Eye of the Storms (Eye of the Storms #1) (2 page)

His head tipped back into the spray, and I saw the smile on his face, just before his chin dropped, his eyes opened, and he turned that pleased expression to me.

♪♫ ♫♪

Fate. A funny word. A reflective word…

Never would I forget that sweet, sexy smile and the possessive fire in his look. Maybe some innermost part of him knew he was now a perpetual part of me.

Later when I thought back on that moment, I think I knew too.

It was more than chemistry. More than biology. It was one of the miracles of science. And it forged a permanent bond between the two of us.

To the public, we’re Jack and Marissa Storm. Aka JackMa. Here’s
our
story. You may have heard it before, but we’re filling in a few of the naughtier blanks… in our own words…

“T
FH!” The letters came out in a gasp. Not because I ever verbally used acronyms, but because hours under the scorching sun had my skimpy shirt plastered to my skin, and the strength sapped from even my voice. Olivia, my closest friend, habitually voiced text abbreviations and therefore, had no trouble with the interpretation of ‘Too Fucking Hot’.

“Marissa Duplei, you’re such a vampire! When did you stop having fun?” Olivia complained, and pulled up short to avoid collision in the midst of the crowd we were currently navigating. “We used to be on all day beach patrol.”

My friend’s allusion was to our younger years in the coastal town and our non-stop troll for guys who could stop a girl dead in her sandy tracks. Back then, Spring Breaks and summer months brought vacation flings, and temperature had never once been a complaint.

I wiped at beads of sweat forming near my hairline, and wondered how the newest drugstore clearance mascara currently coating my lashes was holding up. Shoving the cheap shades higher on my nose, I made an effort to appear carefree as we strolled the ‘Hang Fest,’ a festival of live bands, rides, and vendors.

Olivia closed glossy lips around the straw of a super-sized hurricane. I had no doubt that her lipstick as well as anything else painting her face was a department store brand, priced in, or near, triple digits, assuring her a worry free day from streaking, smearing or disappearing. Taking a pull from my own straw, I eyed the surrounding crowd as the cool alcoholic slush trickled soothingly down my throat.

“Two o’clock, Rissa,” Direction, and not time, was the subject of Liv’s clipped, enthusiastic sentence. As instructed, I slung my gaze to the slight right.

A long, lanky roadie had paused in the stage set up and seemed to be honing his attention over the crowd and to the two of us. Automatically, I sought eye contact, not having reached the age of twenty-two without learning to confirm that ‘interested and interesting hot dude’ was actually into me and not some chick behind or beside me. The dead-on stare and grin curving in his attractive face answered my silent question.

Putting the awful events of the previous week behind me, I mustered my sexiest smile and my first ‘strange’ flirt in five years. Finishing the tear down of a microphone stand, he waved in a come-hither motion, gesturing to the side of the stage.

“Score!” Olivia did a dance before grabbing at my wrist and towing me through the crowd. “While you get your hookup on…” Vaguely, my excitable friend rattled on about which band members, from which bands, in which order, she wanted to bang. Mindlessly, I listened as a severe case of cold feet set in.

When it came to men, I was out of practice. A local casino was my current place of employment. The sexy smiles I rehearsed in the mirror were for better tips from blackjack players, not real live flesh and bone players.

Walking in on my fiancé, Kel, with some tramp atop him had been devastating. The irony of forever knowing this faceless tramp’s name because of the decorative lettering permanently stamped on her slim back waist could not be ignored. Hibernating, I moped in misery around my apartment every evening after work, eating Nutribars, and yogurt (yes, I was a healthy binge eater). Olivia became the only person I spoke to, wailing to her face, whining into her calls, and texting chapters of Kel hatred.

When I quit sending Kel’s pleading and apologetic calls straight to voicemail, Olivia charged to the rescue heading up ‘Operation Save Rissa From Herself.’ Since my friend’s answer to breakups was hookups, my given mission today was to pick myself up, dust Kel off, and get dirty with someone else.

Olivia sent a look of encouragement as we paused at the fence, which jutted up to the stage platform. Working through a mild panic, I focused on my friend instead of the area beyond the fence. Bending at the hip, Olivia raked manicured fingers through her scalp, and then flipped her thick mane of hair as she straightened. Actually, Olivia thought the answer to everything was a hookup and was obviously focused on working out some of her own problems today as well. Hopefully, this would keep her too occupied to care about continuing our covert operation.

