by Jewel E. Ann
Dr. Jones studied her for a few intense moments before sitting in the chair next to hers. He looked over her paperwork without so much as a pen tap or lip twitch. Every move he made was controlled, calculated, and immune to her provoking antics.
Smooth. She thought of him claiming equal ground instead of the authoritative position behind the desk. So in an act that could have only been called “An Act of Jessica Day” she stood, walked around his desk, and sat in his chair. He glanced up from her chart, lips slightly parted. Jessica leaned back, hands interlaced and resting on her stomach.
“Well, this chair is ridiculously comfortable and neither one of us sitting in it seems like a waste of probably what…” she bounced a bit, spinning it side to side “…one? Two grand of complete comfort?”
After several slow blinks, he looked back down at her forms. “Tell me about your job.”
Jessica smiled, tilting her head to the side, unable to hide the amusement that trickled through her whole body. Actuary intern by day and vampire by night and he asked about her job? “It’s a lot of qualitative and analytical stuff. I help put together spreadsheets and presentations, including researching information about clients and issues affecting them now or in the foreseen future. I spend way too much time justifying and explaining myself to others, but I guess that comes with the territory.”
Her job was not only confusing, but extremely boring to the average person. Why she was good at math and where she got her talent was a mystery. Neither one of her parents liked math, nor did Jude, her twin brother, although he was still good at it. Jude was good at everything.
“Do you like your job?” Dr. Jones looked up for a second then jotted a few notes.
Jessica shrugged. “I’m good at it.”
“That doesn’t necessarily equate to liking it.”
She drummed her nails on the arm of the chair. “Is your secretary your mom? She seemed very proud of you, more like a mother than a receptionist.”
“Let’s talk about you.” Dr. Jones looked up again, lips in a firm line.
“So she’s your mom, right?”
“No. How would you describe your relationship with your brother?”
Jessica leaned back, swinging her feet up on the desk, legs crossed at the ankles. “I’m not here to talk about my brother, even if he’s the reason I’m here. Bossy bastard thinks I need ‘help.’”
“You don’t want to be here?”
“I’m fine with it. However, I wish we could just get to the point instead of engaging in meaningless small talk about my job and my relationship with my brother.”
“And what is the point?” Dr. Jones folded his hands in his lap on top of Jessica’s chart.
She stared at his long fingers wondering if they’d ever seen a day of manual labor in their life. Dr. Jones was handsome, but not ruggedly so, more preppy handsome like a Hugo Boss model: clean shaven, neatly trimmed nails, and perfect white teeth. But he stood easily over six feet with broad shoulders and those soft hands were large. Jessica imagined the body hidden beneath the immaculately pressed layers of his suit far exceeded handsome.
“I can’t be intimate with a guy until I make him bleed.” Her gaze inched up to his face.
Surely a whisper of a voice in his head screamed “cuckoo.”
Jessica wrinkled her nose. “That’s messed up, right?”
Dr. Jones rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin on his fist. He’d perfected the stoic thinker pose. “And why do you feel the need to do that?”
“I need the illusion of control … not the blood, because I’m a vegetarian.” She twisted her lips. “Hmm, maybe it is the blood. Do you think I have a vitamin deficiency?”
“Why do you say illusion?”
Maybe he’d address the possible vitamin deficiency later.
“Because I don’t need my lovers to roll over and play dead. And I don’t need them tied up. It’s really more of a healthy respect. Okay, maybe not ‘healthy’ but a mutual respect. Fifty-fifty.” She rolled her neck to one side and then the other. “Fifty-one-forty-nine … sixty-forty. Well, you get my point. I just need a guy to think I have control, even if I don’t … which I usually do. My father has a high risk job so he’s made sure my mother, brother, and I have the proper skills to defend ourselves.”
“I see. However, self-defense requires self-control. Making someone bleed just to prove a point is not self-control.”
Jessica spun in the chair a few inches so she could see out the window. Dr. Jones’s twenty-seventh story view of San Francisco Bay was stunning. “Don’t you think there should be some law requiring all psychiatrists to have ground-level offices?”
“Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”
Jessica turned her head toward him. “Is this about my ‘control’ issue? As in I probably feel the need to control my own destiny, including the way I die?”
He jotted down a few more notes. “No, this is about your suggestion that I have a ground-floor office. I want to be sure you have no intention of throwing yourself out my window.”
She looked back out the tall glass panels. “That might be bad for business.”
“I was referring to the window. I don’t own this space, I just rent it. I imagine replacing that window would be expensive and might prevent the owner from renewing my lease.”
Jessica grinned until she felt it tugging the corners of her eyes. Dr. Jones had a sense of humor, even if dry, which proved his approach to treatment was in fact unconventional. And that made Jessica happy … very happy.
“Maybe you should include a damage deposit at the beginning of treatment.” She spun back around to face him.
His head was still bowed, left hand frantically working the gel-inked pen over the paper. “I just made a note to have my receptionist revise the New Patient Agreement later this afternoon.” He kept writing but looked up at Jessica and for the first time he gave her a smile.
In that moment she was certain of only one thing—she needed him.
