Eye of the Storms (Eye of the Storms #1) (15 page)

There was a tone in his voice, and I stepped back although he was moving away.

“What?” I wondered and nervously fiddled with the bracelet cuffed on my wrist.

Remaining quiet, he grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch, and as I watched his decorated arms slide into the sleeves, a horrible feeling stained my senses. A feeling that his light words were anything but.

“What did you mean by that?” Letting him leave without opening this can of worms was what I should have done. Yet, at the hospital, he had hinted of an issue he had with me before backing off the topic.

“Nothing, I was joking around…” Crouching, he laced up his shoes.

Dubiously, I stared, feeling on the brink of some major something in our relationship that had nothing to do with my planned phases. Was I reading too much into it? When he glanced at me again, I saw in his eyes the same fleeting shadow I had glimpsed a few times. In agitation, my arms folded across my heavy chest.

Relenting with a last tug of a shoelace, he straightened and spoke. His tone was turbulent like my feelings. “It seems like just when I feel like something is happening between us, I get mad at you all over again.”

‘Feel like something is happening between us…’

My heart thudded with happiness and then dropped to the pit of my stomach as the rest of his words sank in.

“Mad? At me?” My voice incredulously cracked.

“It’s hard not to be when you hid my son from me for almost five years.”

The accusation reeled harder than a slap, and I shouted, “I thought you would be mad if you knew! I thought you would think that I was an— an opportunist!” When his eyes remained stormy with censure, I steamrolled on, “You were so afraid of being screwed over, you required a— a sex contract!”

“That piece of paper has nothing to do with this! This is about the fact that I would’ve never known I had a son if he hadn’t needed this surgery!” His voiced rose in anger to match mine, and he punctuated his sentence with an aggrieved sigh.

The guilt pricked. Slipping out of the uncomfortable FM shoes was the first thing I had done upon returning home, but now I stubbornly dug self-righteous heels into his dirty charges.

“You didn’t want to know. My phone calls to you are proof of that!” The memory, of the call he had finally answered, opened a floodgate, and it all poured out. How with a few choice words and a dropped call tone in my ear, he had made me feel like trash.

“I wouldn’t have hated on you like that if you would have told me about this.” Squatting, he picked up the tiny crutches from the floor for emphasis.

“You didn’t give me a chance! And if you didn’t believe what I was telling you, about Tristan being yours, then all the rest was kind of moot wasn’t it?”

Heading to the hallway and down it, he stopped in Tristan’s room, quietly placing the walking sticks within reach of the bed. Automatically, I followed, holding back a few paces as he pulled the blankets higher over Tristan’s tiny body and brushed a gentle hand through his hair. Closing the door all but a crack, he traipsed toward me, and I led the way back to the den.

Once we were safely out of earshot of Tristan’s room, he said, “I told you already. I’m sorry about that call. You’ve got to understand, my entire life I’ve been in the limelight, in one way or another. And when you live that way, someone always wants a piece. You discover there are fewer people you can trust than those you can't. All I can do at this point is apologize and try to make it up. But you act like your part in this doesn’t even matter.”

Taunting my memories was another phone call. The one where I lay on the couch five months pregnant, longing to tell him the secret he was seeking, and fantasizing of creating a family with him– not just from him.

“I couldn’t tell you!” Shoving the words through clenched teeth, I sought to make him understand. “You are fucking famous—”

“Nothing changes the fact that I’m a father. And that I had a right to know it!”

“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry. If I was wrong and you would’ve wanted in, all of this time, I’m sorry.” Fully aware that it was a crappy apology, I couldn’t meet his eyes.

My gaze instead settled on the shelving where Tristan’s baby book of milestones was the top of a book stack instead of buried within it. Obviously, Jack had flipped through it for a second hand experience of the things he had missed.

“Dammit, Marissa!” The sofa table was between us, and he rounded it to stand before me. “I don’t know what I would have wanted. The point is I was never given a chance to find out. I do know that no matter what I wanted when it came to a kid, I would have dealt with it responsibly. And one thing I do know, I wanted you…”

He swooped in for a kiss, and confused with the emotion swing, I jerked away. Insistent hands clamped on my upper arms, holding me in place for the next attempt. Turning my head only resulted in his kiss hitting one of the sweet spots of my neck, and it wasn’t long before I turned into it. Just as I lost myself in it, he straightened.

