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The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, so I sit back down. I was right. This is it, and I’m too late. He’s holding his anger in. I can sense it.
He continues, “When you first told me about your situation with your foster parents, I was livid. I took the information that you gave me, and I called someone who does some work for me on occasion. He investigated your background and just called me with the findings.”
I blanch at his words and begin to feel lightheaded. I was right. He knows everything. I go to grab my bag so that I can give him the copy of the file that I took from the office. Maybe he will go easy on me if I return it and apologize.
“You need to stay seated,” he insists. He waits for me to settle back onto the couch before continuing. “There’s no easy way to say this. The investigation revealed that your foster dad is no longer living. He had a heart attack soon after you were removed from their home. Your foster mom moved back to Indiana to live with family shortly after. She is still alive.”
He looks expectantly at me, waiting for me to respond.
“Is that it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
“Well, yes. Are you okay? I know you didn’t want me going after him, so I assume you must have cared for him?” he asks quizzically. “I mean, I don’t understand why you would care for him after what he did to you, but you did live with them for a year. I have to be honest. I believe that he deserved far worse than what happened to him. I’m not happy that he passed away, actually. I was looking forward to destroying him.”
“So, he’s dead?” I repeat. “Really?”
Disbelief clouds my unfocused gaze.
It is hard to believe that the man who haunted my dreams died years ago. All this time, I was scared to check into his whereabouts myself. I was terrified of what I might find. And now, it’s all over. I never have to think of him again. He can never hurt me again. He can never hurt anyone again.
Tears begin rolling down my cheeks, one and then another, then another. Wave after wave of relief washes over me. Sadness and grief I had been holding in for years pours out. Jake, seeing my tears, comes to sit next to me on the couch. He puts his arms around me and draws me into his embrace. My gentle tears continue and soak through his T-shirt. Desperate for comfort, I wrap my arms around his body and pull him closer to me.
When was the last time I allowed someone to hug me like this? I never allowed my uncle to hug me or even Dominic, really, not a real hug like this. I don’t allow people to comfort me, and I rarely cry, not since my parents’ death. I have always kept people at a distance. If you don’t let them in, they can’t hurt you.
But Jake? His comfort is a balm to my broken soul. He somehow slips beneath my defenses. Maybe the pain that I’ve been holding in my heart can finally heal.
Embarrassed to realize that I have soaked the shoulder of his shirt, I pull back and look at him. Unspilled tears continue to gather in my eyes as I fight to control my emotions. I hate being vulnerable like this. “Thank you for telling me about my foster dad. I’ve worried for years that he would try to contact me, try to hurt me for turning him in. Now I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
Jake’s eyes fill with worry and concern, but he breathes a sigh of relief at my words. “I was so worried that you’d be upsetat the news.”
“No, never. All these years, I never had the courage to find out what happened to him. Now that you’ve done this for me, I can finally move on. These are relieved and happy tears. Thank you for telling me.”
Jake puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer while his other arm reaches around my front to pull me into a half hug. My cheek rests against his chest. The rise and fall of his breathing are comforting as I lay against him. I put my hand on his chest, needing to feel closer to him. I breathe in the deep, intoxicating scent of him. He smells fresh, clean, and woodsy, like the outdoors.
We sit like that for several minutes, not saying a word. Neither of us feels the need to break the silence.
Jake begins rubbing my arm up and down in a soothing motion. He places his lips on my temple in a comforting gesture but doesn’t immediately pull back.
What should have been a comforting touch turns into something more. His simple touch starts a reaction in my body that I don’t understand. My breathing quickens as I realize how close we are sitting and how tightly his arms are around me.
A shiver works its way up my spine, and my heart begins to beat rapidly in response. The same magnetic pull that I felt at the hotel is returning with each stroke of his fingers on my skin.
Jake lifts up the hem of my shirt so that his hands are now on my bare side, and I jump at the contact. The air around us begins to sizzle with electric heat. I know he must feel it, too.
I need to get out before it’s too late. I pull back to tell Jake that I need to leave. But the words stick in my throat when I face him. His gaze is on me, and there is enough heat in his intense blue eyes to start a fire.
“I have to kiss you. Just once. Please.”
It’s his “please” that gets me and has me giving in.
He waits for me to agree before he lifts my chin and takes my lips in a passionate kiss that is so potent that I struggle to breathe. I moan at the taste of his lips as his tongue sweeps passionately into my mouth. He breaks contact only to pull me onto his lap. He grabs the back of my head and pulls my mouth to his once more. I taste the passion and need in this kiss and feel his erection as he hardens beneath me. His strong arms envelop me as he pulls me even closer, and his mouth continues to crush against mine in a gentle assault.
My insides turn to molten lava, so hot. Too hot. I clutch his shoulders in an almost painful grip when his hands go back beneath my shirt. This time, his determined hands are not as gentle as he rubs my back and shoulders. I moan into his mouth as I feel my defenses begin to fall away.
In a last attempt to stop the madness, I pull back, my hand on his chest.
“You said just one kiss. That was at least two.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“And yet, two is still not enough,” he growls low in his throat. His gaze is boring into mine, daring me to disagree.
