by L. B. Dunbar
“It wasn’t something I wanted tell my new employer, especially when he was part of the cause.”
“Lilac,” Jacob groans, staring at me with a mix of concern and compassion.
“I’m better now, but the anxiety of you possibly being involved and the adjustment to my father’s loss, it was too much. I felt helpless and not of sound mind.” I needed a break, which I never thought would happen. “I’d witnessed hundreds of blood and guts moments over the years, but that night, I cracked, and I couldn’t be put back together. At least, not enough to return to work in the same mental capacity I’d had before.”
“That’s why you took the job with Mae?”
“She offered me a change of . . . destiny,” I say, shifting my eyes to his jacket which covers his chest where the tattoo scrolls over his heart. “I’m better for it. My time as an EMT was up, and I never regret the experiences I had, but it was time for something different.” Now I grow flowers, watch life bloom in a sense compared to working on saving a life, only to lose one or two on occasion.
“I’m sorry I was a cause of that change.”
“I think it was a sign. Change is inevitable. It’s only a matter of when,” I assure him.
“Do you think it’s too late for me to change?” he questions, his voice lowering.
“It’s never too late for anything if you’re willing.” I reach up and cup his cheek. “Sometimes, we need to let go to move forward. That’s where you’re stuck, Jacob. You’re letting the past still define you when you’ve been writing your own path for a long time.”
He stares at me like I’ve spoken gibberish.
“I don’t know how.” I almost hear the bitterness in his voice, and I know it’s difficult. His unsettled past has been a part of him for so long, feeding an unseen anger that it’s literally a part of him. Bitterness is like a disease. It festers and grows and consumes until nothing is left but an empty soul, and I refuse to believe it’s hopeless for Jacob.
“Maybe you should talk to somebody,” I suggest, and he huffs.
“You sound like Ella again.”
“As Ella’s brilliant, I’ll take that as a compliment. Maybe you should take her advice.” I wink at him and turn in his arms, laying my head against his chest as I take a final glance at the invisible tragedy before me. I can’t see it, but I feel it in my bones and wish those lost souls peaceful eternal rest.
Chapter 22
Fight Night
[Pam]
That night is Jacob’s fight, and I’m a wreck. With the history I know of him, I don’t want to watch someone beat him. Ethan’s thrilled beside me, like a child ready to hop in the ring, while Ella clutches at his thigh and smiles at all his silly comments.
“He’s gonna rip him up and tear him to shreds and sprinkle his remains like a bad first draft headed for the trash.”
His attempts at humor are doing nothing to calm my nerves and then Paddy McGregor circles the ring to sit next to me.
“Not fighting tonight?” I ask the good-looking Irish man, with his sexy accent and a mischievous grin.
“I’m the organizer, and I don’t fight in amateur hour.” He tips his head to the ring. “But tonight’s a special occasion. We have the Professor back to school some punks.”
The Professor hardly sounds like a fighter name, and I think back on all the romance novels I’ve read, finding this room nothing like those stories. It’s a gym, not an arena or illegal underground or even a country field. The short bleachers make me feel like I’m at a middle school event.
I’m wearing a dress Ella had me buy while we took a quick side trip to shop before our spa treatments yesterday. The store wasn’t trendy or chic but eclectic, and I found something reasonable and different for me. Tight fitting, it hugs my curves, outlining my hourglass shape with a square-cut neckline exposing a hint of cleavage. The dress is 1950s pinup worthy. It’s daring and a bit risqué for me. However, I feel sexy in it despite our surroundings. We’ve gone to a fight, not a nightclub, but the energy is almost the same—chaotic, frenzied, and a bit sexual.
Then Jacob walks into the main gym, and the energy shifts. Bright lights highlight the ring. His name is announced through the sound system, but I can only focus on his presence. His chest is slick. His tattoos seem to glow like freshly scrolled artwork.
Paddy leans into me, whispering close to my ear. “He fights for you tonight.”
