Padding across the hardwood floor, my stocking feet slip on the slick surface, the way I feel like I’m slipping in every part of my life. And suddenly, I’m cold. Really cold. I flip on the fireplace and sit down on the lounger in front of it, tossing the damn journal to the side of my bed. I want it gone, out of sight, out of any conversation.
Jax re-appears in the doorway, all that hard muscle even harder now than a few minutes ago, which of course isn’t true, but every time he enters a room, he gets better. He’s fire to the ice that protected me when I left York, melting it away, and far too quickly for comfort. He indicates the bag in his hand. “You’re going to love this place.”
“I’m eager to try it.”
He sits down next to me and pulls out a half pint and then another, and another, for a total of six. I laugh. “My God, Jax. You got so much.”
“I don’t know you yet, Emma. I didn’t know what to order.” He hands me a spoon. “But I’m about to know a little more.”
There is warmth in his eyes and his voice, the kind of warmth that I could bask in forever I think. The kind of warmth every girl wants to feel when a man like Jax North looks at her.
“I picked six of my favorites,” he adds.
I laugh. “You have six favorites?”
“You betcha, baby, and the butter pecan is so good, I might kill for it.”
I arch a brow. “Kill for it? That’s some serious love.”
“You have no idea what I would do for what I love.” There’s a hint of something in his voice, in his eyes, that’s there and gone before I can name it. Like he’s not talking about ice cream, but then, I get the feeling most everything with Jax is layered and complex.
“Good thing I love butter pecan.”
He removes the lid and holds it out to me. I dig in and take a big bite, moaning with the delight of the sweet treat. “Hmmm. Wow. That so good it should be outlawed to protect all those who want to retain their waistline.”
“Truth,” he says, “and I only survived it while interning because I ran five miles a day and never slept. This ice cream is the only good thing my ex ever gave me.”
“Wait. We’re eating the ice cream your ex loved?”
“She was more of a fuck buddy, though she’d have happily married me for the North name and bank account.”
This is just another thing that we have in common, the way people want us for nothing but a name and a bank account but that hurts. I know it hurts. “Did you love her?”
“I didn’t love her and she didn’t love me.” He casts me a sideways look. “Did you love York?”
“The York I thought he was, yes.” My gaze lands on the journal where it lies on the floor, a symbol of how easily a person can hide behind a façade of themselves. Memories of York, bad memories, try to surface and I shake myself and look at Jax. I shake off the past. “Good thing I didn’t go to law school. I suck at reading people.”
He takes the pint from me and sets it down. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I’ve learned the hard way that people aren’t always what they seem. In York’s case, when he inherited, he showed his true colors. The York I knew and the York he really was were two different people.”
“And then what?”
“I thought grief and the new professional demands were taking a toll, so I stayed to support him but he wanted what you say your ex wanted. My name and my inheritance. Because even when people have their own, they get greedy and they want more.” I laugh. “I should tell you. I don’t inherit for a very long time and my father made Randall my executor. I don’t even own this apartment. I rent it from the company.”
“There is much I could say about that, but why Randall and not your brother?”
“He knew my brother would just give me the money and that didn’t suit his agenda.”
“Which was what?”
“For me to decide I’d marry Randall—and no I haven’t and will not date Randall. He treats me like—” I stop myself before I say something I might regret.
“Like what, Emma?”
“Like he owns me, first because of my father’s actions and now because of the money, but money doesn’t get to own me. I’ve considered resigning, but my brother needs me. And I like my job. I see the world. I’m going to Germany in two weeks. Who gets to say that?”
He studies me a moment. “You’re angry with your father.”
I open my mouth to speak about the journal but again think twice. I can’t get wrapped up in the moment. There’s talk of death, maybe even murder in that journal. I settle on a more simplified answer. “I’m very confused about my father right now.”
“Death does that as well, sweetheart. It’s part of the process.”
There’s no push for me to hate my father, no insult delivered to my father. This isn’t the reply I expect from a man who I know hates my father. Instead, he picks up another pint. “Therapy time. Chocolate Éclair.”
My eyes light. “Chocolate Éclair. Okay, yes. I need that in my life.”
We sample all six flavors and the éclair ends up being my favorite. At some point, we both end up fully on the lounger, our backs to the cushion, our feet in front of us. “Have you ever been engaged, Jax?”
“Never.”
“And how old are you?”
He sets down the last pint we’re sampling and pulls me under his arm. I rotate and curl into his side while he shifts to look down at me. It’s intimate and cozy, the fire warming us where the ice cream has chilled our bodies. “I’m thirty-four,” he says. “And why am I single? Because love and money don’t mix. A lesson my mother taught me at a young age. She didn’t love my father. She loved his money not him, but he pretended otherwise. He loved her so much, and to his own demise at times.”
It feels like he’s speaking to me, speaking of his anger at me earlier tonight. “I’m not here for your castle or your money and name, Jax. I just—you—me—you get what I’m going through, and—”
“I don’t want your future inheritance or your name, Emma. I’m not York. I have money. I have a name. What I want is you.”
