Chapter 48

How far from the hotel did we stray? Seems like an eternity.

I need to get out of this stifling car. Take deep breaths to both cool and calm myself.

“You’re all of those things, Emma, and I think partly, because of the shit you endured.” He sighs heavily. He truly doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“You’re also allowed to be human and … vulnerable … You’re allowed to let someone in. Let me in!” he’s almost pleading at me.

“Not with my job, Mr. Carrero.” I smile emptily, my voice lighter while trying to sound normal, wishing to end the tension between us. Even though he doesn’t reciprocate, his eyes soften, and I wipe away my tears, turning to him once again. Calm and in control once more.

“Even with your job,” he answers gently, reaching out and taking my fingers in his tenderly, entwining them with mine and leaving our hands on the leather seat between us. I don’t look down, but the warmth of his touch sends a small reassurance through me. Fully bringing me to calm.

“I think the boss would soon have something to say if I reverted to some feeble, emotional victim who wept over old scars, don’t you?” I smile, hoping to turn this conversation back to our usual banter. Release this heavy fog like tension around us.

“The boss would be an idiot if he did.” He looks over at me, a hint of a sad flicker. No fun and flirty from Jake, he’s still in serious mode.

“My boss is sometimes an idiot.” I flutter at him cheekily. “He gets me drunk, irrationally drunk and lets me fall apart when he should know better.”

“Maybe getting you drunk is the only time you’re truly yourself around him. That, and it’s easier to seduce you when you can’t see straight.” Finally, I catch that glint of cheeky in his eye. He visibly relaxes into casual pose.

“So, you planned on getting me drunk, Mr. Smooth? To take advantage of me!” I shake my head, mood fully restored to tipsy mellow, everything fading away, and I’m glad that we’ve steered away from emotional topics. This weird habit we have of going from fire to soft lapping waves in a flash.

“No … Maybe … Yes. Damn, you caught me!” he’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and I know he’s still digesting what he’s learned about me. I didn’t want him to know any of that stuff. I want to take it all back.

What does he see now? Damaged goods … Some pathetic little girl that men tried to molest. A slutty girl who encouraged it maybe? Her own father couldn’t even look at her, was too disgusted to want her.

That inner shame and self-loathing rising out from the fiery depths once more and I swallow it down.

“I don’t want to do this, Jake.” I utter quietly. Looking down at our hands, held together so weirdly fitted and snug.

“What? Snuggle in the cab? Let me take advantage of you?” he glances at me a little unsurely. Humor evident, but not quite hitting the mark.

“This whole bonding over shitty childhood experiences … I want to take it all back, so you don’t know any of it.” I breathe out honestly, still holding his hand, still taking comfort from his touch. He’s my harbor in the storm right now.

“Why?”

“Because it’s … Shameful. I’m ashamed of it.” It’s the first time I’ve ever said it out loud and admitted it. I sigh, steadying my inner turmoil but this is harder than I thought it could be. He shakes his head and pulls me close to him across the seat, releasing my hand to bring an arm around me tightly, his forehead resting against mine as he pulls my face back to him. His hand along my jawline carefully brining me to him.

“Emma, you never did anything wrong … You didn’t ask for any of it.” His green eyes lock on mine forcefully, dark with emotion.

“I must have … Why did they keep trying?” it comes out from somewhere inside of me, causing a sharp pain in my chest and I hate that alcohol causes this verbal diarrhea. Anytime I think I have a handle on it, teen Emma blurts out the dark secrets and insecurities to Jake. He has a way of making it happen.

“Because you’re beautiful, and they wanted you … It makes them the sick fucks. I would destroy every single one of them to prove to you that this isn’t your fault.” The conviction and fire in his voice and eyes makes me want to curl up in his lap again. I know that he means it, that he’s capable of it. I can’t let things slide so far into personal in this way, it would affect our relationship in so many ways. I glance up at him, with what I hope, is a grateful expression and a soft smile.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” And this time I mean it. I’ve never opened up about this, never cried about it to anyone, except him and I feel nauseous at the thought that Jake just saw all of that. I want to recoil and hide in shame and take it all back. I move his hand from my face and pull away, still sitting close but gazing away from him, out of the window.

“Emma …?” I can tell by his tone that he’s going to push this further. I stiffen with slight hostility. Bristling up.

“No!” I answer boldly with determination.

“You can’t open a door to let me in, then shut it in my face.” He pleads, his hand coming to trace my jawline tenderly. His touch dissolving some of my resolve for a second. His caress always makes my body sag hopelessly.

“Yes, I can …” I stay, calm and aloof, wanting to remove his fingers from my skin but needing his touch more. Taking solace in it while fighting him.

“I won’t let you, Emma … This isn’t the last time we talk about this, next time you won’t be drunk,” he seems determined building the tension between us.

“There will never be a next time, Jake, just let it go.” I’m back in PA mode. Emotion pushed down and voice steady. I know he’s frowning at me. I can tell by the tone of his voice, but I don’t care, the alcohol is numbing things again, but I’m starting to feel overwhelmingly sick.

The car stops as we pull into the hotel garage, finally, the endless journey comes to a halt. I slide out as soon as we stop, moving from his side yet he tugs me by the wrist back to him and then follows me out into the dark electric lit basement. He has my shoes in one hand and he stoops to scoop me up in princess carrying fashion. My arm sliding easily behind his neck.

“I can walk,” I protest weakly. Too tired to mean it.

“There’s broken glass and all sorts of crap down here … Be quiet and just hold on. Enjoy being the damsel for once, woman!” he’s in boss mode and I know argument is pointless. In a way, I’m glad because I’m still swaying, and everything keeps sliding around me. I hold on around his neck and rest my temple against his jaw, inhaling him. He feels good, he smells amazing, safe, strong, and warm and I glance up, trying to gauge how drunk he is, in the hopes he’ll forget our entire conversation, but he seems normal. His focus intent on where he’s heading. His green eyes clear and gorgeous as always.

Was I the only one to get plastered?

He catches my eye and gives me a genuine smile, a soft and warm look. The urge to trace his chiseled lips with my fingers shocks me and I rest my face back down into the hollow of his neck, inhaling him while I can and taking away the temptation. He carries me into the elevator and back to our rooms.