by Remy Rose
I turn to face him. I’ve never seen him angry—there is a wildness about him that’s disconcerting. And sexy as hell.
“This hasn’t exactly been a cake walk for me, you know.” He’s glowering.
“Really? I thought you were ‘fine.’”
His mouth opens as if he’s going to shout at me, but all that comes out is an unintelligible growl. He shakes his head in frustration, raking a hand roughly through his hair so that it’s back to looking untamed.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to the gala, Jack.”
“I could have said no.”
“You’re probably wishing you did.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth, Madeline. This isn’t all your doing. If I hadn’t gotten involved with you, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
For some reason, I find that word offensive. “Situation? Is that what we are? A goddamned situation?”
The tears come then. I feel like crumpling into a pathetic heap on my kitchen floor, me and my tear-stained, chocolate-stained dress. “Just get out. Please leave, Jack. Go be fine somewhere.”
I can’t stand it anymore. I hate having him see me like this. I turn away, practically running toward the living room when I’m grabbed from behind.
“Madeline...don’t. Please don’t.” He spins me around, clutching my shoulders, his face blazing with anguish.
“This is so stupid, Jack.” I’m sobbing. “So fucking stupid.” I put my hands on his chest, try to push him away, but his grip is tight. “Let go of me.”
“You don’t want that.”
His voice has changed, thickened. Through a teary haze, I can see that his eyes have changed, too. They’re burning, but not with anger or concern. “You want me to fuck you.”
He drops his hands to my waist, pulling me against the growing hardness in his pants. It’s as if he is electricity and I’m the wire, helpless to do anything but take what he gives me. It doesn’t matter that he’s arrogant, or that I hate both of us, or that my tears have ruined what was a damned good make-up job...all that matters at this moment is that he wants me, and I want him, and we’re going to do something about it.
But there is still the matter of my pride. “I don’t want anything from you,” I choke out, trying to ignore the surge of wetness between my legs. “Not one thing.”
“Bullshit,” he says softly, smiling, and bends down to crush my mouth with his own. He kisses me, drinking me in like he has this insatiable thirst, with lips that are both strong and soft. Oh, God! How I have missed his mouth, and everything attached to it.
The truth in me escapes in a low moan. His hands go to the back of my gown, and I feel his fingers working to undo the clasp. He’s breathing hard against my mouth, his tongue probing mine, and then he pulls back to mutter, “Jesus, Callaway...you fucking rocked this dress tonight, but right now, I just want it off you.”
Hastily, I reach my own hands behind my back to unhook. He slides the zipper down, and I step out of my dress so I’m only in my push-up bra, panties and heels, my bare skin and anticipation making me shiver.
Jack wrestles off his coat, unbuttons his shirt to reveal those chiseled pecs and abs. I have missed those, too. There is a thin sheen of sweat on his chest and impulsively, I press my nose against him, loving the clean, masculine scent of his skin.
His voice is low, gravelly, full of desire as he spins me around, bends me over the back of the couch and presses his now rock-hard bulge against my ass. “I wanted to fuck you the second I saw you tonight. And you wanted that, too. Didn’t you?”
I can barely breathe. “Yes,” I whisper.
“I’ve got to fuck you now, Madeline. Got to fuck you hard.”
My Christ. I am drenched—a helpless, hopeless pool of arousal. I couldn’t get away from him even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. Ever.
His hand goes to the back of my neck, twisting my hair around his fingers and holding firmly. I feel him yank down my panties, and the flesh on my bare bottom prickles with the cool air. His fingers curve under my mound, lightly tickling my clit and then pushing inside my vagina. He expels a sound that’s a perfect blend of sigh and groan. “Jesus...you’re fucking soaked.”
I feel his hard, smooth head poking against my wet opening. His hard, smooth, bare head. I tense up for a second. We’ve never done it unprotected before.
“Madeline...I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t know we’d...God, I just want you so bad. I’ll pull out, I promise.” His voice is ragged, raw.
