Run from Fear

by Jami Alden

  Talia felt the color flood to her cheeks and she looked frantically over her shoulder to make sure Jack wasn’t anywhere close. “That’s ridiculous and you know it. Even if he wanted to, and I thought I wanted to… I can’t… we can’t… after everything that happened—”

  Rosie leaned forward and covered Talia’s hands with her own where they rested on the table. “You have to get over it.”

  Talia jerked back. “It’s not that easy. You have no idea—” She tried to tug her hands away but Rosie held them in a surprisingly strong grip.

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Rosie said quietly, and in that one sentence every trace of the happy-go-lucky coed disappeared. “You didn’t tell me everything, but I think I figured most of it out. You have to know Jack would never hurt you that way, not in a million years.”

  “Of course I do. Jack’s not the problem.”

  “Then I don’t understand,” Rosie said.

  And Talia never wanted her to. “Let’s not talk about my nonexistent love life, okay?”

  “It’s only nonexistent because you want it to be,” Rosie said, undeterred. “I swear, the way Jack looks at you, he’d be on you in a nanosecond if you gave him just a little encouragement.”

  “Nanosecond? Is that what you’re learning from your cute physics TA?” Talia struggled to keep her tone light despite the pounding in her skull.

  Rosie wrinkled her nose as her lips pulled up at the corners. “You think Eugene is cute?”

  Thank God Rosie took the bait. “Yeah, in a quieter, studious kind of way. He seems to be in to you.”

  Rosie shook her head. “I can see what you’re saying. He’s nice enough and I don’t mind hanging out with him. But he’s a grad student, so he’s kind of boring and… old,” she finished with another disdainful nose wrinkle. “Besides, I just ended things with Kevin.”

  Though Talia had been overjoyed at the news of their breakup, her hackles rose at the thought of Rosario wasting another second mooning over that grade-A d-bag, and she told Rosie as much.

  “Hey, I know you never liked him but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care about him—” Rosie’s sullen protest was interrupted as Jack practically dropped the paper beverage cup on the table.

  Talia rolled her eyes and took a sip, her lip curling at the bitter taste of black coffee without a hint of milk or sugar to curb the edge.

  Her gaze darted from Rosie’s pout to Jack’s look of smug satisfaction as he watched her take another sip of the coffee.

  It was going to be a long afternoon.

  Chapter 12

  Hours later, Gene was still shaking from his encounter with Talia Vega. He’d been completely caught off guard when she’d walked into the coffeehouse. Rosario had said nothing about meeting her sister at the end of their session.

  It was heaven and hell wrapped up in one miraculous, awful encounter. She’d stunned him. Of course he’d been aware of her beauty, watching her, tracking her as he had. But he’d never been up close enough to see the smooth grain of her skin. Nearly flawless even without the heavy makeup she’d worn in older pictures he’d seen.

  Never been close enough to appreciate the subtle shifts in her expression, the way her eyes lit up with pride when she smiled at her sister and darkened in irritation when she spoke to the gorilla.

  Well, maybe not a complete gorilla, Gene thought—that is, if the story about Jack studying physics at West Point was true. Like Jack said, a bachelor’s was nothing compared to the kind of work Gene was doing, but it indicated that the man was not a lumbering brainless meathead who could be easily dismissed.

  Oh, and Talia had touched him. Even now he rubbed his fingers together, savoring the memory of her small, smooth-skinned hand in his, the fine bones that would be so easy to crush in his grip.

  God, it had been so difficult to maintain his facade of calm. He’d nearly blown it at the very beginning, the way he’d frozen at the first sight of her as his mind swirled and roared with thoughts of all that he had in store for her.

  Thoughts that made him grateful he was seated and the small table could hide his body’s response until he got himself under control. For a few moments he’d been so tempted to grab her, take her, right then and there.

  But he would have failed. And he’d come too far, worked too hard to prepare himself, to let a loss of control ruin everything.