It’s everything I both want to hear and fear. I can’t get involved with a man who hates my family, not after everything I just found out about my father. My walls go up and I try to pull away. He holds me, catches my leg. “Running?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m just going to be honest, Jax, because that’s really what I need in my life right now. Honesty. You get me in a way that scares me. You could hurt me, Jax. I’m not equipped to deal with that right now. We’re both a mess. You accused me of fucking you for the castle.”
“I told you. The castle hit a nerve.”
“Because you hate my father.”
“Emma—”
“That journal,” I say before I can stop myself. Damn it, I said it. It’s out and I ride the emotional wave pushing me forward. “That was my father’s and the words inside pretty much declare every moment I spent trying to please him was a waste of my life. I get it. He wasn’t a good person, but I don’t want the castle.”
“I know that now, but do you want me, Emma? Because I damn sure want you.”
“We’re both a mess, Jax, bleeding from open wounds. How does that work?”
“Maybe that’s the reason we work because as you said, I understand you and you understand me. Do you want to know me, Emma? Do you want to see what this is between us?”
My fingers curl on his jaw. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“I’m not York, Emma. I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t hurt you. I need you to remember that.”
This response wouldn’t seem off, if not for the “I need you to remember that” add on. It’s another one of those statements from Jax that feels as if it has a double meaning, but he’s just told me about his mother. I decide he’s there now, thinking about his past the way I am about my past.
Because the past is a part of us and we’re a part of it. And no new beginning comes without a war
ning. “Emma,” he prods softly.
“I know you’re not him.” I don’t give him more. I can’t. Not now and yet, I don’t want him to leave which is why I add, “I promise you, I know.”
He studies me a moment and when I think he’ll push me, the way York would push me, he doesn’t. Slowly, he eases us both down on the lounge chair, pulling me to his chest. My hand settles on his chest, the steady thrum of his heart, beneath my palm, the sound paired with his strong body holding mine, a drug that soothes the edge of a month of pain. I need Jax. Maybe it’s just a now thing, but I don’t fight it. My body softens into his harder one, and my lashes lower, and for now, on some level, I must trust him because I seem to dose off, the room fading in and out
In some dark place in my mind, I think I hear Jax whisper, “There is so much you don’t know, Emma, but you will.” Or maybe I didn’t. I succumb to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Emma…
I wake to the doorbell and jerk to a sitting position, sunlight beaming through the windows of my bedroom, and Jax’s hard body beneath me. I don’t even remember falling asleep, clearly I did so on top of him and we slept the night on the lounge chair. “Easy, sweetheart,” he says, his blue eyes alight with concern, his strong arm wrapping around me. “Nightmare?”
I frown. Was it a nightmare? “No,” I say. “The doorbell rang. Or I think it did.” It rings again. “Yes. It did. There it goes again. And no one can get up here without clearance. It has to be my brother.” My voice lifts. “Jax, my brother.”
“And that’s bad why? You’re afraid to get him excited? You think he’ll think I’m now selling you the castle?”
I give him a little punch. “That’s not funny. I wouldn’t sleep with you to get the castle.”
“Good to hear,” he says, laughing. “I’d dress to greet him, but half my clothes are downstairs.”
I tug away from him and stand up, eyeing the area round my feet. “Oh God, there’s melted ice cream on the floor.”
“We’ll clean it up,” Jax says, pushing to his feet, half naked, his ripped abs and broad chest on display, all cool and casual like my brother showing up is nothing. Damn Chance for his timing, because this man is better in daylight than he was last night. And I never even inspected that tattoo on his forearm. “Is that a compass on your arm?”
He holds out his arm. “A compass and my name.”
“North.” I laugh. “I love it.”
He steps in front of me and pulls me close, his finger catching and caressing my nipple that is apparently hanging out of my robe. My sex clenches. “Good morning,” he says softly.
And now, I’m melting like the ice cream. “Good morning,” I say softly, forgetting everything but this man and the possibility of my mouth on his tattoo and a variety of other places. Irritatingly, the doorbell rings again, forcing me back to reality. “Brothers,” I murmur, twisting away from Jax to rush into the closet. I grab sweats, step into them, and I’m just pulling a tank over my head when the security alarm goes off, “Front door open,” the computerized voice announces.
My heart lurches and I step out of the closet. “Jax,” I whisper urgently. “My brother wouldn’t just come inside my apartment, even when I make him wait this long. He doesn’t have a key.”
In an instant, Jax is standing in front of me, pressing a silencing finger to his lips. “Stay,” he mouths, pointing to himself and the door, before he heads in that direction. That’s when I hear, “Emma!” in York’s voice and my blood runs cold. Jax whirls on me, accusation radiating from him. “What the fuck, Emma? He can get into your damn apartment?”
I hold up my hands. “I swear to God he doesn’t have a key or an invitation in this lifetime, Jax. He must have threatened security or bribed them. I swear to you, swear to you. I am not with him. I don’t want to be with him. Please believe me.” Anger surges through me, not at Jax, but at York. “And he’s leaving. Now.”
