Authors: Nancy Gideon
They’d gone several miles down the interstate with
Giles glancing worriedly in the mirror at the detective before he asked, “She get hurt?”
“No.”
“The doc decide to come along?”
“No.”
“All righty then. I’ll just be driving.”
Susanna leaned up between the seats, the scent of her hair enough to make Jacques dizzy.
“We need to stop someplace. I can’t assess their situation in the back of a moving vehicle.”
“Once we’re in Indiana we’ll get a motel.”
She turned toward him, face so close he sucked in a quick breath. “Indiana?”
“Over, then down. Figure they’d be looking for us on the straight shot. It’s out of our way but a helluva lot safer. Unless you think there’s any immediate danger to either of them. Is there?”
“I don’t think so, but sooner rather than later, okay?”
“You’re the doctor.”
She continued to stare into his eyes, then nodded. As she backed away, she glanced curiously toward their driver. “Did you kidnap him, too?”
Giles grinned at her. “Just along for the ride and minding my own business.” He passed her an orange that was rolling about in the console. “Here. Didn’t get the chance to finish my lunch. This’ll give her some energy.” Then he sobered. “Max okay?”
“I don’t know yet.” That was the best answer she had.
It was dark by the time they pulled into a past-its-prime motor lodge off the highway. Giles left the engine running while he went in to get two adjoining rooms in the back, paying cash. He backed the vehicle in close to the walk to hide a plate number that wouldn’t match the one he gave to the desk clerk.
While Susanna checked on Charlotte, Giles stood outside the room in the bracing cold smoking a cigarette as Jacques walked across the parking lot to the fast-food place next door to buy them something quick and filling. The wind cut through the leather coat he wore over the security uniform. He’d forgotten how damned cold it was in the North, then was surprised by that recollection. He wondered if he’d lived in the changeable clime all his life or just the part of it he’d spent with Susanna. Did she know that little detail of his history? Would she tell him if he asked?
What else wasn’t she telling him?
His mood was as frigid as the air by the time he got back to the rooms. Giles met him at the door, letting him know that Charlotte was resting easy and that Max had been sedated. He offered to keep watch from their room and disappeared inside with half the food and coffee.
Warily, Jacques entered the second unit.
The bathroom door was shut and the shower was running. After setting down the food, he went back to the vehicle to bring in the bag he’d hurriedly packed for the trip. Carefully, he opened the bathroom door
and hung a clean T-shirt on the knob inside before shutting it again.
There were two double beds. She’d put her large shoulder bag on one so he took the other, stretching out on top of the bedspread without removing coat or boots. He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew the sound of her rummaging through the takeout bags woke him.
“Chicken or burger?” she asked without looking up.
“Burger, unless you want it.”
She set the carton on the edge of the nightstand. “Fries or onion rings?”
“Onion rings.”
“What if I want them?”
“Too bad.” He sat up, enjoying the sight of her slight smile. Enjoying the sight of her in his T-shirt with her legs bare and her hair towel-dried and fluffy. She smelled delicious. And she had yet to make eye contact with him.
They ate in silence, each sitting on the edge of their own bed, knees nearly touching, making quick work of the food. After she’d sucked up the last of her drink, Susanna asked, “Can I make a call?”
“No. Sorry. Not while we’re on the road.”
She nodded but didn’t look up.
“How’s Charlotte?” he asked.
“She shouldn’t have any trouble making the trip. Probably just a hormonal thing.”
“And Max?”
“I don’t know.” Her gaze flickered up and away. “It depends on how much they gave him. We won’t know until he wakes up, and it might be best if that didn’t happen until we get where we’re going.”
“Agreed.” He was silent for a moment and then it just burst out like a crack of lightning and boom of thunder. “Dammit! How could you do that? How the
fuck
could you do that to me?”
When he surged to his feet, she flinched back, startled. He quickly put some distance between them, pacing the length of the room in fierce, stalking strides as long-smoldering anger caught flame.
