by Jodi Redford
Neither of them had broached the sticky subject of what she’d blurted, but it’d sure as shit been a constant looming presence between them for the last hour. It was the last thing he’d expected to come out of her mouth. The damning part? He’d deliberately used that stuff about loving his cock as a means of reminding himself of his past. Of reminding him of every fucking reason he should keep the focus on sex.
Then she’d blown his mind with her declaration.
He didn’t know what the hell to do with it. How to react. How to proceed. If he should proceed. With any of this.
His heart knocking like a sonofabitch, he tore his focus from her and sank back against his seat with a weary exhale and a million doubts setting up house in his psyche.
He’d suspected something was up with her with the way she’d been acting earlier tonight. If he was being brutally honest with himself, a part of him had been preparing for the possibility of this happening. The inconvenient truth? All the preparation in the world didn’t do an iota of good. Not when it came to him. Certainly not with this.
He could count on one hand the number of times Ava had said she loved him. It required even fewer fingers to tally how often she’d said it convincingly.
With Jane? Her heart and soul had been in her eyes. And it terrified the living shit out of him even while it whispered the most enticing lie in existence—if she truly loved him, she’d never leave.
His gut twisting, he pulled the keys from the ignition and pocketed them before climbing from the vehicle. He crossed to the passenger side and unclicked Jane’s seatbelt. Her eyelashes fluttered and she murmured groggily. “Are we there yet?”
If there was an Emmy for best fake sleep performance, she’d have a damn shelfful. “Yes.”
“Mm, too tired to walk.”
Taking that as a none-too-subtle hint, he scooped her into his arms. She cracked a yawn and snuggled into him. Deciding to return for her shoes and purse later, he kneed the door shut, hit the locks, and made his way to the house. Once inside, he carried her upstairs and helped her remove her dress before tucking her in bed. She immediately tossed aside the sheets, a seductive come-hither twinkle in her eyes.
He grunted. “Thought you were tired.” And avoiding the massive pink elephant in the room. Kinda like him. Brilliant and fucked up minds think alike in that regard, obviously.
“Orgasms always make me fall asleep faster.”
Shit, he wouldn’t argue with her inspired sleep therapy. Or her means of ignoring the awkward tension that’d crept between them after her climax confessional.
He raked her with his gaze, his cock instantly hardening. His head might be a fucking mess, at least he could count on his dick always having its priorities straight. He nudged off his shoes and shucked his pants and shirt. Hooking his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his briefs, he tugged that last article of clothing down.
Holding her stare, he climbed over her and settled between her legs. She shifted beneath him slightly, causing his cock to glide through her wetness. He shuddered. Her fingertips dancing along his spine, she rose up a fraction and sucked on the side of his neck. His cock swelled, damn near doubling in size. She nibbled her way toward his jaw. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a sensitive spot.”
Determined to reacquaint himself with all of hers, he eased inside her. The hot, silky heaven enveloping him in a snug embrace drew a groan that he swore traveled all the way from his toes. Still a surreal experience, feeling her bare like this. Other than Ava, Jane was the only woman he’d ever foregone a condom with. The disturbing realization that he no longer wanted the barrier between them provoked one more warning signal blaring in his brain. It wasn’t about the possibility of pregnancy. With her on the pill, he couldn’t cling to that excuse. The condoms had always been his security blanket. His way of maintaining control so he’d never be used again. Giving them up took mountains of trust. A part of him balked at surrendering it while the other ninety-nine percent was too intoxicated with Jane to listen.
Resistance dropped several more notches when she trailed her hands down to his ass. She scored his flesh with her nails, the light sting bringing his mind around to his earlier claim about her marking him if she hadn’t been tied up that night.
Another twisted part of him wanted her to mark him. To put some permanent claim on him he wouldn’t be able to weasel out from. Meanwhile, the small percentage of him clawing to his last scrap of sanity was all too eager to point out how royally fucked he’d be if—no, when things went south.
He didn’t have only himself to think about. Sunny was impacted by his actions too. She was already attached to Jane as it was. How devastated would she be if—when—things went to shit between him and Jane? He was supposed to protect his daughter from hurt. He was damn well doing a piss-poor job of it.
Jane’s nails sank into his ass, her kneading fingers effectively muting every thought other than fucking her mindless. He broke her hold on him and slid his hands to the backs of her knees. With a little maneuvering, he pinned her legs with his shoulders, ensuring her complete capitulation as he ruthlessly nailed her G-spot. Her pussy obediently clenched around him, endless flutters massaging his dick. She shuddered and gasped, straining beneath him. He eased out and flipped her onto her stomach. Allowing her no time to catch her breath, he hiked her ass up slightly and slid into her pussy again. The new angle guaranteed even more intense focus right where he wanted. Her luscious cunt hugged him like a glove, so slick and fucking soaked, it took every ounce of his willpower to clamp down his own release.
“Jack. Yes, yes, yessssssss!”
Her ecstatic cries spurring him on, he increased his tempo until she had his dick in a ceaseless chokehold and his muscles were burning from exertion. He was a fucking madman. Unrelenting in his drive to fuck her into oblivion. Equally out of his goddamn mind for obsessively seeking those words from her again. I fucking love you.
