by Jewel E. Ann
Luke wrapped her tight in his arms until their bodies cursed the clothes between them. He laid her on the bed, her hands tugging and pulling at his pants, his drawing the straps to her top down her arms.
She closed her eyes. “What if I—”
“Do it.” He freed her breasts and sucked one nipple while kneading the other with a firm grip. “I’ll die if we stop.”
Want.
Need.
Trust.
“I’ll hate myself if we don’t.”
He stilled. Releasing her breast, he closed his eyes and sighed.
“You hate me?” She grimaced, not really wanting him to answer.
Eyes still shut, he shook his head.
“But I’m killing you.”
He nodded then looked at her. She rolled to her side and sat up, pulling her top back in place.
“Dammit!” she yelled and pounded her fists into the bed. “What is wrong with me? I’ve been thinking about this for months. I’m a freaking statistical phenomena. Who goes from less than zero percent to one hundred in two weeks’ time?”
He reached for her but she stood and pulled away. “Jessica …”
“No.” She began to pace the room. “Don’t try to down play this. I’m a cock tease, plain and simple. How did this happen? I’m the RSVP girl and you did. You RSVP’d and both times you’ve been denied access. Cock. Tease!”
“Jessica …”
“I’m not a procrastinator. I get the job done. It may get a little bloody, but I do it. Be damned the consequences!” She ran her fingers through her hair. “You gave me permission to make you bleed. Nobody does that. Why did you do that? I don’t need your permission … that negates the whole point of it. You’ve completely messed with my mojo.”
Luke fought back a smirk. “Your sex mojo?”
“Yes! Exactly.” She steepled her fingers against her lips. “Now the question is why? Why are you messing with my sex mojo?”
He rolled onto his back and flopped his arm over his face. “This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had … and I’ve had some really weird conversations.”
“Come on, Jones. Show me your stuff. In your expert opinion why is this happening to me?”
“I’m not doing this.”
“Why not?” She planted her fists on her hips.
“Because I’ll come across as some conceited jerk.”
“Say it.”
“No,” he grumbled.
“Say. It!”
“Fine!” He sprang up, ramrod straight. “You can’t have sex with me because you’re scared. I’m probably the only person who completely trusts you and that scares you because you love me. You care what I think and the idea of hurting me and breaking that trust scares you to death because you don’t. Trust. Yourself.”
She blinked at him, over and over again. “It’s not the pain. I know you could handle my nails and teeth breaking your skin. It’s the embarrassment … because nobody in their right mind does that. And I know how ludicrous it must sound saying this to my ex-psychiatrist, but I don’t want you to think that I’m crazy.”
She bit her upper lip and sighed. “Sometimes it works. In the throes of passion, drawing blood can heighten the desire, intensify the lust. But afterword, the scars and bite marks are no longer sexy … they’re insane. The so-called ‘control’ I need during sex, it’s emasculating to normal men. I’ve never slept with the same guy twice.”
“You think I’ll leave you if we have sex?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Then let me prove it.”
She slipped on her shoes. “I’m hungry. Let’s go snack while we wait to have dinner.”
Luke stood and fastened his jeans. “Do you realize I think about you all the time? When we first met I couldn’t wait to get away from you and the moment you were gone I couldn’t wait to see you again. You already control my thoughts … does it really matter if I let you control my body at this point?”
Jessica opened the door and glanced back over her shoulder. “So you’re obsessed with me?”
Luke smirked. “Yes.”
She shrugged. “I can live with that.”
*
“Okay, gentlemen, place your bets.” Kelly grinned, spinning her pasta around her fork as they enjoyed an early dinner.
“Bets?” Luke’s face twisted in confusion.
“Yes. Will Jess finish in first place tomorrow?”
Jessica rolled her eyes.
“Have you ever finished in first place?” Gabe asked.
She shook her head.
“I always beat her, and I’ve never taken first place. But Jess always says she could finish first if she wanted to, she just doesn’t care what place she takes.”
“It’s true.” Jessica shrugged.
“Bullshit. It’s a competition. The whole point is to try and finish first.” Kelly’s voice peaked a few pitches higher in disbelief.
“A thousand dollars says Jessica finishes first tomorrow.” Luke looked up from his plate at three sets of eyes gawking at him.
“A thousand dollars?” Gabe asked.
Luke stared at Jessica. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Yes. You in?” Luke challenged.
Gabe shook his head and grinned. “Sorry, Jess, no offense but I can’t say no. This is money in my pocket.”
“I’m in too. But only if she loses. If by some freak-of-nature chance she wins, I don’t really have the thousand dollars.” Kelly giggled.
Everyone laughed, except Jessica. “What’s in it for me?”
“A medal and bragging rights.” Kelly winked.
Jessica returned her glare to Luke. He was using her to hustle his best friend. “The bet has to be two grand and Luke gives me half if he wins.”
“What?” Kelly exclaimed.
Gabe chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes flitting between Jessica and Luke. “What do you say, babe? Do I have anything to worry about?”
Kelly shook her head and grinned. “Jess is full of shit. Take his money.”
