Sweat Equity (23 page)

She allowed him to hold her hand in his, but shook her head no. He stood and pulled her to him, crushed her up against his chest, leaned down to kiss her but she turned away. Her mind literally spun, coming down off an amazing high of the long sexy build up to their connection; but she was starting to panic at the thought of Craig, her brother, her friends

"Jack, I have to go home. I have to think about this," she said firmly
. Get a morning after pill
. "This was not a good idea, you know? As good as it felt," she whispered into his neck, still smelling passion on his skin.

"I've given you space Sara. I can't play that game anymore. You need me, you said so yourself. Why do you let such stubborn bullshit get in the way of your happiness?"

She shrugged him off, suddenly furious and him and at herself for being so weak.

"Excuse me, but no one can make me do anything. I wanted Craig, and we had a lot of great times together, that was my choice. I came here tonight knowing where your head was about me." She couldn't stop, the words spilling out hurtful and unforgiving. "Maybe
I
played you…I have
some
control here," she insisted, her fists and teeth clenched in anger. She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting. "You came here primed to force me back into this very position but maybe I was controlling you, did you ever consider that? Maybe I just wanted to get laid, nothing more. I knew you wanted me, after all." She could hear own voice, rising, louder, hating herself for getting into this crazy emotional state, but unable to stop.

Her soul screamed at her to stop, to listen, to get back to that crazy space in her head where she knew nothing but Jack, knew only that he would never leave or hurt her. But that moment was gone, vanished with the blink of an eye, the slip of conversation, when he revealed why he'd done all of this – to "win." It made her crazy with fury, willing to say anything to hurt him.

Jack could not believe this was happening. How in the hell had he gone from "yes I will marry you" to "I'm not a prize to be won?" Dear God but she could be aggravating. His mouth formed words before his brain fully engaged. "Oh, yeah, I get it now. You wanted to fuck with me for some payback over the Heather thing, so you got it. Great. That's just great. Nice work," he turned from her. "Couldn't have played it better myself."

He stood facing the window, then squared his shoulders, tucked his shirt into his suit trousers.
Nice work. Some Master you are, Gordon. Fucked it up yet again.
Words tumbled from his mouth, not stopping by for a reality check in his brain.

"I guess you learned a little bit from me during our hot summer, eh, Sara," he smirked at her, his self-confident, self-satisfied regular expression firmly in place once again. His heart ached, but maybe she had it right. Maybe there was a bit competition in all this but God help him, he did love her. "I mean, you got real backbone, some serious confidence since the first time I fucked you against the wall that night in your office. Do you remember that night?" She turned her back on him, stomped into the kitchen. He followed her.

"You can't take all the credit for blowing the doors off at Stewarts the second half of the year, I don't think, " he stood up to his full height, taking a deep breath as if reluctant to say what next came out of his mouth. "Yep," he ran both hands down his chest in a self-congratulating fashion. "You got some of that old Jack Magic, right from the main source. Hope it won't dry up for you now, since you've decided to turn into a raving bitch," he declared.

Jack could not process what came from his mouth, sick about it, but unable to stop now. His natural instinct for self-preservation clicked firmly in place, making him say things he really did not mean, in the interest of keeping her aware of who the fuck was in control here. He couldn't stop, despite the look in her eyes, a look that promised but didn't deliver.

 "And to think just five minutes ago you were offering me a ring and a sleepover," she said sarcasm dripping from her words, "and all that money on the party, too. How much did you have to pay the band to learn those songs they'd played to push me into your arms?" She folded her arms over her chest. His head pounded with frustration. "Fucking sucks when you can't control absolutely everything doesn't it?" she spat out. "You have
no
control over me and you did not give me anything this summer except one deal that almost didn't close. I earned maybe five bucks an hour on that one and have you to thank for it. The rest of it was
mine
, all me, you fucking self-centered asshole," she finished, arms now down at her side, fists clenched.

Christ in a sidecar, he wanted her again. Her temper, her honestly earned outrage, he fucking loved that about her. She took shit off no one, not even him. He decided to give it one more try. He took a step towards her, gripped her upper arms, and brought his mouth hard down her hers. She tried to turn away but he persisted, clutching her face, forcing her to turn back to him.

She pushed against his chest, shivering, as the sweat had cooled her body temperature and emotion had cooled them both. He kissed her, and kissed her, holding her tight until he felt her give.

 He broke away abruptly, stared at her, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, breathing fast, as though wishing he could say something that would stop the arguing. He couldn't imagine what she was thinking but had the sudden distinct impression that her cruel words were a shield she had erected around herself. His knees nearly gave out when he grasped once again their eerily similar defensive mechanisms.

 She still had control issues but he could deal with that. His gaze dropped to her chest that heaved in anger, kissed her lightly on the top of her left breast, ran his hands down her sides, to her waist, and put his hand on her belly for just a moment.

Then his brain shut down. The intensity of the night was too much to bear. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't do this. Fuck her and her goddamned independent streak. She could keep it.

He stepped and touched her face with one hand, drew his fingers down her temple, her cheek and cupped her chin in his palm.

"I made you, Sara," he said softly, his soft tone belying the cruelty of his words. "You are a Jack Gordon creation, don't ever think otherwise, but I don't begrudge the creative process – you are incredibly hot, can fuck with the best of them, and I've enjoyed making you come, watching you emerge as a confident, sexual female – a white hot sales professional," she pulled her face away from his touch. "I can recommend an emergency room for the morning after pill; I've had a little experience in that department as well." He stepped away from her.

The sound of her palm hitting his face echoed in the nearly empty room. Blinding fury tore through him, but he didn't flinch, just took the blow and looked at her as blood rushed to his skin. She had her arm raised to do it again but he grabbed her wrist and leaned into her so close he could smell the sweat, sex and pure female of her.

