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

by Jackson, A. L.

  “So, that was your best friend, huh?”

  “Yup,” I told her.

  “Not your enemy?” There was a bit of a laugh that came out with her question.

  I shook my head, letting a smile pull to my face. “Let’s just say he can be a little . . . overbearing.”

  What I really meant was he loved having his nose up in everyone’s business. I’d been made to be an attorney, and the dude had been made to be a detective.

  “Frenemy?” she tossed out with an arch of her brow.

  Light laughter rumbled. “Something like that.”

  Though that wasn’t really true. He was my closest ally. The one I could trust, or turn to for absolutely anything. It also meant I could count on him to give me the most shit.

  “I like him,” she said, casting me a soft glance. As if she was adding a checkmark of reasons to be impressed.

  “He’s the best guy I know. Him and my brother. Both of them would do absolutely anything for me, and I’d return that favor in a heartbeat.”

  There was no stopping the bit of honesty that came riding out. This girl getting deeper. Every second, coming closer.

  The elevator sped, sweeping us to the top floor, me watching the girl as we went.

  Her spirit and scent all around me.

  Closed in.

  If I thought she’d been driving me mad before, I didn’t know what hit me when I was caged in with her in that tiny space.

  The girl so fucking pretty.

  So soft.

  So right.

  The demon was itching to come out and play.

  It was almost relief I felt when we landed at the top floor. We stepped off into the posh foyer, the clatter of dishes and glasses and laughter echoing from the restaurant beyond.

  I set my hand on the small of her back.

  Shivers.

  Fire.

  Hers or mine, mine or hers.

  I wasn’t sure.

  Maybe both.

  Only thing I knew was that intense connection lit with the mere brush of a hand.

  I pressed my nose to her neck and ran it up behind her ear, inhaling that lust-inducing scent.

  Lace and desire.

  The juiciest, sweetest plum.

  Content thrummed through my chest.

  I had the crazy urge to eat her all day long and then maybe snuggle up with her afterward.

  That was right when I got to worrying that was exactly how addictions were started.

  Twelve

  Grace

  The hostess led us out the side door and onto the rooftop patio. The fire in a gas firepit whipped and lapped into the dusky shadows, the heavens growing the deepest gray as swashes of fading color crawled across the sky.

  A few other couples were dotted around, tucked into the private alcoves of couches and low tables.

  There was a view of the city on one side up against the stunning expanse of the darkened bay on the other.

  I hugged Ian’s arm. “No wonder this is your favorite restaurant.”

  “Wait until you taste the food.”

  His nose kept dipping to my neck, inhaling deeply, and I shivered with the thought that what the man really wanted to get a taste of was me.

  I understood the impulse. The compulsion that shimmered and shook through the twilight. This feeling that came to life every time the man stood at my side.

  We were seated in one of the private nooks with a horseshoe-shaped couch. Ian and I sat opposite of one another. Flames licked out from the small fire at the center of our table, jumping and tossing and playing in the air.

  Adding to the heat.

  I pressed my thighs together.

  Not having the first clue what I was going to do with this man.

  The hostess handed us each a menu. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  She walked away, and Ian slung himself back against the cushions, one arm draped over the back. The man was so casual and powerful sitting there staring at me with the flames casting shadows across his face.

  I didn’t think I’d ever seen a more deliciously seductive man.

  He watched me with those intriguing eyes, those cinnamon hues a dance of disorder in the jumping light.

  “You are stunning. Do you have any idea?” His voice was so low it was close to a growl.

  I felt my heart nearly leap across the space where I was sure it would land right at his feet.

  My tongue darted out to wet my lips, my voice low and filled with all the things he’d brought to the surface. “The first time I looked over at you standing at the bar, I thought I had to be hallucinating. I thought you had to be nothing but a figment of my imagination, and my mind was sending me a gift to get me through a horrible night.”

  He cocked one of those grins. The one that touched me from across the distance and made that fluttery feeling flap and rise.

  His long fingers picked at the back cushion on the plush couch, as if they were itching to jump in and play a part. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me, Grace.”

  “No?” I was kind of surprised I was actually flirting. It was as if Ian reached in and plucked something from the depths of me. Something that had been lying in wait, desperate for release.

  I ran my hands over my arms, covered in chills of need, realizing right then how much I wanted to find that with him.

  In him.

  But he was right . . . I was terrified I was never going to be the same if I let him have his way with me.

  I knew it’d be a little wicked.

  A little wild.

  I knew it’d require completely letting go.

  “Not unless you want me to haul you onto my lap.”

  He leaned forward, voice a billow across the space. “I’ve had to temper myself since the second I saw you. I’ve always been a man who goes after what I want, and I don’t think you have the first clue how much I want you. Right now. This second. I warned you I was an in-the-moment kind of guy.”

  I should be scared.

  I knew it.

  I saw it in the way he was watching me. As if he were half deranged. Hovering on a heartbeat before he went in for the kill.