  Then an edge of panic had set in. Could she possibly know? Would she look into his eyes and sense the monster barely leashed inside him?

  But then she’d smiled, offered her hand. As clueless as a lamb going to slaughter.

  A wave of calm had settled over him and he’d pulled himself back under control. Listened, hiding a smile as Rosario carelessly talked about the gifts Talia had received from her stalker.

  What would she do if she knew that he was the one who had sent the recording of her attack? That he’d watched it dozens of times, studied it until he’d memorized every cry of pain.

  But his delight had faded as he registered what Rosario was saying. Gifts, she’d said. Not gift.

  A necklace, flowers, to remind Talia of her past.

  Her house getting broken into.

  Things Gene had had no part in.

  Someone else is trying to get to her.

  The realization had filled him with such fury, his vision had momentarily blurred. He’d pulled it together enough to excuse himself, but he barely remembered the across-campus walk to his office.

  Someone else is trying to get to her. Making sure she never forgets the sins of her past.

  He wouldn’t stand for it. Talia Vega was his, dammit. His to take, his to destroy.

  Talia studied her reflection in the mirror and lifted a finger to wipe away a fleck of mascara that had fallen on her cheekbone. She looked critically at her makeup. Was it too heavy for what was essentially a fancy barbecue?

  Deciding her full lips were too prominent painted that shade of pink, she snatched up a tissue and wiped them clean.

  Then reapplied it as she realized that without the lipstick, her face looked washed out against the vibrant teal green of her dress.

  She stepped back, her stomach in knots as she took in her entire reflection. Rosario—and Susie after she’d insisted Talia model it for her at the restaurant the night before—had assured her that it was perfect. Dressy without looking like she was trying too hard. Pretty and feminine without being froufrou. Appropriate without looking frumpy.

  Sexy without being too revealing.

  It was that last part Talia was having trouble with. Ending a couple inches above the knee, the dress’s skirt was hardly a micromini, but it was still shorter than anything Talia had worn in over two years.

  Objectively she had to admit that Rosie and Susie were right when they said the dress looked amazing on a frame that, though leaner than it once had been, still sported decent curves. First there was the color, a rich jade green that was both eye-catching and elegant, contrasting beautifully with her dark hair and caramel-hued skin.

  The sleeveless top draped gently over her breasts, hinting at but not clinging to the fullness. It fastened with a single button at her nape, leaving a keyhole opening in the back. That normally would have been a no-go—no way was she taking those scars out on parade.

  But thanks to a knit camisole layer underneath and the way the fabric draped, the scars stayed hidden, the dress giving only the illusion of being revealing. A beautifully beaded sash cinched her in at the waist, keeping the flowy style from looking too boxy on her frame.

  The above-knee skirt combined with the nude pumps made her legs look about two miles long, and she couldn’t help but admire the lean muscles of her calves and thighs, developed over long hours in the gym doing squats and kicks.

  She had the legs of an athlete now.

  The legs of a survivor.

  “You about ready? We’re kind of pushing the bounds of fashionably late.”

  She jumped at the sound of Jack’s muffled voice and th
e light rap of his knuckles against her bedroom door. She looked at the clock. Sure enough, she had lingered as long as she could. It was time to stop dithering and nitpicking over her appearance and open the door already.

  Ease up. It’s not like this is a real date. You’re just tagging along. It doesn’t even matter what you look like. Just try not to embarrass yourself or him.

  Time to man up, she told herself. She stuffed her lipstick, her ID, a credit card, and some cash into a small purse and took a deep, bracing breath as she opened the door. “I’m ready,” she lied.

  Jack was leaning against the hallway wall. “Jesus, took you long enough.” As he turned, she could see the irritated expression on his face. “It’s a damn barbecue, not the royal wed—” His eyes fully locked on her and he froze midsentence.