“You stole my memories,” he accused in a low rumble as she watched him through the fringe of her lashes. “You stole my
life
. How could you
do
that do me?”
“I had no choice,” she whispered.
“No choice.” He considered that, getting angrier because he believed her. “What about that mark you wear? No choice there, either? Did that mean anything to you? Ever?” She shrank beneath the force of his roar. “Tell me, because I sure as hell don’t know.”
There was a tap at the door. He jerked it open to see Giles standing there, stoic and formidable.
“Thin walls. Everything okay in here?” He glanced around Jacques to where Susanna was huddled on the bed, his eyes narrowing.
“Just clearing the air,” she told him with a wan smile. “Rather loudly.”
“Mind your own business,” Jacques snarled at the other man.
“As long as you mind your manners,” Giles countered. There was no mistaking the threat.
Jacques rubbed a restless hand over the top of his head and relaxed his stance. “I will.”
“Okay. Good night then.”
Susanna sat quietly, her eyes upon the rigid figure at the door. She’d expected that explosive fury ever since he’d stepped out of the elevator all geared up for battle. Now that the danger of their external situation had eased, all his pent-up aggression had turned toward her.
She was tired and beaten down with worry and not about to take any more of his temper no matter how well justified.
“You don’t get to yell at me.”
Jacques turned at that quiet statement of fact. His brows veed down in anger but she didn’t let him speak.
“You lost your past, but I lost
my
future. I gave you the chance to have one without going through
every
day and night for seven years
knowing
what you were missing.” Her voice thickened and faltered, but when he took a step toward her, she put up a hand. “Go take a shower and let that sink in. And don’t come out of there until you’re ready to have a civil discussion that doesn’t involve a raised voice.”
For a moment, Jacques didn’t move. She could see the astonishment blanking his brain of all the blame he’d been about to heap upon her. Frustration and hesitation worked his jaw. Intensity banked in his eyes until they appeared as black as the cold night outside.
When she wouldn’t look away, he pivoted to storm into the bathroom, shivering the thin walls with a powerful slam of the door. She didn’t let out her breath until she heard the shower running.
He was in there for a long, long time.
Susanna waited, mentally sorting through her rational arguments, lining them up into an unbroken wall of circumstances that would absolve her guilt. So why did she feel so ashamed? Why did the thought of the anguish and uncertainty tormenting him for all the weeks, months, and years cut to the heart of her until the pain was a raw, bleeding ache of blame?
She was responsible for what had happened to him. She’d initiated their forbidden relationship. She’d wanted him beyond all reason and that desire had weakened her ability to see the truth. That what she’d done was wrong. That what they’d done was wrong.
And that left her with one sobering revelation. She wouldn’t change a damned thing even if she could go back and do it over.
The water stopped running and suddenly courage failed her. The room was abruptly too bright, the setting too stark for the conversation they were about to have. She wasn’t sure she could face his glowering stare again without breaking down completely.
Jacques paused in the open doorway, backlit by the harsh bulbs above the sink. All he wore were jeans that hung low off lean hips. Shadow and highlights delineated the sculpted muscles of arms, shoulders, and chest. She couldn’t see his expression clearly from
where she was tucked under the covers in the darkened room. As he reached for the bathroom switch, his features were etched in silhouette, fierce and strong, and her pulse trembled the same way it had that first time she’d seen him.
Instead of moving toward the beds, he went to the window, parting the drapes a scant inch so he could peer outside.
“Your Shifter bodyguard,” he began, his manner subdued and cautious, “that was me?”
“Yes.”
“The one you found exciting, the one you loved, the one who marked you, that was me?”
“Yes.”
“My name was Jack Stone?”
“Yes.”
“What else do you know about me? Did I have a family? Where was I from? Was there anyone I was close to, who cared about me, who missed me?”
His poignant questions made her throat burn. “I don’t know. You didn’t talk about your past.”
