Rules of Protection(86)

I moaned loudly, practically screaming out in pleasure, as Jake came closer. “Emily,” he whispered. “I want to hear you say it.”

It? What the hell did he want me to say?

When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Say those three little words.”

Oh God! “Jake, I can’t…”

He stroked my nipples with his mouth as he plunged himself into my depths, wanting to take more than I was willing to give. His jaw tightened, and his eyes pierced into me with a strength that frightened me. “Tell me, damn it,” he demanded, lifting my hips higher and pounding into me harder than before. “You feel it. I know you do.”

Jake was right. I did love him, very much so. I just didn’t want to be the first to say it. We both knew I’d never say it on my own, but he would force it out of me, if necessary. I could barely speak, much less think. His hands claimed my body, his mind branded my heart.

“I…I love you,” I choked out.

Tears swam in my eyes over the mental release, as much as the physical one. My body clamped onto his, refusing to let go, and Jake shoved into me for the last time, groaning at his own completion. Once he regained his composure, he smiled at me and brushed his lips across mine.

As I lay quietly under him, I realized something. Awareness can be a funny thing. Jake was now completely aware of my feelings for him, and I was fully aware he hadn’t returned the sentiment. But I was still one up on him in awareness and waited for his reaction.

“Shit,” he muttered.

There.

Now, we were both aware we hadn’t used a condom.





Chapter Nineteen

The morning sun was high in the sky when Jake’s warmth slid out from under the covers. I propped my head on my elbow as he picked up his jeans from the floor.

“Can we talk, Jake?”

He pulled his jeans up over his hips. “I’m sorry about last night. It shouldn’t have happened.”

I told him I loved him, and he…oh God! Of course, he regrets it. I’m such an idiot.

He must’ve noticed a flash of hurt in my eyes because he sat beside me on the bed and took my hands in his. “I’m talking about the condom mishap, not the other stuff.”

Then he kissed me lightly, lingering at my mouth for a moment before deciding against whatever else had passed through his mind. He pulled back and smiled, knowing I had guessed what he was thinking.

“I want to ask you something,” I said.

“No, I’ve never done that before,” he offered, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. “Normally, I’m careful, but it was just the situation, I guess.”

“It’s not about that. I want to talk to you about…well, something else,” I said, hesitating because I wasn’t sure how he’d react.

“Okay, shoot.”

“I wanted to ask you…um…well, I…” Was I brave enough to ask him how he felt about me if there was a chance he didn’t feel the same way? “Where did you get the scar, the one on your leg?”

The flat, faded scar on his thigh was only noticeable from certain angles. Since I was roughly face level with his waist, I noticed. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it before, but maybe he would now. It was a safer bet than asking him if he loved me. I’d have to work up to that one.

He didn’t answer at first, which worried me. But then he sighed and shrugged. “It’s probably about time I told you the truth, anyway.” That worried me more. “My parents’ names were Joseph and Marion Keller.”

Recognition dawned on me, but I blinked with confusion. “That’s strange,” I said, trying to force my brain to recall something out of its grasp. “Their names sound familiar, but I don’t know why.”

“My dad was director of the FBI’s Chicago division until last year. They were murdered,” he said, pausing to let me take in his words. “Every local and national news network plastered their names and photos on their top story list for months. I would’ve found it strange if you hadn’t heard their names.”

The small jolt he gave me helped my memory kick in. “Gunned down in their home, right?” I asked, forgetting I was callously referring to his parents. I should’ve edited myself better.

Jake nodded his answer, as if confirming it verbally hurt too much.

“A home invasion or something?” I asked, still trying to recall the news report I’d seen the year before.

“It was no home invasion,” Jake said, gritting his teeth. “That was a mob hit, disguised as a burglary gone wrong.” He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, trying to calm himself down.

“But the news report said—”

“I was there, Emily.” He ran his shaky fingers through his hair, as if startled by his own memories. “They invited me to dinner, and we watched a ball game on TV afterward. Dad and I drank a few too many beers, so Mom made me sleep it off in my old room.

“At four o’clock in the morning, I heard a noise that sounded like something fell on the floor. I wasn’t alarmed enough to grab my gun off the dresser and walked into the hallway unarmed. One of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made. A man stepped out of my parents’ bedroom carrying a silenced handgun. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but later found out it was Curtis Manning.”