  The nervous knot in her stomach took on an edge of panic. “What’s wrong?” Oh, God, was the dress too short, too tight, too revealing? Did she look like a slut and not even know it? “Is it the dress? I can change. I shouldn’t have bothered… I have black pants and a nice sweater—”

  “Don’t you fucking dare change,” Jack nearly yelled. He closed his eyes and held up a hand. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He paused and cleared his throat. “It’s just… you… uh…”

  If Talia didn’t know him better, she’d have thought he was actually flustered.

  “You look gorgeous,” he finally said. “Really, amazingly beautiful.” Jack shook his head as though trying to get his bearings. “I always knew you were beautiful, but Jesus.”

  “Oh” was all Talia could manage as she rocked back on her high heels, her legs suddenly unsteady under the force of his admiration. She’d been complimented for her looks a lot in her life, mostly with words like sexy, smokin’, or the perennial hot.

  She’d taken them in stride, validation that her looks had the currency necessary to navigate her chosen path.

  But none had ever had the impact of Jack’s. More than the words, it was the tone of his voice. Sincere, almost reverent. And the look on his face, like she was some wondrous creature he couldn’t quite believe was real.

  For the first time since he’d had his nightmare, she felt the tension between them ease, the air between them no less charged but with a different kind of energy.

  One that felt more like anticipation than frustration.

  It was too much. “I can still clean up pretty well,” Talia quipped. “You don’t look bad yourself.”

  An understatement if there ever was one. His clothes couldn’t have been more simple—boring even. Hell, if a guy had walked into Club One in a plain white button-down shirt, dark khaki trousers, and a navy sport coat, she would have made him pay double to get into the VIP room.

  But custom tailored to Jack’s massive frame, the conservative clothes somehow made him stand out even more. Like he was trying to hide a body that was ready for action at any time behind a veneer of casual business wear and failing miserably.

  The jacket emphasized the broad line of his shoulders; the white shirt contrasted against skin browned from hours spent training outside. His shirttails tucked into his pants emphasized his trim waist and lean, narrow hips; the cut of the pants hinted at the powerful muscles of his legs.

  Too big, too tough, too rugged to be a model. But to Talia he was infinitely more appealing.

  He moved so she could precede him down the stairs. Even though she reminded herself for the millionth time this wasn’t a real date, it was hard not to feel that way as Jack helped her into her coat and held open her car door for her.

  They rode in companionable silence as Jack drove. Though Danny’s father’s house couldn’t have been more than five miles away, as Jack turned off the main road and started winding his way through the neighborhood, the contrast between her cute, tidy neighborhood and this one was startling.

  Streets were thickly lined with oaks to obscure the views of the houses from the road. Well-kept single-level ranchers abruptly gave way to multimillion-dollar mansions whose rooftops were visible above massive privacy walls.

  Jack turned a corner onto a street already lined with cars.

  “Here’s the house,” Jack said as he pulled up alongside a comparatively modest but beautifully refurbished rancher that sat back from the road behind a sprawling lawn. “I can drop you off here so you don’t have to walk in those,” he said, glancing down at her pumps with their three-and-a-half-inch heels.

  “I’m fine walking,” she said. She hadn’t worn heels in years and had barely made it down her own front steps, but she’d walk till her feet bled before she’d walk into that party alone.

  Jack had to drive more than halfway down the block before he finally found space for his car.

  Talia climbed out and walked with Jack down the street, using her heels as an excuse to walk as slowly as possible. “How many people do you think are here?” she asked, unable to keep the nervous tightness from her voice.

  “Not too big. Maybe a hundred, hundred fifty,” Jack said.

  Talia decided to find herself a spot in the corner and keep to herself.

  “There’s no reason to be nervous,” Jack said. He paused and caught her hand in his. “Joe Taggart is a great guy. These are nice people.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Your hands are freezing.” His fingers tightened on hers and he leaned close. His eyes flicked to her mouth, and for a second she thought he was about to kiss her.

