Falling into You: A Falling Stars Stand-Alone Romance

by A. L. Jackson

  Something severe had etched itself into his expression. “Every single person here is my guest, Mia.”

  My head shook slightly, unsure, not understanding the flip that had just been made.

  His expression darkened. “But that doesn’t mean they’re good. That they can be trusted. You get what I’m telling you?”

  There was no mirth in the warning.

  No tease.

  Just the truth of what he said.

  I swallowed around the lump that had made itself home at the base of my throat for the last three weeks, gave him a tight nod. “I know that.”

  Like I hadn’t stumbled on my fair share of scumbags.

  He dipped a nod. “Good. Then be careful.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  I wondered if I’d already known it was a lie when I said it.

  Two

  Mia

  Lyrik was right.

  Not all of his guests could be trusted.

  My pulse raced wild.

  A frantic boom, boom, boom that I could feel thundering in the middle of my chest.

  Panic raced, my throat closing off and my sight going blurry.

  I tried to free myself from the hold of the man who was breathing his vileness all over me. Before I could even make sense that he’d been waiting for me when I’d left the restroom, he’d backed me into a wall at the base of the curved staircase.

  His stench stung my nostrils. Sweat drenched in depravation.

  His breath a toxic blend of alcohol and sex and corruption.

  He edged me farther against the wall, as if his admission to this party had purchased him any evil.

  “I said to get out of my way,” I forced out under my breath, teeth gritting in the hope that it might keep the terror that was streaking through my veins from seeping out of my pores.

  The last thing I wanted was this asshole to sense my fear.

  A monster scenting its prey.

  “Come now. Don’t be like that,” he slurred, pressing his nose to my throat. “I just wanted to say hi. Introduce myself. You look awful pretty wandering around here all by yourself.”

  I cringed. “I’m not alone. Now let me go.”

  He tsked like my statement was absurd. “I should have known Lyrik West would invite the prettiest girls to his party. He always has the best entertainment.”

  I would have laughed if vomit hadn’t already risen to my throat, vocal cords chained in alarm and dread.

  This jerk had no idea my brother would gladly snap his neck. Gut him and leave him floating face-down in a river.

  But right that second, my brother was nowhere to be found and neither was any of the security.

  We were hidden by the curve of the stairs, tucked in the shadows and concealed by the din of music.

  Voices and laughter echoed from the main room.

  Nothing but taunts and jeers that pounded my ears.

  Lyrik’s warning screamed, and fear pressed down as the bastard covered me with his sweaty, meaty body.

  There was a halo of it.

  A dark, dense fog.

  I struggled for a breath, sickened by the same man who had almost sent me to my knees two hours earlier.

  Turns out, I should have trusted my instincts, after all.

  “Your heart is beating so fast. Excited, love?”

  Love?

  This guy was seriously confused. Confused and deranged and disgusting, and I had the overwhelming compulsion to spit in his face.

  I did.

  Shouting a profanity, he gripped me by the jaw.

  Hard.

  “You fuckin’ bitch,” he gritted in his English accent, cinching down tighter. “You’ll learn better than to cross me.”

  Something fake and desperate bled from his being. I wondered if he were half as desperate as me.

  Urges hit, a storm of panic and survival.

  Instinct kicking in.

  Fight or flight.

  I surged forward, taking the jerk by surprise.

  My forehead connected with his.

  Hard.

  A white-hot splinter of pain cracked through my head at the connection, but at least I was prepared for it. I managed to keep my footing at the impact when he completely lost his and stumbled back.

  Momentarily stunned.

  I didn’t give him time to recover.

  I grabbed him by the shoulders, and I drew my knee up as hard as I could. The crunch vibrated up my leg when my knee made contact with his crotch.

  The slit of my dress ripped at the same time.

  His wail of agony was at one with the chaos, with the throbbing laughter and the beat of the drums and the pulse of the music that made it feel as if I’d stepped into a house of horrors.

  Those crazy-ass mirrors surrounding me. Distorting everything. My brain rattled and my spirit shaking.

  Adrenaline sloshed through my veins, bleeding out and draining free and leaving me gasping.

  Visions rushed.

  Taking me to another time. Another place.

  Fast flickers of a nightmare that I would forever relive.

  Frantic, desperate.

  Lana on her knees.

  The glint of silver.

  A deafening ring.

  Blood.

  Blood.

  So much blood.

  I choked on the memory. The man in my gallery. Backing us into the corner. Pulling the trigger while I’d had to watch hopelessly.

  I staggered backward while the dirtbag bent in two, struggling to get his breath.

  Flight kicked in.

  The desperate need to flee.

  Hide.

  Remove myself from the situation.

  I raced upstairs, the torn skirt of my dress clutched in my trembling hands, holding it up so I wouldn’t trip on the long white fabric. The second I hit the landing, I ran to the right, my high heels clicking on the wooden floor as I raced down the hall.

  I bypassed the room I’d been staying in for the last three weeks and, instead, I rushed all the way to the end of the corridor where a second set of stairs led to the top floor.