He was determined to torture himself. If she said them or not, the result was the same.
Her orgasm ebbed and he pulled out long enough to lift her up onto her knees and plant her hands on the headboard. Lacing their fingers together, he pumped into her, the thud-thud-thud of the bedframe continually banging the wall a mocking metaphor of his own useless quest to pound the words out of her. Literally.
Desperation sinking him to the lowest depths, he went in for the kill and bit the side of her neck. A fierce tremble tripped through her and he dropped one of her hands to cup her pussy from the front. She broke around him, hot liquid surrender packaged in his biggest heart’s desire and ultimate downfall.
Resigned to the words remaining nothing more than resident ghosts haunting his brain, he caved to the insistent milking massage of her pussy and came hard and deep inside her. Their groans tangling together, he dragged her down onto the mattress with him and spooned her, locking her in place with his leg thrown over hers.
The stitch in his calf warned of an epic charley horse in the works, and sweat trickled in a multitude of places—some of them uncomfortable and the opposite of enjoyable. None of it meant a damn to him, not when his head was a Tilt-A-Whirl of chaos.
His haggard breaths competing for space with the anvil of uncertainty in his chest, he stared at the back of her head. “Jane...”
Heavy silence preceded her faint snores. She was getting adept enough at them, tough to tell if they were real or fake. He rolled away from her and stared at the ceiling for a lifetime and then some.
This is why he didn’t do relationships. Why he didn’t let a woman into his heart. One way or another, he always fucked it up.
Only he’d let Jane into his heart.
And he was still managing to fuck it all to hell and back.
Past the point of standing the sound of his own thoughts, he shoved up off of the bed and tugged on his discarded pants and shirt. After jamming his sockless feet into his dress shoes, he trudged downstairs and grabbed his keys from the console in the front entry.
His initial plan was to fetch Jane’s purse and shoes, but as soon as he clicked the Maserati’s lock release the urge to clear his head with a spin hit him hard and furious. Studiously ignoring the voice in the back of his head insisting that he was running again, he slid behind the wheel. He had no damn idea where he was going. An ironic and all too appropriate summation of his current status with Jane. Choosing not to dwell on that either, he backed out of the driveway.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She couldn’t believe the bastard ditched her. All too clear that’s exactly what had gone down. No fooling herself otherwise.
Stomach queasy—both from the situation and the eight or so cups of coffee she’d inhaled in the last two hours—she paced in front of the kitchen island. Probably a good thing she’d put off coming downstairs. Otherwise she’d be on her second pot of coffee and really bouncing off the walls.
The smoking turd on top of this whole heap of shit? The goddamn jackass took her keys and purse. Unlike him, she couldn’t leave—a slight problem, considering she had less than ninety minutes before she was due at work. Fortunately she already had her clothes and makeup, otherwise it’d be one more thing she’d give him fucking hell over.
What could he possibly have been doing for the last eight hours? When she’d first heard him sneak out she’d assumed he’d needed time to himself. Understandable. She’d been equally desperate for a little space to clear the nasty brew of anxiety in her head.
Last night, after he’d said her name, she’d held her breath, her nerves duking it out in a boxing match as she steeled herself for whatever was about to come out of his mouth. Either he was going to tell her he loved her too or that he never wanted to see her again. As the minute stretched closer to the territory of freakin’ forever, the cramp in her chest had intensified until she couldn’t deny which direction he was likely headed with his words. So she’d faked being asleep. Again. Judging from how long he’d been gone, safe bet she’d guessed correctly.
Stalling next to the counter, she plunked her cup down and dragged in a shuddery breath. Her eyes stung, her chest felt like it was filled with cement, and her stomach had decided to take on a side gig as a maniacal butter churn. Much as she longed to blame those lovely side effects on caffeine overkill the true culprit lay buried in her heart.
She was losing Jack.
Like the disgusting, pushy bastards they were, tears blurred her vision, threatening to get the better of her. She refused to cave. What good did crying do? Absolutely nothing beyond making her resemble a damn raccoon.
The annoying as shit part? She had no one to blame but herself. She’d fallen in love with a man who’d emphatically stated he didn’t do relationships and commitments. And if words weren’t good enough, he’d validated them with his actions. He’d walked away from her eighteen months ago. There was zero doubt he was doing it to her again. Sex wouldn’t keep him tied to her forever. Furthermore—and she couldn’t believe such a concept would have the audacity to infiltrate her mind—she didn’t want a relationship based solely on bumping nasties. It was another despicable epiphany she’d landed on in the wee hours of the morning...which only proved that any thought occurring in the vicinity of three a.m. was a troublemaking asshole.
In theory, the sex should be enough to sustain her. The way they burned the sheets up together? Their kind of chemistry didn’t come around often. Once upon a time, she would have bitch slapped her own damn self for wanting more than the sex. What kind of idiot ruined a good thing by bringing squicky emotions into the picture?
This idiot. Shoulders slumping, she white-knuckled the counter. She’d brought her heart into the equation and now she was fucked. Or done being fucked. An equally miserable outcome to contemplate.
