He dries his hands on a dish towel and tosses it aside before gesturing for me to follow him. “Come on.”
The rush of blood in my ears drowns out his footsteps against the polished wood floor. I follow him down the hall, past doors that are all shut. He opens the one at the end…a bedroom bigger than my entire apartment. King-size bed, a fireplace built into the wall, sheets white and crisp. Everything is so neat and expensive-looking. I wish I could enjoy it.
He opens the drawer of a long, shiny dresser and pulls out a plain cotton T-shirt. “Here.” He holds it out to me. “You can sleep in this.”
Then, just like that, he starts stripping. He kicks off his shoes and undoes his belt. I freeze, pulse thundering. My mind goes blank, and all I can do is make a move for the bathroom, hoping to escape and get a little privacy to get myself under control.
“Where are you going?” He looks up, confused.
It’s the innocence in his voice that gets me. He honestly doesn’t understand.
I stammer. “Bathroom. I… was going to get changed.”
“No.” He’s calm, but there’s an edge. “In here. I want to see you.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed after dropping his jeans.
Shit.
Panic spikes.I knew this was coming, didn’t I? Isn’t this what all men want?But it’s different. Standing in front of him, I feel his eyes burning a hole through me. My stomach flips.
Now I wish I hadn’t eaten because my stomach churns, but it’s something darker, heavier. I’m not scared of what he’ll do. I’m scared of how much I want him to do it. One thing’s for sure, my heart is going to give out if it races like this much longer. And the thing is, it’s not fear, or dread, or anything like that. I’m not scared, not of him, anyway. But of myself.
I’m afraid of the familiar heat starting to build in my core. I’m afraid of the wetness that’s starting to trickle out of me. He’s so overwhelmingly handsome. So hot.
When he pulls off his shirt, he’s all bare skin, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. All muscle, scars, lines that tell stories I don’t want to know. He’s so beautiful, it hurts to look at him. His tanned chest and rippling abs make me tremble again. This is the last man I should want, but any good sense I had left isn’t with me right now. I’ve always been so level-headed, but everything about this situation has me turned upside down.
He waits, expectant, with one eyebrow cocked. Jolting me out of my indecision. Not sure what he’s expecting, but if he thinks I’m going to take my time and turn this into a tease or something, he’s sadly mistaken.
I pull my shirt off quickly and awkwardly.
The way his breath catches, I can see it, the hunger in his eyes, the way his control slips for a split second. It causes my nipples to harden, and the heat between my thighs to turn into an inferno.
He whispers, “The bra, too.” His tongue flicks over his lips, gaze glued to my chest.
With my eyes on the floor, I reach behind to unclasp my bra. For a moment, I freeze. I think about my dad, on his knees, Jack’s gun to his head, and any shame gets swallowed up by raw adrenaline. Jack might seem kind and even decent, but I’ve seen the other side of him, too.
He says my name, soft and reverent, like it’s a prayer. “Lennon. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I somehow muster enough courage to look up and meet his gaze. He’s serious. He means it. “Thank you,” I breathe, forcing myself not to cross my arms over my chest. I’m not shaking anymore.
I drop my jeans and let them pool at my feet. For the first time, I feel like I have a choice. Like I could stop this or lean into it. This is the last situation I should feel powerful in. But that doesn’t change the fact that I do. The fact that I can control something about this fucked-up turn of events is invigorating. He wants me, and he wants me bad. I can see a strain written across every line of his face, but I know he’s not going to attack me or force me into anything.
He hands me the T-shirt. The cotton is thick and soft, heavy with his scent…musk, spice, and something masculine. I pull it over my head, the fabric swallowing me up. It smells so good.Much better than the old fryer oil that’s usually clinging to my clothes.
He pulls back the sheets and pats the bed. “Come lie down. You’ve had a long day. You deserve some rest.” The softness in his voice almost undoes me. He has no idea how much I need to hear that. How much I need kindness tonight.
I lie down and immediately curl into a ball.
He sits beside me, close but not touching. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, gentler than he has any right to be. Moving slowly, he gets in beside me. He leaves just enough distance for me to adjust to having him there before he reaches out, his rough hand closing around my waist and pulling me in. Careful. My head falls against his chest. His skin is warm, heartbeat steady. He only holds me, nothing more. No questions. No expectations.
It takes a few moments, but eventually, I let myself relax. Let myself believe that maybe, just for tonight, I’m safe.
My eyelids get heavy, and I start to drift, surrounded by the smell and heat of him. Before I know it, I’m asleep, and for the first time in years, I don’t dream about running.
4
JACK
Iswear to God, I deserve a damn medal for the amount of self-control I’ve exercised all night. No, scratch that, I deserve a statue for sainthood or maybe a stained glass window in some ruined cathedral, Saint Jack of Holding His Shit Together. But nobody is handing out trophies for guys like me, especially not for one good night after years of bad ones. If there’s a heaven, I doubt they’re holding a spot for career criminals with blood under their nails and things to hide.
