Only, the problem with living meant my emotions were free game. I could feel not only the good but the bad as well. My heart longed for Cat, a constant dull ache that never really went away. Whenever I reflected on her disappearance, a sharp pain of loss would hit, like a knife plunged right into my chest to pierce my battered and broken heart.
Where was she? Was she even alive?
My throat tightened and my eyes burned. Sniffing, I pushed off the sink and snatched a paper towel to wipe my face, determined to hold it together.
After a few deep breaths to regain my composure, I tossed the towel in the garbage. When I turned around, calm-ish and ready to continue cleaning the air filter on the Ninja, I spotted a dark figure shifting in a corner of the garage. Startled, I sprang back and my lower spine collided with the edge of the countertop as I let out a high-pitched, super-girly, horror-movie scream.
The figure stepped out of the shadows and I nearly cried in relief.
“Oh my god, Jag. You just about scared me to death.” I clutched at my filthy, grease-stained tank top in a pathetic attempt to slow my racing heart.
“Sorry about that, doll. Guess I shoulda said howdy to announce myself.” Jag’s crooked grin said he was anything but sorry.
As heat flooded my face, the initial shock segued into sudden, unrelenting anger. After Jag took me on that ride and woke up the part of me that had given up on life, the jerk turned around and disappeared for three days. Now, I was just supposed to what? Act like nothing happened? Pretend to be friends? Discuss the weather? Not likely.
I crossed my arms over my chest and shot him a dirty look, doing my best not to notice how hot he looked today. “Why are you here?”
I don’t know what kind of welcome Jag was expecting, but it obviously wasn’t the outright hostility I flung at him. His dark brows flew to his hairline and his jaw dropped. The big, bad drug lord was stung by the words of a lowly junkie. Good. Asshole.
Jag fixed his expression and took his own rigid stance, mimicking mine. “What do you mean why am I here? Last I checked, this was my garage.”
His flippant attitude and irritatingly handsome face only served to push me right on over from angry to furious. “Fuck you, Jag.”
I spun around to leave, determined to have the last word after Jag fooled me into thinking he gave a shit, got close and made me feel special, only to blow me off like I was lower than dogshit on the bottom of his stupid, scuffed and sexy biker boots.
Jag anticipated my reaction and moved. He was fast—too fast for me to have any real chance to escape. A large hand wrapped around my upper arm and tugged me back against his firm, hot chest. My ass pressed directly into Jag’s groin and I closed my eyes as my body betrayed me, trembling, pulse racing, my skin literally buzzing with electricity. Despite wanting to slap the shit out of him, my stupid reactions meant I still craved the man physically.
As difficult as it was, I opened my eyes and attempted to take back control by doing stepping away from my newest addiction, a man who might just be worse for me than the heroin that took over my life and brought me to the lowest of lows.
“No.” I tore my arm out of Jag’s grip and spun to face him, ready to unleash a torrent of curses.
I shouldn’t have turned around.
Jag was gorgeous. That was old news. His body was perfect, but I knew that too. What I didn’t anticipate was the heated, lusty look in his hooded eyes, or to see his freshly shaven cheeks and chin flushed with desire. Without the rugged stubble Jag looked years younger. So much so, I may have overestimated his age by almost a decade.
Jag was good-looking before. Now? He was positively breathtaking. Beneath his body-hugging long-sleeved tee, Jag’s wide chest shifted up and down with each breath. His tongue poked out of his mouth to swipe across his lips and I couldn’t help myself. My eyes zeroed in on that pink, velvety tongue, imagining the sinful things it could do to my body. My nipples hardened and my thighs clenched with the aching need to be taken by this man. Filled and stretched and pounded into. Hard, hot, and messy.
I shook my head and blinked back my desire, but my mind still was trapped somewhere in my fantasy, imagining Jag dragging that wicked tongue down my stomach and between my legs. The next thing I knew, I opened my mouth and instead of telling Jag off, my brain stuttered and stalled from the sheer hotness of Jag and my fantasy, and I blurted out the first thing I could think of that didn’t involve ripping off his clothes.
“You shaved off your beard.”
If I sounded stupid, Jag either didn’t notice or comment. “Yeah. I did.” His voice was low and husky. He took a step closer, every inch of him moving fluidly, like a predator stalking its prey. Blood pulsed through my veins like liquid fire. I was burning for him from the inside out, my body turning to ash beneath the façade.
“Why?”
Jag took another step and had me crowded against the sink with nowhere to go. My palms were so slick with sweat, when I tried to brace them on the countertop, they slipped off the edge and before I knew it, my legs buckled and I was going down. Strong hands reached out and caught me before my head could smack against the rim of the giant stainless steel sink.
“Jesus, Miri! You need to be more careful!”
Jag sounded pissed, which was bullshit. I was the one who was pissed. He ditched me. He avoided me. But for some reason, I couldn’t find it in me to fight my way out of his strong embrace or tell him how hurt I was when he ignored me.
Jag wrapped me tight in his arms, one hand on my head, pressing my cheek against his chest, the other in the middle of my back. With my ear flattened on the broad surface of his pecs, I closed my eyes and listened to the soothing rhythm of his heart. It was beating fast. Like mine.
Is Jag as affected by me as I am by him
?
“Why did you shave, Jag?” My words were muffled against his soft shirt, but I knew he heard them. When I spoke, his breath hitched and his heart pounded faster.