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He was an angel. A stark, beautiful angel of darkness.
“Say what you need to say,” he rasped. “Be done with me if that’s what you want.” His hips shifted, pressing into my body and I bit back a moan. “But I’m nowhere near done with you.”
He’d come back into my life last week, and ever since our brief encounter, his presence hadn’t left. Rather, it followed me around like aftershocks of lightning. And in that moment, seeing Jack’s dark eyes and deep frown, I wanted so desperately to close the few inches between our lips, and hide.
I hated myself for wanting such a thing. He was the man that stole my soul. Lied to me. And left my broken heart behind for his best friend to pick up the pieces.
Yes, I wanted to run and hide. But I didn’t know in which direction to do either.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” I said. “This is my…” I stopped the word “mess” from slipping out. Because that’s what this was. A mess. Brock, my father’s death, the unsolved stalker issue. All of it was crashing down harder than the rain and I glanced at the casket in the ground. All the flowers that were lovely mere moments ago, were ruined.
“This is my father’s funeral,” I finally got out, shock hitting me, and I had no idea what to do with it.
“I know,” Jack said. “And you’re not alone.”
My eyes shot to his. He was there, had been there, offering shelter beneath his cover of darkness. I missed that shelter. The hot, raw, consuming way I melted into his arms and the world faded away. The same fever that came with his consumption swirled around me in a different way than it used to. Because I knew what I was missing.
Loss.
It was a day of total loss.
I’d had Jack once. Had that shelter. But that was over now. He may be standing there, but I still felt alone.
“Goodbye, Jack.” I looked at my father one more time, then walked away, further into the storm.
Pulling my car keys out of my purse, I lifted my chin and prepared to make a clean getaway. My car was only a few more feet away. Almost there…
“Lana,” Jack said, passing me and stopping by the front of my car, hovering near the driver’s side.
“Nope,” I said back, focusing really hard on unlocking my door. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be near him. Couldn’t talk to him. I was teetering on the brink of tears and anger and sadness and I. Just. Couldn’t.
“Talk to me,” he demanded, but his tone was softer than usual. Though he still issued a command, the way he said it held an undertone of…begging. I shook my head because, clearly, I’d misheard. Jack Powell made others beg. But not him. Not ever.
The umbrella was back up and he was covering me once again…the wall he was so good at playing in full force. And the memory of how he once guarded me, while pushing me to be strong, stung like a thousand wasps along my skin.
“Talk to me,” he said again.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have plenty to say to me.” He was right. I likely did. But nothing that would change the past. When I said nothing, he moved toward me, dominance radiating off of him. “You can’t avoid me forever.”
I glanced up at him, fury and anger and bone chilling sadness enveloping the last ounce of patience I had.
“Sure I can.”
His eyes narrowed and he unleashed the dark glare he typically saved for when he was preparing to unleash all kinds of hell…or all kinds of lust. I was interested in neither at the moment, no matter how much my body was itching with the need to grab hold of him.
“But you won’t.” Calm confidence dripped from every word.
I redoubled my efforts of unlocking my car. When did jamming a key into a metal notch become so hard? Maybe it was the intense man staring me down that had my palms shaking. A man that spurred all kinds of feelings and memories I didn’t want to tackle. Especially when his hand around the handle of the umbrella gripped tighter. Hands I knew intimately.
He leaned in, crowding me. My little Honda looked like a clown car compared to his broad shoulders and towering frame.
“What do you want from me?” I asked with exhaustion.
“I want you to come home with me and talk to me. I want to listen to you. I want you to listen to me back.” His free hand skimmed along my neck. The damp feeling of his fingertips made me shiver, and my cold body instantly ignited with heat. “I want to take this pain in your eyes away.”
I wanted that too. So much. Jack was the first man that I’d told about Brock attacking me when I was young. Jack gave me the strength to be honest and took the burden of my secret I’d carried for years away. He was the cure to the poison that had been a part of me for so long. Only now, Jack was a special kind of drug, one that held its own side effects.
