CHAPTER111
Why am I shouting?
Because he’s hit a nerve and it hurts, and I hate him for it, hate him for stripping me bare. I don’t get a second of warning before he bridges the gap between us, instantly molding his mouth to mine, completely unexpected.
His lips are warm and soft, swiftly pushing mine apart. His tongue is in my mouth, caressing, and it feels like heaven, instantly crushing my defenses and melting my armor. His hands bury under the layers of my loose hair, and I kiss him back, tangling my fingers in the collar of his shirt so I can pull him closer, instinct taking over. Breathing heavily, I’m getting lost in the sensation of his touch, his sensual mouth which does amazing things to my very soul. We both moan lightly as the kiss deepens, my stomach lurching with desire, and I almost let go.
My head reels around full circle as though trying to slap some sense into me, and somehow I mentally recoil.
I can’t do this; I can’t.
Yet I can’t stop. It’s addictive as he’s pulling me tight, and I’ve literally no defenses. He unclips my seatbelt, and it slides loose; I’m against him, his arm around my waist pulling me hard into his body over the central controls, any awkwardness of the car’s confined space ignored.
I fear he will drag me onto his lap, and then what?
This will change everything; this could ruin my career, my life, my mental state, our relationship. What if we cross the line and I start to feel more for him? I don’t think I can trust him not to hurt me; it’s what he does: sex and casual affairs, meaningless hook ups. I’m just a challenge to him, a new toy that holds his interest because I’ve been evasive, and once he has me, what then?
I can’t, I just can’t.
I start recoiling from him, the passion in me burning out, replaced with genuine fear, suffocating terror. My hands sagging, I start pushing against him. He feels the change in me and lets me go, coldly, no real hesitation. Both of us are inhaling heavily as he sits back in his seat harshly, glaring at me.
“That’s exactly what I mean.” His voice is cold and angry. Tapping my temple with his finger, he says, “This is your biggest enemy, Emma, not me.” Rage brews in the depths of his green eyes.
“Why did you do that?” I spit, my body still reeling and out of whack from the assault on my senses, lungs struggling to self-regulate, my lips on fire from his kiss. I am in free fall.
“To prove a point,” he snarls and turns away coldly.
“What point?” I almost cry at him. I’m so overwrought with emotions, so confused. He scrubs his hands through his ruffled hair and exhales; for a moment I think he’s going to jump out of the car again and walk off, but he just sits and sighs, grasping the wheel, pulling himself up to sit properly.
“What does it matter?” His voice is deflated and he avoids looking at me, his aggression evaporating.
So? What? He’s decided, screw it, we’re not talking anymore? How can he assault me with a kiss then just say forget it? What the hell?
I’m angry. I’m really goddamn, seething angry.
How dare he!
“Fuck you!” It’s out of my mouth before I even really contemplate screaming at my boss, and I’m out of the car. I’m raging. My eyes are stinging and blurry. I hate that he makes me fall apart like this. He knows how to rip my head open, and I hate him for it, hate the way he strips me of the control I’ve built up over the years.
He’s fast out after me, spinning me around as he pulls me into him. I try to fight, but he envelopes me and buries his face in my hair, holding me in a vice like grip so that I can’t struggle free. A bear hug to stop me from escaping.
“I’m sorry, Emma, stop. Emma, I’m sorry.” His voice is raw and strained. I’m fighting but losing, as he knows how to hold me so that I can’t move, my body wrapped in his, almost suffocating me. He hugs me in tighter, and I slump, anger dissipating when pinned to him this way, in so much emotional pain. He’s breathing into my hair, the warmth of it on my scalp. Overwhelmed, tears run down my cheeks as he slowly breaks me.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Emma.” His voice is somber now, close to my ear, his crazy mood taking a new direction again. I relax into his hold, no longer struggling, unable to hate him when he’s this way with me, and sounding this sorry when I am this upset.
“I don’t want to fight either.” I swallow a sob, slumping into him in a bid to let him heal my heart.
“Maybe we should go back to the boat?” He sounds tired. I don’t know how to navigate this version of Jake; it’s more moods than I’m used to. It’s exhausting, but I put it down to the scene with Hunter and the aftereffects of too much alcohol, lack of sleep, stress. This isn’t him.
“Maybe,” I whisper; at least there I can go to my room and get some distance, some perspective. Let him alone to get a grip of his roller coaster mood swings.
“No,” he snaps, surprising me again with a U-turn in attitude. The way he says it causes me to bristle and look up. A sudden mood shift, again?"
