by Crowe, Liz
“Jack, I have to go home. I have to think about this,” she said firmly.
Get a morning after pill, like, now.
“This wasn’t a good idea. I mean, as good as it felt,” she whispered into his neck, still smelling passion on his skin.
“I’ve given you space, Sara. I can’t play that game anymore. You need me, you said so yourself. Why do you let such stubborn bullshit get in the way of your happiness?”
She shrugged him off, suddenly furious at him and at herself.
“Excuse me, but no one can make me do anything. I had a lot of great times with Craig. That was my choice. We were done, if I recall so I was allowed to do so.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I came here tonight knowing where your head was about me.” She couldn’t stop, the words spilling out hurtful and unforgiving. “Maybe I played you… I have some control here,” she insisted, her fists and teeth clenched in anger. She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting.
“You were primed to force me back into this very position, but maybe I was controlling you. Did you ever consider that? Maybe I just wanted to get laid, nothing more. I knew you wanted me, after all.” She could hear own voice, rising, louder, hating herself for getting into this crazy emotional state, but unable to stop.
Her soul screamed at her to stop, to listen, to get back to that crazy space in her head where she knew nothing but Jack, knew only that he would never leave or hurt her. But that moment was gone, vanished with the blink of an eye, the slip of conversation, when he revealed why he’d done all of this—to “win.” It made her crazy with fury, willing to say anything to hurt him.
Jack couldn’t believe this was happening. How in the hell had he gone from “Yes, I will marry you” to “I’m not a prize to be won”? Dear God, but she was aggravating.
His mouth formed words before his brain fully engaged. They came shooting out of him, too fast for him to yank them back. “Oh, yeah, I get it now. You wanted to fuck with me for some payback over the Heather thing, so you got it. Great. That’s just great. Nice work.” He turned from her. “Couldn’t have played it better myself.”
He stood facing the window, then squared his shoulders, and tucked his shirt into his suit trousers. Words tumbled from his mouth, not stopping by for a reality check in his brain. “I guess you learned a little bit from me during our hot summer, eh, Sara?” He smirked at her, his self-confident, self-satisfied regular expression firmly in place once again. His heart ached, but maybe she had it right. Maybe there was a bit of competition in all this.
God help him, he did love her, but he’d admit to wishing Mr. Blondie was here, to watch what he’d done.
And even he would have to admit that was some seriously fucked up shit. Maybe she was right. Perhaps he only saw her as a prize to be claimed. More stupidity spewed out of his mouth, unchecked. It was, he knew well, his self-preservation-ism kicking in, throwing up walls around his heart, keeping it somehow safe from the looming implosion.
“You got some real backbone, some serious confidence since the first time I fucked you against the wall that night in your office. Do you remember that night?”
She turned her back on him and stomped into the kitchen. He followed her.
“You can’t take all the credit for blowing the doors off at Stewart’s the second half of the year, I don’t think.” He stood up to his full height, taking a deep breath as if reluctant to say what next came out of his mouth. “Yep.” He ran both hands down his chest in a self-congratulating fashion. “You got some of that old Jack Magic, right from the main source. Hope it won’t dry up for you now, since you’ve decided to turn into a raving bitch,” he declared.
Jack couldn’t even believe what was shooting out his mouth. He was sick about it, but unable to stop. Besides, she was provoking him. She had to know he’d said all he could say about how he felt. This was …just too much.
His natural instinct for non-connection, keeping emotion out of his life, clicked firmly in place, making him say things he really didn’t mean, all in the interest of keeping her aware of who the fuck was in control here. He couldn’t stop, despite the look in her eyes, a look that promised but didn’t deliver.
“And to think just five minutes ago you were offering me a ring and a sleepover,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words. “And all that money on the party, too. How much did you have to pay the band to learn those songs they’d played to push me into your arms?”
