“It’s not Alicia. That cold barracuda meant my father. She liked—and still does—pointing out how weak he was, no matter his heritage, because he didn’t conform to what she saw as strong. It’s her way of trying to get to me, to hurt me. He never loved Mother, and she, Vivienne, in her way, tolerated me…”
His fingers stilled on his scar. “She’s the only mother I know. But she wasn’t strong enough, could never stand up to Grandmother. I…I used to hear her cry herself to sleep at night, and I would go to her room to try and comfort her. But she wouldn’t let me close.”
His mouth twisted, and he rubbed his eyes as if to wipe away the memories. “Liquor became her crutch, trying to cope with an unrequited love and a cold parent. Oddly, after my father’s death, she wasn’t so cold to me anymore. But by then, I’d learned to be wary.”
At six years old? My heart ached for him. I’d only known love and acceptance from my parents. But Jack had been a baby.
There were no words I could utter to make his past better. Unable to bear the distance between us, I got off the bed and crossed to Jack. I knelt before him, bracing my hands on his thighs. His hand came up to stroke my hair.
“Didn’t Nigel say anything to you?” I asked softly
“I didn’t live with him at the time. Hell, I thought Atherton was home, and me the blooded son,” he said, heavy on the sarcasm, and lowered his hand. “A few months after I turned eighteen, I found out the truth. I walked out of that house and never went there again until recently.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Those turbulent gray eyes finally shifted to me. “Don’t be. I did okay on my own.”
No. You didn’t. Even now, I see the hurt in you.
With Jack’s messed-up life, especially from such a young age, he probably saw love as something unattainable. Something that would never be his.
Gently, I traced the scar on his stomach, the story about his surfing accident echoing in my mind. God, he had to be hurting so badly to not care whether or not he died. I slipped my hands around his waist and hugged him tightly.
His arms tightened around me. His chest heaved as he inhaled a massive breath, then he eased back. “C’mon.”
He grasped my hand and pulled me up to my feet as he rose. I tripped, bumping into him. Both his arms came around me, and he grinned, the dark shadows in his eyes fading. “Let’s get going, or I’ll take you back to bed and keep you here until we leave on Sunday.”
Snorting, I pushed away and got a change of clothes from the case Jack said was mine. At the bathroom door, trying for levity, I retorted, “It wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, but sightseeing is far, far better—eeep!” I slammed the door as he tore across the room. Laughing, I bolted it.
Hammering on the wood echoed. “You’re in so much trouble—”
“No, I’m not,” I yelled back. “We’re going out like you promised. Or—or you’ll never get laid again!”
A low growl reached me, then a softer thump on the door. Was he banging his brow on the wood?
“Tell me again why I want you?” he growled, his voice muffled.
“Because only I will put up with all your bossy crap.”
“You wound me, Rayen.” I heard the smile in his voice, and I stood there, grinning like an idiot. I was so grateful I had him back, and that Margo Blackstone was a nasty memory. At least, for the weekend.
JACK
The choked traffic and glowing taillights lined the street like evil eyes. This city never slept, even this late at night.
As I waited for our ordered meal near the fast-food vendor, I studied Ray. The night was balmy enough, and she wore a short gray skirt and a fitted black, sleeveless top that showed her sexy curves. My chest compressed with my feelings for her. Ray had been my calm in a storm of pain.
After the regurgitation of my past, it’d felt as if a severed part of me had been healed, and I could breathe easier. Hell, like sunlight, she warmed the loneliness inside me. She’d given me her unreserved acceptance, despite knowing and seeing some of my shit. She’d given me a sense of peace I’d never expected.
I’d never known what loving someone truly meant until I met her. My ray of light.
She stood a foot from me, her head snapping both ways as if trying to take in all the sights and sounds at once, then her gaze lifted to the tall, colorfully lit buildings in Times Square. Unable to resist her, I put my arms around her, drawing her close, and kissed her nape.
She glanced back, giving me her dimpled, sparkling smile.
“Here ya go,” the vendor’s voice pulled me back. I accepted our food and drinks and handed her a hotdog and a soda.
“This is perfect!” she grinned, unwrapping the dog.
