Fire In You: Volume Six (Wait for You Series)

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  A weird feeling tugged at me. It was curiosity. I wanted to know why he looked so bad.

  Closing a file he was looking at, he motioned me in. His gaze flickered over me, and I felt a flush travel over my skin. I was wearing dress pants and a sweater, but that quick glance of his made me feel like I was walking around in lingerie, which was one hundred percent due to my overactive imagination.

  “I always have time for you, Jillian.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to point out there had been many times in the past, when we’d gotten older, that he hadn’t. Luckily, I had some common sense and realized how incredibly bitter that would’ve sounded.

  And completely unnecessary.

  So I came into the office and placed the cup on his desk, careful not to spill. “Did you have a good weekend?” I asked, sitting down.

  “Long,” he said, reaching for the mug. “It was a very long weekend.”

  I eyed him over the rim of my cup. “Looks like it.”

  Brock did look tired, but he still managed to look incredibly . . . well, incredibly sexy in his white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck.

  He eyed me. “You, on the other hand, look well rested. I’m guessing your date with that little guy didn’t turn into a weekend adventure.”

  Slowly, I lowered my mug. “My date with Grady went very well, thank you very much, and for the last time, he’s not little.”

  “Uh-huh,” he murmured, sipping his coffee.

  “And how does one date turn into an entire weekend?”

  He raised a brow as he placed his mug back down. “Obviously you haven’t been on a really good date then.”

  Heat blasted my cheeks. I guessed I hadn’t. Nice of him to point that out to me. Jerk.

  “Because a really good date with me doesn’t end with an art exhibit,” he said silkily. “A really good date won’t end until the next night. Not until I’ve spent hours making sure it’s the kind of date my woman never wants to end.”

  Oh.

  Oh gosh.

  Flustered, I squirmed as I stared at my coffee. I had no idea what that would be like, to be the sole focus of the kind of man like Brock all weekend long.

  “You guys going out again?” he asked.

  I lifted my gaze, feeling oddly hot, like I’d been sitting out in the summer sun. “We’re having dinner Wednesday night.”

  Rising, he walked around the desk, and I tensed, having no idea what he was up to when his dark eyes held a wealth of secrets. “That’s a shame.”

  Confusion swept through me. “How so?”

  He walked until he was in front of the desk and leaned back against it. “You’re not going to be able to have dinner with him on Wednesday.”

  “And why not?”

  Stretching out his long legs, I tensed even more when his knee brushed mine. Deep in my chest, my heart fluttered like a hummingbird taking flight. “Because you’re going to dinner with me.”

  Chapter 11

  I opened my mouth, but immediately snapped it closed because my heart was suddenly entering cardiac territory. Was he . . . was Brock Mitchell seriously asking me out? Well, not asking me, but telling me we were going to dinner, like him and me? Us? But that didn’t make sense. He had a fiancée—a real life fiancée.

  “What?” I croaked out, a mix of wild emotions slamming into me from every side. Despite knowing he was engaged and there being that barbed-wire wall and mile deep line that I knew he would never cross, a sweet burst of anticipation lit up my chest. Seconds later, a bitter acid washed it away, because I was not her. I was not the kind of woman to get involved with a man who was already with someone else, not even if it was the man I’d spent the vast majority of my life being in love with.

  Not that I was still in love with him or anything.

  He knocked his knee off mine. “We have a dinner date.”

  “I heard that, but I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “We’re going to that steakhouse in Martinsburg. The one right on Queen Street?” he explained. “We’re going to leave work and head straight there.”

  I put my coffee down on his desk so I didn’t drop it, because my hand was starting to tremble. “Okay. I have no idea why you think we have a date, because I clearly do not remember you asking me, and you have—”

  “Just found out about it this morning actually,” he explained, and my eyes narrowed in confusion. “Two potential endorsers are visiting the Philadelphia location today and tomorrow, and they would like to see this location on Wednesday before they head back out West. We’ll be taking them to dinner.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  He wasn’t asking me out on a date date. Duh. I mean, why would I even think that he was? He was engaged, and Brock had never been interested in me in that way. It was just a momentary lapse of intelligence.

  Feeling about seven different kinds of idiotic, I tucked my hair back behind my ear and muttered, “Well, I guess I’ll be canceling my date then.”

  “You’ll thank me later for it.” He winked when I looked at him. “Trust me.”

  “Okay. This conversation has gone way off track,” I said.

  “Those are the best kind of conversations.” He reached behind him and curled his large hand around the mug.

  I ignored the comment and refocused. “The reason why I’m in your office is because I wanted to see you—”

  “It’s about time you admit that,” he replied smoothly, and those eyes of his, dark and endless, took on a lazy quality that had my pulse once again pounding all over the place. “Have I told you lately how much I like it when you wear your hair down?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “I do. You have beautiful hair.” His jaw tightened. “Never noticed that before. You always had it pulled up, didn’t you?”

  “Um.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Always pulled up.” With one hand still wrapped around the coffee cup, he picked up a piece of my hair, running his fingers along the strand. His voice deepened when he said, “You’ve always been a pretty girl. I know I’ve said that to you before, but you’ve become such a beautiful woman.”