I’m a few days away from my period, so I don’t worry about pregnancy. And I trust him. “It’s okay.” I can hardly breathe. “I just want you. Please, please just fuck me, Jack.”
I spread my legs and he groans again, tightening his grip on my hair. Grunting, he slides his bare cock into me. I gasp. He feels so big, so hard, so good.
“Take it, sweetheart,” he’s groaning. “Take all of it.”
And I do. I open my legs wider as he fucks me, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper as though he’s trying to prove something—like this is an urgent reclaiming on the fringe of desperation.
“Madeline...Christ, you feel so good. So hot, so wet...” He pounds into me over and over. I have to bite my lip not to cry out, because I feel like I’m being stretched to my max.
I am turned on beyond belief.
He’s holding my hips as he fucks me. He’s hard as steel, and I know he’s almost there. I’m riding the crest of my own crescendo, tightening around him, begging him to fuck me harder. With a few more deep thrusts, he groans my name and pulls out of me just before we both come.
I lean over the couch, trying to catch my breath. When I turn around, Jack is standing there with hands on hips, pants still down at his ankles and his massive erection slowly waning. There are damp pieces of his hair curling on his forehead. I go to him, looping my arms around his firm waist and feel his lips on the top of my head.
“Jack...” My eyes are burning. I’m not sure what else to say.
He takes my chin in his hand, tipping my head back so I’m looking into his eyes. I look deep, deep—searching for something I hope is there.
“We’re quite a pair, huh?” He smiles ruefully.
After a moment, I respond with another question. “Where does this leave us?”
He doesn’t answer. But from what I see in his gaze, I can guess what he’s thinking.
Nowhere.
Chapter 31 ~ Jack
September 25
I’m driving to Ed’s house, having a major attack of the should-haves. They’ve been slamming me hard over this past week, like someone’s taking a sledgehammer to my gut, and I deserve every blow for fucking up my life and more importantly, Callaway’s.
I should have dropped her off at her house without going inside.
I should have been friendly, not flirty, at the gala thing.
I should have said no to the gala thing.
I should have kept it in my pants when I was working for her.
But no matter how much you know what you should have done...when you look into big, dark, shimmery eyes that make your knees wobble and your gut twist, common sense is out the door, down the road and flipping you off when you try to chase after it.
Yeah. I’ll blame it on her eyes.
Today’s gloomy and windy as hell, the wind kicking up leaves along the sides of the road and turning them into mini-tornadoes. It’s Friday. I could ask Owen to get a couple beers later, if I feel like being social. Or maybe I’ll just stay home like I’ve been doing all week. Grab a take-out at Pat’s Pizza, maybe some breadsticks. Don’t know, don’t care.
Fuck.
Before I left Callaway’s house, I apologized. She didn’t like that. I told her, as nicely as I could, that I got caught up in seeing her again and didn’t intend for things to go as far as they did. I stopped short of saying that it never should have happened. I was practically begging her to see what I am—anything to change that look in her eyes.
Look, Callaway...I’m all wrong for you. You don’t want me. I’m a player. I can’t give you a commitment.
She didn’t say anything at first—just stood there in her underwear (which made her look even more vulnerable) staring down at the floor and kind of hugging herself. Pieces of her hair were falling into her face. I went up to her and brushed them away—couldn’t help myself; she looked so small and lost. She turned those big dark eyes on me again and then said, okay.
And that was it. I felt this major urge to hug her, but I was scared if I did, I wouldn’t let go. So I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek—she didn’t move a muscle—and left.
There hasn’t been any contact since.
It was even harder to leave her that time than it was before. Leaving sucks. And no one knows that more than Ed King. Today is his last day in the house, which is why I’m going over there. I figured I could rake up some leaves or do some yard work for him—just give him some company while the movers pack up his life.
