“They do.” She tossed her purse on the bed. “I suppose you could shave it instead. I think Jackson has a straight edge we could borrow.”
“I’m messed-up, but not completely insane. I think I’d gnaw off my own hand before I’d let you near my dick with a straight blade.”
“I told you, I’m not into cutting.” She smiled past the knot in her stomach after realizing the words in her head actually came out of her mouth.
The jovial mood evaporated leaving a heavy, suffocating feeling in its place. She could see the question brewing in AJ’s mind as his expression became more focused, eyes searching, lips firming with a deep swallow.
“Who’s Jones?”
All the blood pulled from the surface of Jillian’s skin leaving a cold sweat in its place.
“What?”
“Jones. When I pinned you down and woke you after you fell asleep last night, you yelled ‘Dammit, Jones.’”
Complete honesty wasn’t a luxury Jillian would ever have again. Lying was survival. “My dog. I used to have a dog named Jones.” No lie.
“He died?”
She turned and opened her suitcase, needing something to hide the way her hands were shaking. “Yes, he died,” she lied.
“I’m sorry.”
Jillian fought the tight grip of emotion in her throat that felt like it was trying to asphyxiate her. “Me too.” She could hide her thoughts, her words, and on a good day her tears. But her heart demanded acknowledgment, there was never enough Heineken to numb the dull ache in her chest.
AJ huffed a heavy sigh. “I’m not good at this.”
She sat on the edge of the bed with her hands tucked under her legs. “Good at what?”
“This…” he motioned between them “…this relationship stuff. I should care enough to ask you more about your past, the blood thing, the ridiculous profession you’ve chosen, the reason why you’re living with your brother … but I’m too fucking selfish. I can barely deal with my own pathetic life, I just—”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I have nothing to tell.”
His head jerked back a fraction as his eyelids fluttered with rapid blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Jillian lifted a single shoulder. “You act like I’m on a cliff’s edge just waiting, begging you to ask me about my past and my ‘issues,’ but I’m not. The fact that you don’t ask me about it is why this…” she mimicked his motion between them “…relationship works.”
He nodded with an absent stare.
She’d gone too far. It was a slippery balance between too much and not enough. It’s human nature to desire what’s perceived as the unattainable. Was she making her past seem too unattainable?
“Don’t.”
AJ’s gaze snapped to hers. “Don’t what?”
“I was simply stating a fact. Don’t interpret it as a game. I’m not playing hard to get with my emotions. It’s not a trap.”
He rested his hands on his hips and stared at his feet.
“It’s a gift, AJ. You will never have to be my gallant knight on his trusty steed, drawing your sword to defend my honor. I will never gawk at sparkly diamonds in the jewelry store window or ask you where you see our relationship going.”
“You sound callous, but I know you’re not. I’ve experienced your compassion.”
“That’s a gift too. I’ve never been compassionate toward you with an ulterior motive. I’m not callous. I’m strong. It takes a lot of strength to give unconditionally because the ego is a savage, demanding beast.”
He narrowed his eyes a bit. “So nothing … you don’t want anything from me in return.”
Jillian smirked, prowling toward him. “I’m compassionate, not a saint.” She slid her hands under his shirt, tracing the definition of each firm plane of muscle.
He quirked a brow. “So you want me for my body?”
A provocative smirk stole her lips as she pushed up his shirt and teased her teeth over his skin. “I think we both know it’s not for your stellar personality.”
“You’re such a bitch,” he growled, grabbing her ass and lifting her up.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed. “But an honest bitch.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Day
Jessica could not blink. A thousand jolts of panic coursed through her veins.
It was fire.
It was ice.
It was insanity.
Panic seized her heart sending it into a pounding arrhythmia. Inside the black bag was an assortment of restraints: handcuffs, ropes, satin gags and blindfolds, and zip ties. She stepped away as if it were filled with poisonous snakes. He wanted to torture her. Maybe he did believe Four’s spirit was in her and he was planning an exorcism.
He’d been right all along, and maybe it was all part of his mind games. The chance of them having sex was once again less than zero percent. Period.
The bag was his final point. He’d been studying her, therefore he had to know there was no way she could ever be restrained. They’d hit an impasse and there would never be a bridge long enough to gap the distance. No matter how much she loved him … the bag and what it represented was too much.