The Pawn (Shattered Series Book 1)

by Ashton, Chloe D.

  A deep flush stained her cheeks. “So did I. Well, goodnight,” she stammered, heading for the door.

  “Goodnight.”

  When the door closed behind her, he ended all pretenses as he dropped the pen. Releasing a pent-up sigh, he leaned back in the chair, and he could no longer deny the inevitable.

  From the moment that they’d met, a dangerous attraction had breathed, and now, it was just as potent.

  Tonight, as the bait had been lured before them, one thing was certain.

  They’d both taken it.

  Chapter 5

  Early the next morning, the waves crashed upon the shore. Breathless from the 5:00 am morning run, dressed in nothing more than a pair of black running shorts, Jarrod doubled over and drew in a sharp breath before dropping down to a spot on the sandy beach.

  The break of dawn…

  Always at this time, he loved watching the new day as it arrived, and always, he held secret hope that he’d find a different beginning.

  In the distance, as the morning sun shone upon the ocean, the liquid water shimmered like a sparkly azure abyss.

  Distracted, he stared ahead.

  Last night, what in the hell had come over him?

  And at what point, had the illusion blurred with reality?

  The woman evoked feelings him that he long thought buried, he thought, skipping a rock across the water. Like the ability to care or have empathy for another human being… Before, when Marc had accused him of having some sort of feelings for the woman, he’d been right, he realized. Somehow, in the moments when the revenge scheme had kicked in, he’d already been drawn to her.

  A low hum sounded as more waves washed in, and they rolled in with a beautiful serene grace.

  As he stared in the distance, her face swam before him, and her words played in his mind.

  …you’re my lifeline…my only hope…

  “Damn it, Olivia Lange,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “Why are you making things so complicated? You’re making it difficult for me to remember that I’m a heartless bastard.” He paused. “As a matter of fact, you’re reminding me that some small part of me is human---that I’m supposed to think of someone else’s needs.”

  And how long had it been since he’d opened himself up to care about someone?

  He shook his head.

  “No, I can’t let emotions override my revenge against Addison,” he stated firmly, rising to his feet. “Not even Olivia Lange.”

  Without a further thought, he charged down the beach again.

  ***

  At 5:30 am, Olivia welcomed the new day. Yawning, shoving the covers off, she left the bed, and then, tousling her mussed tresses, she padded towards the balcony. Through the sliding glass doors, the sunlight peeked in, slipping by the thin cracks of the drapery.

  Grabbing the door’s latch, she pushed the doors open. Every tiny detail about the outside space was impeccable, she noticed. The misty dew glistened on the flowers staggered along the edges of the balcony, pooling like watery pebbles.

  Her gaze slipped further.

  “Wow,” she murmured in appreciation, taking in the stunning oceanic view as she stepped out onto the balcony. As the sun danced upon the azure waters, it seemed that diamonds sparkled along it. She inhaled a deep breath of the refreshing morning air. “I’ve never seen anything so breathtakingly beautiful.”

  Shivering from the oceanic breeze as it swept in, she pulled the thin wrap closer around her. Still, she embraced the sereneness that enveloped her as it came in. Bypassing the oval patio table, she wandered to the railing, just so to appreciate the scenery even more.

  Even the white sands were spectacular, she thought, watching as the rolling waves came in. Edging closer to her right, she peered further, and the sight that she beheld was enough to send her reeling.

  As Jarrod made his way up the beach, she held her breath, and she was grateful for the railing’s support as she leaned against it. Hot, drenched in sweat, dressed in nothing more than black shorts, he sprinted along the edge of the water. In fine streams, the sweat trailed down his hard body, and his taut muscles rippled with his every movement.

  A living breathing Adonis, she mulled, biting her lip. Tall, strong, firm, flat torso, muscles….

  Face flaming red, she turned away.

  She released her pent-up breath.

  The man literally stole her senses.

