Middle of Knight

by Jewel E. Ann

  He pulled back, leaving them both breathless. “Come on. Your training starts now.”

  *

  “I don’t think Jillian and I are the same size,” Ryn said from the top of the stairs.

  “Close enough. Come down here.”

  Ryn tugged at the borrowed exercise shorts that barely, and maybe didn’t quite cover her ass. The sports bra proved to be a bit more flattering than her compression ones, but her abs were sad … so very sad.

  “Maybe we should do this tomorrow. I’ll wear some yoga pants and a tank top.”

  “Get your ass down here.”

  On a deep sigh, she descended the stairs. As if the outfit wasn’t embarrassing enough, she couldn’t stop having flashbacks of her extreme reaction to Jackson’s temper. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, but when she fell it triggered something so instinctual. Preston’s voice echoed in her ears, his fist cracked against her cheek bone, and the toe to his shoe sent a piercing pain to her ribs. It had been years since a flashback felt so real and crippling.

  “You’re so much sexier than you think you are.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wrung her hands together behind her back.

  “Never apologize for being sexy.”

  Her lip curled as a warm blush crept up her neck. “About how I reacted earlier. I’m so embarrassed. I acted like a complete psychotic freak.”

  “It was all on me.” He grabbed her hand and jerked her into his chest. “And trust me … you are not a psychotic freak. I can guarantee Jillian has that title.”

  “Jillian? Really?”

  Jackson nodded. The intensity in his expression radiated an unspoken pain. “It’s completely justified. She hasn’t always been this way. There are just some things in life that can only be erased by death. I don’t want her to die, so I’ve accepted the crazy.”

  “I love the way you love her.”

  He nodded with a thoughtful pull to his brow. Ryn imagined being loved by Jackson would be an extraordinary gift.

  “Let’s do this, hot pants.”

  She rolled her eyes. Would he ever let her live down the panties in the fridge incident?

  They started small. Jackson reinforced some things she’d already learned about preventing confrontation. Then he showed her some basic moves to strike the most effective body parts: eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knee, and legs.

  “You’re exerting too much energy with weak attempts,” he said.

  She was already gasping for air and had yet to land a single strike.

  “It’s hit or be hit. You may only have one chance so make it count. Got it?”

  Ryn nodded. “But I don’t really want to hurt you.”

  “If you can’t make me bleed, knock the wind out of me, or make me buckle over in pain, then you’re always going to be an easy target.”

  She kicked at his knee with the pressure of shoving open the back door to bring in the groceries.

  “No.”

  Her heart pounded. The conserving energy thing wasn’t going so well.

  She went for his other knee. He easily avoided her strike.

  “You’re telling me with your eyes exactly what you’re going to do.”

  She met his eyes then squinted. He pissed her off with his arrogance.

  Smack!

  “Oh shit! I’m so sorry.”

  He blotted the slow drip of blood from his nose with a smirk on his face.

  “Better. Much better.”

  “But you’re bleeding.” Her face morphed into a tight wince.

  “By choice.” He grabbed a towel and pressed it to his nose.

  “You let me do that on purpose?”

  Jackson chuckled. “It’s your first day. I’m not going to lie and give you false confidence, so yes, I let you make me bleed. We both needed to know that you could put some power behind your punch.”

  “You played me.”

  Another chuckle rumbled from his chest as he tossed the towel aside. “I’m getting mixed signals. Are you upset because you made me bleed or that I let you make me bleed?”

  Her jaw unhinged then closed, but nothing came out. Why was she upset? Plopping down on the mat, she crisscrossed her legs and focused on catching her breath.

  “You were mad at me when I showed up. Why?”

  Looking to the ceiling, he drained a bottled water then licked a drip from his lip as his gaze locked with hers. “Jillian went to Portland for AJ. It’s kind of complicated, but it wasn’t the … safest decision. I told her not to go but she did anyway. It’s impossible to protect someone you love when they put themselves at risk halfway across the country.”

