Enemy Mine (Unseen Enemy Book 3)

by Marysol James

  “Yeah, I know, right?” Emma tried to smile, but her hands were shaky as she put her cup of tea to her lips. “Chemo and spinal taps and stem cell transplants aren’t cheap, huh?”

  “And I imagine that five weeks in isolation post-transplant was expensive, right?” Jenny asked.

  “Oh, yeah. According to Helen Carrow, that’s what really racked up the numbers, actually. The isolation ward, the drugs afterwards, the twenty-four-hour care. But if I take in to account chemo for the next six to eight months for sure, just that alone will push me up well over seven hundred thousand. Forget about my drugs and blood tests, and anything unexpected.”

  “Fuck.” Kat’s green eyes were glittering. “This is bullshit. You get sick through no fault of your own, and you go through hell, and now you’re going to be bankrupted?”

  “Well,” Emma said. “I do have a plan.”

  “What?” Liv asked. “You’d better not be going back to work, Em, I swear to God. I’ll have Dean barricade you in his house, I promise you.”

  Emma smiled. “No, that’s not what I’m thinking, at all. You want to give me the number to your real estate agent, Liv?”

  The women stared at her.

  “You’re going to sell your apartment?” Kat said.

  “It’s the best solution.” Emma tried to look positive. “I ran the numbers last night, and I figure that after I pay off the rest of the mortgage and the agent’s fees, I’ll be left with close to seven hundred thousand dollars. I may be able to start almost from zero, if I’m lucky.”

  “No.” Jenny’s voice was clipped. “You’re not going to do that. I’ll give you the money before I see you homeless.”

  “I’m not going to be homeless,” Emma said. “I can live with Dean. He’s been asking for a while, and I was thinking about it anyway.”

  “Yeah?” Liv said, delighted.

  “Yeah. I thought I’d rent out my own place, keep it as an investment. But if that’s not in the cards, that’s OK.”

  “Oh, Emma.” Jenny sighed. “I hate this.”

  “No, it’s OK. Really. I mean, if I had a choice between keeping my apartment or keeping my life, which one do you think I’d rather hang on to?”

  “Yeah,” Kat said grudgingly. “But personally? I’d rather you kept both.”

  Emma laughed. “I know… but that’s not how this works.”

  “What does Dean say?” Liv asked.

  “He’s furious. I mean, beside himself fucking furious, since he didn’t want me to move in like this. But he’s going to talk to Dallas about me, since the lease between them is only for one person. If Dallas says it’s OK, I guess we’ll start the selling and moving process.”

  “Oh, my God.” Liv grinned. “We’ll be neighbors!”

  “I know,” Emma said. “We can meet up for chats on the front porch in the morning.”

  “No.” Liv shook her head. “That’s Dallas and Dean’s thing… I don’t want to interfere in that.”

  “What?” Jenny asked.

  “Yeah. The boys meet up most every morning for a chat over coffee. Dallas is on his porch, Dean’s on his, and they hang out in the pj’s and talk about who-knows-what.”

  “That’s actually kind of cute,” Kat said.

  “It is.” Emma giggled. “Some days, man, I’d love to be a fly on the wall.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Liv reached for another cookie, enjoying the fact that she didn’t feel even one bit guilty about it being her fourth one. The best part of not being a model any more was actually being able to eat again, and the other women watched with approval as she took a big bite, obviously loving her newfound freedom around food.

  “So – what?” Jenny said. “You’re really going to be OK with selling your home?”

  Emma gazed at her friend. “I’ll make a new home, honey. One with Dean.” She took Jenny’s hand. “This doesn’t have to be a horrible thing, you know.”

  “No, I guess not.” Jenny blinked away her tears. “You’re right.”

  “Speaking of making a home with a man,” Kat said. “How’s it going with Chris? He’s been there for two weeks now, right?”

  “Actually, not bad at all. I really like seeing him in the mornings before he goes to the gym, and I like knowing that someone’s coming home, you know?”

  “And the touching?” Emma asked gently.

  “Still just holding hands.” Jenny looked down. “I was thinking that I might almost be ready to try – to try him touching my face.”

  “That’s very intimate, hon,” Emma said. “You sure?”

  “No. But I want to give it a shot, anyway.”

  “OK.” Emma nodded. “You talked to Zoe about it?”

  “Yeah, yesterday.”

  “So… I hope you enjoy it, Jenny.” Liv’s dark eyes were serious. “Having a man touch you gently on your face is beautiful, really moving. I hope you can experience that again.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Jenny tried to look confident, but she was scared to death. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  **

  Chris glanced up when he heard the front door open and then close.

  “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  Jenny looked over at him, amazed. “Are you – cooking?”

  “Yeah.” He stirred the sauce. “Nothing fancy, and nothing that’ll impress you, Ms. Chef. But you’ve cooked for me since I moved in here, and all you do all day is cook for other people… I thought maybe you’d enjoy being fed, for a change.”

  “Oh, Chris. That’s so great. Thank you.”

  “Sure,” he said. “It’ll be about fifteen minutes, so if you want to get cleaned up and relax a bit, I can call you.”