She folded her arms over her chest. His head pounded with frustration. “It must really suck when you can’t control absolutely everything, doesn’t it?” she spat out. “You have no control over me and you did not give me anything this summer except one deal that almost didn’t close. I earned maybe five bucks an hour on that one and have you to thank for it. The rest of it was mine, all me, you fucking self-centered asshole,” she finished, arms now down at her side, fists clenched.
Christ in a sidecar, he wanted her again.
Her temper, her honestly earned outrage, he loved that about her. She took shit off no one, not even him. He decided to give it one more try. He took a step toward her, gripped her upper arms, and brought his mouth hard down on hers. She tried to turn away but he persisted, clutching her face, forcing her to turn back to him.
She pushed against his chest, shivering, as the sweat had cooled her body temperature and emotion had chilled them both. He kissed her and kissed her, holding her tight until he felt her give.
He broke away abruptly, stared at her, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, breathing fast, as though wishing he could say something that would stop the arguing. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking but had the sudden distinct impression that her cruel words were a shield she had erected around herself. His knees nearly gave out when he grasped once again their eerily similar defensive mechanisms.
She still had control issues, but he could deal with that. His gaze dropped to her chest that heaved in anger, kissed her lightly on the top of her left breast, ran his hands down her sides, to her waist, and put his hand on her belly for just a moment.
Then his brain shut down. The intensity of the night was too much to bear. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. Fuck her and her goddamned independent streak. She could keep it.
He stepped and touched her face with one hand, drew his fingers down her temple, her cheek and cupped her chin in his palm.
“I made you, Sara,” he said softly, his soft tone belying the cruelty of his words. “You are a Jack Gordon creation—don’t ever think otherwise—but I don’t begrudge the creative process. You are incredibly hot, can fuck with the best of them, and I’ve enjoyed making you come, watching you emerge as a confident, sexual female—a white hot sales pro.”
She jerked away from his touch as if his fingertips were blazing matches.
The sound of her palm hitting his face echoed in the nearly empty room. Blinding fury tore through him, but he didn’t flinch, just took the blow and looked at her as blood rushed to his skin. She had her arm raised to do it again but he leaned into her so close he could smell the sweat, sex, and pure female of her.
“Oh, no, the creation turns on the creator, what a shame,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I guess you’ll have to find your inspiration elsewhere from now on.” Their faces were mere inches apart. “You’ll never have this again, Sara. Sure you want to toss it away?” He leaned away, watching the arm she’d had hoisted in the air to swat him again drop to her side. He forced himself to smile, keeping it wistful.
He deserved the slap. His need to protect himself had overpowered him, had taken over and made him say some of the most ridiculous shit.
He wanted her. Why couldn’t he just admit that?
He knew why. Too many years of lies and denial. He’s face to face with the one woman in the universe who had his heart in her hands, and who could go toe-to-toe with him on so many levels. But he couldn’t close the deal. Reaching out to her as she leaned into him after his last crazy tirade, ho
ping against hope that she’d see through him and his insane defensive reactions.
At the same time, realizing this was his last chance. And he’d blown it, big time.
Sara’s ears rang, deafening her as she smiled up at his face. “You know what? You can go to hell, Jack,” she said, sweetly, leaning up to kiss him and trace his lips with her tongue delighting in his taste, the richness of his lips while she let her anger take her somewhere else—anywhere but there.
She spoke quietly against his ear, her hand caressing the back of his neck, twining into his hair. “You can take your creator ego bullshit and shove it. Trust me when I say you can fuck with the best of them, too, but you will never be that—the best, that is—cause you can’t see past your own dick to realize that no one will ever worship you like you worship yourself.”
He blinked at her words, and his face closed up again.
She knew she should stop, but had to prove to him that he couldn’t toy with her. Couldn’t say the awful things he’d said and get away with it.
“Because you know what? I think I’ve now had the best and he comes in a much blonder package.”
He reached for her, and she jumped away, her jaw clenched as she ground out her next words: “Don’t—ever—touch me again.”
She pushed past him to the door, threw it open, and heard the party from downstairs, as she took deep breaths to clear her head.