  Sitting back, I tried to see through all the attraction that blazed between us, to the man who I knew was right there, waiting underneath.

  “Are you, though? It seems to me that there is a lot more to you than you’re letting on.”

  He chuckled out a raw sound full of uncertainty and self-deprecation.

  “Believe me . . . all the things I’m not letting on, you don’t want to see.”

  “And what’s so bad about them?” I asked, inclining forward. Needing to get closer. This man who was so rough and raw and somehow intrinsically sweet. There was something good stitched into all that hardness.

  I could see it.

  Feel it.

  He mimicked my movement, edging closer, filling the space as the darkness continued to fall around us.

  I got the sense that neither of us could help it.

  Stop it.

  Resist whatever it was that drew us across the flames.

  He edged my way, his hand on the couch as he scooted a bit to the inside of the horseshoe, angling in my direction.

  A tremor of need slipped through me.

  That seemed to be the only invitation he needed to slide the rest of the way over. Then he was right there, leaning in, his mouth a brush at the edge of mine as he issued the word, “Everything.”

  He brushed back a lock of hair at the side of my face, his mouth taking its spot, the heat of his lips caressing across my skin. “I’m the devil.”

  There was no lightness in it.

  No playful caress.

  It was bitter and hard and ugly.

  This was the guy who’d first propositioned me at the bar that night. The one who’d outright warned that the only thing he wanted was to use me, fine with the idea of someone using him.

  But I was coming to the quick realization that guy was really the illusion. A mas
k that wasn’t real. Bred for cover and protection.

  “I don’t believe you,” I whispered.

  Because I’d already seen it—something good. A flash of vulnerability.

  He leaned in closer, sliding his hand across the fabric until our fingertips were touching. “You should.”

  I gulped and pushed out the words, barely heard as they fell from my tongue, “And what about the guy who asked me for a chance? For someone to believe in him? The guy who wants to be worth it?”

  Ian angled his head, his voice the rasp of a murmur across my cheek. “He’s praying you won’t hate him when you really get to know him.”

  His breaths came out in pants, mingling with mine.

  It was crazy, the way sensation went streaking through my body.

  My nerves alive.

  I felt as if I hadn’t been able to breathe for a long, long time.

  And suddenly, I felt as if my lungs were expanding. Filling full. Saturated with his presence.

  Taking a chance, I let my fingertips trail across his plush lips. “We all have secrets, Ian. Mistakes that we’ve made. We all have reasons not to step out and take the chance. But just the fact that you’re sitting here reveals the part of you who wants to be better. The guy who wants something more. Because I don’t believe for a second that you don’t have anything to offer. That there is anything cruel about you. I think you’re just scared.”

  I realized it right then . . . that’s what I’d seen beneath that harsh, brazen exterior.

  “You think you know all that from the few times that we’ve talked?” It was a hard, savage defense.

  I inhaled, my heart a clatter in my chest, affection coming on fast. Just the way I knew that it would. So quick to get attached.

  Craving the feeling he incited.

  The feeling as if I could maybe be important. Something more than waste. And I was certain he needed to know he was important, too.

  I could feel my fractured heart splintering a little more, opening up to make him room.

  “I see you . . . looking so flashy in your expensive suit. So proud. Covering something broken inside.”

  I touched the tattoo that peeked out from the cuff on his wrist, as if the design were dripping sorrow, mourning for something unseen.

  The demon.

  And I wondered what could have possibly gone so wrong in his life that he’d ever think himself evil.

  I was overcome by the urge to peel back his shirt, push it from his shoulders, explore and discover.

  “Am I wrong?” I pushed.

  His thick throat rolled. “No.” He fiddled with a piece of my hair. “No, Angel Girl, you’re not. Maybe that’s what scares me the most.”

  His teeth gritted. “But it’s those broken parts you recognize inside me that make me who I am. They are what make me cruel. I learned as a little boy that the only person I could look out for was myself. Learned it was the only way to survive. I’ve done horrible things, Grace.”

  Shame passed across his face, and his voice dipped, churning with grief. “Things that haunt me. And still, I know at the root of me, that I will continue to do whatever it takes to survive. I look out for myself. The only people who get any part of me, who hold any part of my heart, are my brother and his family and Mack. That’s it. They are the only people I know I can rely on. They’re the only people I have space for. The only people I can trust.”

  If it was possible, he got closer.

  Winding and winding. Drawing me in.

  “And then there’s you. This girl who I don’t even know who I feel like I might fight to the death to keep.”

  Tears gathered in my eyes.

  Why was I close to crying?

  But sometimes we all needed to be held. Supported. Fought for. I let my fingertips run down the side of his gorgeous face. “And what if you don’t like the parts of me that you don’t know?”

  He gripped my hand, his lips to my knuckles, kissing them softly.

  I sucked in a breath, so close to coming undone right there.

