Sam made to move, but the tensile strength of Jack’s arms denied her feeble attempt at escape. One hand cupped her head up to him as the other drifted gently down her back, fingertips running over her spine as he touched each disc and vertebrae through her soft knit shirt like the keys of a saxophone. He found the edge of her top, tugging it up without asking, revealing the private skin of her lower back, scarred as it was. Sam made a sound, attempting to push away, but Jack held fast, his eyes glittering as he looked down at her.
“I need to feel for myself that you’re okay,” he told her gruffly, touching the ridges of her scar before she could elude him, inarticulate in her protest.
“Please, tesoro—” He ran his fingertips along the raised areas where she’d been stitched back together again, his silver eyes incandescent with emotion.
The work was top-notch, but the damage too considerable to hide under a plastic surgeon’s blade. Sam didn’t want the work done anyway. She had seen enough of hospitals to last a lifetime. But that didn’t mean she didn’t still have a woman’s ego. She didn’t want to see the look in Jack’s eyes when he saw the extent of her imperfections.
“I’m fine, Jack.” Sam shifted back, but he captured her, refusing to let her go as his fingertips charted the braille of her injury. He surprised her into silence when he lowered his mouth to the vulnerable crevice of her clavicle. Jack grazed the smooth skin with his lips just as he pressed his hand full against the flat of her back, urging her against the hard terrain of his body.
“You’re not fine, tesoro. But you will be,” he murmured against her skin, his tone certain and reassuring, his breath searing and soft.
Sam blinked in a confusion, trapped somewhere between comfort and disbelief. How could Jack make her feel so vulnerable and revealed with a few whispered words and simple touches? How was it that she wanted so badly to be held by him—and to hold him in return? Jack held her securely against the reassuring rise and fall of his chest, leaving her steeped in the permeating deliciousness of his heat. When Sam finally let herself relax in his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers.
The frustration, anger, and betrayal she felt toward him gave way to the deeper feelings she had for this beautiful, maddening man. For all their months of separation, she hadn’t allowed herself to miss him fully—much less crave him. In the privacy of her dreams, Sam had relived Jack’s kisses, the heat of their chemistry waking her more than once, hot and bothered by unspeakable desires and the phantom of her own memories. But even her most vivid imaginings paled in comparison to the intense sensuality of Jack live and in person.
Sam relinquished her worries for a brief moment, allowing herself to feel and only feel, thinking nothing, aware of nothing—just absorbing the moment, lost in the need, yielding to his lush, rapacious kisses that tasted like need and hope and love wrapped into a single, addictive confection. God, I missed this, she thought to herself, hands rounding his shoulders like they’d been made to do just that. I missed you, Jack. Just let me have this. Let me have just a moment of uncomplicated feeling… to love and be loved…
She lost track of time, allowing herself the pleasure of touching Jack again, lips and tongue and teeth until it suddenly felt too intimate, even more than the sex they’d had when they were still together. The immensity of her feelings for Jack pervaded the physical gratification, threatening to overwhelm her. She wasn’t conditioned to an excess of emotion, having spent the majority of her adult life building walls that helped her remain devoid of sensations like this. Sam pulled back, staring at him. Jack looked back at her with all his feelings in his eyes, transmitting all the emotions he hadn’t been able to say to her into the space between them. Breathless, Sam saw what he was doing—or trying to do. Jack held her like he could put the broken pieces of her back together—as if his love were enough to save her from her circumstance—from herself.
“Jack—no. Stop,” Sam forced him back, pressing a hand to her forehead. “This isn’t why I called you here.”
Jack relinquished her begrudgingly. “Tell me you called me here because you missed me,” he said as she turned from him, trying to get her composure back. “Tell me you called me here because you know just as well as I do we’re not over.”
