Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  My body reacted to his words in opposition to my mind. While my skin flushed and heat pooled low in my belly, I despised him for throwing me away and then losing all faith in me. For talking to me like this. And that war between my physical desire and my emotions made me hate him even more. I wanted to tear him up.

  “Does he know how you like it?” His voice was thick now, hoarse, and he leaned the length of his strong body into mine, pushing me into the machines at my back. I could feel him. Throbbing. Hard. My breath skittered and my fingers curled into the cotton fabric of his T-shirt. “Does he know sweet, shy, Jane Doe loves a good, hard fucking as much as gentle lovemaking? That when the mood takes you, you like to be tied up, held down …” Jamie trailed his lips across my flushed cheek and brushed them against my mouth. “And fucked until you scream?”

  Memories assailed me. Memories of our youthful adventures in sex. How together, we were open to anything. How exciting it had been to explore that side of ourselves with someone who made us feel safe and loved.

  “Does he know you like to be fucked in public places?”

  I shivered, remembering the hottest sex we ever had in a restroom at the theater.

  “Does he hold you all night long, just the way you like?” Jamie trailed his fingertips along my collarbone, gentle, caressing. Almost loving. “Does he keep his dick buried inside you while you sleep like I did? How many nights did you want that from me? How you needed me to stay inside you, connected.”

  Tears burned in my throat.

  I’d been desperate for him. Wanted him to never leave me. To hold me always.

  No one had held me in such a long time. Not like that.

  Not since him.

  I glared at his throat, half of me wanting to lick it and the other to rip it out with my teeth.

  “Nothing to say?” He pressed a soft kiss to the side of my neck, one hand sliding down the curve of my waist to rest on my hip. He squeezed it. “Huh?”

  Did it hurt him to be near me like it hurt me to be near him?

  Was this causing him pain, or did he only find pleasure in trying to humiliate me, trying to make me feel guilty about Asher?

  The dark ugliness he woke in me spread upward, searching for release. I turned my head toward his ear and whispered, “He likes it when I cry out his name.” I pressed a kiss to his jaw and curled my hand around the wrist of his hand resting on my hip. My nails dug into his skin as I undulated against his hard body. “Asher,” I groaned and felt Jamie stiffen. “Oh, Asher, yes, harder … Oh, Asher, I love you.”

  Jamie slammed his hand hard against the dryer beside my head, and I flinched. He glared balefully down at me, hatred pouring out of him.

  Yeah, pal, the feeling is mutual.

  He bared his teeth before he opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut. Pushing off the dryer and out of my space, the tension in my body deflated a little as Jamie retreated. Then he chuckled. A harsh, unhappy sound. His expression was mock impressed, his voice hoarse as he said, “Baby Doe knows how to play the game. Good.” Malice glittered in his eyes. “Wouldn’t want you to make this easy for me.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode out of the laundry room and called over his shoulder, “See you soon, neighbor.”

  It was a threat.

  Shuddering, indignation built inside me.

  When Jamie broke up with me in that letter, I thought I’d never get over it. If it hadn’t been for my friend Cassie’s no-nonsense approach to seeing me through my heartache—i.e. refusing to let me lie in a dark room alone for months like I wanted to—I might never have moved on.

  But I’d gotten on with my life because there was no other option.

  It occurred to me, despite how shaken I was by his presence, I wasn’t panicking. I wasn’t anxious. No. I felt like fighting.

  I’d been dealt so many blows in my twenty-six years on this planet, I’d developed an undetectable armor. People didn’t realize it even existed until they tried to push me too far.

  Did Jamie really think I would just sit back and let him come at me?

  No way.

  Jamie was back in LA to make Steadman pay. And clearly, I was also a target.

  However, I wouldn’t sit on defense and wait for him to come get me.

  It was time to go on the offense.

  And I knew just where to start.

  Chapter 20

  JAMIE

  * * *

  Opening our apartment doors at the same time had just been nice timing.

  Candice showed up at the apartment on behalf of Dakota. I’d met Dakota’s cousin at a party a few weeks ago, and she’d made it clear she’d like to “get to know me better.” Her appearance at my new apartment with the last of the Steadman tapes pissed me off.

  I didn’t trust Candice. I didn’t want her in my business.

  It was clear, however, from what she had to say, that she didn’t have a clue what was on those tapes. I wondered why Dakota hadn’t brought me the tapes herself, but it didn’t matter.

  The tapes I’d already sent to Rita Steadman, along with my blackmail note, had done the job. The Steadmans’ divorce was all over the internet. Before I ushered Candice out of the apartment I was subletting at a ridiculous price to be close to dear Jane, the madam’s cousin had thrown herself at me.

  I’d not so politely declined.

  Then, just as I opened the door for her to leave, I saw Asher and Jane in her doorway, looking so cozy and in love, I could’ve knocked Asher into Timbuktu and it still wouldn’t have been far enough out of my sight.

  On impulse, I’d kissed Candice.

  And I’d impressively held my shit together when I shook that son of a bitch’s hand.

  Yet even so, despite all my maneuvering, Jane had gotten one up on me in that laundry room.

