Page 6 of Fight from the Heart

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she’d said. I took those words to heart. I would not leave her. I wouldn’t dream of dying ever again.

I also didn’t think I’d see her after that night. That night when an angel looked me in the eyes.

Of course, I hardly remember the moment, but she came to visit me the next day, and I put all the pieces together. I’ll never forget the woman with eyes that not only wanted to scorch me for driving under the influence but also forgave me for some reason. She was my penance, and I didn’t deserve her.

Rolling my head back in her direction, I stare at the outline of her body. Despite the dark, the highlights are accentuated, like the hills and valleys of a map. The curve of her shoulder. The dip to her waist. The swell of her hip. My arm had been around her and my hand rested between her large breasts. My dick brushed against her firm ass, and I’m so freaking stiff.

Ice Cream. Frozen lakes. Snowstorms.

I need to concentrate on anything that will cool me off.

Her legs rustle under the sheets, and she twists to face me. Thankfully, she’s slipped back to sleep, and I’m praying she didn’t notice how hard I am.

I’m not really the nurturing type, but for reasons I can’t explain, I want to take care of her. I like having her this close to me and feeling like she needs me. She’s always doing everything for me, and I don’t always show her how much I appreciate her and how important she is to me. She’s not like anyone I’ve known before, except maybe my stepsister, Ella. It was such a shock to find Pam curled up on my couch—a bit delirious, definitely chilled, but as if she was waiting for me.

What would it be like to come home to a woman waiting for me?

Pam is so different from Mandi. She doesn’t want to pick a fight. She doesn’t want to criticize. She doesn’t complain.

I also note the physical differences, starting with the softness of her golden hair. Even plastered to her head from days of sleeping and without a wash, she’s beautiful. She’s this contradiction of innocence and temptation. With big denim blue eyes and bouncy blond waves to her chin, she wears bright lipstick in shades of red or hot pink. Her clothing is either too vibrant or all black. And her interests lean to the dark and morbid. She loves the shit I write.

Well, most of the time.

Her hand lays flat on the sheet. There isn’t much distance between us, and I twist myself to face her sleeping form. My fingers hesitantly reach for hers, curling around them. She’s warm, exuding heat, and I hope this means the fever is breaking. I don’t like to see her weak. She’s strong every other day, but then again, there’s a vulnerability underneath her tough exterior with me.

She’s too good for you, Jacob.

It’s the main reason I’ve always kept my distance. I tease. I flirt. But then, I rein it in. I will not cross a line she does not want crossed. She’s never given a hint of interest in me, remaining standoffish even when I joke with her.

I trust her implicitly, and trust isn’t something I give easily.

Her fingers react to mine over hers and grab onto them. Touching her sends a thrill through me, like lightning striking the damned or Frankenstein’s monster coming to life. Both concepts are similar. The monster was destined for a horrible life the moment he was born, and the same has happened to me.

I close my eyes, holding her fingers in mine, and think back on the torture of the past two weeks. Thank God, Mandi and I have finally come to a firm agreement. No more. The trip was a test of wills. Will we be together forever, or will we finally end this suffocating relationship? She wanted marriage. I wanted out.

Ten days to sort out feelings I already labeled as zero. It took a lot of alcohol to make it through the days and nights because I have absolutely no feelings left for Mandi. That makes me a coldhearted dick, but I don’t care. All my emotions are wrapped up in this woman across from me, holding my hand like I’m suddenly her saving grace in a storm, and I so want to be deserving of saving her. For all she’s done for me, I want to be something to her, but I also know I’m not worthy of someone like her. I’m a sick bastard for even thinking such a thing, but my heart doesn’t want to stop rattling in the cage of my chest, begging for release. My dick has its own struggles, unwilling to settle down when she’s around. I’m never going to sleep tonight.

+ + +

In the early morning, I slip from the bed and head downstairs to my office for a few hours of work. I’m writing my next fantasy thriller and need to concentrate, which I cannot do with Pam next to me.

“Good morning.” Her soft voice eventually startles me, and I look up from my computer, over my glasses, at her curvy frame leaning against the doorjamb of my office. She’s a vision, but she also looks like hell.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” I tell her, taking off my glasses and standing from the desk chair. I’m wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, but I’m barefoot. She’s wearing my tee, exposing most of her legs, and my dick struggles behind my zipper once again. I cannot get myself under control.

“Would you mind if I shower?” she asks sheepishly, and I smile at the guilty look on her face. See, I’m a sick man because I’m thrilled to set her up in my bathroom. My shower is this amazing hexagon shape with only one side against the tile and the other five sides glass. A rain showerhead streams into the middle. Thinking of her naked body under the drenching spray with soap sliding down her lush curves makes me a mess of hormones I shouldn’t even have at forty. But damn, I want her in ways I should not.

“How about a bath?” I state, seeing as she can hardly hold herself upright without leaning against the entrance to my writing space. She chews at her lip. She wants to say yes. Without giving her a second to hesitate, I step up to her, scoop her into my arms, and head back up the stairs.

She shrieks before she speaks. “Jacob, you don’t need to carry me. I’m too heavy.”

“You’re as light as an angel’s wings,” I tell her.

“Oh, my God.” She laughs, loosely wrapping her arms around my shoulders. I want her to hold onto me—really tighten those limbs around me and hold me—but she doesn’t. “That’s sweet but false.”

She’s self-deprecating, and while I sometimes let it slide by continuing to tease her, I don’t want to hear it today.

“Don’t think about yourself like that,” I command as I climb the stairs. Once we enter the bathroom, I lower her to the closed toilet seat while I start the tub. It’s an air tub with jets because sometimes I work out harder than I should and need the muscle relief. The thought of those jets going off and pulsing at parts of Pam causes my entire body to vibrate.