Luke leaned back in his chair. “If I lose, Ms. Day, you’ll be paying half.”
She shoved another bite of pasta into her mouth, already having eaten everyone else under the table. “Deal,” she mumbled.
Gabe checked his watch. “We’re getting to bed early. But you two feel free to order dessert, drink too much, and stay up late. By this time tomorrow you’ll both be passed out and two grand lighter.”
Kelly kissed Jessica on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, hun. No pressure.”
As soon as they walked away, Jessica grabbed the rest of Kelly’s pasta and started in on it. Luke eyed her.
“Don’t judge me, Jones.”
“Why would I judge you? Just because you’re eating your body weight in pasta tonight, and I have a sizable bet placed on you finishing first tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “It was your idea, not mine. But for what it’s worth, I count cards too if you want to take me to Vegas and use me for some more quick cash.”
He chuckled. “You don’t count cards.”
She paused, spaghetti hanging down her chin.
He looked to the ceiling with a slight head shake. “Of course you do.”
After slurping the last piece of spaghetti, she wiped her mouth and folded her hands over her stuffed stomach. Their table was off in a corner away from other patrons. Jessica took a quick glance around then rested her gaze on Luke.
“The incessant thoughts in your brain are deafening, Jones. Just ask me.”
“Ask you what?”
“I don’t know, it’s your brain. But you always look at me with this strange curiosity. I suppose you’ll say you’re studying me, but I sense it’s more than that. So what is it?”
“Tell me about your training.”
“For tomorrow?”
“No, the training that led to a broken pool stick at my parents’ hou
se the morning I woke you up.”
“You mean the information that I can tell you but then I’ll have to kill you?”
Luke smiled. “Yes.”
Jessica nodded. “Well, we all have to die somehow.” She took a sip of water. “Okay, here we go … Once upon a time there was a DEA agent who went undercover to bring down a powerful drug lord. Two days before he was going to have the evidence to bring the whole operation down, his cover was blown. Three hours later his pregnant wife was abducted from their home. A week later her body washed up on the shore. The shitty part? The DEA agent knew his cover was going to be blown and he requested his wife be taken into protective custody. His request was denied based on lack of evidence that there was an eminent danger.”
She stared at Luke, waiting for him to process everything.
“Is there more to the story?”
“There’s a moral to the story. The government can’t be trusted to keep its employees and their families safe. So now what I’m about to say is just hypothetical because I kinda like ya, Jones.”
They shared flirty smiles.
“I’d hate to have to kill you. I can’t imagine there are too many other shrinks in this city that would barter with me.”
Luke frowned. “You’re probably right.”
“So imagine this for a moment. What if a group of highly trained, high ranking officials from various branches of government, including the FBI, CIA, DEA, the military—SEALS teams etc., formed a secret group? And this group included immediate family members and the sole purpose of this hypothetical group might be to train its members in a very elite type of self-defense.”
“Is that what happened?”
“Please, Jones … I said this was hypothetical,” she scoffed.
“Okay, hypothetically what type of self-defense training?”
“Depends. Some might be trained to avert or possibly escape capture. It would depend on their physical and psychological capabilities. Others might be trained to protect and defend.”
“Like an unofficial army?”
“Hypothetically, yes. If there were an emergency, say a kidnapping or hostage situation involving a member, there would be no political hoops to jump through, because after all—the group doesn’t exist—therefore, the ‘elite’ members who are not officially employed by the government could be called upon to extract the captured member from the dangerous situation.”
“So are we talking martial arts training?”
“For the elite members?”
“Yes.”
“Everything. They would be trained by the best and taught everything they know. Think of it as a special forces boot camp on steroids.”
“These members are trained to kill?”
“Yes.”
Luke nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “So hypothetically, if you were part of a group like this would you be considered an elite member?”
“Most of those members would be trained from an early age … say fourteen. They would be single and in top physical and mental condition. You have a two thousand dollar bet with Gabe that I’m going to finish first tomorrow. So I think you already know the answer to your question.”
Luke nodded again.
“So now I have a question for you, Dr. Jones. As you can imagine, someone who watched their friend die would no longer be considered in top “mental condition,” and would therefore no longer be called upon to save someone’s life. My question is … how long would it take this person to walk in a room and not think of weapons or the means to kill the people in it?”
He rested his chin on his fist. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe never.”
She appreciated his honesty. Luke had become her truth. But it was just another confirmation that she would never be the same again. That confirmation from the doctor himself left her with two options: bow out gracefully in a woe-is-me-you-deserve-someone-better way, or get the guy with a fuck-it-I-deserve-happiness-as-much-as-anyone-else attitude.
On the precipice of a lethal carb-coma, it was best to delay that decision until after the triathlon.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Knight
The “streak” of Peaceful Woods in red rain boots and not much else zipped through the yards wielding a weed eater. Normally she tried to set pace with Bill on his mower to make her negotiated wage seem justified. But on that particular day she set a new record, staying a notch above the subpar quality the residents had come to expect from Bill’s complete lack of attention to detail.