  “Oh, Asher, yes, harder … Oh, Asher, I love you.”

  I took the stairs two at a time, hurrying back to my apartment, heart hammering in my chest. The taste of her skin still lingered on my tongue, her scent thick in my nose.

  Note to self: corner Jane and her goddamn claws come out.

  Yet my body throbbed with need.

  You could cut someone out of your heart, but apparently, the dick wanted what the dick wanted. Curling my lip in outrage, feeling hot blood fill my cock as the image of fucking Jane in that laundry room filled my head, I made a decision.

  I’d have her again.

  I’d screw her until I’d had my fill. Fuck her out of my system.

  It was just another way to insinuate myself into her life. Because once I knew her again, knew what mattered most to her, I would rip it away.

  Taking a calming breath, I sat down on the couch, put in earphones, and turned on the recordings from the device I’d had planted in Asher Steadman’s car.

  I still hadn’t found anything incriminating and neither had my PI. This morning, Asher had driven to Jane’s, listening to the radio the whole time. Settling back on the couch, I listened to Steadman in his car now. Just the hum of the road filled the headphones. Not even a radio this time. Well, this is boring.

  A minute or so later, however, I heard the ringing of a phone, and then a man’s voice I didn’t recognize filled the car.

  “Asher, is there a problem?”

  “Do you have time for a quick phone session?” Asher asked.

  “Well, uh, yes, I can do that. I have an appointment in fifteen minutes, though. What can I help you with today?”

  “Did you see the news, Dr. Jensen?”

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  “My parents are getting divorced. They told me last night. My mother found out about the brothel.”

  I frowned and got up, moving over to my laptop to open the digital folder of information I had on Asher.

  “I see. You’re worried about her?”

  Clicking through the files, I found the report from the PI that stated Asher visited a building on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills every second Wednesday.
Dr. Jensen was his therapist.

  “I think the divorce is good. I’m glad she knows some truth now. But someone sent her tapes of my father at that brothel. Someone’s been watching him.”

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  “Concerned about my mother’s safety. What she would go through if those tapes went public.”

  Now I was really confused. Wasn’t Asher in cahoots with Jane? I thought they were trying to bring down Steadman together.

  “I can assume you haven’t been able to share those exact worries with Jane.”

  I tensed. Dr. Jensen knew about Jane.

  “No. But I still have her support.”

  “At our last session, you said that you would tell Jane the truth. Does this mean you’re not ready to do that?”

  What truth?

  “I can’t. Not yet. She wouldn’t understand. I have to wait … until certain things come to fruition. I need her in my life and without being able to explain fully just yet, I might lose her.”

  “Remember, Asher, the longer you wait, the greater chance of you pushing Jane away when the truth comes out.”

  “I’m protecting her.”

  “Deliberately sabotaging her attempts to find evidence that may incriminate your father is protecting her?” The doc’s tone was neutral. No judgment.

  Me? I was judging.

  A grin crawled across my face.

  “Whether you agree or disagree with Jane’s methods, you’re pretending to support her in her plans. You might not realize it, Asher, but this lie is causing you a great amount of stress. Considering this latest development, we need to find ways to reduce your stress.”

  I’d stopped listening.

  “Deliberately sabotaging her attempts to find evidence that may incriminate your father is protecting her?”

  “Whether you agree or disagree with Jane’s methods, you’re pretending to support her in her plans.”

  If Asher Steadman meant as much to Jane as I suspected he did, I’d just found something important to rip away from her.

  Chapter 21

  JANE

  * * *

  It was almost too easy.

  Well, it would have been if I hadn’t been worried Jamie would find out and blame Ivy.

  Ivy Martin was our building manager and had been for thirty years.

  Her office was across the hall from her apartment on the ground floor, and I had to wait for Jamie to leave his apartment until I could make my move. Standing by the peephole of my apartment door for hours was not a fun way to spend my Sunday afternoon, but I was determined to find some information that would put me ahead of Jamie’s plans.

  He left around three o’clock, about four hours since he’d tormented me in the laundry room, and I waited until I saw him drive his Porsche out of his parking spot before going downstairs.

  Sometimes Ivy wasn’t in her office on Sundays, but I was pleasantly surprised to see the door open and the building manager standing over her desk reading through some papers. Probably notes left by my neighbors on things they wanted fixed. It was an old building—the place kept Ivy busy.

  I rapped my knuckles on the open door and Ivy glanced over at me.

  In her midsixties, Ivy looked like a spry woman in her late forties. She told me it was the California sun, yoga, and drinking plenty of water that kept her looking young. It wasn’t often you came across a female building manager, but Ivy used to work with her dad in construction, so she learned skills across a variety of trades from the age of five. That woman could fix anything.

  Turning her twinkling dark eyes on me, she lifted her chin in greeting.

  “Margot, problem?”

  I moved into the room and gave her a pained smile. “Ivy, I’m so sorry, but I locked myself out of my apartment when I went to the laundry room. Can you let me back in with your spare?”