  Without a single word or touch---

  “Jarrod Sabatino,” she whispered, holding her ringed hand out. “How is it even possible that you belong to me?”

  She shivered.

  And last night, she’d caught a fleeting glimpse of him, the side that he obviously fought to keep hidden. Just as he’d sensed her vulnerability, she sensed his.

  She faced the beach again, and to her surprise, he’d almost made it back to the house. As he passed under the overpass, she lost sight of him. Turning, she hurried back inside, and once she reached the bedroom, she donned the peach robe over the wrap before pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. Barefoot, breathless, she left the bedroom. When she reached the top of the staircase, she heard movement downstairs, and immediately, she knew that it was him. Before her nerves deserted her, she took the stairs, and as she reached the bottom, she headed for the study. Slipping past the living and dining areas, she went through the arched doorway before going in the familiar direction of the study.

  When she reached the study door, her courage nearly faltered. Taking an unsteady breath, she pushed the door open, and as it opened, she saw that the lights were off except for the lamp burning low at his desk.

  “Jarrod?” she said, venturing in.

  “Olivia”

  Gasping, she started when he moved away from the shadows at the far side of the room. Again, she struggled to breathe as she took in the sight of him.

  Six feet of sexual sin…

  A white towel was looped around his neck. But, remnants of his run were evident as the sweat glistened across his broad chest and flat torso. The black running shorts hugged his lean hips, and what followed was nothing but solid muscle. Strong, taut thighs and calves, she mulled, unconsciously moistening her lips.

  “Olivia? Is everything ok?” he frowned, clenching the towel with both hands as he moved towards her. “After last night, I thought that you’d still be abed.”

  As he drew closer to her, she inhaled his masculine scent. A mixture of cologne and musk, she thought dazedly as their eyes locked. Only a breath separated them as he stopped before her.

  “I-I don’t know. I suppose sleeping is the last thing on my mind, especially since I’ve been comatose for two months,” she said shyly. “Do you usually start your days so early?”

  He nodded. “Usually. A daily 5:00 run, and then, I wait to see what the day entails. With Meghan, that can be anything.”

  His eyes dropped to her, and at once, she was reminded of her own scanty dress. The peach-hued robe reached her thigh mid-length, and underneath it, the wrap covered her brassiere and black lace panty. And her face was bare of any makeup, not that she’d worn it anyway, she thought, flushing red, especially since she was fresh out of her coma.

  The gold flints in his green eyes flickered.

  There was no doubt that he was attuned to her.

  Just as much as she was to him---

  She grasped the front lapels of the robe nervously. “Meghan is precious. Of course, you already know that,” she said, staring at a point on his shoulder blades. Finally, she summoned the courage to meet his eyes again. Her eyes searched his. “Talk to me. I want to know more.”

  “Like what?”

  The shyness took her over. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Where are you from?

  “Born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia,” he said, and his words were fast. “I’m the youngest of the brood in my family, and a very successful business man. My schedule is so busy that I only see them on holidays and special
occasions. My export company is one of the most reputable firms in the nation.”

  With keen interest, she listened, and when he stopped talking, she waved a hand in the air. “And…go on.”

  Stiffening, his gaze narrowed, and once more, she sensed the invisible barriers as they separated them again. “What more do you want to know? There’s not much to tell, is there?” he asked, stepping away from her. “It should be obvious that I’m pretty much a loner.”

  He wandered to the wet bar.

  Fascinated, she trailed behind him. “Isn’t it a little too early to be drinking?”

  He lifted a brow.

  After pouring the bourbon into the glass, he raised it to his lips. “Says who? Often, I wonder who decided the conventions of an appropriate drinking hour,” Jarrod shrugged, and then, he turned a careful gaze on her. “Don’t get the wrong impression. I’m many things, but a drunken bastard, I’m not.”

