If Tomorrow Never Comes (15 page)

           
She cursed her disappointment, forever
believing Jake was different from other men, for expecting more from him.
 
Why, when she already knew men were no good
bastards?
  
Why did he make her want more
out of life, want to change, and climb out of the gutter?
 
Could it be because they were sharing the
same gutter?

           
The door opened and banged
shut.
 
She was half way down the hall
before Jake caught up with her.
 
When he
grabbed her wrist, she turned it this way and that until his grip somewhat
relaxed.
 
To her shock, his fingers began
moving almost absently against the skin of her arms rather as though he were
stroking the fur of a Tiger.
 

           
Yanking her arms away from him, she
hugged herself tightly beneath her breast, attempting to calm her
shuddering.
 
Turning, she faced the wall
so she wouldn't have to face his sharp gaze.
 
Pressing her forehead against the cold plaster helped keep her
upright.
 
To maintain her anger, she bit
quivering lips to prevent herself from blurting the apology bludgeoning her
teeth, threatening to escape and leap into midair.

           
The sounds of his opened hands
coming hard against the wall, one on each side of her shoulders blocking her
escape yet, not touching, made her jump.
  
He was dangerously close, his hot breath on the nape of her neck, the
power of his arms and hands encompassing.
 
Despite the space, he kept between them, the molecules of air trapped,
snapped, and crackled like an inferno penetrating her clothes, skin, muscles,
and bones, her heart.
 
She wanted to
move, shove him away, run, deny the sudden feeling of delirium setting up
residency within while the essence of him exploding entered every pore,
bringing to life sensations she'd never weathered before.
 
Senses frightening yet magnificent that if
she breathed would surely evaporate.
 
Moving was impossible, he'd only touch her again and, the powerful bolt
of lightning that surged through her only seconds ago, this time would surely
strike her dead.

           
For unbearable moments he didn't
speak.
 
She heard his heavy breathing,
his mind shifting gears, grinding.
 
Then,
when she thought she could bear no more, he gave her heart, pounding like that
of a captured bird, wings when he whispered into her hair the heat of those
words separating the fine strands, burning through her skull and melting the
armor she'd built around her mind.

           
Jake felt certain that words
wouldn't get past the ball of choking emotions obstructing breathing while
occupying his throat.
 
Taking in a deep
breathe he began to speak conversationally, hoping to set the tone at a rational
level.

           
“Don't!
 
Don't go, please.
 
Not like this.
 
I don't like myself much these days so; I
don't blame you if you hate my guts.
 
It
stops here, Jordan, it has to.
 
We've
both been through too much to do this to one another. All I can say is I’ll try
to make it up to you.
 
I don't make
promises; they only get broken in the end anyway.
 
I won't ask for anything and don't ask me
because I have nothing left to give.
 
You
are my last chance to get Scorpio.
 
He
took two people I loved from me.
 
Help
me!
 
Help me, Jordan.
 
But, this time, only if you want to.”
 

           
Tears pricked Jake's eyes as he
fought an impulsive urge to press his mouth into her silky, fragrant hair.
 
While he spoke, he did not have to touch
Jordan, he was so totally, so intimately aware of her sweetness, her
softness.
 
He marveled how his body
covered every inch of her, how it came to life in her presence.
 
Trying to fight memories of her exotic parts,
awareness struck full force that it had been a long dry spell.
 
His male anatomy was screaming for the
pleasures only a woman could give.
 
He
desperately wanted to feel the power of himself fill Jordan's barren space.
Making it more unbearable, he knew with alarming certainty he wanted her more
than he had ever wanted any woman, dangerous thoughts that reprimanded
him.
 
She was much too young, she’d been
hurt too badly, and both were powerless to erase each other’s past.

           
Jordan's attempt to face him, scared
the hell out of him.
 
His arms
dropped.
 
He stepped back.
 
She was astounded that Jake made no move to
claim what he wanted, considering his arousal was a visible sheet of flame it
was there in his eyes, in his tight jeans.
 
Regardless, he did not touch her.
 
She didn’t understand why his control meant more to her than anything in
her life.
 
She'd grown accustomed to his
heartlessness, ruthlessness, and lack of conscience, his violence, now standing
before her was a stranger.
 
She could not
only see but also feel the same vibrant current of sexual tension flowing
between them that had suddenly leaped into life.
 
His tears falling unchecked, his features
dazed, melting, were brutally battering her senses. How did someone handle a
man that one moment wanted to kill her and the next seemed afraid to touch her?
 

           
Suddenly, she wanted to reach out to
smooth his haggard face, reassure him that everything would be all right, but
she knew all too well, what would happen.
 
She could never touch another man, ever.
 
Men expected, wanted, demanded and she despised them.
 
Jake was no different.
 
Oh, but he'd just proven he was, a
frightening revelation that tugged her voice from the pit of her stomach, one
that sounded less than steady, lifeless, a monotone, “You hurt me.”

           
The shame of the world seemed to
weigh down Jake's shoulders, his head, and his eyelids, “I know I'm sorry.”

           
Somehow Jordan's mangled mind
tripped over her heart flip flopping over his apology and mustered the nerve to
reply, “Don’t do it again.”
 