"Oh, no, the creation turns on the creator, what a shame," his eyes narrowed. "I guess you'll have to find your inspiration elsewhere from now on," Their faces were mere inches apart. "You'll never have this again, Sara, sure you want to toss it away?" He let go of her wrist, leaving her arm up in the air and he made himself smile, keeping it wistful.

 He deserved the blow. His need to protect himself had overpowered him; had taken over and made him say some of the most ridiculous shit.
He wanted her, why couldn't he just admit that?
Too many years of lies and denial, he guessed. Reaching out to her as she leaned into him after his last crazy tirade, hoping against hope that she'd see through him and his insane defensive reactions.

At the same time, realizing this was his last chance. And he'd blown it, big time.

Sara's ears rang, deafening her as she smiled up at his face. "Rot in hell, Jack," she purred, sweetly, leaning up to kiss him and trace his lips with her tongue delighting in his taste, the richness of his lips while she let her anger take her somewhere else – anywhere but there. She spoke quietly against his ear, her hand caressing the back of his neck, twining into his hair. "You can take your creator ego bullshit and shove it. Trust me when I say you can fuck with the best of them too, but you will never be that – the best, that is – 'cause you can't see past your own dick to realize that no one will ever worship you like you worship yourself." He blinked at her words, and his face closed up again.

She knew she should stop, but had to prove to him that he could not toy with her.

"Because you know what? I think I've now had the best and he comes in a much blonder and better endowed package."

He reached for her, and she jumped away, her teeth clinched.

 "Don't – ever – touch – me again."

She pushed past him to the door, threw it open, and heard the party from downstairs, as she took deep breaths to her head.

 "Give my best to your boyfriend," he growled into her ear, as he walked by her. "Gotta go wrap up downstairs now, better run along and call him before he figures what you've been doing here with me for the last two hours," he turned back briefly to face her. "Stupid fucker should have never let you come here without him – I wouldn't have. Oh and tell him I said hey and that I can give him a few tips if he needs them,"

Tears blinded her and she slumped into the elevator, her last sight of Jack's eyes, bright with unshed tears before the doors slid shut.

Epilogue

Sara sat shivering and staring out the window of Blake's car. He'd picked her up at the airport from a two-week escape to her parents' condo in Florida. After sleepwalking through work for a week and avoiding Jack and Craig like the plague, she hopped on a plane on a whim and bolted, ashamed at herself but unable to handle the stress any other way, using Thanksgiving as an excuse for the trip. Another wave of nausea ripped through her, making her groan and lean her head against the cold glass. Blake patted her leg.

"Flu?" He turned into her condo's parking lot. She wiped her dry lips with the back of her hand and didn't say anything. Tossing her purse and laptop on the kitchen table, and noting how messy she'd left everything she made a mental note to get that back under control first thing.

Blake puttered around in her kitchen while she sat very still and tried like hell not to throw up. A chill passed through her and her head pounded, exacerbating the roiling in her gut that would not stop no matter what she ate or didn't eat.

"Eat this Sara. Damn, you must have lost fifteen pounds, what's your deal?" Her mind felt muddled, her body betrayed her in completely unfamiliar ways. She knew he was really worried about the dark circles under her eyes, her pale skin and inability to focus but just couldn't bring herself to tell him anything, too embarrassed by the whole fucking mess to admit anything.

"Sorry, just the tea, I can't keep anything down at all," she mumbled reaching for the steaming mug.

"Sara," she glanced up as Blake pulled the box ly marked "early pregnancy test" from her bag. "What the hell is this?"

She stood and snatched it from him, starting for the bathroom. "Lose your ability to read words? What the hell does it look like? Thanks for the ride. You can go home now."

When she finally emerged, face numb from shock, mind spinning with terror, he still sat, mug in hand staring out the window as the snow piled up outside. He saw her and stood, pulling her into his arms.

"Shh, Sara, it's okay. It will all be fine."

Sara's body shook as he eased her to the couch, pressed her back and covered her with a blanket. Her eyes stayed dry and her mind ed. She put a hand to her still flat stomach.

Mine
. She thought, as a single tear slipped down her face. Blake wiped it away and smiled at her.

The End...

Closing Costs (Stewart Realty, Book 3)

Available Now Through Tri Destiny Publishing's Sizzlin' Books Line

The minute he stepped into the back office hallway, Craig sensed something wasn't right. He dropped his helmet on a desk and started to the front, ignoring the strange emptiness of a normally busy summertime real estate office. A sharp, coppery odor stung his nose, making his heart race. As he sprinted around the corner separating the conference room from the open office area he heard it. Just a soft moan, then the slam of a door, then nothing. His ears started buzzing and his stride lengthened but the hall suddenly felt like ten miles of empty road.

As he approached the large conference room door he stopped. The only sounds were his own breathing and laughter from the storefront side of the office. But he sensed her there, somewhere.

 "Sara?" His throat constricted when the knob wouldn't cooperate, but he wrestled it open. His first thought upon entering was that someone had spilled red paint all over the carpet. Once his brain fully registered the scene, he saw her, half under the table, curled in a ball and moaning. "Dear Christ, Sara." He sat down, grabbed her hand, pulled her into his lap, then watched in helpless horror as her eyes rolled back and felt her body spasm with a terrifying seizure. "Stay with me Sara. I mean it." He glanced up. Pam and Chris stood, phones in hand. "Somebody call a fucking ambulance already!"

As Sara's body calmed, he brushed her hair back, no longer caring he sat in a pool of her blood. His ears roared but he kept his voice soft. She opened her eyes, as tears dripped down her cheeks.