Uncontrollable Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 3)

by Infante Bosco, Janine

  Reina was holding her arm over the hot grill, shaking her head uncontrollably as she cried.

  “No, no, no,” she chanted. “Not again. Please not again,” she begged, tears falling from her eyes.

  “Hey,” I whispered, advancing toward her. I placed my hand on her shoulder causing her to flinch. She turned around to face me and took a retreating step backward, trembling as she held her arm. Her eyes were dull and for a split moment I was transcended to a time where I could relate to what she was feeling. I recognized that lost look in her eyes, seen it a million times before, whenever I looked at myself in the mirror. I realized in that moment Reina reminded me of myself whenever I had a manic episode—although I didn’t remember much of my episodes. Usually, I woke up to be told the awful truth of my actions. I knew enough to know she was looking at me and her body sensed I was there but her mind didn’t. I remember bits and pieces, objects and people surrounding me but never could hear their words. They were just there. And right now, in this moment, I was just there to Reina. Just an object.

  “Hey, you can’t be back here,” the cook shouted, walking into the kitchen from the back door. “Reina, you know better than to let the customers back here,” he hissed, walking toward the grill. “Shit, I asked you to watch the food!” He said, in disgust as he grabbed the tongs and removed the charred remnants of food, dropping them onto a dish. “Can’t step out for one damn minute,” he muttered.

  I lifted my eyes to him and glared at him viciously. “She fucking burned her arm,” I growled, before settling my eyes back on Reina.

  Her eyes were closed as she shook her head, battling her demons, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes.

  “Reina, hello? Earth to Reina,” the cook said, rolling his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  It took every ounce of control I could muster not to slam this pricks face into the grill and singe the motherfucker’s face off. I didn’t know where the sense to protect Reina from this jerk off came from, wasn’t sure I liked it either. I couldn’t help myself, so I lunged for his throat. My feet didn’t get a chance to move, frozen in place at the sound of her gentle plea.

  “Please take me away from here,” she whispered, her brown eyes pleading with mine. Killing the cook became a distant thought, replaced by the unexplainable need to save her from herself. Like a moth drawn to a flame I was at her mercy.

  “Let me take a look at your arm,” I whispered.

  “Please,” she repeated, letting go of my wrist as she wrapped her hand around her injured arm.

  I looked at her for another moment, glancing down at her arm before diverting my eyes over her shoulder at the cook, daring him to say another word. He opened his mouth before his eyes fell back to Reina and snapped it shut again.

  “Where’s her stuff?” I asked him roughly.

  He tipped his chin toward the diner and I placed my hand on the small of her back. “Let’s go, Sunshine,” I murmured.

  She hesitated for a second before she relented and let me guide her back to the front of the diner. I bent down, grabbing her purse and jacket from underneath the counter then rose to my full height. She robotically took her jacket from me, draping it over the arm of her uninjured hand. I looked down at her arm and caught a glimpse of the raw flesh. Already it had a sheen to it as the skin stretched and changed to a nasty shade of purple. Realization set in, crippling me as it became clear she hadn’t just fallen victim to a simple accident in the kitchen of the diner. She was reliving the traumatic experience she shared with my brother.

  I took her injured hand, felt her body tense at my touch, and guided her out of the diner toward my bike. I slid my helmet from one of the handlebars and turned around, offering it for her.

  “You ever ride before?” I asked, as she stared at my bike.

  She shook her head, and I sighed. I threw my leg over and straddled the bike, bracing my hands on the handlebars as I looked at her.

  “Climb on and hold on tight,” I instructed, watching her pretty little lips part. I couldn’t help think how I wouldn’t mind repeating those same words under different circumstances. I shook my head, shoving my thoughts and my desires aside.

  “The hospital isn’t that far of a ride from here,” I said.

  Her eyes snapped to mine, and she shook her head. “No hospitals,” she uttered. “I can’t go to the hospital.”

  “That burn looks pretty nasty, Reina. You should have it checked out.”