Chapter Nine
Knight
Three nights in a row of rain had the grass climbing to the sky on the first sunny day. A red-streaked tornado ripped through Peaceful Woods with a long ponytail of wavy blond hair, aviator glasses, frayed denim shorts, a silver bikini top, and red rain boots to protect her legs while weed eating. The same boots she’d been wearing with her panties and tank top to get the mail on the previous days. Jillian Knight was subconsciously hell-bent on giving every man in her path a massive heart attack. They were, however, destined to die with a smile.
“Bill has run his mower into three different trees and the corner of one garage. Maybe you should throw on a T-shirt before he ends up in the pond,” Jackson yelled.
Jillian killed the weed eater and popped out her ear buds. “Shut it.”
Jackson handed her a bottled water then leaned back in his lawn chair positioned in the middle of the driveway. He’d taught four piano lessons already that day and was enjoying watching his sister work her third job.
“Excited for your big night?”
“Shut it.” She twisted the cap back on the bottle. “It’s just sex toys. It’s the job you picked for me. Besides, I’m only training. I don’t make any money off the sales tonight.”
“Is your mentor having you demo stuff?” Jackson smirked.
“Shut it.”
“My my, someone’s grumpy today. Are you shedding the lining of your uterus?”
Jillian didn’t want to let Jackson see her grin, so she turned away, cupping a hand over her eyebrows to see how many more lawns she had to go. Ever since they had sex education in junior high, Jackson referred to her period as “shedding the lining of her uterus.” And years later she still got the giggles when he said it with the same seriousness as their instructor had in class.
“No, I’m not, so just shut it.”
“Then what is it? Your Harley arrives at the dealership tomorrow. You have boxes of vibrators and nipple clamps at your
disposal. Dodge said Lilith enjoyed you being there to watch her the other day, so that’s going well. And you’re making money as we speak while getting a tan.”
“Dodge said Lilith enjoyed me being there? That’s weird, she slept the whole time while I did the dishes and dusted the furniture.” And told the deaf sleeping neighbor about her past. But she didn’t share that bit of information with her paranoid brother. “I don’t know.” She sighed in equal parts frustration and disappointment. “Have you seen AJ the past few days?”
“No. And why do you ask?”
Jillian brushed some grass off her arms. “No reason.”
“You don’t ask for ‘no reason,’ so what gives?”
“We had a … moment. That’s all.”
Jackson chuckled. “A moment? You’re kidding, right? I don’t think roughing him up then piercing his lip is considered a moment.”
Jillian noticed Bill gaining on her so she slipped her earbuds back in and picked up the weed eater. “It was for a few brief seconds between the roughing up and the piercing. But it was definitely a moment.”
Jackson shook his head, tilting it back with the contentment of a dog in the sun. “It’s too soon.”
“It’s never too soon to take your next breath.”
“He’s not a breath. He’s a step backwards. And he has the marks from you to prove it.”
Jillian yanked the pull cord on the weed eater and finished her work.
*
That breath pulled his black Jeep Wrangler into his driveway as Jillian hosed off her red boots. She flashed him a killer smile with the devil’s wink when he glanced over at her. He turned ahead without acknowledgement, pulling the rest of the way in the garage. Jillian shut off the water and hustled across the short patch of lawn to limbo under the descending garage door, clearing the beam by just millimeters.
“Sarge.”
His visual assessment of Jillian started with her boots and ended with her sexy grin. Any other day she would have been disappointed that he didn’t share her enthusiasm, especially after their moment. But on that particular day Jillian fought the onslaught of cold fear mingling with the heart-pounding blaze of adrenaline. She felt anxious, alert, and alive as he stood before her in his combat fatigues. His top was unbuttoned, revealing a fitted khaki T-shirt that hugged his hard muscles.
“Miss Knight.” He shut the driver’s door and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Do you need something?”
“What does AJ stand for?” She inched forward until they were toe to toe, red rain boots to tan combat boots. Jillian loved how her skin tingled in his proximity, how she felt dominated by his stature but not submissive to his strength.
“Your shorts are too short.” The authoritative intonation of his voice felt like a tongue dragging over every pleasurable nerve ending in her body.
“Too short for what? You, Sergeant Monaghan?”
“We don’t have a club house or swimming pool. Why the bikini top?” AJ clenched his fists as Jillian moved her feet between his. Her cleavage-bared chest pressed against his stomach.
“Is my body appalling to you, Sarge?”
“The old men in this neighborhood don’t need to have their wives pissed at them all day because the new neighbor gets her mail wearing a little bit of nothing.” His voice escalated with each word as it muffled into pure grit.
“Sarge, are you upset about my mail-retrieving attire or that I get the mail after you’ve already left for work?”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Because you’ve already seen more than the other neighbors.”
AJ maintained a scowl, but his deep swallow gave him away.
“How’s your lip?”
The tip of his tongue instinctively glided over the small red spot that was still there. “Tell me. Are you one of those kinky dominatrixes that like it rough?”
Jillian twisted her lips and rolled her eyes, diverting her gaze from his. “Hmm … no, that’s not an accurate assessment.” Dr. Jones ruled out that possibility years ago.
“And why is that?”