I don’t know what that means, so I glance at him over my shoulder. His face is too close to mine. His minty breath scents my airways, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was going to kiss me. Gazing back at Jacob inside the ropes, his eyes narrow to intense slits of darkness as he watches Paddy sitting near me. Paddy pats my thigh and leaves his hand there a moment longer than necessary.
Jacob’s focus draws to the movement and back up to my eyes, lasering on me. His nostrils flare— the bull ready to charge—and a bell rings. Jacob moves gracefully to the center of the square, and Paddy removes his hand but slips his arm around the back of my chair. His eyes remain on Jacob.
I watch in stunned fascination as Jacob hammers at the man slightly taller, slightly broader than him. He’s on a mission to take this man down, and my heart races while my stomach should feel nauseous. The other fighter hardly gets in a punch before Jacob hits him in a way he crumbles to the ground. When the opposing fighter doesn’t stand, Jacob is declared the winner.
It’s over rather quickly, but my heart hammers with the rush.
Paddy leans over and places a kiss on my cheek. “Nice to see you again, lovely. You just earned me a couple of thousand.” He stands, excusing himself.
Jacob’s arm is stretched above his head as the victor, but he tugs it from the referee and stalks to the corner of the ring. Slipping through the ropes, he returns the way he entered, and my eyes follow his retreating back.
“Excuse me, are you Pam Carter?” A young man with dusty skin and eyes to match questions me.
“I am,” I reply, looking back at the man who smiles at me.
“Jacob asked for you.”
I stare at him, who couldn’t be more than twentysomething, not understanding what he means.
“I’m Jamal, and Jacob would like to see you in the locker room.”
Glancing down at Ella, she smiles with a knowing grin and nods for me to follow this kid. I take my coat and my purse and blindly follow the younger man.
My heart hammers in my chest as I near a door blocked by a man dressed in black and I assume security. He opens the door for me, and I slip inside a room with a few lockers, a table in the middle, and one fuming Jacob Vincent. Free of his boxing gloves, he’s still in the silky shorts, skin gleaming.
“Why were you letting him touch you?” Jacob immediately questions. Jacob stalks to me so quickly I hardly have time to catch my breath.
“I didn’t let him touch me. He just did it.”
“I didn’t like it.” Instantly, I recall Mandi jumping into Jacob’s arms when we first arrived. I hadn’t liked that moment either, but I’m angry about his implication toward me.
“I’m not certain you have a say.”
Jacob grips the back of my neck and tugs me to him, mouth crashing against his. He’s taking my lips like he fought in his fight. Intense. Motivated. Unforgiving. Pulling back almost as quickly as he leaped, he growls at me.
“I say, no one else can have this mouth.”
His covers mine again before I have time to respond, and while I should be fighting him off and demanding he cut the caveman act, I’m melting under the voracity of his kiss. My hands slip up his sweaty chest and curl over his shoulders. He groans against my mouth before forcing his tongue between my lips, and I whimper at the bruising kiss. He pulls back only enough for me to lift me, and I wrap my legs around him as he carries me to the table in the center of the room. The hem of my dress moves upward.
“God, I want you,” he growls, lost to his wandering hand, skimming up my thigh, squeezing at my leg.
“Tell me you want this,” he begs, but I stop him.
Jacob’s head lifts when my hand presses at his wrist. He stares down at me, nostrils flaring, chest heaving.
“What’s this?” he demands.
“I can’t do this here. I can’t be with you where I know she was.” My body screams to ignore my rational thought, but I can’t be here, replacing her.
“How do you know she’s been here?” he snaps, but I only glare up at him. With my legs still over his hips and one hand at my back while the other crumples the skirt of my dress, we stare at one another. I don’t really need to answer him.
“Dammit,” he hisses, pulling back and holding out a hand to help me sit. As I do, he lowers my dress to my knees. “Let’s get out of here.”
+ + +
Before we leave the room, Jacob pulls on loose sweats and a sweatshirt over his heated body. He tucks me under his arm.
“Stay here,” he warns, squeezing me tighter to emphasize the protective position. As we leave the room, Jacob immediately sees Paddy.