  It called to me like a beacon. Like safety was written in red, glaring lights.

  Hand clinging to the railing, I fumbled up the steps to the third floor, and a harsh breath of relief gushed from my lungs when I caught sight of the closed double doors on the right.

  I burst through them like my life depended on it.

  I slammed the doors shut behind me and whirled around so I could lock them.

  Hands shaking.

  Spirit manic.

  Nothing quite cooperating.

  Metal scraped as the lock finally engaged, the sound of it like a gunshot reverberating through the dark, vacant room. I dropped my head to the ornate wood, hot air jerking in and out of my lungs as I tried to steady myself after the altercation.

  Never before had I considered myself weak.

  And now all it took was a jerk getting handsy and I was falling apart.

  I should march back downstairs and tell my brother. Make a statement. Make him pay.

  And the only thing I wanted to do?

  Hide.

  Remain concealed and protected behind the thick, solid doors.

  Here, where the music was muted, nothing but a dull vibration that rumbled underfoot.

  Voices distant.

  It gave the illusion that I’d risen above it all.

  Besides, the last thing I wanted was for my brother to get arrested for murder tonight.

  Tomorrow I’d tell him. When enough time had passed. When rash, imprudent reactions were less likely to be made.

  For tonight, I’d wait here.

  When my heaving breaths began to slow, I finally peeled myself from the door and swiveled around to face the duskiness of the room.

  The massive library that Lyrik had attempted to turn into an art studio.

  It was where my spirit had immediately been called to in turmoil, as if it heard the melody of this place,
even though it no longer knew how to sing.

  Like all the beauty had been ripped from it that horrible night.

  I had no idea if I would ever get it back.

  My eyes scanned the lapping shadows of the rambling space.

  A muted sheen of silvery moonlight flooded through the huge circular window that was made of white and black translucent stained glass. It faced out upon the front of the luxurious home, distorted the view in a gorgeous sheen of sparkling crystal and cast the rich, plush furniture and tapestries in shadows.

  The floors were covered in thick, woven rugs.

  Shelves of books lined the towering walls, all the way to the severe pitch of the cathedral ceiling.

  My gaze moved to the far corner.

  Drawn to where easels of partially-painted pictures stood like half-bared secrets.

  The obscured faces painted on the canvases veiled in mystery.

  Blowing out a haggard breath, I eased deeper into the room, and I let my fingertips gently flutter over a picture.

  The man’s face misshapen.

  Haunted eyes stared out into the nothingness.

  I moved to the next, stood at where the small child crouched at the edge of a gurgling stream, staring at her reflection in the glistening water, her angelic face contorted.

  Sadness crested and rose, crashing like a tsunami of broken dreams.

  Hopes shattered in one careless, senseless act.

  I traced my fingertips over the image, wishing it could somehow seep into my soul, breathe its life back into me.

  I thought I felt a flicker of it.

  Energy.

  A depth that had been missing that billowed and blew. A soft whisper that breezed through the room.

  Chills flashed, and the fine hairs on my arms and neck lifted in a whoosh of awareness.

  I froze, throat closing off as that sensation twisted and cut into me with a stab of fear. As I realized I was not alone.

  Ever so slowly, I shifted around.

  One-part terror.

  One-part curiosity.

  My eyes narrowed as I struggled to peer farther into the hushed shadows at the far end of the room where I felt the crash of energy emanating from.

  A brewing of intensity.

  My heart shivered in my chest as a dark figure sitting on an oversized chair slowly came into view.

  At the sight of him, a scream gurgled in my throat, though it got locked in the barbs of tightness.

  My stomach twisted into a thousand knots.

  I should run. No doubt. Just get the hell out of there and pretend like I hadn’t even noticed a man lurking in the far corner.

  But I was frozen.

  Slammed by another bolt of that severity.

  Bound by shockwave after shockwave of energy that surged and rocked, gluing my feet to the ground.

  He just sat there, not making a move, eyes clearly watching me even though I couldn’t make them out through the darkness.

  “Oh my god, you scared me,” I finally managed to force out. My gaze darted to the door, searching for the closest emergency exit and not knowing whether I should use it or not.

  Oh, I should.

  I knew I should.

  But I just stood there, robbed of the sense of flight, stammering, “Wh-wha-what are you doing in here?” at the faceless silhouette.

  The outline of him was nothing but wide shoulders and hard body, legs stretched out in front of him so casually.

  Like he couldn’t feel that his presence was singlehandedly tilting the earth on its side.

  The man emitting his own gravity.

  He barely shifted, the rocks glass he rested on the arm of the chair glinting in a ray of light as he rolled the base in a slow circle.

  “Seems to me the exact same thing as you.” His voice was gravel, controlled with a razor-sharp edge.

  Intrigue billowed, wrapping me in bindings.

  I’d always considered myself decently intelligent. Graduated salutatorian of my high school class. Earned a full ride scholarship even though finishing my degree had been rough considering my circumstances, but I had done it and I’d done it well.

  Had started my own business.

