I picture Jess in some cute pyjamas, all sleepy from being in bed, her hair messy. The ache in my chest eases. “I gotta be somewhere. Sorry.”
Without trying to explain, I swivel and head out the door. I didn’t drive so I could drink so I flag down a taxi, not even able to resist grinning. I’m going to see Jess. I need Jess. Goddamn what was I thinking? I can’t live without her. I get in the taxi and give the driver her address. So she’s made mistakes. Who hasn’t? And she suffered abuse. I mean, for fuck’s sake, what kind of asshole am I that I can’t forgive her stupid decisions at such a young age. She must have been so desperate. And I understand desperate. I’ve been there. So what if she took some money? That bastard deserved everything he got.
Hell, though if my decisions don’t seem cowardly. Jess was practically a kid, driven out of her home but some sicko. I curl a fist and curse the late night traffic and the pervert who touched her. Maybe I’ll track Carl down and exact some punishment of my own….
I run both hands through my hair and wish I hadn’t been drinking. I’m not drunk but how am I going to convince her I’m not a dick for abandoning her for a week after all I did to persuade her to let me into her life with beer on my breath?
As the taxi works its way through the late night traffic to Peckham, I try to figure out what I’m going to say. My phone rings, jarring me from my thoughts. I pull it out, expecting it to be Connor or Mitch but it’s not. I swear aloud.
“Well?” Carl asks.
“Well, what?”
“I’ve been trying to contact you all week. Have you got the money?”
“What was the money from, Carl? Why did Jess leave?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters if the money isn’t legal. And it matters if you did something to her.”
“What the fuck? Do you want to be paid or not? None of this bothered you when I was sending you money.”
“Frankly, Carl, you can take your money and shove it up your ass. I don’t want your money. And you can stay the hell away from Jess, you sick fuck.”
I jab end call and grin to myself. So I’ve got no money. If I can persuade Jess to have me it won’t matter. Maybe I’ll sell the bike. That will keep me going for a while and I can put some of the money into advertising—get a few new jobs. Hopefully I’ll figure out some way of keeping up the payment on the house.
The taxi pulls up outside Jess’s apartment block. I’ll worry about money later.
Chapter Seven
Jess
Feet pounding from a long shift at the pub, I climb the stairs to my apartment. I can’t wait to get into bed and hopefully forget everything. Eddie started quizzing me about Hunter which didn’t help and he sent me home early, saying I didn’t look well. When I think I might be getting over him, something comes up to remind me of him.
The sound of someone running up the stairs makes my heart leap and I pause, press myself against the wall and wait for them to come past me. Ruffled dark hair, a damned leather jacket and a blazing eyes come into sight. He lifts his head as a tilted smile slides over his lips.
“Jess.” He practically breathes my name and my toes curl.
“Hunter?”
“Hey, princess.” He comes up beside me and shoves his hands in his jeans.
“What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to see you. You been working?”
“Yes, I’ve been working,” I snap. “Why did you want to see me at nearly one in the morning?”
He shrugs. “Can we go up?” He lifts that beautiful gaze to the stairs.
“Hunter, you can’t just turn up like this.” I fold my arms. “I’ve not spoken to you in a week and now you expect to turn up out of the blue and expect… expect…” I wave my hand, not sure what he really expects. Is he wanting to take me to bed? To talk? What?
“I can explain.”
I study his posture, the determined jut of his chin and wide stance. I don’t have a hope in hell of winning this argument and forcing him to turn back around. And of course the stupid part of me—the one that Hunter brings outs—wants to know what he’s been doing.
“Fine, but be quick. I’m tired.”
He nods and a satisfied smile cracks his face. Damn him, why does he have to be so sexy? Even though I’m pissed off, desire spears me. In an attempt to hide it, I turn and walk briskly up the stairs. I dig my keys out my bag and fumble with them when I reach the door. My hands really don’t want to cooperate as my pulse beats a fitful tempo.
After what feels like forever of him breathing down my neck, of his warm body too close to mine, I get the door open and usher him in. Paper crunches underfoot and a spasm strikes my heart and makes my throat constrict. I pause to pick up the slim padded envelope that’s been pushed under my door.
While numbness pervades me, I blindly place it on the kitchen side.