I charge for the door and Jax doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t believe me. God, why would he? I wouldn’t believe me. I step onto the stairs and find York at the bottom about to start the climb up. “Get out of my apartment, York! How did you even get in here?”
He moves to the center of the bottom step, standing there in his pretty blue sweater and matching dress pants, hands at his sides, gloating with pride. “I’m resourceful. You know that. And you didn’t answer your phone.”
“Get out, York.” I start walking down the stairs. “I got your point last night. Don’t tell the world Marion’s a bitch or you’ll embarrass my family.” I stop midway between the top and bottom steps, not about to get close to him. “I can’t even believe you did this.”
I know the moment Jax appears behind me, the crackle of energy sharp and hard, as is the shift in York’s gaze from me to over my shoulder. I watch his face harden in a familiar way, a way that wipes away his good looks and leaves nothing but a brutal monster.
“You move fast, Jax,” he says, giving him and his shirtless state of dress a once over, before flicking me a look. “But then, you’re pretty fast, too, aren’t you, Emma?”
Those words slap like a hit I don’t deserve, but then I never deserved anything I got in the end with this man. They also hint at all the things he would say about me if I crossed him and suddenly I don’t care. “Do you really want to piss me off, York?” I ask softly. “Because I know things you don’t want the world to know. Give me a reason to spew it all, and I will.”
“He doesn’t want to piss me off,” Jax replies. He heads toward York and he doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of him. “Leave now, because a call to the police would be merited, but it’s not my preference. My preference would be to knock the shit out of you.”
York snorts. “She doesn’t want that kind of trouble with me.”
“But I do because I know you abused her. I know you hurt her. I know you touched her in ways no woman should be touched.”
That statement takes me off guard, punches me in the chest and I take a step backward, hugging myself, starting to tremble. Damn it, why am I trembling?
“So back the fuck up and leave,” Jax adds, “before I start my day out right. Fucking you up before I take her for a champagne breakfast to celebrate.”
“You think because you were some semi-pro boxing champ that I’m afraid of you?”
“I don’t care what scares you, man,” Jax says, dismissal in his tone. “I just want to punch you. You have ten seconds, and if you think I’m bluffing, you’re wrong. Don’t come back or there will be a price to pay. Do your homework. I’m not an enemy you want.”
York’s gaze burns into Jax’s and then jerks to me. “We aren’t done. We’re never done and you better remember that.” He turns and walks for the door.
I snap. I don’t know how it happens, but I snap. I run down the stairs with a single vision: punching York myself. I want to hit him. I want him gone. I want to have never known him. I launch myself past Jax, or I try.
“Emma.” He catches my arm and pulls me around to face him even as the door slams shut with York’s departure. “What are you doing?”
“Let me go. Let me go, Jax.”
“I’m not going to do that. Not when you’re about to run into trouble. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“Never? You don’t own me. You barely know me. Move.” But he doesn’t move. He’s holding his ground, holding mine, more stone than man.
“I don’t own you,” he agrees. “No one owns you, Emma. And as for knowing you, I want to know you. Beyond reason, beyond anything I would expect, I want to know you.”
“You mean because I’m my father’s daughter.”
“Despite the fact that you’re your father’s daughter.”
A knot balls in my chest with the words that confirm how he feels about me. I’m still my father’s daughter to him, not my own person. My father just won’t stop being judge and jury over me, even through Jax. “Jax, move. I need to make sure he knows I sent him awa
y, not you.”
“He knows. Let York go and I’ll make sure he stays gone. I’ll handle him for you.”
“I don’t need you to handle him. You can’t just take over my life.”
“If taking over your life is the same as protecting you, we have a problem. Because I can’t be in your life and not protect you. I won’t say I will because I won’t.”
“In my life? We got naked, Jax. That does not make you a part of my life. And protecting me. Yes. Let’s talk about you protecting me. What was that? You know what he did to me? You don’t know what he did to me. You don’t know. So what are you protecting me from?”
His hands come down on my arms, his eyes meeting mine. “I saw the way you looked at my belt. I felt—I feel that in you, Emma. I knew last night. I made sure I didn’t push you for a reason.”
“You didn’t push me?” I ask, my tone incredulous. “And you want to know me? Seriously, Jax? What kind of couple would we be if you have to hold back for me? I didn’t ask you to do that. I’m not some delicate flower. And my God, I thought last night was good. I guess I was wrong.”
“Sweetheart, it was fucking amazing. And I know you’re not the sum of that man. You’re no delicate flower, as proven by the fact you just wanted to go to blows with York.”
“Just a delicate flower with my clothes off?”
“Never a delicate flower. And as for how we are together, I don’t know what he made you think you have to be. You don’t have to tell me, but I’m not him. Whatever we do, we’ll do at our pace, and only our pace in our way.”
“Our pace?” And not for the first time, I say, “You live in Maine.”
“I’m still right here with you, Emma.”
I don’t even know what that means. I don’t know what I want it to mean. This is sex, I remind myself. Just sex. “Jax,” I breathe out, because it’s really the only answer I have right now.
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