Draining my drink to the last slurp, I desperately hoped an alcohol confidence would quickly kick in. A few paces away, I trashed the cup, ignoring Liv’s silent disapproval. With the cup, refills were half-price, and Olivia, despite wearing designer everything, was as into alcoholic discounts as she was hookups.

Although initially he had been several hundred feet away, recognition came easy, and the roadie was even hotter close up. A ponytail of straight dark hair was elasticized at the nape of his neck, and his heated hazel eyes perved us both.

Pushing the gate open, he stepped to the side, enough for us to pass through, but not enough that we could avoid brushing against the tee shirt he wore. The small talk went fast, although the pace was slow. We walked, one on either side of him, answering the usual questions, name, where we were from, and getting the same back.

Dirk was from New York City, and he had Olivia’s undivided attention when he spoke of one the bands she had mentioned less than five minutes ago. Resting a foot on a stoop to one of the many trailers parked around, he inquired with a secretive smile, “So you want to meet Jackal?”

“You mean it?” Olivia bounced from one heel to the other and almost dropped the empty hurricane cup in her excitement. With a confirming smile into his face, she gushed, “Oh hell yeah!”

Trying to get a grasp of the situation, I remained silent, and in doing a study of Dirk’s expression, instinctively I disliked what I saw.

His smile stretched. “I know all the guys in the band. So, yeah, if you want to meet them… well, the thing is, if I did you this favor…”

There it was. The ability to block unpleasant things was a recently learned skill, about a week recent, and his words just garbled through my ears into the garbage that they were. Disgusted, I pivoted on the heels of my Doc’s, but turned back when Olivia didn’t follow.

“Liv!” The hiss left my lips as an annoyed breath and was quickly sucked in again when my friend, not in the least perturbed, pulled me aside.

“I’m going to hang out. Aren’t you?”

Olivia was wild in her ways and had done similar many, many times. But, to offer whatever favors some stranger wanted in exchange for a chance to meet some idol was reckless. So irresponsibly reckless, I wondered if she had pregamed before picking me up this afternoon.

When Dirk the jerk butted into the argument, I lost the battle, but not before demanding Olivia’s phone. On the pretext of making sure it was set to take calls, I switched the tracker on and thrust it back into the pocket of Liv’s designer jeans.

“Answer my texts.” With a threatening frown, I worriedly lingered. Liv disappeared with the roadie into the tiny trailer while calling back a mocking, “Yes ma’am,” just before the door slammed.

The girl was mental. Had she really grown overly careless and crazy after I had moved in with Kel and quit partying with her? Maybe she had always been that way, and I had overlooked it…

A ball of fur in motion was an interruption to these musings, and curious, I glanced around in search of anyone the dog could belong to.

The next music act was on, and a woman’s lyrical voice mingled with the pounding of the instruments from the stage area. Numerous trailers, trucks, and buses were parked in neat numbered spaces of what seemed to be a private parking area. A few large tents broke up the rows of metal and tires. The leash trailing behind the pup was clear evidence that it was lost.

As a child, for a few brief months, my siblings and I had a pet Jack Russell Terrier, affectionately dubbed ‘Bones’ by my older brother—until my mother had professed allergies. Days later, the family pet was exiled to a good home, one that was not ours, much to the despair of everyone under four feet in my family.

This dog, bearing a huge resemblance to Bones, took my recollections back to those days and brought back sentimental emotions. Kneeling as it neared, I put a cautious hand out, and when the canine trustingly sprinted my way, I stoked through its short fur as I took the leash. No way could I leave this innocent eyed pup to wander.

Unsure of where to go, I stepped into the crosswalk of transportable habitations. Between two ginormous tour buses, a few guys stood, passing a small smoke. Fighting my shyness, I pushed my lips into a smile. Thankfully, the bunch, although intimidating with the mass of ink on their shirtless torsos and arms, their bald heads and scruffy assortment of biker beards, returned welcoming grins.

“Hey sweetheart! Want a hit?”