  And there I was, struck dumb.

  Senseless.

  Fascination taking me over like it was the only wisdom I knew.

  “What’s that?” I asked instead of rushing out the door where my common sense had clearly already fled without me.

  “Hiding.” The word was a deep drone. He sat forward. The air stirred. I sucked in a breath as heat gathered in the atmosphere and covered my flesh in a flashfire of anticipation.

  What the hell?

  “Though I doubt we’re doin’ it for the same reasons,” he said.

  I could feel the flit of his gaze racing over me.

  Assessing.

  Calculating.

  “You don’t know anything about me.” It came out a shaky defense. I didn’t even know why I was offering it. Why I was even humoring this conversation.

  Although there didn’t seem to be anything humorous about it.

  This feeling that had become all too real and potent.

  Instant.

  Urgent.

  He slowly stood to his full, towering height.

  Oh God. Chills streaked and sped, and I was standing there on shaking knees.

  “No. But I’d say you’re pretty easy to read.” His words were gruff.

  “And what is it you think you’re seein’?” My voice trembled, and God, I needed to shut my mouth and get the hell out of there. Red flags were getting thrown all over the place.

  Out of bounds.

  My feet carrying me in a direction I definitely did not need to be traveling.

  Because Lyrik was right.

  Not all of his guests could be trusted. Not all of them were good.

  And this guy screamed danger.

  Trouble.

  But on an entirely different level than the jerk downstairs.

  Because I was feeling compelled. Drawn into the darkness swarming the space. Rushing and crashing.

  Somehow, I got the sense that if I got any closer, I was going to get swallowed.

  “Fear.” His arrogant statement rippled the air.

  I gulped.

  Maybe I’d had it all wrong. Maybe he was the hunter who was scenting his prey. That he could smell the way I was drawn. Helpless to whatever the hell this attraction was—something I’d never once in all my life experienced before.

  A dark lure.

  I took a step backward like I could possibly get away from it.

  He took one forward.

  It brought him into a stream of light.

  My mouth dropped open and my belly bottomed out.

  I couldn’t tell if he was terrifying or beautiful.

  Terrifyingly beautiful.

  Yes, yes, that was it.

  Tall and lean. Different than my brother, though.

  Shoulders wide. Corded muscle visible, arms rippling with strength. The guy wearing a tee and tattered jeans and Vans to a gala in the Hills.

  His jaw was clenched, a perfectly carved stone held so tight that I feared it might shatter and crack.

  His nose straight and his brow defined. Plush lips set in a firm, hard line.

  His eyes were the only part of him that could have even hinted at softness. The color of brown sugar. The edges the hardest, deepest black. Like maybe he’d witnessed too many horrible things and the grief and hatred had crystallized into slate.

  And I was standing there gawking and flustered and trying to get my legs to cooperate. To knock some sense into myself because I was locked in a dark room with a stranger.

  But I couldn’t move.

  Stuck in a quicksand I could feel pulling me under.

  His eyes traced me.

  Blatantly.

  Bluntly.

  Something that sounded like a growl crawled up his throat when his attention fixated on where my dress was ripped at the s
eam. Realizing it was gaping open, I rushed to gather up the material that was split so high it was threatening to reveal my panties.

  His massive hands curled at his sides.

  “What happened to your dress?” His question came out sounding like a threat.

  “Nothing . . . it’s fine.” It flew from my mouth at warp speed.

  He surged forward, and I gasped.

  He touched my chin.

  A gentle prod that angled my face up into the light. He let his fingertips trace up the side of my face until his thumb was running softly over the knot that had already risen on my forehead.

  Tremors rolled and I was having a hard time making sense of anything right then.

  “Liar,” he grunted.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t look so fine to me.”

  Those warm, sugar eyes traveled to where my hand was fisted in the skirt, his jaw ticking as he angled his face toward mine, his presence invading.

  The words scraped across my cheek as he issued them. “I’m probably not the only man here who would gladly rip this dress off you, gorgeous, but it doesn’t look to me like you agreed.”

  Turbulence rolled like thunder in the room.

  The man too bold.

  Too crass.

  Too forward.

  And I knew I wasn’t alone in this crazy attraction that fired and pulsed and covered me like a wicked dream.

  I should run from it. No question, something that powerful was dangerous.

  But I wanted it.

  To feel it.

  To feel alive and whole.

  To stoke this spark that suddenly came to life inside me. One I’d thought had forever gone dim.

  The fantasy flashed of him actually doing it. Him pushing me against the wall, hands finding my flesh under the frayed fabric, pushing it over my hips.

  The clink of his belt as he freed himself.

  As he took me.

  Touched me and kissed me and owned me until the only thing I felt was him. Until the pain had been chased away.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  I was just asking for it, wasn’t I?

  Bad judgement and all of that.

  I blamed it on the PTSD.

  Looking for something to make me feel good in the middle of the grief, but I knew those rugged, masculine hands weren’t going to help a thing. No doubt, it wouldn’t take more than a brush of them to leave a scar.