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I followed the sound of running water, pausing when I reached the master bathroom. Jack’s clothes were on the ground, but the white of his T-shirt was tinged with red. I bent, heart pounding as I examined the article of clothing for holes. Nothing.
Dropping the blood-splattered shirt, I entered the shower. Jack was facing the opposite direction, scrubbing his hands over his face. I raked my eyes over him, searching for signs of injury. The thick muscles along his shoulder blades tensed under my perusal.
Jack looked toward the ceiling, letting the suds rinse from his dark hair. “Are you still mad at me? You have every right to be. I was acting the maggot.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his choice of words. It was the moments when he let his guard down and an Irish phrase slipped that made my heart warm, even if I rarely knew what he was saying. I understood this one, though. He was admitting that he’d been out of line.
“No, I’m not still mad at you.” I trailed my finger down his spine. “But next time, do you think you could keep your cum out of my hair?”
Jack hung his head, his shoulders shaking with a laugh. “Sure, dove. Next time, I’ll aim for your tits.”
My mind traveled to the dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. “Whose blood?”
He huffed. “It doesn’t matter.”
As he turned to face me, I was prepared to argue. It doesn’t matter? He expected to come home covered in blood and not face scrutiny?
But a very large something that was pasted to his upper chest cut me off. I froze, analyzing the clear plastic protecting the fresh ink underneath. I held a hand over my mouth, tears springing to my eyes.
“It looks better without the wrapping,” Jack muttered, grinning at my reaction. “But I can’t get it wet.”
Shushing him, I refocused on his newest tattoo. It was a bird—about the size of my palm and intricately detailed. Plumage in different shades of gray and black, its head upturned toward his shoulder as though it was about to fly from his skin. Feathers floated off its outstretched wings, trailing down his ribcage with delicate grace.
Jack got a tattoo of a dove right over his heart.
“You like?” he asked, biting his lip.
“Mo anam cara,” I whispered through the tightness in my throat. I glanced between Jack’s face and the tattoo. It was so realistic I thought it might burst through the plastic and take flight.
Jack reached forward and tugged at the hem of my soaked tank top, pulling it over my head. When I looked up at him, he had his arms on either side of my shoulders, pinning me against the shower wall. A tear broke free and slid down my cheek. Jack watched it, not bothering to wipe it away. It was then that I realized how dark the circles under his eyes were getting.
I reached up, rubbing the pad of my thumb over one shadow. Jack closed his eyes, nuzzling into my palm.
“I can’t keep doing this, baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking. My heart wept for him—for the agony that lay below the surface of his skin. “I’m so fucking tired. I’m trying to be two different people.”
“Please, Jack,” I begged, leaning forward to kiss his plush lips. He returned it, but only just. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Jack groaned, tucking his nose into my neck. I wrapped my arms around his narrow waist, pulling him into me. He was so warm, so comforting. But I didn’t know if I was enough of a solace for him anymore. It was terrifying to think I was out of my depth. Connor’s death was destroying him. What could I do now that vengeance was Jack’s greatest desire?
“I’m not pretending. I’m holding back.” He caught my gaze with his bloodshot eyes. “I love who I am when I’m with you, and I hate who I am when I’m not.”
His words were a vice, constricting my throat to the point of pain. “I love who you are at all times, Jack.”
He grimaced, like my statement was an insult. “You don’t know the other man I can be. I’m not all bubbly and full of laughter. Not when I’m out in my world.”
“As I recall, I met the Hyde to your Jekyll last Christmas,” I reminded him. Jack gave me a dark look before continuing his oral exploration of my throat. “Let me in, babe. I’m not afraid of you.”
“I’m afraid of me!” Jack roared, lifting me up by the backs of my thighs. He had me pressed to the chilly marble wall within the second, my legs wrapped around his torso. His erection was evident, the head of it nudging my heat. My sex clenched on the steamy air, begging for him to take what was his.
“When are you going to learn that you don’t have to pin me to hard surfaces to keep me?” The question burst from my lips right before Jack sealed his mouth over mine, devouring my gasp. He delved his tongue in, angry and hungry—maybe even a little desperate.
“Never,” he replied huskily, trapping my bottom lip between his teeth and pulling it toward him. His hooded eyes locked on mine, a smirk adorning his sinful mouth. “Besides, you love being tossed around.”
“Yeah?” I challenged, raising a brow. “And how do you know that?”
Accepting the challenge, Jack swiped a finger along my pulsing clit, bringing the glistening digit up between us before putting it in his mouth. My body ignited in flames.
“That’s how I know,” Jack answered, his voice low with a threat. And Jack didn’t make empty threats.