She put the desk between them to give herself some space to get her shit back together. Jack was too cracklingly magnetic, too tempting, too insightful. She’d given herself extra time to get her game-face on, and he’d devastated it within seconds. Jack Roman was like her version of walking, talking kryptonite. From the moment she’d laid eyes on him in Chicago, she’d known he had what it took to be her downfall.
“I didn’t ask you here for any of those reasons,” she countered, struggling to keep her voice even. “I’m looking for the truth, Jack, and you’re the only one who can help me get to it right now.”
“The truth?” he asked, prowling closer. He rested his hands flat against the desk as he leaned toward her. “The truth is I wake up with your taste on my tongue and your scent in the air, even when you’re nowhere near me, you haunt me that much,” he told her, his gaze unflinching. “The truth is that you are the best thing and the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Somewhere in the last few months you became more than my lover, tesoro. You became my obsession, vita mia, cuore mio.22 The truth is, I don’t want to envision a life without you in it, driving me utterly crazy, Samantha. These are my truths. What are yours?”
“You’re awfully good with words, Jack,” she said, relieved the desk was between them.
“I’m awfully good with my mouth in general, but then, you already know that,” he shot her an intimate look that made her face feel hot.
“Yes, you are.” Sam opened the desk drawer, seeking equilibrium in getting down to business. “You have a particular talent for lying with that talented mouth of yours.” She tossed a manila folder in front of him. A folder full of secrets. A folder he’d hidden from her for months.
Jack leaned back, recognizing what stood between them immediately. “I can only apologize for that, tesoro. I shouldn’t have accepted that damn file, much less read it,” he admitted. “My only defense is that I was half-crazed with worry over Jaime at the time, and I was so far outside of my element, scorching the earth felt like the only conceivable relief.”
Sam considered him for a long moment, weighing his words against the sincerity of his expression.
“And the drugs?” she asked finally. “When did that start?”
“It was an inflection point to disintegration,” Jack admitted slowly, shame making his face heat. “I started using again after Jaime was shot in Rio, and we ended.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you seriously going to stand there and pin your shit on me?”
“No—yes.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “If we’re being honest, then I have to admit our relationship has been a trigger. Or rather, how I’ve felt outside of it. At first, I was looking for some kind of relief, and then I just wanted a substitute.” Jack sighed in frustration, pushing his fingers through his hair. “It wasn’t about the drugs—not really. It was about you—about us.”
“This is irrefutable proof that I’m bad for you, Jack.” Sam crossed her arms. “We’re bad for each other. Everything we’ve had to-date has been about habit-forming dependencies, withdrawals, and lies. That’s not a relationship, Jack—it’s a goddamn Greek tragedy.”
“Est quaedam flere voluptas,” he quoted in a bid at morbid humor, knowing she’d recognize the old quote. “There’s a certain pleasure in weeping sometimes—don’t you think?”
“Ovid—how appropriate.” Samantha sank down into the leather desk chair, her back burning from exertion. “We haven’t even begun to discuss your taste for peril. You put yourself at tremendous and unnecessary risk buying out Leviathan and taking on Lightner,” she chided softly. “If that’s not some kind of death wish, then I don’t know what is.”
“That wasn’t for me, and you know it, tesoro. The moment Lightner threate
ned you in Rio, he came into my crosshairs.”
“Don’t do that again, Jack.” She said after a moment. “Don’t put yourself at risk for me ever again—promise me.”
“I can’t do that,” he answered honestly, leaning on the desk again. “I’ve been willing to put everything at risk for you since the moment we met.” His eyes softened as he looked at her. “You’re worth risking everything, Samantha. Being without you—seeing you almost die in that awful hospital bed in Germany—” he shook his head, emotion cutting off his words. “I’d do anything for you. Anything to make sure you’re okay.”
Her mouth pressed into a frown. “Then you’ll love what I have to ask you now.”
He sat down across from her. “Just ask me—I’ll do anything.”
“There are photos in that folder,” she told him, pointing to the file. “Photos I need your father to explain.”
