All of Me: A Confessions of the Heart Stand-Alone Novel

by Jackson, A. L.

  Wow. I didn’t know whether to slap him or beg him to show me what that might be like.

  A shiver of warning that ran through my veins.

  “And what if that memory becomes a scar?”

  “How could I hurt when we both know, in the end, I won’t matter?”

  He twirled us around, and I didn’t know why, but my eyes peeled open at the second the opposite end of the massive room was directly in my line of sight.

  It just about knocked me onto my ass.

  What it did do was toss me right back into reality.

  My reality.

  To who I was and why I was there and exactly what I was fighting for.

  A gasp ripped from my lungs, and my already thrumming pulse shot into overdrive.

  Racing in fear and dread and hate.

  A hate I knew all too well when my sight hooked on the man chatting with another guy dressed in a tux over near the bank of windows that made up the far wall.

  My heart stopped beating. Or maybe it’d just crashed right out of my chest.

  Reed was there.

  Of course, he was there. Would I actually have thought he’d have missed an opportunity to toss around more of that bloated ego and his fake, shiny smiles?

  Could I be any more naïve?

  I stumbled back, trying to orient myself against the dizziness that swirled through my mind. To balance myself on the floor that was suddenly spinning.

  Oh, God.

  What was I doin’? What was I doin’?

  Dancing with a man out in public when Reed was set on tearing my life to shreds?

  My knees went weak, and the guy who I’d been about ten minutes from falling into bed with tried to hold me up. Confusion sliced across his gorgeous face as he struggled to catch up to what had sent me into a tailspin.

  “Are you okay?” he asked in that gruff voice that spun through my senses like a rough caress.

  Was I okay?

  No.

  Not even close.

  “What’s wrong? Need you to tell me what’s happening, right now.” His voice had shifted, his demeanor instantly protective with a sharp edge of menace slipping into his tone. The kind of menace I’d first recognized. That polished exterior dropping to expose the raw severity of the man underneath.

  I had no time to explain. No reason to give him. I didn’t even know his name.

  I twisted myself out of his arms, this man that I somehow knew was just as dangerous as the one standing across the room. Maybe in a different way, but my guts screamed that the feeling he’d awoken in me was only gonna destroy me if I let this go on any farther.

  So, I did what I should have done fifteen minutes ago.

  I ran.

  Three

  Ian

  I felt her go cold in my arms, her knees going weak and panic piercing her like a stake of a red-hot iron.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered, trying to keep the aggression that slammed me locked down.

  Last thing I needed to do was throw down in the middle of Charleston’s elite. Might be a bit of a detriment to my image for these people to get a good look at the seedy darkness that writhed inside me.

  Didn’t matter.

  My eyes were darting all over the place, searching for a threat while I tried to gather her closer, having the intense urge to wrap her up and whisper in her ear. Promise that it would be okay.

  Protect her.

  Shield her from whatever had just sent her spiraling. Without a doubt, it didn’t have a single thing to do with me.

  Nails clung to me like I was the only thing keeping her standing, and I swore those fingers in my shoulders were dragging me over the edge right along with her, directly into a fool’s game.

  She didn’t respond, and my voice gritted, a hard, vicious plea, “What’s wrong? Need you to tell me what’s happening, right now.”

  I couldn’t afford to do this.

  Slip.

  Stumble.

  Care or worry.

  Get involved when I had absolutely nothing to offer.

  The only thing I was looking for was a good time. A girl who wanted to get lost as desperately as I did. To fuck and forget.

  So, I sure as shit shouldn’t be showing concern. What was worse was that I wanted to show it in the first place.

  Hit with this overwhelming need to fight and defend.

  Thing was, I could physically feel a roll of terror crawl across her flesh like a disease. Maybe it was just the fact I was holding her in my arms while it was going down, but it was like I watched as demons slithered and scaled and scrambled over her before they jumped onto me, impaling me with steely claws and talons.

  They sank deeper than should be possible. Got under my skin where I couldn’t let her go.

  She just shook her head, this gorgeous girl ripping herself from my hold and pushing her way through the couples who continued to dance, completely oblivious to the roil of energy pounding through the air.

  She darted out the doors, that fabric of her skirt billowing behind her.

  My attention flew around the room, searching, seeing nothing amiss. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t sure everything was wrong.

  Like a fool, I chased her. I just . . . needed to make sure she was safe. See to it that the valet got her into her car and she drove away.

  Then I’d step back.

  Let her go.

  There was something about her that warned I had to.

  I pushed my way off the dancefloor and out the double-ballroom doors. Panting, my eyes scanned both directions.

  She was nowhere in sight.

  I moved for the elevators at the far end of the foyer. The doors were just slipping closed. That antsy feeling pulsed.

  “Fuck it.”

  Dressed in a goddamned tux, I skipped the elevators and hit the stairwell. My shoes pounded down ten flights of stairs.

  What was I doing?

  This was stupid.

  Goddamned stupid.

