Chapter 12
Morgan
My hands shake as I clutch my phone. Jack finally contacted me. It’s been weeks. I pace down the pews in one of our service halls. Stained glass casts fractured color across the space.
“What do I say?” I whisper.
I want to reply but don’t know how. Ingrid thought I was being too desperate. I should wait a day.
No, I’m not supposed to talk to him. Remember, Morgan? I can’t be with him.
“He’s just concerned about my safety,” I argue with myself.
My feet stop moving.
Oh my gosh. Maybe... maybe he checks my posts. The thought thrills and terrifies me.
My phone vibrates, and I nearly drop it.
Jack Killborne: MORGAN REPLY
Me: (typing bubble)
I start and stop several times.
Backspace.
I’m so nervous.
The phone rings.
Oh my gosh!
With my heart beating hard enough to break my ribcage, I answer, my voice cracking.
“Hey, Jack.” I clear my throat. “How are you?”
“What the fuck is this about you and that asshat?”
His voice hits me hard.
“You, uh, saw the picture?” I ask.
“Morgan, that guy is dangerous,” he says sharply, ignoring my question.
“I know. I’m not dating him.”
“Do you want a medal? How stupid can you be? Don’t let that fucker near you.”
His voice is deep and rough. I sit at the front pew, feeling like a child being scolded.
“Jesus offers forgiveness to all who repent. Gabe repented. I should do the same.”
Jack groans loudly, disgusted. “Where was Jesus when that guy was about to fuck you?”
I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the screen.
This is hard enough, and he’s making it worse.
“I have to go,” I snap, and although it is painful, I hang up.
He calls back immediately, which surprises me, but I block him. I have to. I need to cleanse myself of temptation. I was attacked by Gabe because I crossed lines with him first. I betrayed my convictions and paid a price.
A virtuous path is not easy, but it leads to happiness greater than a passing pleasure.
Jack is a passing pleasure.
I repeat it.
Again and again.
Friday, I have another book signing two cities over. It’s the last one for a couple of weeks. Highway miles blur together.
Once again, the crowd is a good size but lacks my target demographic. It’s possible my marketing is off. I should tell Ingrid, but don’t want to hurt her feelings.
I sign and chat at a steady pace. I am getting better at this.
Just then, my book is dropped on the table with a hard thud, causing it to rattle.
“Three-hour drive, thirty bucks, and an hour wait to see Morgan Leigh Montgomery.”
My stomach drops. I know that voice.
Jack.
I look from under my brow. My eyes drag up his towering frame. His sculpted jaw is locked tight, and those deep blue eyes stare down at me with paralyzing intensity.
My heart?
It exploded and I’m about to pass out.
“Ya gonna sign my book, church girl?”
I nod, speechless. My hand shakes as I open the cover.
“Where’s your shit-boyfriend?” he asks.
I keep my gaze down and sign my name. My voice is barely audible as I reply, “Gabe’s not my boyfriend.”
I hand him the book, but I still can’t meet his gaze. Looking at him feels like surrender.
“How are all of your girlfriends?” I say, making sure he hears the disdain in my voice.
“Girlfriends?” He presses his palms to the table.
I peek up, and now, I can’t look away, as if he’s commanding me silently.
His voice lowers for only me to hear. “Stay away from him, or I’ll cut off his slimy hands so he can’t touch you again.” His eyes narrow, and the swirling rage behind them leaves no doubt his threat is real.
He grabs the book.
“I want a picture.” He hands Bailey his phone.
I forgot she was here. I stand up and Jack practically drags me to his side. His body is hard and warm. I fit perfectly under his arm. His hand grips my upper arm as he presses me firmly against him.
That cologne... Amberwood and smoke. Dangerously familiar.
Memories slam back, and suddenly, I am straddling his lap, kissing him, holding his muscled jaw, and inhaling that sexy aroma once more.
Before Bailey returns his phone, he holds me in place and whispers in my ear.
“You’re shaking, Morgan. You scared of me, baby?”
And the way he says ‘baby’ holds no affection. It’s a challenge disguised as a word. His tone is taunting and claiming at once.
I gawk, and he lets go.
“Unblock me,” he adds.
“What?”
“Now.” He spots my phone in my pants pocket and grabs it like he can do whatever he wants. I scowl, but he isn’t fazed. “Unblock me.”
“Jack,” I whisper-plea. I close my eyes because I can’t look at him as I say, “We shouldn’t talk anymore.”
“If only you said the same to your rapist, I wouldn’t be here.”
My lashes flutter open.
He murmurs, “Right now, baby. I’m not leaving till you do.”
Something tells me he’s not bluffing.
And if he keeps using that pet name, despite its mocking quality, I might faint.
Maybe that’s the reason, I don’t know exactly, but I unlock my phone and do as he says.
The second I tap unblock, an unexpected wave of relief washes over me.
“Good, church girl. Never block me.”
The command is disturbing. Another man who confuses and makes me feel like he’s taking my ability to choose.
Then he just walks away.
I exhale a shaky breath. Bailey tugs on my arm.
“Come on, missy. Keep the line moving.”
Just like Jack, I do as she says, too, and sign, smile, and get through the day. Inside, my body is electrified.
I am a complete mess.
It isn’t until one in the morning that I am finally home. The drive was killer. I faceplant on my bed. I haven’t looked at my phone. Bailey almost got Jack out of my head. During the drive, she talked about dad nonstop. I don’t know why. Don’t care.
Because the encounter with Jack lingers.
I may be tired, but I can’t sleep without checking.
Jack Killborne: *picture of us*
My heart skips a beat, and I fail to suppress the explosion of butterflies within my body.
I am in so much trouble.