She yanked his T-shirt from his pants and snaked her hand up a few inches against his taut, bare skin. It felt warm, unmarked, and tempting.
“Because I don’t want you to submit to me,” she whispered her words like a potion meant to cast a spell.
AJ secured her ponytail in his fisted hand. “I assure you words like surrender, succumb, and submit are only under the list of things I’m incapable of doing.”
Jillian smiled. She never considered her issue an addiction, but at that moment it was powerful and all-consuming. “I’m going to bring you to your knees, Senior Master Sergeant Monaghan.”
“Only if I’m straddling your body facedown on the ground.”
Jillian heard Dr. Jones’s voice in her head, but saw Luke’s face. The duality was always present: the man who saved her and the one that set her free. She hated as much as she loved that one man possessed so much power over her. But he was gone—forever, and so was Jessica.
It’s in here, Luke would kiss her forehead, and here, he’d kiss her chest over her heart that had found love with his. Not in here, he’d lace his fingers with hers and squeeze hard until her body was the first to surrender. That ability to surrender was the greatest power anyone had ever given her, and when Jessica died, she took that power with her.
Jillian Knight could never surrender.
When Dr. Jones’s voice faded, all she could hear was her racing heart and shallow breath. The tension between Jillian and AJ could spark a blackout across Omaha. Her attraction to him was fueled by her past, but she couldn’t make sense of his unnerving mix of hate and desire, or maybe she could … she just didn’t want to.
As he held her hair tight, he lowered his lips towards her mouth. She inched her hands under his arms and up his back. There was nothing right about them. The distrust—thick. The fear—heavy. The sexual tension—suffocating.
There was no closing eyes and melting into a moment of passion.
He watched her. She watched him.
When their lips touched it went from soft to punishingly hard in an instant. Their tongues dueled like swords. Their lips vied for control. AJ jerked her ponytail back until she opened wider for him and with his other hand he gripped her ass like he was trying to rip through the denim. Jillian yanked the chain off his neck, letting it drop to the floor. Her hands made swift, precise moves with his belt. With one quick, forceful tug she snapped it completely out of the loops, a whip crack piercing the air.
It’s here … that voice.
AJ released her ass and cupped her jaw. His hand slid down to her neck and she could feel his fingers wrapping around, crushing her windpipe even though they were relaxed.
Fear.
It’s here.
Jillian’s hands navigated to his back. Don’t do it, her mind chanted. But her fingernails curled into his flesh on their own accord. AJ dragged his hand from her neck to her chest between the exposed cleavage from her bikini top. She waited for him to push the material aside exposing her hardened nipples, but he didn’t. He left the heel of his hand pressed to her sternum. Her heart tried to beat it away, but he left it there until she swore she could feel his pulse surge against hers. Slipping … her control was slipping as the moment blurred into dizzying confusion.
“Fuck!” AJ growled as he shoved her back. “Knock that shit off!”
Stumbling to a halt, eyes wide, Jillian opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Any other woman would have been flat on her back with the force he used on her. She looked down, twisting her palms up and fisting her fingers. Blood. Her nails were smeared with his blood. She closed her eyes for a brief moment.
“I-I have to get ready for work.” She smiled with childlike innocence as she wiped her fingers along her shorts, kissed him on the cheek like she didn’t just dig a garden into his back, then slipped out the side access door. “I go for a run every night at ten if you care to join me,”
she called two seconds before the wind slammed the door shut behind her.
*
Jillian Knight brought one thing with her that used to belong to Jessica Day—killer sales skills. The Lascivio consultant that “trained” Jillian at the bachelorette party found herself being schooled in the sales department. Jillian spent the whole night number crunching and making up statistics about nipple clamps and breast cancer prevention, vibrators and decreased yeast infections, and strap-on penises and longevity.
Her mentoring consultant sulked with guilt that she’d allowed Jillian to sell the products under such false pretense, until Jillian made a quick calculation of the commission that the party brought in: over twelve-hundred dollars.
“Hey, working girl! Did you bring home the bacon?” Jackson grinned as he finished playing a familiar Bach piece.
Jillian loved listening to him play. Part of it was envy because she didn’t inherit an ounce of musical talent, but most of it was honest adoration for his insane ability.
“Tempeh bacon, and no I didn’t bring it home, but Sara, the Lascivio consultant that ‘trained’ me, her family is celebrating bacon fest, thanks to yours truly.”
Jackson whistled.
Jillian shrugged, gulping down a glass of water. “Sex sells.”
“You, my dear sis, could sell purity rings and abstinence to pimps and call girls.”
“Speaking of call girls … what are you doing here anyway? Have you gotten laid since we arrived?”
Jackson closed the lid. “I think this Jackson guy is going to keep his virginity for a while.”
“Excuse me?”
“How many people get the chance to start over from scratch? Very few. So I’m saving myself. Maybe I’ll find some nice girl who’s not a virgin and would be willing to teach me about sex and intimacy.”
“You fucked half the West Coast!”
“I don’t know what guy to whom you’re referring.”
Jillian shook her head while unbuttoning her white blouse. “I’m going to change. I need a run and an escape from this impostor who claims to be my brother.”
“No sparring tonight?”