“You’re a fucking prick,” Jacob yells at him, stepping up to the man with me still locked under his arm.
“But it worked. That’s the fastest knockout we’ve had in a while.” The gym owner chuckles at the success of a fight quickly ended, and I read between the lines. His taunts were meant to invigorate Jacob.
“When you’re ready to give up writing, Professor, there’s always a spot here for you, even if you are an old man.”
Jacob steps forward, ready to lunge, but I place a hand at his belly, and Paddy laughs harder.
“Get her home before I steal her from you.”
Jacob growls, and we exit the gym, finding a car waiting for us. Slipping inside, I turn to him. “That would never happen.”
“What?” Jacob snaps, still on edge despite the fight and because of what we didn’t do.
“He wouldn’t be able to steal me.” As sick as it may sound, I belong to only one man.
Jacob tucks me into his chest, wrapping both his arms around me, and we ride in silence until we reach his condo. Ella and Ethan are still out, but it doesn’t matter. Jacob leads me directly to the guest bedroom. He’s not taking me to his room where he’s been with her. Not stopping in the bedroom, he leads me into the bathroom and turns on the shower. Spinning back to me, he runs his gaze over my outfit.
“This dress,” he hums before spinning me and slowly unzipping the back. He gently brushes the sides, allowing the material to fall from my shoulders, and I catch it with my bent elbows. He kisses the back of my neck, sucking at my skin before pulling back. Looking at him over my shoulder, I moan his name.
“Just a shower,” he whispers. With hands on my forearms, he lowers my arms so the dress falls to the floor. I step out of my shoes and spin to face him. He tugs off his sweatshirt and lowers the sweats and the everything underneath. I stare at him in all his magnificent glory, with tattoos marking is body in various places. He continues to eye me as I stand in my bra and underwear.
“You can get in with or without them, but you’re getting in there with me. I need to feel your skin close to mine.” He’s settled a little from the urgency of the gym and the aggressive eagerness to take me. But he’s still vibrating with energy, his chest heaving in anticipation of something.
“No sex,” I blurt out as my body cries out to me, why?
Jacob nods. “Get in.” I strip myself of my bra and underwear, feeling the heat of his gaze all over my skin. Once I enter, Jacob follows me, and we stand awkwardly under the small spray.
“I was rough back there.” His quiet voice hints at apology as he lowers his eyes, but I shake my head.
“What happened?” I swipe at his temple and then quickly retract my hand. He catches my wrist and brings my hand back to his face. We’re standing here, naked as the day, watering streaming over us, and I’ve never been so turned in on in my life. While my head keeps telling me to tone it down, the pulse between my thighs ratchets up.
“Fight high,” he explains, and I nod. “Did you like watching me?”
How do I respond? “I don’t like you hitting someone or someone hitting you, but I can see that it invigorates you. You like it, don’t you?” My hand swipes down his cheek, along his jaw and over his throat, lowering for his chest.
“I like the control. The win. It’s a different kind of high than drinking.”
We all have our vices in life. If Jacob has to pick only one, I don’t know how he’d choose.
Cautiously, a finger of his reaches out for my collarbone and skims along it. My body shivers.
“I want to be the only one who touches you,” he says, his voice calmer than the demands of earlier. The finger at my collar lowers, slipping between the valley of my breasts as rivulets of water cascade over them, trickling off my firm nipples.
Shaky hands of mine lift for his shoulders and rub over the heat of his skin, the mixture of his fight and the water keeping him warm. As I stroke down his shoulders, his finger dips lower, but I catch his wrist before he can touch me there.
“Lilac.” The pained sound forces all my attention to his smoldering eyes.
“Consider this a fight,” I whisper to him. “The fight to only touch but not tease.”
“Oh, you’re teasing me, angel.” With our gaze pinned on one another, he shifts his body in a way that forces my warm back to the cool of the tile. I cry out at the juxtaposition, and he lowers to nip at my neck.
“Jacob,” I hiss in warning.