“Give my best to your boyfriend,” he growled into her ear as he walked by her. “Gotta go wrap up downstairs now. Better run along and call him before he figures out what you’ve been doing here with me for the last two hours.” He turned back briefly to face her. “Stupid fucker should have never let you come here without him—I wouldn’t have. Oh and tell him I said hey and that I can give him a few tips if he needs them.”
Tears blinded her and she slumped into the elevator, her last sight of Jack’s eyes, bright with unshed tears, before the doors slid shut.
Epilogue
Sara sat shivering and staring out the window of Blake’s car. He’d picked her up at the airport from a three-week escape to her parents’ condo in Florida. After sleepwalking through work for a week and avoiding both Craig and Jack like the plague, she hopped on a plane on a whim and bolted, ashamed at herself but unable to handle the stress any other way, using Thanksgiving as an excuse and thankful she’d hired a capable assistant to handle her deals. Another wave of nausea ripped through her, making her groan and lean her head against the cold glass. Blake patted her leg.
“Flu?” He turned into her condo’s parking lot. She wiped her dry lips with the back of her hand and didn’t say anything. Tossing her purse and laptop on the kitchen table, and noting how messy she’d left everything she made a mental note to get that back under control first thing.
Blake puttered around in her kitchen while she sat very still and tried like hell not to throw up. A chill passed through her and her head pounded, exacerbating the roiling in her gut that would not stop no matter what she ate or didn’t eat.
“Eat this, Sara. Damn, you must have lost fifteen pounds. What’s your deal?” Her mind felt muddled, her body betrayed her in completely unfamiliar ways. She knew he was really worried about the dark circles under her eyes, her pale skin, and inability to focus but she just couldn’t bring herself to tell him anything, too embarrassed by the whole fucking mess to admit any of the resulting details.
“Sorry, just the tea. I can’t keep anything down at all,” she mumbled, reaching for the steaming mug.
“Sara.” She glanced up as Blake pulled the box clearly marked “early pregnancy test” from her bag. “What the hell is this?”
She stood and snatched it from him, starting for the bathroom. “Lose your ability to read words? What the hell does it look like? Thanks for the ride. You can go home now.”
When she finally emerged, face numb from shock, mind spinning with terror, he still sat, mug in hand, staring out the window as the snow piled up outside. He saw her and stood, pulling her into his arms.
“Shhh, honey, it’s okay. It will all be fine.”
Sara’s body shook as he eased her to the couch, pressed her back, and covered her with a blanket. Her eyes stayed dry and her mind cleared. She put a hand to her still flat stomach.
Mine. She thought, as a single tear slipped down her face. Blake wiped it away and smiled at her.
All that time spent talking with Jack on the phone or via emails had fooled her, softened her, left her vulnerable to believing the best about a man who was, flat out, no good for her. Now, she was determined to go it alone.
No Jack. No Craig. No anybody.
Just her, and…whatever happened next.
* * *
I hope you enjoyed reading Sweat Equity.
Sara & Jack finally say their I do’s in Closing Costs, Book Three, but not before plenty of I don’ts
* * *
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About the Author
Amazon best-selling author, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.
With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.
Website
Read Liz on Radish
Also by Liz Crowe
The Stewart Realty Series
Floor Time
Sweat Equity - 4-25-19
Closing Costs - 5-9-19
Dual Agency - 5-23-19
Conditional Offer - 6-6-19
Escalation Clause - 6-20-19
Mutual Release - 7-4-19
Good Faith - 7-18-19
The Brewing Passion Series
Tapped
Lightstruck
Conditioned
Gravity
Infusion
Adjunct Lovers: A novella
The Love Brothers Series
Love Garage
Coach Love
Love Brewing
Safe Love
Family Love
The Turkish Delights Series
Turkish Delights
Blue Cruise
Tulip Princess
The Diplomat’s Daughter
Flower Passage
Stand Alone Novels
Firebrew
Sweet. Bitter. Honey.
Cheeky Blonde
Caught Offside