  I was sucking for air by the time I made it to the ground floor, but I pushed myself harder across the slick, shiny floor, over the golden designs stamped in the gleaming, smooth stone.

  I skidded as I came to the massive front doors. I dipped my head as the bellman held one side open for me.

  Cool air hit my face, the deepening night growing colder as the distinct feel of fall took hold of the air.

  I went straight for the valet station.

  No chance would she have had time for her car to be brought around. Apprehension tightened my chest when I didn’t see her standing there.

  I moved for the valet who was manning the station, the kid clearly getting a hard on for the Ferrari that just rolled to a stop in front of him. Doubted he was paying me much attention.

  “Did a woman just pick up her car? Tall. Beige dress? Blonde hair?”

  Sexy as fuck.

  Didn’t need to feed any extra images into the punk’s head.

  He frowned at me, clearly getting ready to dismiss me before I pulled out my wallet and handed him a hundred. He didn’t even hesitate to accept it.

  Prick.

  He gestured with his head behind me. “She went that way.”

  I flipped back around, heading that direction, increasing my pace with every step that I took. What the fuck was she doing, walking by herself in the middle of the night? Unease swept through, a tumble on the ground, inciting me to move faster.

  I rushed down the sidewalk that lined the maintained grounds of the hotel, along the perfectly hewn hedges, the old building sitting back under the protection of imposing trees.

  The entire place was lit in an ambience of wealth and affluence.

  I was nearly running by the time I made it to the corner where it intersected with a side road.

  Moonlight pooled like an oasis from above, painting the sky a milky glow, and it was my turn to feel like a prick when I rounded the corner and slammed right into a wall of the girl’s panic.

  The second she felt me, s
he raced across the street, her heels clicking on the choppy pavement as she ran.

  Running for her life.

  Sounds were jetting from her lungs, these tiny cries of desperation as she clung to her dress and tried to make it to a nondescript white sedan parked on the opposite side of the road.

  By itself.

  The area desolate and deserted.

  The girl was nothing but a sitting duck.

  I’d seen enough monsters lurking in dark corners to know this was a bad call.

  She knew it, too, because she pushed herself harder, like she felt a menacing presence slip in from behind.

  I was a second from grinding to a halt. Calling out to her like some kind of blathering fool that I was just checking to make sure she was okay and not some bastard who was there to hurt her.

  So yeah, I wanted to fuck her. But I’d never force a girl into doing what she didn’t want to do. Not once. Not ever.

  But it was already too late for that.

  The spike of her heel caught in a crack in the road, and I watched in helpless horror as the girl went flying. Body propelled forward, arms shooting out to try to stop herself from falling.

  A cry of pain struck the air when her knees and hands hit the hard, unforgiving ground. She skidded on the rough pavement, her dress tearing at the side. Her clutch slipped from her hold and sent the contents scattering across the ground.

  My body jolted back like I could feel the impact. For a beat, I froze before worry and concern hijacked my veins, and I rushed across the street toward her.

  She heard me coming, and she flew around, scrambling back, those blue, blue eyes going wide in fear.

  Those legs were bent at an odd angle, the thin material of her dress bunched up at her thighs, one shoe gone where it was stuck in the road.

  I was the sick fuck who thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

  A battered Cinderella.

  An angel with a broken halo.

  I pushed my hands out in front of me in a show of surrender, trying to carve my voice into the most placating sound I could find. Kind of hard to do when it was typically filled with bitterness and hate. “Hey . . . it’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  But I sure as fuck wanted to hurt the fucker that’d put that look on her face.

  She kept fumbling backward for a second before she heaved out in both shock and relief when she finally realized it was me, like she got that I wouldn’t touch her unless she really wanted me to.

  And fuck, I wanted to.

  That overpowering sensation hit me again, growing stronger with every inch that I took toward her. Urging me to wrap her up. Maybe rock her and soothe her and tell her everything was going to be okay like some kind of punk.

  Hell no.

  I needed to turn around and walk.

  Turn my back.

  Because this girl was making me have urges that were not okay.

  I would have, too, but that was right when she tried to choke back a sob. It erupted from her throat, her bloodied palms going to her face as she began to weep.

  Might be a dick, but there was no turning my back on that.

  She could be . . . hurt.

  I crossed the street, edging forward like I was approaching a wild, caged animal.

  There was no question in my mind the girl was close to coming unhinged.

  I could feel it, the helplessness that might cause her to snap seeping from her pores. Pooling on the ground around her like the blackest puddle of mud.

  Slowly kneeling in front of her, I pried her hands from her face. Blood was smeared across one cheek and down her chin. I pulled her palms toward me, searching the superficial scrapes that oozed red beneath the moonlight.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  It didn’t come out sounding like much of an apology, considering my teeth were clenched and my stomach was seething.

  One hundred percent on edge.

  Lust still blazed, and that crazy feeling of possession that left me itchy was making me feel like I was going to lose my goddamned mind.

