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“He can’t stay away from you.” Jack wrongly finished my sentence.
“Physical attraction is a far cry from what you’re insinuating.”
“You’ll see,” he scarily announced. “And when he does exactly what I’m warning you he’ll do, I hope to fuck you have it in you to stand your ground and fight for your man. Because he deserves nothing less than a strong woman who’s willing to help him battle his demons. And when she digs them out she’ll have a man that will burn the world to the ground to keep her happy.”
I had nothing to the contrary to say to that, so I remained quiet.
Wilson was a good man and he did deserve a woman who would fight for him. I just wasn’t sure he’d let me dig deep enough to find his demons. And the closer I got to him the more it hurt knowing he was going to leave me. If I got to the heart of him and he rejected me it would be devastating.
“Last thing, then I’ll drop it and get you to work.” I watched Jack push away from the counter to stand to his full height. “Push him. Make him tell you what’s holding him back. It won’t take but a nudge from you for him to unburden himself. He’s dying to tell you. He wants to be a man worthy of you. He just plain wants you, Atlee, but he needs you to be the strong one. He needs you to push… him… until he breaks.”
Breaking Wilson sounded terrifying.
“I don’t think—”
“Shut your mind off and follow your heart. You know you want to,” he dared.
Was Jack taunting me into putting my heart on the line?
His grin said he was.
My dumb heart pounded as if to tell me it was fully on board with pushing Wilson until he unburdened himself.
* * *
“We’re being followed,” Jack announced.
I was riding shotgun in his sleek, black BMW 8 series.
I glanced to the side mirror.
“Followed? Why?”
Jack didn’t answer me. He pressed a button on the steering wheel and barked, “Call Rhode.”
A moment later the interior filled with the sound of the call ringing through.
“Why would someone follow us?” I tried again.
“No clue.”
“Jack,” Rhode greeted.
“I have Atlee in the car with me and we’re being followed. I need you to run a plate for me.”
“Go.”
Jack rattled off the plate number then added, “Silver Merc. G Class.”
“Hold tight,” Jack warned before he blew a yellow light, passing a car while narrowly missing getting sideswiped.
“This is a hundred-thousand-dollar car,” I nonsensically complained.
I mean, who cared how expensive the car was when he’d almost crashed on my side?
“Eighty-nine,” he corrected.
“Close enough,” I muttered and watched him weave in and out of traffic.