There’s a Dunkin Donuts about a mile away from Ed’s. I go to the drive-thru and get a couple of coffees and Boston Kremes, and when I pull in Ed’s driveway, he’s standing at the front door. Almost like a little kid, excited that someone’s coming over. It makes my throat tighten up, honestly. Old people get to me, and Ed—he’s the epitome of a gentleman. Class and character.
The movers are here—couple of big, burly guys who nod at me as they carry Ed’s dining room table into the open mouth of the van. It’s about half full already.
“Mr. Decker. How are you this blustery morning?” Ed’s wearing a dark green flannel shirt with his Chinos—little more casual than he usually dresses.
“I’m stellar, sir. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Fine. The word jolts me back to when I said that very same word to Callaway. Apparently, Ed and I share an affinity for using words that mask what’s really going on.
I hand him one of the coffees and the bag of donuts, and he makes a big deal of how I didn’t need to do that. We go into his kitchen and stand at the bar. Our voices bounce off the walls and there’s a loud echo, but it seems like the silence is even louder.
Ed catches me looking around. “Strange, isn’t it, to see it empty like this? Feels like the spirit of the house is gone.”
He’s right. The house definitely has a different vibe to it now.
“I don’t feel her here anymore,” he sighs.
“I’m sorry, Ed. I know this isn’t easy.”
“No, it’s not, but it’s the way it must be.” He takes the lid off his coffee cup, brings the steaming cup to his lips and blows on it. “I can still picture everything here, though—ghosts of how things were.” He points with a slightly-hooked index finger in the direction of where the dining room table used to be. “This morning, I was remembering the holidays—how the table would look. Marian had these dishes that she loved—white with beading around the edges. Everything had to be just so...she wanted holiday meals to be special, and it was all in the details. She loved taking out her mother’s silver, dressing up the table. And centerpieces—she’d make them herself the day before. Mums and gourds for Thanksgiving, clipped green boughs and red berries from the woods behind the house for Christmas.” His eyes warm up and brighten, remembering. “At first, I wasn’t too fond of my part in the preparations—peeling the onions to boil, cutting up the squash—but I caught on pretty quickly that it meant spending time with her and seeing her about as happy as could be, so those ended up becoming some of my most favorite memories.”
Ed’s eyes are brimming. I’m racking my brain for something to say to him when the movers come in again, clumping up the stairs in their work boots, most likely oblivious to the fact that this man’s entire life is about to change. Ed gives me a sad little smile and sighs again. We drink our coffee, talk about the Sox’s chances in the playoffs, and then Ed narrows his eyes at me. “Things going all right for you personally, Mr. Decker?”
“They’re going fine, thanks.”
I’m basically owning that word.
He’s still looking at me closely, so I feel like I have to explain—playing right into his hands. Crafty, that Ed.
“I met with my father a couple weeks ago.”
“And how did that go?”
“I’m not quite sure how to characterize it, actually. He told me he’s planning to retire and wants me to run one of his new stores. And then step in to head the company.”
“Well, now. That’s an interesting turn of events, isn’t it?” Ed takes the last sip of coffee and pushes the lid sideways into the empty cup. “What was your response?”
“I didn’t give him one. Not yet. But I plan to tell him no. I like working for myself.”
“And you wouldn’t have to deal with your father, or your brother.” He arches a thin eyebrow.
Grinning, I shake my head. “It’s more than that, sir, but you’re right. I wouldn’t.”
“Even if you decide to decline your father’s offer, I do hope you can come to some sort of mutual understanding with him, and with your brother. For your sake as well as theirs, so you can have peace. I want that for you, Mr. Decker. Peace in your heart and mind.”
“Thank you, Ed. I appreciate that.”
“And that young woman you were seeing?”
Knew this was coming. “It’s over.” I say it quickly, maybe a little too abruptly from the looks of Ed’s expression.
“You’re sure?”
This time, my response takes a second to come, and from Ed’s face, he’s onto that, too. The guy doesn’t miss a beat. “It just—wouldn’t have worked out. It’s totally my issue. This girl, she’s...” I trail off. God damn that I trail off, because Ed notices.