  She gasped. “I didn’t think anything of the sort.” Crossing her arms along her chest, she watched him. “But, you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Perhaps that’s because you haven’t asked me anything other than a list twenty-one question,” he muttered, arching a brow. Sighing, he propped a hip against the bar. “Fire away. What do you want to talk about?”

  “You, me, my family, where I’m from---I don’t know. Tell me anything,” she murmured. “What’s my favorite color---the one thing that I hate the most? Just anything that will remind me of who I am.”

  Again, that flicker in his eyes, she mulled distractedly. At that point, she sensed the same war that’d been raging in him since she’d awakened from the coma.

  “Come on, sit down,” he muttered, grabbing her elbow before hauling her behind him. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  When she settled on the short sofa, he sat down beside her. A strange look played across his face. Leaning forward on the sofa, he clasped his large hands together before looking at her. “I don’t know where to start.”

  She studied him closely. “How about the beginning?”

  “I wish that things that I’m about to tell you are great things, but they’re not,” he sighed heavily. “The only fact that I want you to cling to is the fact that you persevered in spite of the odds.”

  “My family, who are they?” she whispered, teary-eyed. “My mother, my father, do I have any siblings? Do I come from a large family?”

  “Olivia,” he said, hesitating, and a pitying note played in his words. “I don’t know how to put this.”

  “Tell me the truth. That’s all I ask,” she said, grasping his hand. “And I sense that it’s difficult for you to talk about, too. That just shows what an incredible caring man you are.”

  Jaw tightening, he looked away from her, and again, she sensed his inner struggle. “It’s ok,” she reassured him. “With any hope, I’m not so fragile that I’ll fall apart because my life isn’t a fairy tale.”

  Pulling free of her hold, he stood.

  As he crossed the room, she couldn’t help but watch the rise and fall of his lean hips as he walked.

  The morning sunlight peeked in as he opened the blinds.

  He turned to face her again.

  “Your parents died when you were young, and you spent the better part of your childhood in foster care. At eighteen, you struck out on your own, and finally, you were able to track down one living relative.”

  A note of hope played in her words. “I have living kin? Who is it? Where are they?”

  Crossing the room, he sat beside her again. “Charles Rayne, 57 years old,” he began cautiously. “He’s your father’s older brother.”

  She jumped up from the sofa. “This is great news! There’s so much that I can learn from him. Let’s call him. Get in contact with him!”

  Jarrod stood up slowly. “We can’t.”

  “Why not?” she asked, exasperated. “If there’s anyone that can help me besides you, it’s him.”

  “Olivia, your uncle is a very sick man,” he said in a pitying tone. “He’s in critical condition at a facility in Charleston, Georgia.”

  The tears sprang in her eyes. “What?” she asked quietly, her words barely audible. “He’s dying?”

  “Stage 3 cancer, and his pain is so excruciating that they keep him heavily sedated.” He grasped her upper arms gently. “For the past year, he’s been declining at a rapid rate. But, there are alternatives methods that are being explored---”

  “Then, why are we here?” she demanded, and the anger fired through her. “Shouldn’t I be there, helping him instead of thousands of miles away from home?”

  “Olivia, there’s nothing that you can do,” he insisted. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you now that I have people there that are giving him excellent care. Round the clock, they’re attending to his needs.”

  “That poor man,” she whispered, planting her hands against his chest. She raised her misty eyes to his. “Why does there have to be so much suffering in the world?”

  “If I had the answer to that, I’d give it to you,” Jarrod uttered. “When life deals a hard blow, sometimes it’s hard to recover from it.”

  Her eyes searched his. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For taking care of me and my family,” she said shyly, dropping her eyes to his chest. “It tells me what kind of man you are.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous to make assumptions about a man that you barely know?” he asked, his words unsteady. “I’m the kind of man that should send you scurrying in the dark.”

  “Jarrod Sabatino,” she whispered, looking at him again. “Why do I sense that it’s you rather than me afraid? The person that you really are deep down, you’re scared of him. Don’t ask me how I know, but I just do.”