  “What’s so dangerous about going to Portland?”

  Jackson chewed the inside of his lip, focusing on her with a thoughtful stare. “Earthquakes … volcanoes …”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m not buying that, but it still doesn’t explain why you were so mad at me.”

  Jackson lifted his arms and pressed his palms to the side of his head while shaking it. A low grumble accompanied his frustration. The last time they were together the sex was good. Good? No. They’d had exceptional sex. She hadn’t inspected the condom, but it seemed as though he came. If not, his acting skills were quite good. Ryn didn’t care for that scenario. A guy faking it? For some reason that seemed so wrong. Sexist? Maybe.

  “How do I explain this without sounding like a …”

  “A?”

  He scrubbed his hands over his face, mumbling beneath them. “A girl.”

  That brought a curious smile to her face. “A girl?”

  “Yes.” His hands dropped to his sides as he leveled her with his gaze. “Random sex. The ‘guy’ thing. I was good at it … really good at it.”

  Those were not inspiring words.

  “I never gave women a chance to be clingy or needy or even the opportunity to fall asleep next to me.”

  Jackson Knight had been a man whore. Ryn sort of knew that, but she sure didn’t appreciate the reminders.

  “I avoided biological clocks, second dates, family dinners, holding hands, and often names weren’t even exchanged.” He nodded. “I know … I was a real prick. But I’m not now, or at least I don’t want to be. So when you kicked me out the other night it pissed me off. I don’t get tossed to the curb like a rejected teddy bear, so when you did it, I realized how much of a clingy female I’d become. I found myself being the one who wanted to stay just to see your face in the morning. But you … well you were me or the old me—the hump ’em and dump ’em person. Anyway, I was mad about Jillian for leaving, rejecting my protection, and I decided to have some menstrual-cycle pity party like a fucking pussy and the anger you saw was really at myself. I was just deflecting it at you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes grew with each point he tried to make, like air being pumped into her head, leaving it ready to explode.

  “I’m not even sure where to begin. First, I did not kick you out or hump you and dump you. As I recall, you left.”

  “Two seconds after I got you off with my fingers shoved in your pussy and your nipple between my teeth, you said, ‘So … I’ll see you Tuesday.’ So, yeah. I’m not an idiot. You dismissed me.”

  Everything in Ryn’s head spun, making her dizzy because nothing made sense. Pussy? Did couples really use that term with each other? She tested it out in her mind. … two fingers shoved in your pussy versus … two fingers shoved in your vagina. It could go either way.

  “Would you look in the mirror? I’m sure it sounds like I’m beating this horse to death, but you. Are. A. God! In ten years you are still going to look like a god because men like you only get better with age. I, however, will look fifty: wrinkles, bags under my eyes, all of my skin suffering from loss of elasticity. I want you to be forty and me to be thirty, but it can’t be that way. Thirty for me consisted of supervising slumber parties and shopping for training bras … oh and trying not to upset my husband, who fucked every woman except me then beat the shit out of me for n
ot working hard enough to keep him interested in me.”

  With a deep sigh, the kind that came after releasing a lifetime of guilt, Ryn pulled her brows together. “I try to eat well, I exercise regularly, and my bathroom vanity is covered in bottles of creams and lotions that have promised me the fountain of youth but have yet to deliver. I love … whatever this is we’ve been doing. It’s been such a vacation from reality. When I’m with you it’s just … indescribable. Our flirty banter, our pretend wedding with a Vera Wang dress and Ed Sheeran, and the things you say to me that make me feel sexy and desirable in a way I never imagined possible, it’s …” She shook her head.

  “I agree.” He stood, easing toward her with a caution he lacked when she arrived. “Except for one thing.”

  “You agree?” Ryn looked up as he laced his fingers through her hair, cupping her face.

  “Yes. You do eat well and exercise. And I’ve seen your bathroom counter … all those stupid creams are a waste of money because you can’t improve on beauty like yours. The banter, our wedding, the things I say to you, the way I look at you, how fucking hard I get every time I touch you … it’s not pretend. It’s not a game. It is reality. Okay, hot pants?”

