by the loops of his jeans as he sat back on his knees. She'd wrapped her legs loosely around his and tried to pull him down.
"Patience," he chastised her softly, catching hold of her hands by the wrists and pulling them gently from his waist. “We’ve waited so long. It’s only going to happen once, coming together like this. I wanna take my time.”
She was impatient for him, but his intentions made her flush even more with desire. She understood the need to draw out their pleasure and relish it.
He stared at her with hungry, passion-clouded eyes. "More than eight years I’ve waited for this, thought about what it would be like to finally have you in the way I’ve been craving."
"Don’t make me wait any more,” she whispered.
“Emma," he groaned, leaning down to kiss her lightly. "I’m going to give you everything that I am."
His words went straight to her heart, sending warmth through every part of her. She struggled against his grip but her efforts were in vain; Jared held her fast, her wrists pinned to the couch beside her waist. His lips caressed hers again, one hand releasing her to grip her by the hip.
"If you only knew how your letters tormented me," he whispered. “Every night, sometimes for weeks, months, years on end. All I could think about was the sensation of your fingertips on my skin. Those memories were like shadows creeping into my dreams and torturing my sleep.”
"Tell me," she encouraged him, arching into his touch and reaching again for his jeans with her free hand.
"Slowly," he growled, catching hold of her wrist again. "You'll get what you want, but slowly."
His mouth trailed blazing hot down the column of her throat, over her collarbone and across her shoulder as he pulled her camisole from her. Emma barely remembered to breathe as her chest tightened and her body came alive with electric sensations. For a moment Jared seemed to freeze, staring down at her in silence as his eyes roved over her bare breasts.