  With those words, she stepped away.

  As the door closed behind her, he stood there speechless.

  ***

  With Meghan’s presence, breakfast was as lively as ever to no surprise, Olivia surmised, later, sitting at Jarrod’s left, clad in a light floral sundress, and sipped the freshly squeezed orange juice from the glass. With an amused look, she took in the antics of the father-daughter team, and at the moment, the young girl was vying for full attention.

  If anyone would see them, they’d believe that they were the picture of a perfect family.

  Sitting at the head of the dining table, dressed in a crisp white business shirt and navy blue trousers, Jarrod read the newspaper and between displeasured grunts and groans at what he’d found, sipped coffee from the steaming mug. On his right, Meghan chatted incessantly about Cricket and pouted whenever her father gave a half-witted response to her repetitive questioning.

  For the millionth time, it seemed, the young girl had asked the cat’s favorite color, and her father’s missed guesses only exasperated her more. “Daddy, you’re not paying attention!” Meghan huffed, pursing her tiny lips together in a pout. “Now, what’s Cricket’s favorite color again? She looks the prettiest in it. Guess, Daddy, guess it!”

  Again, she hid a smile.

  It was blatantly obvious that the little girl was determined.

  Finally giving up, with a resigned sigh, Jarrod laid the newspaper down, giving his daughter full attention. “My little Poppet, only you’re privy to that secret, one that you’re going to have to share with me,” he added with a playful expression, leaning closer to the table. “Now, what is Cricket’s most favorite color in the whole world?”

  After whispering in her father’s ear, Meghan pulled back. “Now, what is it?” the little girl demanded, eyes rounded and wide. “You have to remember this time.”

  “Could it be purple?” Jarrod frowned, feigning innocence.

  “Yay!” Meghan said, giving a delighted squeal. “You really remembered!” Then, she folded her hands primly on the table. “May I be excused? I’ve eaten all my breakfast, and I’m gonna help Rosa with something.”

  Already reading the paper again,
Jarrod gave a fast nod. “You’re excused. Come here, you,” he said, hauling his daughter across his lap, and hugged her tight. Then, he pulled back and eyed her close. “One more thing---don’t forget to brush your teeth. We don’t need any stinky breath or cavities, remember?”

  “You’re the one with the stinky breath,” Meghan giggled. “It’s always after you have coffee, too.”

  “Ouch, but I guess I had that one coming, didn’t I?” he chuckled, swatting at her playfully with the folded newspaper. “How dare you insult an old man like that! Not sparing my feelings at all, huh?”

  “You’re not an old man! Old men have gray hair and no teeth at all,” Meghan protested, wiggling free of his hold and pouted at him again. “Can I go, please? Rosa’s waiting for me.”

  “Scat, get out of here,” Jarrod murmured, shaking his head, and put her down before grabbing the paper from the table. “Have fun, but stay out of trouble. I’ll be there shortly to check up on you.”

  Already, Meghan was halfway across the room, skipping through the door. “Alright,” she called over her shoulder, and disappeared altogether.

  A deep silence enveloped the room.

  Tensing, she dropped the French toast onto the plate.

  She was striving for some sort of normalcy but was faring miserably, she realized.

  “Olivia, you need to eat. If you don’t, you’ll never recover fully,” Jarrod chastised, frowning over the newspaper. “You’ve hardly touched anything.”

  She pushed the plate aside. “I’m not hungry.”

  “What’s bothering you, then?” he inquired, tossing the paper back down.

  “Bothering me? What makes you think that something is?”

  “I’ve known you long enough to just know.”

  “How?” she asked, intrigued, finally looking at him.

  “For starters, your lips are pursed together, and you only do that when you’re concentrating hard.” Then, surprising her, he grabbed her hand before turning it over in his. “Look at your thumb nail---you’ve bitten it down to the skin.”