  I wanted to laugh, to ask him if he’d been drinking this morning, but my heart was beating too fast. I had no idea how to process what he was doing and saying. Brock had told me I was beautiful before, but he’d always said it back then in a way that it was just a passing compliment, one tossed out and not really meaning anything. Hearing it come from his mouth now was nothing like before.

  Lifting my gaze once more to his, I found that I was unable to look away. Brock was one hundred percent a grown man now and he never, ever had looked at me like he did in this moment, like he was . . . he was starving, and I didn’t understand how he could be staring at me like that. It didn’t make sense, not in the world we lived in.

  Brock let go of my hair and his fingers brushed over the curve of my cheek. My skin tingled from where his fingers had touched, like an electrical jolt to my system. His gaze slipped from mine, coasting and lingering over my mouth before going even lower, and a sweet, heady flush of heat spread. Under the sweater, I could feel my nipples hardening.

  Slowly, torturously, he dragged his gaze back up to mine. A shadow passed over his striking face and he swallowed once more, then lowered his chin. “Jillian, I—”

  “Am I interrupting?”

  I jumped at the sound of an unfamiliar female voice. A flicker of surprise skated over Brock’s face and then his jaw hardened. I glanced over my shoulder, and nearly fell out of my chair as I whipped back around, my eyes wide.

  It was the fiancée.

  Kristen Morgan.

  Oh my God.

  My face caught fire, and I immediately wanted to explain that however this looked didn’t mean whatever she could be thinking, but I didn’t get a chance because Brock was rising and when he spoke, his tone was as hard as a polished diamond.

  “What are you doing here, Kristen?”

  Oh wow, that d
id not sound friendly at all, and I couldn’t remember a time when I’d heard him sound like that.

  “Is it really that much of a surprise?” she asked, her tone just as snappy, and I thought it was a really, really good time for me to exit his office.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” I said to Brock, whose gaze flitted to mine. His expression was now locked down, completely unreadable.

  Picking up my coffee, I took a deep breath and turned, finally laying eyes on Kristen for the first time in many, many years.

  We both gasped at the same time.

  Obviously for different reasons.

  Time had been extremely kind to Kristen. She was more beautiful than I remembered. Tall and slender, her shoulder-length blonde hair was cut in a trendy way, slightly longer in the front than in the back. Her features were flawless—high cheekbones and a perfect, pert little nose, and smooth golden complexion. She was wearing white skinny jeans. Never in my life would I ever squeeze my ass and thighs into that pair of white pants, but she did it and did it wearing flats and a tight turtleneck.

  And she looked damn good while doing it.

  Ugh.

  “It’s good to see you, Kristen,” I mumbled, stepping around her.

  She didn’t respond as she stared at me, her china-blue eyes wide.

  I didn’t let myself think about why she looked so shocked when she saw me as I stepped out of the office. It didn’t matter, and I refused to spend a second stressing about that.

  Walking back to my office, I closed the door behind me and went to my desk, placing my mug on the coaster.

  “Well,” I said out loud, resting my forehead in my hand. “None of that went as expected.”

  * * *

  Seeing Kristen reminded me of the first time I’d seen her. It was the last thing I really wanted to think about, but her presence brought back memories of that night, replaying them over and over in my head like some kind of twenty-four-hour humiliation network. That was the night that Brock had . . . had kind of chosen her over me.

  “He’s going to get laid tonight,” the girly, sing-songy voice sang in my ear. “Probably more than once and probably with more than just one of those horny as hell chicks.”

  I tensed. The flush hit my cheeks first before racing across my face and then down my throat. “No, he’s not.”

  “Yes he is,” whispered an evil voice in the back of my head.

  Nope. I refused to listen to that stupid voice. This weekend was different and this night wasn’t going to end in Brock’s bedroom turning into a one-night-stand train station. We were going to dinner. We were just running a little late. That’s all.

  Squaring my shoulders, I looked over at Katie. Her glossy bubblegum-pink lips were turned down at the corners as she stared at the bar. I didn’t dare look further south than her face even though it felt like I was compelled by some kind of dark magic to do so. She was barely dressed. Like, all she was wearing was a bra and shorts that were tinier than the underwear I normally wore. She was on break—an early break I was guessing since it was only a little after eight.

  “We’re going to be leaving soon,” I insisted, turning the bracelet on my wrist. “He just hasn’t seen those guys in a while.”

  “Uh huh. Girl. Honey child. Little boo boo babe,” Katie cooed, leaning forward. And I was afraid that her boobs would suddenly spill out onto the high-top table between us. “Open your eyes and look—really look.”

  Part of me didn’t want to, but I did, because I couldn’t help myself, and when I looked, I saw Brock first. I always saw him first.

  He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen, and that was saying something, because Jax, the co-owner of Mona’s, was behind the bar, and he was stunning. And Brock was standing there with two of the hottest cops in the state—Reece and Colton Anders.

  But they didn’t compare to Brock’s rugged attractiveness.

  He had his hip propped against the bar, his head tipped back as he laughed at something Colton had said. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a tight black shirt that showed off the muscled forearms and defined pecs, he’d just gotten his brown hair cut again. It was cropped close on the sides and was longer on the top, standing straight up.