  “No, I said no.” She took a retreating step back. “It isn’t that bad,” she said, her voice sounding detached. “It’s nothing.”

  I realized the burn that ran along her forearm was in fact nothing compared to what she probably had endured in that fire. Bianci’s voice haunted me, reminding me she had been badly burned, so much so she had been hospitalized for weeks. My eyes traveled the length of her trying to determine where she had been burned in the fire and then it clicked. The baggy clothes she wore were an armor for the scars that marred her body.

  “I just want to go home,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” I conceded. “Just tell me where you live.”

  “The Southgate projects,” she mumbled, taking another step toward my bike, staring at the helmet in her hand like it was a foreign object. She slowly lifted it on top of her head and I reached out and fastened the chin strap. She awkwardly assessed how she would climb onto the bike before placing her hand on my shoulder and throwing her leg over.

  One touch and I was branded.

  She positioned her feet and scooted closer, the warmth of her body pressing against my back. She fumbled with her hands, placing them on my shoulders first then dropping them to rest at my hips. I exhaled and reached for her hands, wrapping them around my waist.

  “Hold tight and steady, Sunshine,” I ordered, as her breasts collided with my back and her fists closed around my leather jacket. She rested her chin on my shoulder as I ripped the engine of my bike, the sweet sound of her purring to life engulfing me as I peeled away from Dee’s.

  I took off into the dark with the wind in my hair and sunshine on my back.

  Chapter Five

  Alive.

  I was breathing big gulps of air.

  My heart was beating so fast and so profound it felt as if it was outside of my chest.

  Adrenaline soared through my veins like a rocket taking launch.

  For the first time in months I wasn’t the victim. I wasn’t the woman living in the shadow of a life she once had. I wasn’t the tortured soul suffering with survivor’s guilt.

  The wind blew through my hair, pushing it away from my shoulders, baring my face to the dark night. The faceless woman, the one who hid behind a mane of hair and ill-fitting clothes, disappeared for a moment.

  Just a moment.

  And I felt reborn as I temporarily was gifted a glimpse of the carefree woman who enjoyed living on the edge. The girl I was before the world fell out from under me. It was funny how something I never did before could remind me I was still breathing.

  I rested my chin on Jack’s shoulder forgetting what led me to this moment. I had found a sliver of life in the face of a stranger.

  “Faster,” I encouraged. I don’t know what came over me, didn’t even care to overthink it either, but being on the back of Jack’s bike was the escape I needed. He turned his head slightly to the right, stealing a glance of me in his side-view mirror and I swear his lips curved ever so subtly.

  He accelerated, taking us to a speed way past legal, and I felt the most incredibly foreign sensation in my belly. Butterflies. Jack, the stranger, who not only gave me a glimpse of life, gave me butterflies too.

  I fought the urge to close my eyes and fly away with the feeling of utter peace. Instead, I kept my eyes wide open to witness the world around me, the world I ignored since the fire.

  I gripped the leather that covered him, holding on for dear life and threw my head back, letting the wind wash ove
r me. I forgot all about the burn that evoked so many memories tonight. The fire I lived through, the scars that desecrated my body, the love I lost—it all became a distant memory. I even forgot about Danny.

  I pressed my thighs closer against Jack, trapping him between me as he turned the motorcycle onto the street I lived. The false sense of feeling as if I was going to fall overcame me but Jack maneuvered the bike like he was born to do so. He pulled up in front of the seedy apartment complex I called home and I felt disappointment settle in. My chrome horse and carriage, and my prince of a biker had just turned into a pumpkin. The engine died and so did the little part of me that was reborn.

  My hands fell from his jacket, dropping awkwardly to my sides and my legs parted, loosening their grip on him. I watched as he lifted his eyes toward my apartment building, silently assessing the drug dealers that were making a score and the couple fighting in the court yard. I worked the helmet off my head and threw my leg over the bike, standing beside it and holding his helmet out for him to take.