Irate, I gaped. “That’s not fair! I wasn’t finished.”

Flashing a cocky smile, he yanked at the zipper of his hoodie. “I’ll call you tomorrow before I head over. Maybe pick up a pizza on the way?”

“You better call,” I grudgingly agreed.

“Why? Going somewhere?” His gibe was soft and slightly amused that I was mad. Ignoring him, I scooped my shoes from the floor and flipped off a lamp in preparation for bed. As he moved to the door, he reminded, “And don’t forget, if Tristan feels like it, we’re all going out. He said he might want to go to a movie.”

This entire ordeal was a conundrum. No matter how peeved I was at Jack, from now on, no matter what happened, there would be Tristan to consider.

It hit me then. Jack was in my life for good. Whether as a lover or an ex-one had yet to be determined.
My Lanta
. I couldn’t even think about staying in touch with him, yet never touching him.

Clutching the door, I watched his broad shoulders move away into the shadows of the night. After closing himself in the car, he looked to me as the motor purred to life. Restraining the urge to wave, I backed into the house and flipped the lock, fighting a wave of loneliness as the sound faded.

This new layer of Jack uncovered tonight was as provocative as it was asinine. My fury with him was only matched by my desire for him.

C
oasting to a stop in the valet lane, I did a sweep of the car for anything I wanted to take up to the hotel room, and practically leaped out. An attendant who looked barely old enough to hold a driver’s license rounded the hood of the vehicle. Barely slowing, I exchange a tip for the ticket.

Weaving through the lobby, I headed for the elevators and caught one just before it closed. After the floors were selected, a polite silence settled among the few hotel guests I shared the small space with. An elderly woman eyed my attire curiously but curved a sweet smile.

Feeling some guilt, I quirked a small answering grin. She wouldn’t be smiling if she could see inside my mind.

I hadn’t been lying to Marissa.

Currently, whether I wanted to entertain them or not, my thoughts were all of her. Naked. Spread beneath me, her mouth falling open, her eyes locked to mine. Hanging over me, her tits in my face, in my mouth. I wanted nothing more—well except for the reality—I wanted nothing more than to run to my room, strip my own clothes off, and stand beneath a shower with my cock in my hand.

Making sure to avoid eye contact with the sweet old lady in case my X-rated daydreams were mirrored in my eyes, I carefully stepped around her cane to exit onto my floor.

As my strides ate up the distance, I fished the key card from my pocket.

I had no idea how I could be so horny for her one second and then with the tick of the next second, so irate.

If that weren’t confusing enough, any trace of my anger had dissipated the second she fixed her hurt gaze on my face. I’d felt a surge of the tenderness I’d felt in the hospital when I had kissed her in the waiting room.

I only knew I couldn’t fuck her there in her house with a conflicting range of emotions messing with my head.

My phone vibrated my hip as the door clanged closed behind me secluding me inside the room. I wondered if it was Marissa texting and eagerly grabbed the device. With a glance at the screen, I dismissed my friend and assistant, still intent on that shower. I’d let my thoughts and remembrances run amuck, and now I was aching.

Bending, I loosened my shoelaces and used first one foot and then the other to shuck the opposite shoe.

Her tongue is velvet… Her mouth a silken blaze…

I shrugged from the hoodie and tossed it to the vicinity of the bed.

Her eyes water as she gags, and yet she goes deeper with the next stroke…

Grabbing the hem of my tee shirt with both hands, I ripped it over my head and tossed it toward the hoodie.

Her glossy hair strands spill through my fingers, and I clench, twist, and tug…

Moving into the bathroom, I dropped my cell to the vanity and turned on the water, sparing only a moment to adjust the temperature.

She yelps in surprise when I flip her to her back, and soon enough, the shrieks of my name are music to my ears…

My fingers made quick work of the button fly, and I kicked out of the jeans.

