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

by Jackson, A. L.

  Kids were on my no-go list.

  Out of fucking bounds.

  But goddamn it if that little girl hadn’t wound her way right into that dark, dark place inside me, a flash of light and warmth skating through my senses every time she was in my space.

  Which kind of scared the fuck out of me.

  I wasn’t joking when I said my brother was brave. Being a parent had to be about the scariest shit a person could endure.

  I turned my attention to my brother, who was wearing the damned smuggest grin I’d ever seen, brows lifting for the sky. “Dog, huh?”

  “What?” he defended with a chuckle.

  “I wike dogs,” Bailey sang in her cute little drawl, like she was confused by the irritation in my voice and I should have taken the dig as a compliment.

  “Well, that’s good because I like you, too,” I told her, sucked in a little deeper.

  “See, Daddy. Uncle Ian is a good dog.” She was looking up at her dad, smiling a wide smile, like she was hoping to convince him of it.

  My eyes met Jace’s. “You’re in so much trouble when I see you, brother.” I let brother linger like a dirty word.

  The guy had the audacity to laugh. “What, are you going to deny it now?”

  “No. I just didn’t know my lifestyle was a topic of conversation in your house.”

  “What? We worry about you.” His voice lost some of the amusement. “Want the best in life for you. Everyone deserves that.”

  The number of times he’d taken me aside to talk with me about what I was doing, how I was living, had grown exponentially since he’d permanently moved back to South Carolina. Like I was still that pathetic kid he had to protect and feed and go to bat for.

  I pushed out a sigh. “There’s nothing to worry about. Life is as good as it’s going to get. Better than ever. I have an awesome pad I know even you are jealous of. I’m about to make partner. Have a corner office to die for and a bank account overflowing with zeros. What more could I ask for?”

  “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” Jace said.

  “You sure about that?”

  He glanced down at his kids. “Positive.”

  “Money buys all the dolls, Uncle, but yous got to do chores first.” This from Bailey, grinning again with a mouthful of teeth.

  The kid pulled a soft roll of affectionate laughter right out of my chest. Kind of wanted to scoop her up and squeeze her for interrupting the direction my brother was heading. “You need more dolls? Don’t you already have a room full of them?”

  “A girl can never has too many dolls. Just like mommies can never has too many shoes.” She was looking at me like she was worried I didn’t know anything and she was affording me some worldly wisdom that I was lacking.

  Apparently so.

  “Well, then, I’ll have to keep that in mind. Someone’s birthday is coming up fast.”

  “Mine!” she screeched, pure unadulterated excitement. God, the kid was cute.

  Her little brother kicked and let go of a shrill cry so loud I didn’t know how it didn’t bring down the walls of their old house.

  His little legs thrashing.

  His foot caught Bailey on the shoulder.

  Another kid would cry.

  But Bailey?

  She laughed this laugh that was nothing but love, reaching out and grabbing him by the foot, swinging it around a bit. “Dids you see that, Uncle Ian? My brover just kicked me with his wittle toes. He’s so cute. Do you think he’s cute? I got the best brover in the world.”

  “Yeah, I definitely think he’s cute.”

  The two of them were about as cute as I could stand. Too cute. Too sweet. Too innocent.

  I scrubbed an uneasy palm over my face, pulling myself back before she had me hooked any deeper. Wrapped tighter around her little finger. I turned my attention back to Jace, who was watching me like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  He just didn’t know how deep and ugly and depraved it got.

  It was the one thing I’d never let him in on. What I’d done.

  He’d hate me if he did.

  Apparently, he had witnessed me spiral because he cleared his throat, snapping me back to the here and now. Shifting Benton, he bounced him more, trying to keep him happy. “Listen, I actually called for a reason. I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything.”

  That was something he could count on.

  “There’s a building that’s going up for auction downtown. Faith has her hands full today, so I want to stick around. Do you think you could go down and check it out for me this afternoon? Take a couple of pictures and send them over?”

  “No problem. Text me the address. I’ll go by. I was actually getting ready to head out.”

  I had one stop to make beforehand.

  “That’d be great. I’d really appreciate it.” His tone shifted, a quiet, prodding push. “And if you want in, this one would be a good opportunity.”

  I sighed. I knew Jace somehow thought he was helping me out. Inviting me in.

  But he’d taken care of me my whole life.

  Neither him nor anyone else would be responsible for my success. That was on me.

  “Nah, man. I have enough going on here to keep me busy for the next fifty-two years.”

  “You know the offer stands . . . if and when that ever changes.”

  “Thanks.” I straightened, flipped the file on my desk shut because there was no chance I was getting back to that shit, and started to gather my things. “I’ll text you as soon as I go by.”

  “Bye, Uncle Ian!” Bailey sang.

  “Bye, Button.”

  I ended the call, sighed, patted my pocket for that damned wallet and bracelet.

  Felt a sizzle burn through my blood, tried to tamp it, keep it contained.

  It doesn’t matter.

  I strode out my office door, intent on scraping her from where she’d managed to get under my skin. Slithering in and curling up without my permission.