  “Perfect.”

  Jenny stripped off her clothes, stretched a bit against the tightness in her shoulders. With a sigh, she stepped in to the shower and just stood there for a few minutes, letting the hot water wash away the stress and craziness of the day.

  When she washed her face, she suddenly noticed her hands on her skin. She ran her fingers across her forehead, her cheekbones, her chin. She touched her lips, then moved down her throat. She tried to imagine Chris’ fingers – strong, hard – tracing this path, and she shivered.

  Was that fear? Or something else?

  Emma was right: there was something incredibly intimate about asking Chris to touch her face. She knew he’d be gentle, careful. But still – it felt like crossing a major line of some kind. It felt like she’d be lowering a major protective barrier; she knew she’d have to show trust in him that she hadn’t had in anyone for a long, long time. Maybe even before the rapes.

  Jenny quickly towelled dry and put on some jeans and a loose blouse. She pulled her long hair back, and dug around until she found a nice thick pair of socks. Chris had lit the fireplace in the living room, but the wooden floors were still chilly sometimes.

  Chris was just draining the pasta when she came in to the kitchen. He grinned at her.

  “You look beautiful, Jenny. All pink and gold. Gorgeous.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Thank you.”

  He looked at her, happy that she had finally accepted a compliment without protest, or looking uncomfortable.

  Well, that’s a first. Maybe she’s starting to see herself the way that I do?

  They sat at the kitchen table, eating and talking. Chris regaled her with a story about the scary biker who’d shown up that day with a bullet hole in his bike, and Jenny told him a far tamer story about dropping an entire platter of raw fish in to the batter for a wedding cake.

  After, they washed the dishes, standing side-by-side at the sink, Jenny washing and Chris drying. Then they settled on to the sofa in front of the fire and Chris reached for the remote.

  “What do you want to watch tonight?
” he asked as he took her hand in his. “Your turn to choose.”

  “Um.” She cleared her throat. “Actually… I wanted to… to try something new. For you to – to touch me. Differently.”

  Chris looked up, totally alert. “OK. How?”

  “My – my face.” She blushed.

  Oh, my God. I’d love to touch her face… I’ve dreamed about it.

  “OK.” He took a deep breath. “Where exactly?”

  “I – I don’t know.” She thought about it for a minute. “Maybe just my cheek? One cheek?”

  “Alright, sweetheart.” He moved a bit closer, watching her closely. “You ready?”

  She nodded, trying to remember to breathe.

  Slowly, Chris reached out with his right hand and skimmed the tips of his fingers over her face. She froze, her breath catching.

  He dropped his hand. “Jenny?”

  “Yeah. I’m OK.”

  “OK.”

  He stroked her cheek again, applying a bit more pressure. She closed her eyes, trying to push down the anxiety. His fingers stilled, stayed in place. He waited. When she didn’t panic or pull away, he cupped the side of her face in his palm. He longed to run his thumb along her jaw and down her throat, but he didn’t budge. He just cradled her sweet face and hoped for the best.

  Jenny opened her eyes to see him gazing at her seriously and despite her fear, she smiled.

  “It’s OK, Chris.” She reached up and set her hand on top of his. “It feels good.”

  “Is this enough?” he asked softly. “Or do you want me to touch the other side too?”

  “No!” She recoiled at the thought of being trapped like that, of being held in place, hands gripping her face. Memory washed over her and she felt her breath coming faster, tighter.

  “OK,” he said, his voice soothing. “We don’t have to, baby. Only as much as you want, when you want. Right?”

  She nodded, trying to calm her breathing.

  They sat for a few minutes, Chris watching her struggle to stay where she was. She was shaking a bit, and her hands were clenched up in to fists. He stayed silent, knowing that she’d relax eventually. Finally, she lowered his hand away from her face and held on to it tightly.

  “I was wondering…” Her voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Can I – touch you?”

  His heart jumped. “Of course.”

  Jenny reached out and he closed his eyes when her cool hands cupped his face. She ran her fingers over his cheekbones, his jaw, his closed eyelids. She was delicate, gentle, her touch light as breaths. He fought to keep his hands on the sofa, but it was hell. All he wanted to do was pull her close.

  Jenny couldn’t believe how it felt to touch Chris. His skin was smooth, his stubble was rough, and she imagined how it would feel to have those two opposing sensations on her skin, on her lips. She thought it would feel good.

  Now she traced his full mouth, felt his warm breath against her fingers. His lips were slightly parted, and she slipped her index finger between them. His eyes opened now and she stared at the smoky gray heat in them. Something in her responded, and without even a thought about what she was doing, she pushed her finger in to his mouth, withdrew it, pushed it in again.

  Chris almost groaned. He longed to suck on her finger, and he struggled to stop himself from doing it. He stayed still, his huge body tense.

  Jenny felt heat moving through her body. It wasn’t fear or panic, though; this was a sticky heat, a slow, languid wave. It pulsed in her ears, and made her stomach tighten and curl. She was shocked to remember what this was.

  Oh, my God. This is arousal. I’m turned on.

  “Chris.” Her voice was hoarse.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Is this OK?”

