He moves across the bathroom toward me, coming to a stop behind me. He doesn’t touch me, but ensures our eye contact remains intact. “Quite possibly,” he answers simply.
I swallow and shake my head, but he counters by nodding his own, confident with his declaration. I can feel myself slipping from the safety of my conscience again. “No,” I murmur.
“Yes,” he counters, watching me as he lowers his mouth to my shoulder and rests his lips on my flesh. I jerk and grab the sink for support, but I don’t pull away. Stupidly, I let him at me, consumed in a second by his power over me.
He kisses my shoulder lightly and takes my hand, extending it out to the side and kissing his way down my arm to the very tips of my fingers. My skin bursts into flames, my head drops back, and my mind blanks out once again. Only Jack exists. I slide my hand up his arm and curl my palm around his neck, applying a light pressure, telling him to come to me. He expresses no victory. He circles me until he’s before me and slides his hand onto my cheek, lowering his mouth leisurely to mine.
I’m gone, lost in that special place he takes me to, where passion and longing cloud everything.
Then Stephanie’s face is suddenly all I see, and I shout, pushing him away from me. “No,” I snap, turning and walking away from him, my hands coming up to my temples and physically trying to force the image of her from my head. It’s stuck there, tormenting me, torturing me. I can’t cave again. I mustn’t cave again! “Get out.”
“Annie, don’t walk away—”
“Get out!” I scream, swinging around in a blind rage. His pursuit halts as soon as he gets sight of my incensed face. “I don’t want you!” I seethe, snatching up his jeans and T-shirt and throwing them at him viciously.
He lets his clothes hit him and fall to the floor. “Stop fucking lying to me!” he roars, stalking forward and claiming me. “Stop saying what your head is demanding and start listening to your fucking heart, Annie!”
“My heart is saying nothing!” I fight with him, scared to death of remaining in his hold, feeling him breaking me down with every second he’s touching me.
“Then why can I fucking hear it?” he yells. “Loud and fucking clear, woman. It’s saying the exact same thing mine is.”
I wrench myself free and move away, breathing heavily. “Leave me the hell alone and go home to your wife. It’s that simple.”
“Simple?” Jack asks seriously, gesturing an accusing hand up and down my front before smashing a fist into his pec. “Then why the fuck does it hurt like hell every time I think about not seeing you again?” he yells. “Explain it to me, Annie, because I really am going fucking crazy!”
I shrink on the spot, shocked, yet I fully comprehend what he’s saying. I feel like I’m going out of my mind, too, and I’m definitely hurting. I start to shake. It’s anger, but it’s also fear.
“Get out.” I need to put aside the crazy chemistry and bat down the butterflies. I mustn’t be blinkered by lust again. “Just go, Jack.” I drop my eyes to the floor before I can take in any more of him. And those memories. His face, my face, our bodies. I squeeze my eyes shut and push the heel of my palm into my forehead.
“It doesn’t work,” he says quietly. “I’ve tried it.”
I start to shake my head, my cheeks becoming wet with tears of frustration.
“Nothing works, Annie. Not shaking my head, not distracting myself, nothing.”
“Stop it,” I whimper pathetically.
“I can’t stop,” he hisses, taking a step toward me. “It was bad enough having you constantly up here.” He taps his temple aggressively, his face twisting. “Now you’re actually fucking here. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep.”
He takes another step toward me and I retreat again, trying my hardest to keep the distance between us. Being this close to him is dangerous. It’s screwing with my resolve, eating through my conscience.
“You’re married,” I grate, furious with him. So furious! “I made a horrible mistake. Get out of my apartment.”
He just stares at me for a few moments, and I can tell he’s assessing my mental state. He’s trying to find that one little chink in my armor, any way in. I won’t give it to him. Not again.
“I said, get out,” I repeat, certain and strong. “I never want to see you again.”
“Colin’s—”
“I’m quitting the project.”
Jack backs up, his face a picture of hurt, maybe even devastation, but I refuse to let it dent my resolve. I make sure my expression remains determined, watching as his jaw goes so tight it could possibly crack.
“You want that?” he asks.
“I don’t see any other way.”
“I do.” Jack’s face is suddenly determined. “You’re right. I can’t look at you every day and know you’re lying to yourself. And to me.” He tugs his jeans up his legs and shoves his feet into his boots, all angrily. “But you’re not quitting. This project means too much to you, and I’m not going to be the reason you walk away from it.”
I withdraw, moving back. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll be off the job by tomorrow evening.” He turns and walks out, pulling his T-shirt on as he goes, and a few seconds later I hear the front door slam with brutal force.
My breathing becomes shallow and strained, my throat clogging up. What just happened? He’s quit. Jack’s solved my problem for me. I’ll never see him again. I’ll carry on with my life as if I never met him. It’s for the best. I know it’s for the best. I can’t go on like this. I’m caught in limbo, desolate without him, desolate with him. I feel like I’m yo-yoing between strength and shakiness, never knowing which way to turn. I’m never going to see him again. Hear him. Feel him.
Those thoughts make my knees give, and I crumple to the floor into a heap of grief. I’ll never see him again. My eyes well up, blurring my surroundings. My whole world blurs, too. I’ll never see him again. Never feel him, hear him, smell him. My shallow breathing virtually diminishes to nothing, my sobs now racking my folded body.
I know this is for the best. So why does it feel like I’m slowly dying?
He’s walked away so I don’t have to. Because he knows what this project means to me. I drag myself up from the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but everything is telling me to do it. I stagger to the door, my vision distorted through my teary eyes, and throw myself out onto the street. I frantically search for his car and spot him down the road getting into his Audi. “Jack!” I scream, and he looks up, holding the top of his door. I stand where I am in a T-shirt and nothing else, my feet bare, my face undoubtedly a tear-stained wreck. “I don’t want you to,” I sob, breaking down completely. “I don’t want you to go.”