  Making me worry.

  Worrying about a stranger was one thing I couldn’t do.

  No matter how fucking sexy she was.

  No matter how badly I’d wanted to carve out a place for myself between her thighs.

  That’s all that it was. That was all that it was ever gonna be.

  For once in my life, I was going to do something nice, something that didn’t require payment or retribution or a favor, and then I was going to let her be.

  I rode the elevator down to the busy street. Crowds battled to get from one place to the next, the sidewalk always a clusterfuck of chaos in the late afternoon.

  I headed in the direction of the address listed on the business card I’d found in the wallet, ignoring her driver’s license, figuring checking out the info on that would be stepping out of bounds.

  Creeper mode.

  Not exactly my style.

  The address on the card was three blocks over.

  Dodging the masses, I ambled that way, ignoring the rumble in my chest. The way my heart beat a little too hard, and the way my dick felt a little too excited.

  Not good.

  That lust still simmered. Unsated. Waiting to make its claim.

  But then I remembered the look on her face when she’d been weeping on the hard ground. That was something impossible to forget. The storm in those blue, blue eyes. That was the kind of raging sea that shouldn’t be traversed.

  Five minutes later, I stood in front of the three-story building. It was painted a yellow that was supposed to make it look cheery or some shit, the door and awnings a sky blue.

  Quaint and homey like the rest of the buildings on this street.

  Greed and curiosity flared.

  When I pushed open the door, a bell jingled overhead, and I stepped into the small hair salon. Senses overloaded, I was hit with the pungent scent of hair dye and bleach, ears hammered with the sound of hair dryers and the lift of voices to be heard over the din.

  All the commotion was c
oming from behind the partition wall that sectioned off the waiting room and the stations in the back.

  The waiting room was completely empty, so I moved to the counter that took up the majority of the front, the wall behind it lined with shelves filled with products.

  I leaned around to the left so I could see through the opening on that side.

  In the back, four stations were set up on each side of the salon. A few women were sitting at them.

  I angled farther, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

  I pasted on a smile when a woman came barreling around the corner. Magenta hair and tattoos covering every exposed inch of her body and wearing clothes more fitting for a night club in LA than a business in Charleston. But whatever.

  At least she didn’t have to wear a mask the way I did. Conceal what was really hiding underneath.

  “Hey there, handsome, sorry about that, I was tied up in the back. How can I help you?”

  I shifted, antsy, not sure what to say. “I’m looking for . . . someone.”

  Blonde. Gorgeous. Sexy as fuck.

  Have you seen her?

  Like she picked up on something ulterior in my tone, she arched a questioning brow, the stud in her lip pulling up at one side.

  “Is that so?” She looked me up and down, gauging me.

  Protector.

  I saw it written all over her.

  “And just who is it that you’re lookin’ for?” She was tiny, but the girl so clearly packed a punch.

  “Grace?” It came out like a question. Because, shit, I had no idea if she worked there or owned the place or merely had the card tucked in her wallet because that was where she got that river of hair done.

  If so, they were doing a damned good job.

  Like that was answer enough for her, she moved to the computer, muttering, “She is earning herself quite the reputation around here. People have been flocking in, asking for her. She’s pretty booked for the rest of the day, but I can . . .”

  She narrowed her eyes as she squinted at the computer screen. “I think she could squeeze you in really quick before her next appointment. Just a trim? If that’s what you were lookin’ for?”

  She glanced up at me wearing more of that speculation, voice twisting on the last, wondering how I was going to answer. Keen to the fact I wasn’t looking for a haircut at all.

  I should hand over the wallet and run. Get the hell out of there like I’d planned on doing. But I needed to see her. Verify that she was okay. “Yes, just a trim.”

  “Perfect. She’ll do you up good.” The girl winked at me.

  I wished.

  “Right this way.”

  Slipping out from behind the counter, she rounded through the opening on the left, and I followed her, feeling another rush of sensation slam me when I sat down on the chair that she gestured to.

  Antsy and needy and dark.

  Fuck.

  What was I doing? Whatever it was, I didn’t want to stop.

  “She’ll be right with you.”

  The girl headed to a short hall at the back of the salon, and she leaned into a room that I couldn’t see inside of, though I could hear their voices. “Hey, Grace, you have a walk in. Just a trim. You should be good on time.”

  “Oh, good, thank you, Melissa.”

  “No problem.”

  Grace’s voice was deep. Sultry like a Southern summer. It instantly stirred that same feeling I’d felt on Saturday night. Energy and light.

  And my body that hadn’t stopped wanting something it shouldn’t have only fired harder. My muscles tightened, and my dick—the bastard that I was pretty sure had talked me into this shit in the first place—was punching against my dress pants.

  Painfully.

  Need racing my blood, guts twisting up in knots, lust stalking my spine like a caged lion seeking a way out.

  What messed with my head was the way I was hit with another swell of that protectiveness when I saw her round the corner and step into the salon.

  A river of blonde and a sea of sadness in those teal eyes.