  “For me it is. You?”

  She nodded. “Can you… suck on my finger?”

  He closed his eyes again, feeling his cock harden immediately.

  OK, stay calm. Careful now. Don’t scare her.

  Gently, he closed his lips around her fingertip, his tongue pressing against it slightly. She jolted but didn’t pull back. He parted his lips, released her finger, then sucked it back in again. His tongue darted out, circled her finger. She gasped.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “That feels so good.” She picked up his hand and placed it on her cheek again. “Touch me.”

  He stroked her cheek and sucked on her finger, his eyes holding hers. Her face was alight with pleasure and he felt emotion well up in his chest. She trusted him, and he was moved and amazed at her surrender to him.

  She’s so fucking beautiful. So sweet.

  Jenny felt breathless, in a good way for a change. Her body wanted to move closer to Chris’, but she held back, knowing that it was too soon. Instead, she stayed where she was, enjoying his touch. God, his hand was so tender – she couldn’t understand how those huge hands could touch her the way that they did. And his lips were perfect: warm and soft, teasing her and tantalizing her.

  I wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips? To be wrapped in those arms?

  That was when things changed. Chris knew it before she did – he saw it flash across her face – and he immediately dropped his hand. She yanked her finger out of his mouth and shoved herself back, away from him. He grasped her hands in his and held her in place.

  “Jenny. It’s OK, you’re OK.” His voice was low and gentle. “I’ve got you, and I’m not going to let go.”

  The panic attack hit then, hard. Her body shook wildly and tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed, trying to twist away from him. He held her tightly, and she fought him, everything in her wanting to get away, off the sofa, up the stairs, behind the locked bedroom door. She panted, unable to get anywhere near enough air.

  OK, man. Just make her feel safe. Just show her that you’re not going to hurt her. That’s all you can do; that’s what she needs the most right now.

  “Sweetheart, it’s me. You’re safe. Right here, baby. I’m right here.” Over and over again, he murmured comforting words, trying to stay calm himself as she gasped for breath and fell to pieces right in front of him.

  Minutes passed and her head started to ache from the lack of oxygen. Her chest hurt, her throat hurt. She hated this, hated being so afraid of a man’s touch, especially this man. But slowly, she regained control: her breath slowed, her shaking stopped. And when she came back to herself, she felt her hands in Chris’ and she almost started crying again at how good it felt.

  She looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Never, ever say that to me. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  She nodded.

  “You OK?”

  “Yeah.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m just tired now.”

  “I can imagine… it must be hard on your body.”

  “It is.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s exhausting when I have a panic attack.”

  “It’s OK now, Jenny. You got through it. You want to lie down?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood up then and she swung her feet on to the sofa. He grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and he handed it to her. She threw it over her body and curled up, her head on the sofa cushion. She exhaled, and his heart twisted to see how small and vulnerable she looked.

  “Sleep, baby. I’ll be right here.”

  Her eyes were already fluttering shut but she forced them open again. “Thank you, Chris.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For touching me. For letting me touch you. It felt good… at least for a while.”

  “For me too. We’ll work on it, OK?” He sat down in the armchair across from the sofa. “No rush.”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes closed. “No rush.”

  He sat and watched
her as she slept, marvelling at what had just happened between them: he’d looked in to those clear blue eyes and he’d seen the fire of arousal. That was when he knew that whatever she’d been through, she could still feel desire, and his relief was huge.

  You’re not broken, baby. Damaged, yeah, a bit beaten around. But broken beyond repair? No way. We’ll get there. I know it.

  Chapter Five

  “I want to tell you,” Jenny said. “What happened to me. I want you to know.”

  Chris looked up, totally shocked.

  Wow. This Saturday morning has taken an unexpected turn.

  “You do?” he asked cautiously.

  “Yes.” Her face was tight and pale, but she had a determined set to her lips and eyes. “I want you to understand. I want you to know why I panicked the other night.”

  He leaned back, his hand clutching his cup of coffee. “You can tell me as much as you want, or as little. I’m listening.”

  She nodded, took a deep breath. She fucking hated talking about this, and no matter how many times she’d been over it with Zoe – and they’d discussed it ad nauseam over the previous six years, to the point that it was almost like pushing ‘rewind’ and then ‘repeat’ – parts of it still made her physically weak and ill.

  Chris was feeling pretty weak and ill himself. He knew that she’d promised to tell him the whole horrible story, but he was sure it would be later, maybe when they were moving closer to the bedroom. The panic attack had clearly motivated her to say something, though, and so he held on and braced himself.

  Whatever it is, you can help her get past it.

  “It was six years ago this past summer,” she said. “I had worked late at the restaurant and I was walking out to my car. I never saw them coming… they hit me from behind.”

  “They?” Chris asked, his voice thick.

  Holy fuck… there was more than one guy who did this to her. I don’t want to hear this; I don’t want to hear this at all.

  “Yes.” She looked down at her hands. “There were four of them.”

  “Oh, my God. Jenny.”

  “I woke up tied to a bed. Blindfolded and naked.” She stopped. “One of them was inside me.”