  Jack’s eyes diverted from the building to mine. It was the stare I had become accustomed to, the one that looked right through me, breaking through my steel exterior and seeing all I tried to hide.

  “Thank you for the ride,” I whispered, looking away from him. It was too much, the ride, the temporary rebirth of myself, the way he looked at me and the way he was making me feel. It was unnerving and I couldn’t handle it anymore. Not tonight.

  “I’ll walk you to your door,” he replied, dropping his kickstand and maneuvering off his bike.

  My eyes snapped to his, and I shook my head.

  “That’s unnecessary,” I said.

  “It wasn’t a request, Sunshine,” his voice rough and impatient.

  “I don’t think it’s wise for you to leave your bike here,” I countered, desperate for him to let me be.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head slightly, his eyes dark as they fixated on mine. It was evident there was nothing I could say or do that would change his mind.

  “Very well,” I conceded, turning around toward the walkway. He walked closely behind me, too closely. His arm snaked around me once I reached the doorway, to pull open the door and hold it for me to pass through. I stared at his hand pressed against the glass, pausing to take in the tattoos that cover his fingers and wondered if there was a square inch on his body not covered with ink.

  “I’m on the fourth floor and the elevator is out of order.”

  “Reina, keep it moving,” he said gruffly, leaving no room for argument.

  I climbed the stairs, flight after flight with Jack close behind me, finally making it to the landing of the fourth floor. I didn’t look over my shoulder anymore, learning it was a waste of time to argue with the man. I led him passed the crack whore that sat in the middle of the hallway, heard him mutter something I couldn’t comprehend and then paused in front of my door. I grabbed my keys from inside my purse and fitted them into the lock. Turning the door knob, I opened the door, stepped inside, flicked on the lights and turned around to bid Jack farewell but collided with his large solid frame.

  His hand closed over my wrist and he lifted my arm that had been burned, dropping his eyes from mine to take in the nasty mark that ran up my forearm.

  “Let’s fix you up,” he said. “Do you have dish soap?”

  I parted my lips to speak then snapped them shut and nodded toward the kitchen.

  He kicked the door shut with his leather boot. My hand tucked into his much larger one, he walked me to the tiny kitchen in my apartment. He looked unbelievably large in my kitchen, so completely out of place.

  I should tell him to leave.

  Instead, I watched as he rolled my sleeve up my arm, and carefully touched my injury. He held my arm over the sink and poured the dish soap over the shiny purple skin. I closed my eyes as the thick soap coated my irritated skin.

  “Keep your arm up,” he instructed, turning around to turn on the water. He dipped his hand under the faucet to test the water before taking hold of my wrist again and placing it under the stream of water. “Do you have any A & D ointment?” He asked, turning my wrist slightly so the water washed all the soap off.

  “I have Mederma,” I replied. If he only knew the contents of my medicine cabinet. I had every burn cream, every scarring ointment the drug store sold, not to mention a variety of pain and anxiety meds. “I’ll go get it,” I blurted.

  He shut the faucet and nodded, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. I hurried into the bathroom to grab the cream before he followed me or insisted on getting it himself. By the time I came back into the kitchen he was leaning against the counter staring at a photo of me and Danny that was tucked under a magnet. I watched as he uncrossed his arms from his chest and reached for the picture.

  “Here,” I choked out, holding out the tube of cream for him, hoping that he wouldn’t touch my photograph. It was all I had left, the only thing that hadn’t turned to ash.

  His eyes slowly lifted to mine, assessing me, noting the urgency in my voice. Jack pushed off the counter, keeping a steady eye on me as he closed the distance between us and took the cream from my hand.

  “You were pretty shaken up back there,” he probed, unscrewing the cap.

  “You must think I’m crazy,” I said evasively.

  He froze, piercing me with a sharp look. The ointment lost on his index finger.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” he insisted, adamantly.

  “You might be the only one,” I said, rolling my eyes, cringing as I remembered the way Johnny, the cook, had reacted to my outburst. I glanced down at Jack as he slowly rubbed the ointment in circles across my burn. So tender.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” he responded. “Do you want to cover it with some gauze or let it breathe a bit?”