  My heart shook at my ribs when she saw me sitting there.

  Energy lapped, so fucking intense I swore I could see a shiver of it racing the floor.

  I should have known better than to come here.

  I’d felt the tremble of it. The warning of something unknown. Of something I couldn’t afford to get involved in.

  It didn’t matter.

  Because sitting there?

  I knew it was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  Six

  Grace

  I froze in the middle of the salon. Just staring. Heart taking off at a sprint and my mind whirring with all the possibilities of how it was possible that man was sitting there.

  Cinnamon-colored eyes pinned me to the spot.

  Hot, hard need coming off him in blistering waves.

  I swore I had to be chained up to something solid.

  Shackled.

  Unable to move.

  He watched me through the mirror, the ridiculously gorgeous man from Saturday night.

  The guy who’d been trying to entice me with the most wicked night of pleasure who’d instead had knelt on the hard ground at my side and helped me gather my things. The man who was so rough and raw and dangerous and somehow unbearably soft.

  The way he’d watched me as if I were fragile—as if he wanted to save me and then turn around and break me a little, too.

  His striking reflection was captured in the reflective glass.

  So menacing and ominous and intense that it about dropped me to my knees.

  A shiver of fear crawled into my belly.

  A different kind of fear from the one I’d felt at the thought of facing down Reed.

  This kind of fear had me taking a step in his direction. Drawn toward the darkness, a prisoner to the tethers I could feel wrapping around my wrists and yanking me forward.

  Tug, tug, tug.

  Right there in my belly and in my heart.

  How had he found me?

  Better question, why had he found me?

  Knowing it was dangerous that he had. I just didn’t know who it was most dangerous for.

  Lifting my chin, I edged up behind him, trying to exude as much confidence as I could, trying to pretend as if him just sitting there didn’t threaten the rise of tears back to my eyes. The way I both wanted to thank him for what he’d done and scream at him to run.

  Tell him I couldn’t afford for him to get tangled up in my business, sure that a man like him would never be willing to pay the price, anyway.

  What I really was aching to do was walk up behind him and press my nose to the skin exposed at his neck.

  Inhale and breathe him in.

  Feel him under my hands.

  Decide if he was real or a hallucination my mind had conjured.

  I couldn’t help it that every time I closed my eyes over the last two days, he’d popped into my mind, haunting me with the tease of a memory, adding to all the mayhem that was already wreaking havoc on my insides.

  Today he was wearing suit pants and a pin-striped white button down, the jacket gone, sleeves rolled up to reveal curls of ink covering both of his forearms.

  My mouth watered, and my stomach clenched. Maybe I really had let my imagination run a little too wild. Because I felt like all those fantasies were catching up.

  Taking hold.

  A reality I most definitely could not keep.

  He appeared every bit as powerful as Saturday night. Maybe more so. As if second by second, the man continued to gain the upper hand.

  For a moment, my eyes got trapped there, on the dark designs etched into his skin, hewn like shadows and mist, as if they might be a hazy screen previewing what was written on the inside of the man.

  Scored and scarred and marked.

  I had the sudden urge to run my fingers over them, trace the swirls of suggestion standing out in stark contrast to his strait-laced exterior.

  Di
scover what they meant.

  The man a riddle.

  Then I shook myself out of the stupor.

  Come on. This guy had just waltzed in off the street. From out of nowhere. And was sitting in my chair. That had to be wrong on a hundred different levels.

  Yet, he didn’t give off the creeper vibe, even though I was sufficiently spun up by his presence.

  This was different.

  I knew it.

  Was pretty sure he knew it, too.

  Energy lapped in the space between us.

  The same from Saturday night.

  Though it was slowed. Weighed down by the questions that were clearly playing out in our minds. His coming to life in the sparks that glowed like a toss of red glitter in his cinnamon-colored eyes, mine in the way my lips parted with the concern that he’d sought me out.

  “What are you doing here?” I finally managed, the words trembling even after I told them not to.

  Traitor lips.

  The man hiked an indifferent shoulder, and one of those hazardous smirks lit his face, the kind of smirk that flamed my insides and fanned the attraction that rippled through the air, so hot and heavy I could feel it crawling across my skin.

  What was wrong with me?

  But that was the thing about attraction. You couldn’t control who you were attracted to, how sudden and intense it might be. Whether it smoldered and grew or hit you like a ball flying out of left field.

  You could only be wise enough not to act on it when you knew it was gonna be bad for you in the end.

  I guessed I’d never been so good at heeding that.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? Getting a haircut,” he said as if he’d sat in my chair a hundred times before. So damned casual, as if it were just another day. As if he hadn’t stirred something up in me that shouldn’t have been possible two nights ago.

  My brow pinched, pulse pounding fast, and I struggled for some kind of self-control. To bring up some walls of security and protection.

  No doubt, it was a horrible, horrible time to leave my heart so unprotected. “So, you just happened to stumble into my salon after Saturday night? Seems awful convenient to me.”

  “Call it fate.” Another one of those smirks.