Jack frowned, opening the file. He picked up the stack of photos Sam had taken from Wes, thumbing through them quickly. “These weren’t in the file,” he noted, scanning them quickly. “I’ve never seen these before.”
“I know,” Sam responded, leaning back in the seat. “They’re all of my father with different contacts in the Middle East. I’d like to convince myself that they exist simply because he was there on business, but one thing I can’t quite reconcile is why the CIA looked into his and my brother’s death in the first place.” And because Wes planted the idea in my head, and I can’t stop thinking about it. “Their deaths would have been a domestic matter.”
Jack looked closely at some of the photos. “Are these of who I think they are?” he asked, awe and curiosity edging into his voice.
“Yes,” Samantha nodded. “And while my father would have cause to meet with some of these leaders for business reasons, I’m starting to suspect he was some kind of asset for the U.S. government, but only your father can confirm or deny that.”
A minute look of hesitation crossed Jack’s face. “I don’t think he’d be willing to divulge that even if he could, tesoro.”
“You mean like he was willing to divulge my redacted military history to you?” she replied cuttingly, eyes narrowed. “Your father already crossed that line when he pulled my file, and you broke any trust we had when you read it. Now I’m asking you to right a wrong, Jack. Sandro opened a door—you can’t fault me for asking questions about what’s inside.”
Jack was quiet for a long time. “Anything you learn won’t bring them back, tesoro.” He met her eyes.
“No,” Sam agreed. “But now I know my family didn’t die at the hands of some drunk driver that night. Something far more sinister happened, and to get to the bottom of that, I need to know why,” she told him frankly, not breaking his gaze. “Sandro can help me get closer to the truth.”
“And if I can’t get my father to come to the table with what you want?” he asked, tense.
She leaned back in her chair, calm. “I’m not holding you hostage, Jack.”
“Aren’t you?” Jack leaned forward. “If I can’t get my father to release secret information on a potential asset, you will never forgive me for my indiscretion, will you, tesoro? You’ll never trust me again, and you’ll for damn sure never take me back.”
Sam cocked her head. “Who said I’d ever take you back, Jack? Trust is an illusion at best. You never trusted me. I clearly can’t trust you, so the only thing we can both rely upon now is mutual self-interest.”
Jack’s gaze swept over her face as if he were searching for the woman he thought he loved, hoping for a sign she was still buried in there somewhere. But that woman had been carved out of her a few months ago. They couldn’t go back.
She had the scars to prove it.
“I’ll do it on one condition,” he said finally.
Samantha lifted a brow. “Is this the part where you prove my point about self-interest?”
“Would you believe anything I said otherwise?” he asked.
“Probably not.”
“Then my condition is simple,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’ll bring whatever information I can to the table on your father’s potential involvement with the CIA if you allow me to stay here, close to you.”
Sam laughed outright at the audacity of his request. “No, you can’t stay here—and not just because I don’t want you underfoot,” she added, shaking her head. “That stunt you pulled putting a bounty on Lightner’s head was tantamount to poking a bear. We’re both already targets. Together, we’d be sitting ducks.”
“I’d argue the opposite,” he replied calmly. “We’re getting new leads every day. Besides MI-6, Interpol, and my team at Leviathan, every bounty-hunter and assassin and mercenary is now after that prick.”
Sam tilted her head. “Do you know his whereabouts?” She wondered if Jack’s leads were better than Rox’s and Avi’s, but she also didn’t want him involved more than he already was.
“Why? So you can send the mystery woman who saved my life in London to go get him?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “We’re on the same side, Jack.”
“You just told me trust is an illusion,” he replied, throwing her words back at her. “Tell me who she is.”
She remained quiet. He already knew Alejandro. Jack would be aware Alejo had a little sister—one who was supposed to be dead. He was too damnably smart not to put two and two together, and that would only drag him deeper into the web and risk Rox’s anonymity at the same time.