  “It's fine,” I said, knowing that if I covered the burn it would blister and the rawness would burn something fierce. “I’ll cover it up before I go to sleep.”

  He nodded, wiping his hand on the dishtowel and covering the tube before he placed it on top of the counter. I watched him glance around my kitchen, stalk over to my kitchen table, pick up a pen and pull a napkin from the holder. I tried to look over his shoulder, but he was much taller than me, even hunched over the table the way he was I’d have to stand on tip toe.

  He finished jotting down whatever it was and turned around. Taking my hand, he turned my palm upward and placed the napkin inside of it.

  “You looked like you were going through something tonight, if you need to talk or even if you just want another ride, that’s my number and where you can find me,” he said, closing my palm over the napkin.

  I stared at him blankly. This man was a stranger yet I was drawn to him. I couldn’t explain the overwhelming sense of safety his presence inflicted upon me. He was gentle and chivalrous despite the leather and tattoos. He looked hard, maybe even a little scary and still I was not afraid. I should ask him to leave, ask him to stay away from the diner but somewhere along the way I looked forward to hearing the engine of his bike roar to life, night after night. Serving Jack a cup of coffee had become a highlight in my otherwise dull life.

  “Why do you come into the diner every night?” I blurted out.

  He reached out and wrapped a strand of my blonde hair around his finger. My breath hitched as his eyes studied my hair as he unraveled the strands only to wind a thicker strip around his finger. He diverted his eyes back to mine and took a step closer. Alarms sounded inside my head, my heart rate picked up and I felt the butterflies take off in the pit of my stomach, just as I had when I rode blindly into the night on his bike.

  I stepped closer, my feet betraying my conscience, and he raised his free hand to my cheek, his knuckles gently grazing my skin. I closed my eyes as I felt myself sink deeper and deeper into foreign territory. I felt more in one hour with this man than I had in the last ten month
s.

  He leaned close, his breath tickling my lips, the smell of his cologne branding me.

  “In a world as dark as the one I live in, sometimes I can’t help but crave sunshine,” he said huskily.

  Sunshine.

  Me.

  His mouth touched the corner of mine and something inside of me snapped. I pressed my hands to his chest and pushed with all my might—only for him not to budge.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, taking a step back, staring at him in shock, his hands frozen in the air from holding my hair and face.

  “Answering your question,” he said, dropping his hands back to his sides. “I’m very expressive.”

  “You need to leave,” I insisted. “Thank you for the ride and for helping me treat my burn, but this…” I pointed to the space between us, “is not going to happen. I’m not looking for a man, and if I was it wouldn’t be the likes of you,” I closed my eyes at my own rudeness. “I’m sorry, that sounded horrible.”

  “I get it, Reina,” he bit out, his eyes narrowing at me as his features hardened. “Only straight-laced dicks get Sunshine’s pussy wet,” he sneered.

  I cringed, his words assaulting me as he stepped around me.

  “Jack, wait,” I cried out, as I turned around and watched him walk away from me.

  He pulled open the door and looked over his shoulder at me.

  “Lock the fucking door,” he growled, slamming it behind him.

  I stared at the door hoping it would open and he’d walk back inside but knew that wasn’t likely. I glanced down at the napkin in my hand, taking a deep breath before walking toward the refrigerator and hanging it alongside Danny’s picture.

  I wouldn’t call.

  Chapter Six

  “Reina, please come in,” Dr. Spiegel greeted, as she stood in front of her office door. She smiled warmly as she always did, but this time as her eyes traveled the length of me I saw the flicker of surprise. I tucked the magazine I was reading back into the rack and stood, looking everywhere but directly at her. I rubbed my sweaty palms against the tight denim that stretched over my thighs. I knew I shouldn’t have worn this outfit. I knew she would notice the change in attire and over analyze my choice in clothing. After all, she was a shrink. She was paid to over analyze everything.