  The thought did nothing to calm her nerves, but it provided a hell of a distraction.

  Her eyelids started to drift closed, but instead of his lips on hers, she felt the soft brush of his fingers on her neck. “And your pulse is going about a hundred miles an hour.”

  She swallowed hard, willing moisture back into her mouth that had gone desert dry. “Maybe a little nervous. I’m not so good at talking to new people.”

  Jack looked down at her, a slightly confused smile on his face. “You’re a bartender. You talk to new people all the time.”

  “It’s different.” She pulled her hand from his and started walking again. “I just have to be polite, serve them a drink. Even with the regulars, it’s sort of anonymous.” It was the same when she’d worked at Club One; the line between customer and service provider created an invisible barrier that kept her from having to worry about whether anyone she met actually liked her.

  “You’re with me. Don’t worry about it.”

  Somehow that didn’t do anything to ease her nervousness. She was all dressed up, walking in on his arm. Just like a real date.

  Just like Jack wanted.

  But because something inside her balked at taking the next step, she couldn’t help but feel like an imposter.

  As she walked in and took in the elaborate setup of the party, it became very clear her idea of a backyard barbecue and Joe Taggart’s were not the same. The two fully stocked and staffed bars were on either end of the expansive lawn. A massive grill was manned by a chef, complete with the hat, and buffet tables were set up on the far side of the pool. White lights were strung from the trees and the wooden awning that covered half of the flagstone patio. Heat lamps were placed strategically throughout the grounds, throwing off enough warmth to make her coat unnecessary.

  Talia did a quick survey of the guests, glad as she did so that she’d taken Susie’s and Rosie’s advice on her wardrobe choice. Though she wasn’t wearing the most expensive outfit—she recognized designs that must have set the wearers back thousands of dollars—her dress wouldn’t exactly be dismissed as a pile of rags.

  “Jack! Glad you could make it!”

  Talia followed Jack in the direction of the voice and they ended up in a cluster of people standing a few feet away from one of the two bars set up on opposite ends of the yard. Jack returned the smile of a tall older man. He held out his hand, only to be pulled into a rough, back-slapping hug.

  “Talia, this is Joe,” Jack said, motioning her forward.

  Talia shook hands
and smiled at the man who, with his light eyes, ruggedly handsome features, and body that was still broad and fit despite his age, was obviously father to Danny Taggart and his brothers, Ethan and Derek.

  Joe offered her a warm, admiring smile and said, “About time Jack brought someone around for me to meet.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out that he had the wrong idea, but at the last second, she felt the warning pressure of Jack’s hand on her back as he said, “She hasn’t figured out she’s slumming it yet, so I’d appreciate it if you put in a good word for me, sir.”

  Talia snapped her mouth shut, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks at the way Jack’s thumb brushed against a patch of skin left bare by her dress.

  Jack gave the woman next to Joe a quick buss on the cheek and offered his congratulations. Must be the fiancée, Talia thought, and had her suspicions verified in the next second when he introduced them. “Talia, this is Marcy Kramer, Joe’s fiancée.”

  Marcy was a thin, pretty blonde who might have looked like your generic social X-ray had it not been for the genuine warmth in her blue eyes and the adoration that filled them as she looked at her soon-to-be husband. “So lovely to meet you, Talia. Jack’s told us a lot about you over the years.”

  Talia felt her smile freeze in place. Was Marcy just spouting the usual social niceties, or had Jack actually talked about her to his friends and family?

  And what, she thought as her stomach churned, exactly had he told them?

  “May I get you something to drink?” a server asked.

  “Vodka on the rocks with a splash of tonic,” she said, ignoring the way Jack’s eyebrows shot up as he ordered his own club soda. She knew what he was thinking—in the entire time he’d known her, she’d barely touched alcohol. Never during their work at Club One, and since then, he’d seen her indulge in only the occasional glass of wine after work.