“It’s here!” she squealed, while hanging the weed eater in Bill’s garage.
The sexy lawn lady channeled her inner child on Christmas, chasing her new red baby down the private drive, boots smacking, hands waving.
“She’s so damn sexy!” Jillian grinned as Sara, her training consultant, climbed out of Jillian’s new red Mercedes.
“You’re something else. I don’t think in the history of the company anyone has ever earned a car this fast.” Sara handed her the key and waved to her husband who pulled up behind them in a minivan. “I’m proud to say I trained you.”
Jillian took the key. “Yes, I couldn’t have done it without you.” A lie, but Jillian reserved her arrogant gloating personality for Jackson and only Jackson. “You didn’t need to deliver it. I could have gone to the dealership.”
“Nope, I trained you so it’s tradition that I deliver the car to you.” She opened the passenger door to the minivan. “Enjoy it while you can. Someday your chariot will have dual sliding doors and a DVD player on the ceiling.”
“Bye, Sara.” Jillian laughed.
She ran her hand along the shiny paint.
“It’s an overpriced Jetta,” Jackson chimed.
“Shut it.” She grinned while feathering her fingers over the glossy red coating. It was an overpriced Jetta. “But it’s a gift so who cares.”
“Speaking of gifts. I talked with Knox.”
Jillian stiffened.
“As we already assumed he took care of the incident.”
“Why does he think Trigger was there?”
“Coincidence.”
Jillian turned. “But you don’t believe that.”
Jackson shook his head. “And I don’t think you do anymore either.”
She didn’t know what to believe. If it were a coincidence then the universe dropped her a gift … the gift of closure. What had she done to deserve such a gift? Nothing.
“It wasn’t coincidence. I’m not that lucky. But if Knox doesn’t believe it then what can we do?”
“Wait.”
She sighed. “Yeah, wait like sitting ducks. Fabulous.”
Jackson raised his chin. Jillian turned and waved at AJ pulling in his garage, wearing a timid smile.
“I’m going inside. Don’t be pissed.”
“About?” She cocked her head to the side.
“Nothing.” He pivoted and walked in the garage, turning just before closing the door. His face wrinkled into a slight grimace.
She skipped across the yard and into AJ’s garage. He eased out of his Jeep checking out her yard work attire, or lack there of.
“See something you like, Sergeant?”
He grabbed his messenger bag from the backseat. “Yes. I just wish everyone else weren’t seeing it.”
“Are you grumpy today?”
Head shake. “I have some work to do. Maybe I’ll call you later.”
Jillian watched him with confusion as he went in the house. She followed him.
“I said I have work to do.” His words carried an edge as he set his bag on the counter.
She moved toward him.
“Stop.” He held up a flat hand.
Jillian stopped. “Um…” she sniffed one of her arm pits “…I put deodorant on. I wasn’t going to stay. I just wanted to give you a reason to call me later.” She gave him a sexy grin and continued toward him.
“Jillian,” he warned, retreating a step.
“Do you want
me to beg?”
“No. I want you to go home.”
“Kiss me.” She inched close as the worried look of discomfort deepened along his forehead.
He grabbed her arms, holding them to her sides, and gave her a quick kiss. Then he turned her around and gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. “Now off you go.”
“Aric James!” She whipped around and shoved him against the wall.
“Fuck!” he hissed.
She jumped back, eyes trailing up and down his body until landing on his hand pressed gently to his ribs. She slid his shirt up. “Your ribs are bruised.”
“Brilliant, Dr. Knight.”
“What hap—” Her eyes grew wide. “Jackson. He did this, didn’t he?” She turned and AJ grabbed her arm.
“Stop. He was looking out for his sister.”
“I gave you permission to hit me. Did you give him permission to do this?”
“No, but he earned my respect. If you were my sister, I’d beat any guy a breath away from his last for laying a hand on you. I think he let me off pretty easy.”
“Did you hit him back?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t a fight. It was an understanding.”
“An understanding?”
“Yes. I understand that I answer to him when it comes to your wellbeing.”
She fisted the collar of his jacket. He winced as he bent down to her.
“You two Neanderthals answer to me, not each other. Got it?” She kissed him hard, feeling the pain in his ribs through the reluctance of his lips. “Now, take something for the pain or sex later is going to make the infamous blow job seem like a trip to Disneyland.” Pivoting on her signature air of confidence, she waltzed out the door like a queen.
“We’re not having sex la—” The door shut before AJ could finish his not-so-confident declaration.
Of course they weren’t having sex later, but ruffling his grumpy feathers had become her new favorite pastime.
*
Jillian always told Jackson everything—eventually. And what she attempted to bury in her emotional tomb that she’d take to her grave, he knew that stuff too. Though out of respect, he kept that knowledge to himself. She needed that illusion of control and he gave it to her. It kept her on the right side of sanity—most of the time. AJ was the wild card. Jackson wasn’t sure where he fit into Jillian’s level of sanity. Her asking to be punished, no matter her reasoning behind it, was a hard limit. Jackson never crossed it, and he sure as shit wasn’t going to let anyone else get away with crossing it.