But he doesn’t push it, and I appreciate that. Maybe, though, he just wanted to bring it up—have me think about it.
Something tells me that Ed King knows exactly what he’s doing.
I stay for an hour or so—bag up some leaves and put them by the curb. Before I leave, I tell Ed I plan to come visit at his new place, once he gets settled. We’ll stay in touch, I assure him.
“I would enjoy that, Mr. Decker,” he says.
I stop in at Lowe’s to get some supplies for Monday’s job and catch up with Owen. He and Dayna are going out tonight for her birthday, which is just as well since I’m not really in the bar mood. I head home, do some laundry that’s been piling up, run the vacuum around the living room. I’m making myself a grilled cheese sandwich when the phone rings.
It’s my brother.
If I hadn’t talked to Ed today, I would have ignored the call. But I did talk to Ed, and talking to Ed puts things in a sort of perspective for me. So I answer it.
“Hey...Jack. Is this a good time?”
I put down my sandwich. Might as well get it over with. “It’s fine.”
A pause. A sigh. “I know that Dad talked to you a couple weeks ago. I meant to call before this, but I guess I needed to get my head together and figure out what I wanted to say.”
“Okay.”
“Look...I don’t expect you to forgive me, ever. I was wrong. I never should have gotten involved with my brother’s fiancée.”
“We don’t need to go over this, James. In fact, I’d really rather we didn’t.”
“Just hear me out. Please. I wasn’t in a good place. Lydia had just dumped me, and Dad was on my ass about the expansion plan not being what he expected. Telling me I needed to be more innovative like my older brother.” He laughs dryly. “Comparing me to you, like he always has. He hinted that I might not keep my position for long if I couldn’t produce. I guess I panicked a little. The night you went to the sales meeting in Providence, Brianne shows up at my place. She gives me this big sob story about how you’ve been neglecting her, and said you were trying to convince our father to replace me.”
So this is news. The bitch. “James, I never did that. She was lying.”
“I know that now. But
I believed it at the time. I got paranoid, started to stress out that I’d lose my position in the company. I knew I needed to come up with something, and then Brianne tells me she can help me—only she wants me to sleep with her first. She starts coming on to me, we’d been drinking, and...well, I was weak. She tells me your idea about how to acquire competitors. And you know the rest.”
“Yeah. I sure do, little brother.”
Another deep sigh. “I’m not trying to make excuses here, Jack. Just trying to give you a little perspective. Bottom line, I was totally wrong. I know Dad told you I’m not with Brianne anymore. It took me a while, but I figured out what a conniving bitch she is. And I’ve been applying for jobs. I’m planning to leave the company. I hope that might help improve things between you and me. Dad’s heart attack shook me up and made me think about family. You’re the only sibling I have, and I want to fix what I’ve fucked up. If that’s even possible.” His voice breaks a little then, and I shift in my chair, feeling a little zinger in my chest. “Anyway...I won’t take up any more of your time. Thanks for hearing me out. I hope we can somehow get back to being brothers.”
He ends the call. I put down my phone and go to the fridge for a Guinness. I don’t know what the fuck to think. About James, about anything. I’m not going to rush things. I feel like I’ve got time to figure everything out. But then I flash back to Ed’s philosophy about how you shouldn’t take things for granted, and his butterfly story about how life goes by in a blink.
So there’s that.
I toss the rest of my now-cold grilled cheese in the trash, feeling more like drinking than eating. Taking my beer into the living room, I sink into the couch and ignore the jabby-type of feeling that’s demanding I open the drawer of the coffee table and look at her picture again. Clench my fingers in fists to fight the urge to pick up my phone and text her.
I know I’ve got some serious thinking to do. And I will, so I can get myself back on track. This feeling of floundering sucks. It’s not how I roll. I’ve got a lot of projects coming up to keep me busy and grounded—laying tile in Trenton, building a closet for an elderly woman in Blue Hill, turning a basement into a man-cave for a guy in Bucksport.