           
In silence, they returned to the
apartment, sat at the table that she’d scrubbed spotless, ate Margaret's stew,
and shared the job of washing dishes and putting them away.
 
Though there was no conversation, it was
there, draping all around them, invisible, intangible, compassion linking two
kindred spirits.

           
Jake showered, took over an hour to
cut and shave off his mustache and beard, a feat that rendered his face red and
sore.
 
He tossed the earring in the
wastebasket.
 
This time, when he looked
into the mirror he saw a pleasing rebirth.

           
Taking great pains to leave the
bathroom as orderly and clean as he found it, hanging up the bleached, bright
towel that brought reflections of Jordan made a smile twitch his mouth as he
marveled how one woman could have a temper like a tigress and a forgiving
nature like a tranquil sea at low tide.

           
When he returned to the bedroom, it
surprised him to find Jordan already in bed, sound asleep, curled up as though
a kitten, wrapped warmly in a familiar comforter, John's. Positioning himself
in the chair, with the soft padding hugging his weary body, as though John
himself were holding him, Jake cried and cried until sleep came.

           
Margaret stood with her back against
her living room wall, trembling arms hugged across her chest.
 
She heard the argument, the slamming door,
and the footsteps in the hall.
 
She
waited for Jordan to descend the steps, and prayed Jake would stop her.
 
When he did and she heard them return to the
apartment, the door close and silence follow, she exhaled the breath she'd been
holding.
 
Closing her eyes, she muttered
another prayer.

CHAPTER 15

           
Children's squeals echoing in the
hall woke Jordan with a start.
 
Wrenching
upright, she listened intently until verifying the sounds as playful
giggles.
 
Swiping the resulting moisture from
her brow, she slipped weary legs over the edge of the mattress.
 

           
Frozen by the sight, she struggled
to focus on the stranger occupying the chair in the shadowed corner.
 
So positive was she that a dream had lingered
her fists found and scrubbed film coated eyes.
 
Scrutinizing the form once more thrust her into the real world; someone
was there all right, so sound asleep he was undisturbed by the commotion
outside.

           
Skepticism paralyzed her until a
photo of Margaret's came to mind.
  
The
stranger, clean-shaven, looking ten years younger, thinner, and magnanimously
handsome, was indeed Morgan.
 
Quizzically
measuring him, pondering what else there was about him that appeared unusual
she noticed his earring was gone leaving only long, blonde hair to identify the
man who had become disturbingly familiar.
 
A squall of peculiar feelings, chilling, yet warming at the same time,
made her exceedingly uncomfortable.
 
How
in the world was she going to fight the new Morgan?
 
Not amused by the only probable answer, she
felt an urgent need to put space between them before the labyrinth woke and
consumed her for breakfast.
 
On tiptoes,
cat like in extreme, she snuck out of the room.
 

           
Starving, upon entering the kitchen,
she immediately began searching the cabinets and refrigerator for something to
eat.
 
Rest was good, and food certainly
wouldn't hurt, possibly even rid Jake of the poison in his veins, she
thought.
 
Besides, Margaret's mothering
convinced her balanced nutrition was necessary to maintain health and vitality.
 
Considering last night’s events, she wondered
why she wanted to do anything for Jake.
 
For a brief moment, she thought possibly his new image was to please
her.
 
Jake Morgan, how absurd, and yet,
she was pleased, more than she wanted to admit. God, her mind was in such a
jumble, it never registered that during the cleaning process she’d thrown out
everything resembling food.
 

           
Occupying the archway, Jake observed
Jordan, his senses taking leave of his mind.
 
Startled by his casual good morning she turned to acknowledge him,
seconds passing before she could cage fluttering thoughts.
 
The man, the very handsome man, that sat
sleeping, immobile, therefore, not a threat, was now awake and on the prowl.
 
For the life of her, she wondered why she
could not meet his gaze.
 
Why her knees
seemed to be clicking together at the mere sight of him?
 
The rumblings once in her stomach heaving
into her chest alerted her to a peril she was powerless to handle leaving her
light headed.
 

           
“Good morning,” somehow garbled
out.
 
She could say no more her
fascination of him pushing through her mind sent all other thought’s into
oblivion.
 
The bleached white tee shirt
he wore sandwiched his rippling torso, his clean jeans, fitting like a glove,
cupped his sex.
 
Stinging embarrassment
leveled her eyes with his, the mere glimpse of his features radically
destroying her countenance.
 
Not only was
Jake rugged, with a temper of a grizzly, but also strikingly good-looking. Most
unsettling were his well-rested eyes, the whites no longer pink, and the green,
as though sparkling emeralds.
 
Panic
pushed to the max caused warming color to rush her cheeks.
 
Her gaze careened to the floor searching
desperately for what was left of her wits.

           
Sensing Jordan's uneasiness, Jake
became soldier erect, seconds stretching as he waited for her to say something,
anything.
 
Unable to control himself, his
inspection of her extending the limits of time sent an unfamiliar smoldering
need directly to the part of him suddenly coming to life.
 
He took in a long, refreshing drink of her
tasseled hair, wrinkled blouse, and properly fitted jeans, her sweet, adorable,
face.
 
Right now, getting closer, even by
a microscopic inch, would mean sweeping her into his arms and holding her until
they broke.
 
Wise man that he was knew
that couldn't happen, not now, not ever.