  Ryn rebounded from her dump of insecurities and giggled instead. “I’m never wearing underwear around you again.”

  Jackson quirked a brow. “Mmm … that sounds like a tasty idea.”

  The hot flush of embarrassment she felt could have melted Saturn. Sure, she was forty but did that have to mean she was a prude? The woman behind the red face had led a sexually sheltered life coming from the school of boys having penises and girls having vaginas.

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” She averted her gaze to the side even with his hands holding her face so close to his.

  “I’m just being honest. I find myself constantly craving your pussy.”

  “Oh my God! Stop staying that.” Wriggling out of his grasp, she fisted his shirt and buried her face in his chest.

  Jackson kissed the top of her head as he chuckled. “What do you want me to say? I like licking—”

  “Stop!”

  Another devious chuckle. “Or eating—”

  “No! No! No!”

  “Do you prefer cunt to puss—”

  “Vagina! It’s a vagina, okay?” She stopped short of also emphasizing that it’s not a meal or snack. Although, denying how much she enjoyed his tongue exploring her vagina would have been a lie.

  Jackson’s chuckle escalated into a full roaring laugh. “You want me to call your pussy a vagina? You think that’s sexy?”

  Ryn smiled, face still buried in his shirt. “I don’t want you to call it anything. Please … just let me die.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Day

  Jessica had balls that were arguably bigger than most men’s. However, they failed to meet the size requirement for sharing with his parents the riding-Luke’s-face-just-shy-of-an-orgasm incident. He played her, used her for his own pleasure, then tossed her aside to prove a point—he was a worthy adversary.

  “Hope you like fajitas, Jessica. I am in the mood for margaritas and guacamole tonight,” Felicity said while filling the glasses, complete with sugar and salt rim garnish.

  “I love Mexican.”

  Luke handed her a glass. The shit-eating grin needed to be wiped off the smug bastard’s face. “Did you get everything finished up?”

  Evil coursed through her veins as she cocked her head to the side while accepting the drink. “Did Luke tell you about Fran?”

  Felicity and Tom jerked their heads in Luke’s direction. The easy mood vanished, leaving an eerie silence and tension so tight it felt as if the floor could crack open and swallow them whole.

  Jessica thought she’d seen every one of Luke’s facial expressions. She was wrong. There wasn’t a hint of adoration left. The icy look he gave her left her heart pounding in her throat.

  “So … you two have discussed Fran?” Felicity asked. Each word sounded cautious as if she, too, could feel the dangerous tension.

  Luke swallowed, glaring at Jessica. She wanted to take back every word.

  “We discussed how Fran and I met.”

  “Oh …” Felicity’s nervous smile hid something. Jessica didn’t know what.

  “I … we found out last week that Fran needs a heart transplant.”

  Tom and Felicity nodded slowly.

  “Jessica thinks I need to go visit her in Scottsdale.”

  What was going on? The three of them knew something … something Jessica didn’t.

  The victim turned monster had been in some very uncomfortable situations in her life, but nothing quite like that moment. Nobody spoke, yet everyone looked at one person: Jessica.

  Finally, Tom cleared his throat. “Shall we eat?” He might as well have said “at ease.”

  Felicity dumped a bag of corn chips into a bowl and handed it and the dish of guacamole to Tom as though the previous two minutes never happened. Except they had happened and Luke’s lingering gaze filled with anger, disappointment, and pain reminded her that she had somehow epically fucked up.

  “Have a seat,” Luke said, devoid of all emotion.

  She sat down. Jones plopped his big body on the floor behind her chair because he was a mama’s boy.

  “So did you get your place sold since moving in with Luke?” Felicity asked.

  “I rented. Only wealthy or very old people own property in San Francisco.”

  “I anticipated starting work on my sailboat before cooler weather hit, but now I think it’s just going to have to wait until spring. You still in on the project with me?” Tom asked.