What other choice did she have though? Even if by some miracle Jack stuck around for the sex, it wouldn’t be enough for her, and the odds of her not blurting out the damnable L word again were about as likely as her giving up chocolate and excessive swearing. As it was, last night’s wild headboard-banging session had felt a little too uncomfortably close to being a strategic mission on his end. How many orgasms before she cracked?
It was a test she was destined to lose.
“Front door open.”
Although she’d been waiting for that freaky computerized voice, hearing it now nearly catapulted her out of her skin. Partly because it was fucking freaky and unexpected, but mostly due to there being only one person who could have unlocked the door...and she had no damn idea what she was going to say to him. She’d blanked on the mile-long list of grievances, curses, and general aspersions against his character the instant the alert sounded. Always the damn way.
Desperately needing something to do with her hands—other than clobber him—she grabbed her coffee mug. The soft scuff of his soles on the tile marked his approach, and then he was there in the archway—gorgeous, haggard, and everything she’d ever wanted, forever out of her reach.
He wore the same clothes from last night. Torn between admiration and fury that he could look thoroughly scrumptious even with severe bedhead and bloodshot eyes, she gulped a swig of her tepid coffee and glowered at him.
“You’re mad.”
“Why would you ever have that crazy idea?”
His focus dropped to the mug in her hand. “You’re holding that like you’re measuring heft and trajectory paths. I’m assuming the final destination is my head.”
He might have a valid concern if her hand wasn’t trembling so much. No point wasting a perfectly good cup of coffee if she couldn’t land her target.
His gaze wary, he chanced a step closer. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t intended to be gone all night.”
She felt inclined to point out the obvious. “And half the morning.”
He winced in acknowledgment and dropped his keys and her purse on the corner of the island. She stared at the metal fob on his keyring, the hollow in her chest expanding. “Where did you go?” She didn’t want to care enough to ask the question. Didn’t want to wonder, or have this sick sensation inside as she mulled over the possibilities. Was he with another woman? Did he seek out someone else to push her away for good and make it easier for him to break it off?
She didn’t want to be this person. The one with insecurities and suspicions. Nearly as gross as being the suffocating clinger in a relationship. Especially when they didn’t even have a relationship, for fuck’s sake. Swallowing the thick lump of misery in her throat, she forced herself to look him in the eye. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
“No, it is to you. And you have every right to ask.”
His calmness rankled. “You’re assuming a lot, don’t you think? Maybe I don’t give a crap. Maybe I’d be fine with you banging a bevy of crack hoes you picked up off of Eight Mile.”
Rather than appear offended, amusement tipped one corner of his mouth. It only infuriated her further. “Don’t you dare smirk at me like I’m being ridiculous, you son of a bitch.”
“You don’t honestly believe I’d pick up crack hoes.”
“Fine. Meth hoes.”
He tweaked the bridge of his nose between his fingers and gusted a sigh. “Let me take a shower and then we’ll talk about this.”
She thunked her cup down onto the counter with enough force some of the coffee splashed over the side and puddled on the granite top. “I told you I don’t care.”
“Why are you being a stubborn liar?”
“Because that’s what I do, Jack. Haven’t you fucking figured that out by now? I’m such a damn liar, I had to flame retardant my entire wardrobe. In fact, you shouldn’t believe a goddamn thing that comes out of my mouth. Ever.”
He dropped his hand and returned her squint. “Where are you going with this?”
“No need to play coy. You know exactly where I’m going with this.” The crazy thing? She hadn’t quite known where she was going with it when the provocation first whipped out of her mouth. But her mind was quickly veering in the same d
irection his obviously was, and there was no damn way she wasn’t going to go there. Bruised pride and a killer survival mode were catalysts that’d make her try just about anything.
He was deathly quiet for an endless moment. His expression tight, he shook his head. “You weren’t lying about being in love with me. Even you aren’t that good of a bullshitter.”
She wished with everything inside her she was. She wished she could swallow her own desperate lies and believe she didn’t love him. Then she could go back to being the old Jane—the one who’d never give her heart away, and especially not to a man even more afraid of commitment than her.
Convincing either of them that she didn’t love him was likely a pipe dream. But there was one thing she had no qualms being honest about. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Wariness etched his tired features. “What are you saying?”
He knew the drill. Hell, he probably wrote the fucking handbook. Only her version was slightly different than his. “I won’t settle for a man who can’t say the words back. I deserve a fuck load better than that.” She snatched her purse and made fast tracks for the exit. The pressure squeezing her heart an agony she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy, she paused in the archway and took a deep, painful breath. “We should stay friends though.”
With that necessary disclaimer out of the way, she walked away from the only man who’d ever managed to destroy her completely.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Why the hell didn’t she call in sick? Should have bit the bullet and lived with the guilt of taking two days off in a row. Yeah, she would have owed Monica her firstborn in return for subjecting the poor woman to Reg for that many continuous hours.
Preferable to faking it that she had her shit together. She stared glumly at her computer screen. Not that I’ll ever have a firstborn, seeing how I’m going to be a bitter spinster the rest of my life. Monica would have to settle for a case of booze. Probably more welcome anyway.