  “I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would make me unwant you.”

  There was the threat of a smile.

  A hint of seduction.

  Hell, there was an avalanche of it. Knocking me right off my feet. Apparently, the boy was a pro at that.

  “I’m sorry for the wait. Are you ready to order, or would you like me to start you off with something to drink?” We both jumped when the server’s voice hit us from the side.

  Ian cleared his throat and glanced at me. “Share a bottle of wine with me?”

  “Yeah, that would be nice.”

  This time, she returned quickly, and Ian poured us each a glass.

  Lifting his, he clinked it to mine. “To misplaced slippers.”

  He let one of those wicked grins ride to his lush mouth, and I felt a blush rushing to my face. “That was probably the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Shifting to sit a little to the side, he watched me, his expression soft. “Is it wrong that I’m not feeling so sorry that you fell?”

  I took a sip of my wine. “I’m having a hard time feeling sorry that I did, either.”

  He reached out, a finger running the angle of my jaw.

  Tingles spread. So fast. So hot.

  It was a little terrifying the draw this man held over me.

  “I still have that shoe.”

  My head jerked back an inch. “You do?”

  Amusement played across his features. “I figured I’d keep it as a memento from an unforgettable night.”

  I chewed at the inside of my cheek, warmth slipping through every inch of my body.

  There was something about him that made me feel that way.

  Comfortable and safe.

  Like maybe he really would fight to the death for me.

  “Tell me you don’t have some kind of weird shoe fetish?” I teased.

  Laughter rumbled in his massive chest, and one of those wicked smirks climbed to his mouth. “I wouldn’t go so far to call it a fetish, but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to see you wearing those shoes again.”

  He leaned in, words spiraling through the middle of me. “Wearing nothing else but me.”

  My skin felt sticky and hot, and my belly did a tumble and flip.

  Needy breaths pulled from my lungs, and he was back to searching me, fingers playing casually in a lock of my hair.

  But there was nothing casual about the way his tone shifted. “What were you doing there that night?”

  I looked at him, hoping he’d understand. “I was taking a chance, Ian. I was stepping out and taking a chance. Praying someone might see me. Might listen. And when I looked up, what I found was you.”

  Cinnamon eyes flashed.

  A shockwave of need.

  Heat blistering across my flesh.

  He might as well have tossed me into that fire.

  Because flames lapped, burning up my insides.

  One of those big hands landed on my neck, trailing south, gripping at my waist. He breathed out, a plea of words that he whispered at my mouth. “Just dinner isn’t going to work for me, Grace. Not when there’s so much more to you. So much of you waiting to be discovered.”

  “You make me feel like I’m standing at the edge of something brilliant. Something significant,” I confessed in a twined rasp of words. “You make me feel something . . . want something that I don’t think I’ve ever wanted in all my life. Something I’m not sure I even understand.”

  Ian set his wine aside, took my glass, and did the same. He stood, a tower of shadows that lapped over me. He took out his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and trapped it under one of the stems.

  Then he reached out his hand. “Let me show you.”

  Thirteen

  Grace

  I stood anxiously facing the double-doors in the foyer on the top floor of the new building just two blocks over from where we hadn’t gotten aro
und to just dinner. There were only two condos on this floor, and Ian had punched a code into the elevator to gain us access.

  Standing behind me, he snaked an arm around my side and slipped a key into the lock. His big body was at my back. Covering me like a shroud.

  Nerves rustled through my body, making me shake.

  Was I really doing this? It was so unlike me. So far removed from who I was. But I didn’t know how to stop from following this man.

  Enthralled.

  Spellbound.

  The lock clicked, and one side of the door swung open. A murky darkness billowed out from within, his condo darkened, the rambling space only illuminated by a long row of windows at the far end of the open living room.

  It overlooked the bay, the view beyond a hazy glow of moonlight and glitters of sparkling city lights.

  I took a tentative step forward, my gaze jumping around his home as if it might give me a clue into the man.

  From behind, he edged forward and shut the door. The lock clicked back into place.

  It resounded around the expansive room that was so sparsely furnished you’d think you’d just stepped into a sales model that had never been lived in.

  Everything was perfectly in place.

  A designer sofa that faced a television on a designer stand. A white marble table set for ten that gave the impression that it’d never been used. An immaculate kitchen that I doubted had ever seen a dirty dish.

  As if he thrived on control.

  Ian stepped forward and plastered his chest to my back, his head dipping down and his nose digging through the strands of my hair to find the sensitive flesh of my neck. A big arm looped around my waist and tugged me firmly against all that hard, hard man.

  Rigid muscles and massive, rock-hard cock that prodded at the small of my back.

  A threat.

  A promise.

  A shiver rolled through every inch of my body, and a trembling breath left my lungs. I gulped around the knot of desire that climbed my throat, nerves of uncertainty only amplifying the sensation, fear and need and a desperation unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.