  “Of course.” She glanced at Luke for confirmation that they would still be together in the spring. He gave her nothing.

  “Lake has a boyfriend and he has family in San Francisco, so I think you’ll be seeing your sister a lot more.”

  Luke nodded, dipping the same chip into the guacamole over and over without ever taking a bite.

  “What are your plans for the holidays?”

  Luke stayed in his zombie zone as if no one else at the table existed.

  Jessica smiled at Tom. “My parents have invited us to their house for Thanksgiving, but we haven’t really committed to anything yet.”

  Tom nodded, much like his son. She questioned if he even registered her answer to his question.

  “Of course, my other boyfriend invited me for a sex-filled weekend on his private island off the coast of Italy.”

  All. Three. Nodded.

  “Dammit, Jones!” Jessica stood, resting her palms on the table.

  Three heads jerked up and the dog scampered off to the living room, certain he was in trouble. Old habit. Luke may have bought her a dog and named him Jones, but when she was pissed, Luke’s name was still Jones. Actually, first name Dammit, last name, Jones.

  “I didn’t want to have it out right here in front of your parents, but it would seem they know more than I do so maybe this needs to be a group conversation. You know damn well that I, more than anyone else, believe the past should stay buried with the dead, but yours is not, so out with it. Francesca—I want every. Little. Detail.”

  Tom and Felicity frowned at Luke with pain in their eyes.

  “Jessica, sweetie, he might not be ready to talk about this,” Felicity said.

  “Is that right, Luke? Because you said I could ask you anything, and now I want everything.”

  “Maybe we should give you two some privacy.”

  “Sit. Down.”

  Tom and Felicity didn’t move. Jessica could be cutthroat—literally.

  “I’d been drinking Heineken with my college roommate, Levi,” Luke spoke in a grave tone. “We’d both had at least four or five too many. He told me about his friend back home who was screwing his roommate’s fiancée. He asked my advice … asked me what his friend should do if the roommate found out they were screwing around behind his back. I couldn’t even think that night … I was
completely wasted. So I laughed and said he should put a bullet through both of their heads.”

  His parents watched him. Pain. The pain was palpable, and she still didn’t know why.

  “A week later I found Levi in the shower with blood and bits of his brain scattered on the wall, a gun next to his limp hand. In the note on the counter he said he wasn’t worth going to jail over so he saved me a life sentence, and he chose the shower to keep the mess contained because of my obsession with cleanliness. Then he asked me to forgive Fran and raise his kid as my own.”

  Tom wrapped his arm around Felicity as silent sobs shook her body. But Luke … he said every word without an ounce of emotion, eyes locked to Jessica’s the whole time.

  “Fran had his baby?” Jessica whispered.

  Luke shook his head. “Nope. While he positioned his newly purchased forty-five at his temple, Fran was off having an abortion and then she planned on ending it with him because she still wanted to marry me. I’ve always wondered whose heart stopped first … his or his baby’s.” He blinked slowly several times. “I think you can guess why Fran and I didn’t work out. We both had blood on our hands.”

  “Luke,” Jessica said but no other words came out.

  “Anyway, I started college majoring in business. After my first year I switched to pre-med, inspired by my work as a firefighter. Psychiatry has been my own personal quest to figure out why, even in my plastered state, I thought death was a fair payback for cheating. And even more than that … what makes a person give up absolutely everything because he broke some sort of bro code.”

  He stood and before completely unfolding himself from the chair, he kissed Jessica on the cheek. “That’s everything, my love,” he whispered over her skin before he turned and walked out of the dining room.

  The slam of the front door felt like a book closing at the end of the final chapter.

  “Luke made his peace with Francesca after Levi’s funeral. It wasn’t pretty, but it was final. Even though he doesn’t blame her, she’s been dead to him for years. If she dies, maybe he’ll feel some sort of peace that Levi’s been reunited with the woman he loved and the mother of his child. But Luke doesn’t need to see her.”