“That’s right, angel. Me. I’m the only one who can do this to you, but please don’t stop me from kissing you.”
My hands skim his body, curling over his shoulders to his shoulder blades. He’s wider than me, and this forces him closer, his firm length positioned between our bodies.
“Angel,” he whispers. His mouth takes mine slowly, dragging out the kiss while his hand skates over my hip, curling around to my backside and tugging me forward. Our wet skin meets, and I whimper at the firmness of him against me. My core pulses, and I want him, but I don’t. My thoughts are wild but keeping him at bay is just as exciting.
The flat of his hand comes forward, and he breaks the kiss to watch as his palm slides up my thigh coming close to the mound at the apex of my legs. My hands do the same on him, nearing his hard length but not touching him.
“Never going to get enough of you,” he mutters, his fingers spread but stop short of where I want him. Mine do the same on him, itching to touch him, wrap my hand around him, and tug.
This fight is similar yet not to the one he performed in the ring. It’s a battle of wills. Still skin to skin but not satisfying one another. I want him to know he doesn’t have to jab with someone to feel the thrill, to anticipate the high.
“Never want to lose you.” The words are delightful and damning. I want him to mean them. His forehead comes to mine, and he tugs me against him again, but we still don’t meet in the way he wants. My hands grip his biceps, holding myself against him. Peaked nipples press to his chest. We both exhale at the sensation of skin against skin.
“Let me in,” he whispers.
“Resist,” I tell him, speaking quietly at his ear.
“I don’t want to fight it.” He sighs. The pull is great, but there are things in our way. His head pops up, and his mouth crashes mine again, holding the back of my neck to keep me attached to him. He groans, and he hums, and his tongue joins the struggle. He kisses me like he wants to enter me, slipping his tongue back and forth, and the flutters at my belly build, but I won’t give in to him.
Quickly, he releases me, looking down at himself, stiff and ready, begging for attention. “I need to come.” He’s so direct, so insistent. His fist circles himself, and he squeezes. His eyes close as he leans over me, his other hand braced near my head. He strokes himself while I watch. It’s incredibly exciting, and I resist the urge to assist him. Instead, I slip around to his back, rubbing my hands up and down his back, leaning forwa
rd to along his spine as he takes himself in hand.
“Jesus,” he hisses, building a rapid pace, arm struggling as he tugs and he taunts. My fingers tickle over his skin, lowering down his back and flattening over the fine globes of his backside. He nearly whimpers before groaning, and I sense what’s happened to him. With head lowered to the arm bracing him, his back shudders, and then he spins.
His mouth crashes mine again, fighting me, telling me he wants to give me more. He pulls back, moving to my neck, sucking at my skin to mark me. I groan.
“Let me at least touch you.” I shake my head despite the desire, despite the need in me to release as he did.
“I miss how we fit,” he says with a strained voice. He looks down at my thighs, staring hungrily at them. “I love how you respond to me.”
“I . . .” I can hardly find the words. I’m a fool for this man, and I tell myself this over and over again while melting under what his gaze and the touch of his hand lowering down my body again. He’s not the least repentant that he drags a fingertip over my breast and across my nipple, crossing the line.
“You’re my inspiration. You’re the woodland nymph and the fresh floral scent. You’re my angel and my salvation.” Hesitantly, he reaches for me, even though I’ve told him no.
“It’s not fair,” I whisper, but he shakes his head.
“A fight never is.” His fingers slip between my legs, and I moan at the relief of his hands on me there. His thumb meets the sensitive nub as his fingers push into me. Sliding in and out, he works me like his keyword, typing away at pretty phrases.
“You’re all I want and don’t deserve, and I can’t let you go.” He’s writing words against my skin with the mastery of his fingers, and I quickly come apart, clutching at his forearm.
“You’re it, Lilac,” he says just below my ear, muttering into my skin. He can’t mean it. He’s just wrapped up in adrenaline, the drug of winning, and me breaking under him. His voice softens as his fingers remove from me and his palm flattens on my belly once again.
“This is it, angel. The monster demands a mate.”