CHAPTER46
I didn’t think that was possible.
I reach out and tousle it some more; I’ve never touched his hair and it feels nice, kind of thick and smooth, a little crunchy with product, yet sensual.
He catches my fingers, pulling my hands in between us and keeping hold of them tightly. He’s giving me a testy look, and I wonder again where his date has gone. She’s lucky, because she gets to run her fingers through his hair anytime she wants, and that upsets me.
“If I have to drag you in there and put you to bed, I will. I’m not against hauling you and holding you down.” There’s seriousness in his eyes. He looks like boss Carrero and that means no messing about.
“Promises, promises,” I tut, wriggling a hand free to poke him again in the dimple; he’s not smiling but I remember where it is.
Bullseye.
“Fuck’s sake, Emma. What you do to me, woman!” He scoops me up speedily, and I squeal. He’s so fast it makes the room tilt, and I grab on for dear life and try not to choke him with my vice like grip, my face almost pressed into his. He can walk fast and, in a few easy strides, we’re already in my room and he’s pulling back my sheets with one hand.
“Are you mad?” I suddenly turn tearful. I don’t want my gorgeous, swoony boss, angry at me.
“No, Emma, I’m not mad.” He lays me in the bed and pushes me onto my pillow softly. He pulls up my sheets and tucks me in like I’m a child, taking great care to do so.
I don’t remember my mother ever doing this for me. No one has ever done this for me.
“You don’t like drunk Emma?” I ask warily, upset at myself now.
He gently smiles down at me and runs a careful hand across my hair then down my cheek, soothing me. The back of his fingers feathering softly across my face, igniting tingles over my skin. I don’t think he’s mad, and it makes me feel better. His touch has the same effect as a calming wave, that gentle look on his face relaxing me back to submissiveness.
“I do like drunk Emma, maybe a little too much.” He seems distant when he says it, and his eyes darken; he frowns, then quickly smooths it away.
“I don’t like drunk Emma,” I sigh and close my eyes. I’m jealous that Jake likes drunk Emma.
She’s a bitch.
I close my eyes, but when I do, the face of that weasel man at my mother’s table when I was fourteen sways in. I had just walked in from school, and she had figured a cozy dinner to introduce my father was a good idea. How wrong she was.
My brain swivels forward, drunkenness opening doors and letting my mind lose control. My mother with her various men; I recall their faces swimming past me in a rush, like a subway train, until it stops on one looming grin that causes me to shiver internally. That looming face which sometimes wakes me in the night with terrifying dreams. The ever-present face of my nightmares and terrors.
“Why don’t you like drunk Emma?” he asks, bringing me back to the present. I focus on Jake as I pull myself out of my head. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed twirling a strand of my loose hair between his fingers. It makes my scalp tingle and draws my full attention to his strong form so close to me, smelling so very good and uniquely him.
“She thinks about things I don’t want to think about,” I sigh quietly. Sadness overcomes me with a wave of fatigue.
“Like fathers who weren’t around?” He seems softer, warmer. Jake always asks me things about my past; I wish he didn’t, but tonight it doesn’t feel so bad, so scary. I want him to stay and talk to me, not go to his room with that awful ‘Crone’. I want him here with me.
“And people called Ray.” I let out a long heavy breath at the mention of his name. The looming devil is still watching me inside my own head, evading my closing doors, his lip curling back to reveal his snarl. The bile rises in my throat as the fear travels up my legs, and I shiver.
“Ray?” The confused, husky voice distracts me.
“Ray, who beats up girls and tries to molest them,” I whisper, afraid of saying it out loud in case the monster hears me.
Why did I start thinking of Ray? Stupid, Emma, very stupid!
I don’t like brandy anymore; it breaks down the walls of my carefully built black box and lets things that I locked up tight to run loose.
A warm touch on my arm pushes the thought back into the distance; the touch is soft and delicate and sends a soothing sensation through the fear, bringing me back to here and now. It helps Ray’s face move back into the shadows where he belongs.
“Emma, why did you never tell me any of this?” Jake’s voice is pained. I don’t recognize his tone, concerned and breathy, but I’m experiencing the tug of drunken sleep falling over me despite everything running through my head. His touch is too calming and it’s making me fall into peaceful darkness. My eyes get heavier and the bed sways like a cradle, pulling me away from his voice. I can’t fight it.
“Don’t tell Emma I told you; she will be really mad,” I whisper, urging my Jake to keep our secret.
Naughty teen Emma. How did you get out?
I try and haul her back down into the shadows with me as darkness overtakes us both, but all too soon, I am lost."