  She turned her face away, shoulders heaving as she cried almost silently. Like she was trying to rein it in, pull it back, hide it behind the strength I could see radiating from her.

  Like she was ashamed to be seen that way.

  Broken down.

  Vulnerable.

  I took her by the chin, a gentle prod for her to look at me.

  And I tried to remember every reason I’d ever given myself not to get involved.

  How women couldn’t be trusted.

  Tried to remember the oath I’d made.

  But when she looked up at me with a river of mascara running down her cheeks, I fucking forgot everything.

  My mind. My sanity. My reason.

  “Hey. Are you okay? Tell me where you’re hurt. Let me help you.”

  What was I saying? Offering? But I didn’t know how to stop.

  Wide eyes stared back at me.

  Vast.

  Endless.

  A churning, icy sea.

  “I . . .”

  “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

  “I need . . . I need . . .”

  Confusion tumbled off her tongue before she was struck with panic again, and she jerked out of my hold, flipping around to get onto her hands and knees. She began to frantically scrounge around to collect her things, whimpers coming from her mouth as she did.

  Keys and a compact and lipstick that she shakily shoved back into the small bag.

  I grabbed her cell phone and a tin of mints and passed them to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  We shared a glance.

  A pass of agony in her eyes and something that felt like compassion coming from me.

  Good God. What was that?

  But it was there.

  I swallowed hard, my throat dry, everything so goddamned wrong. And the question was coming free without my permission. “What’s your name?”

  She stilled, her body trembling while that same awareness surged between us. Thick and deep and consuming. “Grace,” she whispered.

  “Grace,” I repeated, testing it on my tongue. I handed her a crinkled scrap of paper. “I’m sorry I scared you. I just needed to make sure you made it to your car okay. Couldn’t turn my back after the way you took off like that. Are you?”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. Apparently, that was the case.

  “Okay?” I prodded.

  A self-deprecating sound scraped up her throat, and she gave a harsh shake of her head. “No, I’m not okay.”

  She climbed onto her shaking feet. I followed, rising to my full height.

  Had to curl my damned hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and rub the smear of blood from her chin.

  I didn’t care.

  I didn’t care.

  Didn’t have the capacity.

  Hell, my caring only ever led to bad, bad things. The last thing she needed was some asshole like me getting into her business. Never turned out pretty.

  Still, I couldn’t keep from pressing her. “You seemed . . . upset back there.”

  “You could call it that,” she mumbled in something that was close to a drawl, something sweet and Southern and still modern.

  Guilt. It was a bitch. Hated feeling it. But somehow it was there, the idea that maybe I’d been responsible for this. This broken girl who somehow managed to glow beneath the moonlight.

  “Did I scare you? Out on the dancefloor . . . what I said?” And just because it was me, it still managed to come out sounding like a threat.

  The shake of her head was slow. “No,” she quietly admitted.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I was just reminded why I can’t do this.”

  “What, dance?” I tried to inject a little lightness into the mood when there was absolutely nothing about it that felt that way.

  She laughed a short, disbelieving sound, and she loo
ked directly at me, her voice stronger than I expected. “Pretend as if things don’t matter. You might be able to pretend as if you don’t matter. As if I don’t matter. As if the people who come into your life don’t matter, whether if it’s for a fleeting moment or for years.”

  Her delicate throat trembled. “But that isn’t me. People matter. A man touching me will always mean something, and you assuming that it doesn’t is a reminder that I deserve so much more than what you’re willing to offer. I’ve lost too much, but I have even more to lose.”

  Her words speared me like darts, chest going tight with more of that regret. To ask her what that meant. What she’d lost and how the fuck I could help her get it back. I struggled with what to say, to apologize, but I didn’t fucking know how to apologize for what had happened upstairs before she’d gone running.

  The energy that had blazed between us.

  Fire and heat and need. Even if she’d been able to ignore it, I wasn’t sure I was a strong enough man to do it. Because even with her standing there bloodied and scraped and bruised, I wanted to erase the space, push her against her car, get under that dress, and disappear.

  Hadn’t had a girl make me want her this way in a long, long time. Maybe not ever. The need urgent. A thrumming command that beat through my blood.

  She looked away, into the vacant distance toward the bay. A breeze rustled through the strands of her long blonde hair. It whipped around her like a disturbance that shivered across her skin. “I need to go. Coming here was a terrible idea.”

  “Yeah, and why’s that? Seems to me you were exactly where you should be,” I said, pushing more. Not wanting her to leave.

  Wondering how the fuck I might be able to keep her. Just for the night.

  She laughed a disbelieving sound. “And that right there is the exact reason I shouldn’t have come.”

  She started to hobble toward her car, one shoe on, the other foot still bare. Her dress was torn and shredded on one side and the fabric was dotted with blood from the cut on her knee.

  She was a mess.

  A gorgeous fucking mess.

  A disaster waiting to happen.

  She pressed the fob and the lights flashed.

  Panic welled up like the build of a surprise storm.

  Coming from out of nowhere.