“How interesting could a slave be? I probably didn’t have time for a lot of hobbies.”
She tried to ignore his bitterness by telling him softly, “You talked about the future you wanted, what we’d do, the life we’d have.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “And what was it I wanted?”
“What you have now.”
“Everything except you.” He turned toward her and she was glad she couldn’t see his face. “Right?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell were we thinking?”
“That we deserved more than we were allowed to have.”
He pondered that for a moment, his mood quiet yet still simmering. “You could have left with me.”
“No. They’d made an investment in me that I hadn’t paid back. The project I was on was very valuable. They would have killed you and dragged me back.”
“I could have stayed.”
“Under their control? With no chance of ever obtaining those dreams? I wanted more for you. I had to let you go. I had to. I loved you too much to keep you prisoner and watch you die.” Her voice fractured painfully.
“Didn’t you wonder what happened to me? You never tried to find out?”
She drew a hitching breath. “I didn’t dare. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. Any more than you could have stayed away if you’d remembered any of what we’d shared. The only thing I had to hold on to was the belief that somewhere you were living those dreams, that you were free.” She smiled, a fulfilling sense of satisfaction making her voice husky. “You did well for yourself. I knew you would.”
He stepped away from the window, rubbing his arms distractedly. “I remember how much I hated the cold up here.”
“You used to say even wrapping up inside another
animal couldn’t keep you warm.” She paused as his fingertips brushed over the worn leather of the coat hanging on the back of a chair. “But that I could.”
His eyes glowed in the darkness.
And she took a chance.
“It’s warm over here.”
Nineteen
J
acques slipped out of his jeans and under the covers, his weight upon the soft mattress threatening to bring her softer body to him. Even though she braced to keep from rolling up against him, the space they shared beneath the sheet was suddenly, gloriously warm.
He lay on his back, arms crossed upon his chest in a tense pose that didn’t exactly invite intimacy. She approached him carefully, the way one would a dangerous wild thing that had had its trust abused and broken, with a gentle hand and a soft word.
He held his breath as her knuckles grazed his cheek where scars barely remained.
“When I saw you lying on the floor at the club, I thought they’d killed you.”
His stare stayed focused on the ceiling as he started breathing again in slow, wary respirations.
“I was so afraid that you’d died thinking I’d betrayed all of you.” She paused, giving him an opportunity to speak. When he didn’t take it, she asked, “Is that what you believe?”
“No. I think you were deceived right along with the rest of us.”
“Damien used my calls to find me. He traded Max
to get me back. I had no idea he was capable of such things.”
“And you’re going back to him, knowing what kind of man he is?” A quiet question without blame or derision.
“Everything I thought we had together was a lie. I could never trust him again, knowing that.”
He turned toward her then, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “And you’ve never told any lies?”
“Only when I told myself I could forget you.”
As her words snagged on that admission, his head rolled away in a denying gesture. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you going back to him?”
“I don’t want to. I have to. He has things I need. My work. My daughter. You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think.”
She was silent for a moment, studying his harsh profile. When she placed her hand atop his, his fingers spread to squeeze hers tightly for an instant, then released them as she was asking him to release her. “I know you do. And that’s why you won’t stop me.”
“I want to,” he growled low.
“I know.”
“It’s not fair,” he said suddenly. “You know my dreams, but I don’t know yours.” His gaze was intense when he regarded her. “I have none of those memories of us together.” He brushed the wide neck opening of the T-shirt she wore aside so his fingertips could trace the scars it covered.
“There’s nothing we dream of more than finding
and claiming our mate. There’s nothing that binds us like that connection. That claiming and the link from it are more sacred than a marriage vow. It can’t be broken. It can’t be denied.” His tone grew wistful as he continued.
“I have none of those memories even though I know we’re mated. I dream sometimes of what it must have been like between me and the one I’d hoped would be mine to protect and treasure for the rest of my life, but I’ll never know.”