  My gaze shifted to the left, to where a group of college-aged girls dressed for a night of partying was lingering. I wanted to think they weren’t a part of the conversation with Brock, but I would be lying to myself. Reece and Colton weren’t paying them any attention, but Brock was.

  One of the girls I recognized. Her name was Kristen—Kristen Morgan. I hadn’t seen her in ages, but we’d gone to high school together. She was my age, and she was beautiful. Sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she had a body that matched her face.

  Her top exposed her midriff, revealing a navel pierced with something shiny and dangling. I wanted to grab her by her curly hair and haul her ass out of the bar. She was touching Brock, touching him in a way that said she was familiar with him or she wanted to be. Her pale hand was on his arm as he turned to her, a half-smile on his lips. Kristen leaned into him, pressing her chest to his bicep. Brock was smiling at her, and it was a smile I’d seen before, many times before, but never directed at me.

  My breath caught as my chest squeezed. Kristen’s hand had moved from his arm and was now on his stomach—his stomach!

  “You see what I’m seeing?” Katie asked.

  Squeezing my eyes closed for a moment, I swallowed the rapidly forming knot in my throat. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Oh, Jilly,” she murmured.

  I shifted in my seat, embarrassed by her tone. I knew what she was thinking. I was foolish and naive. My heart started racing as I glanced back at the bar. Brock was paying attention to Reece and Colton once more, but Kristen . . . His arm was wrapped loosely around her tiny waist.

  The twisting in my chest increased.

  “I have to leave soon. Got to head back to work,” Katie was saying, and I dragged my gaze away from Brock. “I can walk you out.”

  The knot returned, crawling up my throat. “That’s . . . okay,” I said hoarsely. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

  We hadn’t left, though.

  I wasn’t even supposed to be at Mona’s that night. Neither was Brock. If he’d done what he’d promised, so many things could’ve been different. He may’ve never crossed paths with Kristen, and perhaps our friendship would’ve remained the same over the years. Or if I had listened to Katie and left with her? Who knows what would’ve happened?

  But I wouldn’t have been there, and what happened later that night could’ve happened to someone else or not at all. I’d never know, because I couldn’t go back.

  I could never go back.

  * * *

  It was Tuesday afternoon before I got to speak to Brock about expanding Lima Academy into uncharted territories. He’d disappeared with Kristen on Monday, and didn’t return until later that day, slamming the door shut behind him.

  I’d wisely left him alone.

  Monday night I’d made two phone calls. First was to Grady, telling him that I wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner Wednesday night because of a work commitment. He’d sounded disappointed, but graciously offered to take me out the following weekend. We’d tentatively made plans for that Saturday.

  I’d felt bad for canceling, but I didn’t feel . . . excited about the rescheduled date. Maybe I would once it got closer. Maybe I would make a bigger deal out of it. Get a new dress. Do something special with my hair. Shave my legs.

  Bringing out the big guns there.

  The second call had been to my mother. We’d chatted for a bit, about how I was settling in at work, and she asked about my date with Grady. We’d talked for close to an hour, and before I’d hung up she finally asked me about Brock.

  “How is everything with him?” she’d asked, her voice cautious.

  I’d been playing with Rhage, dangling one of those feather-mouse toys. “Things are okay.”

  “That doesn’t
sound entirely convincing, hon.”

  “Well, they actually have been okay. We’re getting along,” I’d told her. “We’re kind of friends . . . again, I guess.”

  “Oh, honey, it’s good to hear that. Your father didn’t tell me he was taking over as GM. He knew I would warn you,” she’d explained. “He wants you two so badly to . . .”

  I’d stilled. “To what?”

  There’d been a stretch of silence. “To just get along. He knows that with you two at the helm in Martinsburg, it will be no time before it’s as successful as the one here.”

  It had been nice to hear that, to know my father believed in me, but I also knew, because I wasn’t dumb, that wasn’t the only reason why either of them was asking about Brock and me.

  I’d never admitted my feelings for Brock, not to my parents, not to Abby or Katie. Doing so always felt like I could never take it back, but as I’d stared at the muted TV screen, I’d been suddenly so tired of not . . . of just not being honest.

  “Mom, I was in love with Brock from the moment he stepped through the front door of our house.”

  Even though half my hearing was shot, I’d swear I heard her sharp inhale. “Jilly . . .”

  “I know you’ve always known that. Hell, everyone knew it. But we’re . . . we’re okay now. It’s—” I hissed, yanking my hand back. The damn cat had latched its claws into my fingers when I stopped moving the toy. Rhage glared up at me. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry about me . . . and him.”

  “Baby, I never worried about you two.”

  My brows had lifted as I’d shaken my stinging hand. “Really?”

  “Not in the way you think,” she said mysteriously. “Look, your uncles are outside and about to pile out of their cars, looking to be fed. When are you coming home to see us?”

  “Thanksgiving,” I told her.

  “That’s so far away,” she complained.

  A slight smile tugged at my lips. “Mom, that’s only a little over a month from now.”

  “Too long,” Mom countered. “I love you.”