I drag my lips across her mouth, push my tongue inside, feeling possessive and empowered as I let her taste her own sweetness…

Hooking my fingers into my socks, I dragged them off and stepped into the shower cubicle. My fingers curled onto and eased my ache for a split second before it throbbed even more intensely as I continued to conjure thoughts of Marissa in a tourbus bunk.

Holy shit, so hot and tight…

I’d never forgotten the way her eyes had widened the second we were joined. This reaction was common, but I’d savored the look when it came from Marissa. I was hung. Men envied my size, and women always responded with various degrees of wonder. But I’d learned I had to be careful.

“Okay?” I ask…

Her bottom lip had been slightly tucked beneath her top, as if she was biting it from the inside. But she’d denied any discomfort.

“I was till you stopped…”

Her lashes had lifted another fraction when I moved again. Once a fangirl had gone to the emergency room the day after our hookup. I’d found out when my attorney had called me with the hospital bills, and I still felt like the biggest shit-head alive. I didn’t want to hurt Marissa.

“If you need a minute…” I know I saw her wince…

But her fingers had curved into my ass, pulling me closer.

“I don’t…”

It hadn’t been my finest moment. I’d lost any desire to argue her comfort level and had greedily pressed on with one deep stroke. Her breath had washed over my face, and her whimper snapped me. A guilty weight had settled on my chest as I viewed her nervous gaze.

My next words are half-joking and half defensive. It’s the Jackass in me. “Told you.” Immediately, I brush her face, the callused tips of my fingers a direct contrast to her smooth skin.

Things had happened fast after that. My brain blurred and my body again took over. Marissa adjusted and arched to meet every thrust.

She’s screaming my name. She’s screaming garbled shit that makes no sense. And she’s simply screaming with her head thrown back. I scoop her legs into the crook of my arms, fitting us together even more fully. I’m getting addicted to my name in that voice. Lifting my arms, I let her legs slide to my shoulders and can’t resist a lick to one dainty ankle…

Never had I fit so perfectly or felt so spiritually connected.

My mind returned from the past to the present, and the spray of the shower washed the memory away for now. Mentally and physically sated, I fell limply back to the supporting wall, bracing myself with my hand flat on the tiles to my front.

What the fuck was I going to do about that woman? It was just a matter of time before I fucked her again. I had thought too much about her over the years. And yet some little niggling thread of my conscience warned me against adding sex to our compounded relationship.

And because I even had that prick of conscience, I knew I was already putting her in a league all her own. With respect to my son, and to her the mother of that son, I shouldn’t begin a relationship with her without a clear head of where I wanted it to go.

Where did I want it to go?

T
he next afternoon, we sat in a line of cushy seats, impatiently waiting for the latest Pixar sensation to begin. A large tub of shared popcorn rested in Tristan’s lap. Tristan was between us, but Jack was getting most of the little boy’s attention. The lights dimmed, and instead of watching the previews, I covertly observed father and son.

Jack was dressed in low profile mode, his hair and arms hidden in a hoodie, but when the lights went down, he shrugged the jacket off. Tristan traced the art on Jack’s arm, a tiny finger brushing over the colorful guitar and the music notes. He seemed at ease with it, and I had to assume that by going out last night, I had missed the big reveal of Jack taking off his jacket. How I would have loved to have seen Tristan’s face and to have heard his questions.

When the credits began to roll, Jack suggested a restaurant, but Tristan wanted to drive through and carry food home.

“Are you hurting, buddy?” Jack asked with an anxious perusal of our boy. When Tristan shook his head, declaring he just wanted to eat at home, Jack let the subject drop. However, the glance he slid my way was sad and perceptive. Tristan was embarrassed on crutches. Only the anticipation of seeing one of his favorite animated characters on an IMAX screen had lured him into the theater.

♪♫¨♫♪

Back at the house, we dug into supreme tacos while watching another movie, this one from Tristan's DVD collection. Since Tristan had seen it a dozen times, he gave me no problems about a bath midway through. After getting him into the tub, along with the requested Hot Wheels cars and colored bubbles thrown in as extra bribery, I checked the thermostat, making sure the air conditioner wouldn’t kick on, and left the bathroom door ajar.