There was no Olivia by my side to snatch the joint and voice a flirtatious retort, yet I moved closer, intent on finding any information on my new four-legged friend. Politely stretching my hand, I took a swift drag and hoped the random drug testing threatened in my employee manual would not suddenly be sprung on me at work on Monday.

“This puppy… I was wondering who he…” Here I paused when I realized I had never scoped any details not readily visible on the canine. “…or, she, might belong to?”

“Jack.” The dude with a goatee let out a hit he had been holding. My face must not have cleared, because he elaborated, “Jack Storm.”

The name registered as one Olivia had earlier tossed about, and I extended the leash hopefully. “So could I—” Immediately, my question was cut off with a negative shake of three heads, and a guffaw about girly dogs. Kneeling, I scratched the tan fur between the pup’s ears, maybe in consolation from their ridicule.

Jabbing a thumb in a general direction, ‘mutton chops’ stopped laughing long enough to direct me. “The bus with the blue lightning bolt down the side.”

Nodding my thanks, refusing another toke, and trying not to picture what Olivia was up to, I moved off. The terrier sprinted ahead, stretching its leash to the max, and reflexively, my grip tightened. Three rows down, the tip of the mentioned lightning bolt came into view. My steps slowed, yet again unsure and uncertain, as I pictured knocking on the door to a rock star’s mobile crib.

As I hesitated, the door burst open, stopping my heart for more reasons than startled surprise. The doorjamb framed the finest specimen of the male species I had ever beheld.

My eyes were drawn first to the massive expanse of bare chest and the six-pack just on the verge of an optical eight pack. A convulsive swallow tightened my throat. Inked sleeves tapered off between his shoulder and collarbone, the design barely meeting at his throat. Denim jeans snugly encased his legs, and the button of the fly was open revealing the barest tip of hair on a flat abdomen. Reluctantly bringing my gridlocked gaze upward past these heavenly sights, my look landed on his striking features and finally stopped on deep brown irises.

A smile had worked well for me thus far, and, somehow, I summoned one, yet received a scowl in return. Shaggy dark hair brushed his shoulder when his chin jerked toward the asphalt beside where I stood.

“What the hell are you doing with my dog?”

T
he obvious anger focused on me, the rescuer of said dog, was confounding. My gaze fell to his black high-tops. Impatiently, he skipped stairs in his bound from the bus to the ground. When he snatched the leash from my hand, I met his angry gaze straight on.

“What do you mean? ‘What am I doing with your dog?’” My voice dropped several octaves to mimic his tone. “Your dog was running loose! Way back there!” With a sweep of my arm, I indicated the stage area before continuing, “And instead of letting something happen to him, erm, or her, I tracked you down!”

He had picked the pup up and had been petting it during my tirade. Now he set it down and crossed his arms irritably. “Oh? Out of the goodness of your heart? You brought Rusty to me?” One dark eyebrow rose as he arrogantly awaited the answer.

“Rusty?” A bubble of hysterical laughter spewed along with my query.

“Should I even ask what’s so funny?”

“Seriously? Should I even ask what is not?” Now two dark eyebrows rose in annoyance, as I stated the obvious. “The dog is a Jack Russell Terrier?” When he would not move his chin in confirmation or denial, I pushed on, “You are Jack, and your dog is Russell or Rusty?”

“Rusty, not Russell.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Blowing the answer out on a weary sigh, I fell a few steps away, back in the direction from which I had come. Somehow, Olivia be damned, I would find my way home.

Another weekend night to myself suddenly sounded amazing. Maybe I would stop by the sandwich deli and pick up a grilled chicken sandwich on a whole-wheat bun. My desire to get through this life-altering breakup without gaining a pound stemmed from the weight problem I had fought through my adolescent years.

“Wait!”

Responding with only a slight turn, I did exactly that, wanting to see what he would say next.

“Yes. The name was a joke, at first. But it suited him, and I kept it.” The disclosure seemed grudging as he explained the name Rusty. “I’m sorry for accusing you. I left him tied up, out here, just for a sec, while I went back in for my shoes. I’m sorry. I just assumed you took him. Because you wanted to meet me…”

“Other than your name, which I’ve heard today for the first time, I don’t know who you are.” Facing him fully, I smoothed a sweaty palm over my ragged jean shorts.