  “Of course, no problem.” She dropped the papers in her hand and moved to the locked cabinet where she kept the spare keys. I moved around her, so she was the one nearest to the door, and leaned into peer at the photos above her desk. “Is that you?” I pointed to a washed-out photo of a beautiful woman in an old-fashioned bikini, standing in front of a lake with her arms wrapped around a handsome guy in swim shorts. “And Mal?”

  Mal was Ivy’s husband. He’d passed away two months after I moved into the building.

  Ivy gave me a soft smile as she unlocked the cabinet, throwing the doors wide.

  Thank you, Ivy.

  “That’s my Mal. Our fifth anniversary at Lake Tahoe.”

  “Good-looking couple,” I said.

  “Thank you, doll. I was a very lucky woman. My Mal was even more gorgeous on the inside.”

  My heart squeezed, feeling a prickle of envy and a sting of grief for her. I knew what it was like to lose the one you loved. Guilt accompanied those feelings.

  Unfortunately, guilt didn’t stop me. As she unhooked my key off its hook, I jumped, pretending to be startled as I gaped at the open doorway. “Was that a dog?”

  “What?” Ivy turned.

  I snatched the keys next to the empty hook where mine had hung and hid my hand behind my back, the metal biting into my fingers. Sweat dampened my palms. “A dog. I just saw a dog run past.”

  “Are you sure?” Ivy looked back at me.

  “Absolutely.”

  She sighed heavily. There was a strict no-pet policy for this building. “I’ll let you into your apartment and then look for it.” Her eyes trained on the hall outside as she locked the key cabinet.

  I’d gotten away with it.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  “Now you’re sure?” she asked me again as we left her office.

  “I’m positive.”

  “I bet it’s that girl on four,” Ivy muttered under her breath. “First she smuggles in a cat. Now a goddamn dog.”

  Trying not to laugh while feeling bad at the same time made me slightly hysterical. I had to stifle my snorts of guilty amusement as Ivy let me into my apartment. I thanked her, went inside, and hid behind my door, waiting for her to leave.

  As soon as the coast was clear, I shot across the hall to Jamie’s apartment.

  My heart was pounding so fast, I could barely hear anything else over the rushing blood in my ears.

  Hands shaking, I let myself into his unit and closed the door behind me with a soft snick.

  His place was just like mine. Open living and kitchen area, with a large bedroom and bathroom off a narrow hallway at the rear. I’d half expected to find a wall of the living room covered in papers and pictures and timeline arrows. You know, like a stalker wall.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t that straightforward.

  In fact, the apartment was depressingly bare and piled with opened boxes. Rummaging through them, I found a lot of books. Either Jamie hadn’t found time to unpack, or he had no intention of doing so considering this was a temporary situation. To torment me.

  Growling under my breath, I ripped open another box and stilled at what I found inside. Lifting out a pristine hardback, I turned it over in my hand, feeling a rush of longing.

  He had copies of Brent 29.

  Despite all the shit that had happened to him, he’d made his dream come true. He was a published author. Not just any author either, but a huge best seller. There was a small kernel of Jane from the past who was proud of him. The percentage of authors who achieved what he’d achieved was probably less than 1 percent.

  Sighing, I put the copy back.

  “Not why you’re here,” I muttered as I stood and moved toward the desk at the back of the room. The drawers held receipts. That was it.

  I glared at his laptop.

  Everything I wanted to know was probably on there.

  Then my eyes moved to the pile of paper sitting beside the laptop, and my breath caught at the text printed across the middle of the top piece.

  DOE

  A novel by Griffin Stone

  I lifted the top few pages to dis
cover it was a printout of a new manuscript. From the red pen and notes scrawled on the pages, it was obviously copy edits for the book. Considering the title, the urge to read the pages was overwhelming.

  However, I’d never read something Jamie didn’t want me to.

  Even if the title was my surname.

  Ignoring the belly butterflies, I placed the pages back in order and slipped into Jamie’s computer chair to flip open the laptop. The password box appeared. A memory came flooding back from when we lived together. Jamie’s passwords for everything were so complicated that he kept them all written in a little black notebook.

  Pulling open the drawers, I rummaged through them, searching.

  Nothing.

  I moved into the kitchen and raided those drawers.

  No luck.

  The only place left was the bedroom, and I’d really been hoping to avoid it. I nearly walked into a dark red boxing bag that hung from the ceiling.

  Jamie boxed?

  The image of him doing just that made me shiver with longing. Another reason to hate him. Jamie’s smell hit me as I moved around the bag. That new, darker scent of his. Curiosity drew me into the bathroom, and I opened the cabinet above the sink. The bottle of cologne sat on the top shelf; I brought it to my nose.

  Yup.

  That was Jamie’s new scent. Except, not quite. His own personal scent signature changed the cologne slightly, so it was even sexier on him. Jamie never used to wear cologne. Just body wash.

  Putting the bottle back, I returned to the bedroom. There was a bed, bedside cabinets, and a dresser. Remembering Jamie always slept on the right, I targeted that bedside cabinet first.

  Sliding the drawer open, my heart leapt in triumph.

  Bingo. I pulled out the small black notebook and was about to open it when my attention was caught by what had been underneath it.

  An ache scored across my chest as I picked up the small stack of photos.

  Skye and Jamie.