“She’s the woman you’re going to pay ten mil once she tracks Lightner down,” she said instead. “You should have talked to me about the bounty before you did that,” she added.
“I would have, except you were ignoring me at the time.”
Sam stood slowly, crossing the library to stand at the French doors overlooking the garden. “Why didn’t you listen to me when I asked you stay out of this? Did it ever occur to you that I kept you out of all of this because I didn’t want you hurt?”
He came to stand behind her. Jack didn’t touch her but he was a hair’s breath away. She felt his presence against her back like a warm glow. It was all she could do not to close her eyes and sink back against him. That was the fucking battle, wasn’t it? Between what she knew was right—to push him away, versus what she wanted—to keep him close.
She turned around, careful to keep her face impassive.
“I may have let you walk out on me, but I came to my senses, didn’t I?” Jack told her quietly, his voice a whisper. “I’d rather hurt with you than suffer without you. When are you going to believe me?”
Something reckless lurked behind his eyes when he looked at her—an unexpressed desire. She realized he’d developed a taste for the danger, the darker edges curling around an otherwise charmed life. She also recognized that she’d brought him to this doorstep. It had been their relationship and their demise that had brought him to this place, where he would do anything and everything to protect what he wanted. It made him infinitely more appealing to her, because she recognized those proclivities in herself. He hadn’t gone too far yet. He could still turn around and live a different life—a more normal one. One without blood on his hands.
“You don’t want me, Jack.” Sam told him unequivocally. “Not as I am; not the person that lies beneath the façade. Hear me on this: You’ve fallen for a fantasy—a temporary insanity we both bought into until reality of who I am and the world I deal in came back with a vengeance. You don’t want this,” she said, her voice scathing as she gestured toward herself.
Jack pulled her into his arms before she could protest. “I want you as you are. How many times do I have to say that?”
“Who I really am is the problem, Jack,” she whispered. “I am not the woman for you—I never was. You can’t stay here.” She made a move to pull back.
He resisted, bringing her closer. “Give me forty-eight hours.”
“What about Lightner?” she asked, pulling back. “I told you that your being with me is only going to make you a
bigger target.” That was only partly true, and she knew that, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him. If Rox was right, Lightner had his hands full trying to negotiate an arms deal halfway around the world. It was only if that bastard was successful that she’d have to seriously worry.
Jack smiled grimly, brushing her hair back from her shoulder. “Let that bastard come, then. Because from now on, I’m going to face every battle with you. I won’t back down and I won’t desert you, tesoro.”
“No,” she muttered, pushing him back.
“Yes,” he insisted, refusing to let her go.
She could break his hold by hurting him, but she didn’t want to do that. “You’re a goddamn stubborn bastard, Jack Roman,” she gritted out.
“It’s part of my charm, Samantha Wyatt.”
They stared at each other hard and long, Sam gauging whether it was worth the trouble to keep debating this, and him gauging his level of success.
“You have forty-eight hours to bring your father to the table,” she finally relented. “If you don’t deliver on your end of the bargain, I’ll kick you out on your ass so fast, you’ll have to hitch-hike back to Chicago.”
Jack’s smile unfurled slowly. “You have a deal.”
Chapter 14
April—Late Afternoon
Wyatt Towers, Houston, Texas
W E S L E Y
Wes stood in front of the gleaming glass high rise of Wyatt Towers, one of a trifecta of monolithic spires built to house and exhibit the enormous wealth of Rob Wyatt’s petroleum empire. The man had been nothing if not ostentatious in his heyday, and Wes could not help but recall the brief times he’d spent in the penthouse, holed up in Sam’s room on short breaks and long weekends. She hadn’t liked to stay there frequently, preferring the wide open space of the ranch to the sweltering humidity of Houston and the nightmare of snarled traffic. But Wes could still recall the views though—three hundred and sixty degrees of magnificence. He understood why Rob had built it—standing at the top was tantamount to feeling like the king of the world.
Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three Page 23