Chapter 7 #2
"And you?" I asked. "Do you still think that?"
Jerry was silent for a long moment. He signaled a turn, the car gliding smoothly toward The Spire.
"I used to," he admitted. "I thought happiness was a leak in the hull. Something that slowed you down." He squeezed my hand. "But this week... with you... I feel lighter. On the ice, I'm faster. My head is clearer."
"Because of the green smoothies?" I teased gently.
"Because of the silence," he said. "When I come home, and you're there... the noise stops, Heather. The pressure stops. You're... quiet."
"I am literally never quiet," I laughed. "I talk to your plants. I sing in the shower. I yell at the blender."
"Not that kind of quiet," he said. He glanced at me, his eyes burning. "Peace. You're peace."
My heart swelled so big it felt like it might crack my ribs. Peace. He called me peace. For a man whose mind was a constant war zone of expectations and demands, that was the highest compliment he could give.
We pulled into the underground garage of The Spire. The darkness swallowed us.
Jerry killed the engine. The silence returned, but now it was charged with electricity.
He didn't open his door. He just turned in his seat to face me.
"I don't want to go up yet," he said.
"Why?"
"Because once we go up, we have to go to sleep. And I don't want this night to end."
"It doesn't have to end," I whispered.
He unbuckled his seatbelt. Then he reached over and unbuckled mine.
The click was loud in the quiet car.
He reached for me. He pulled me across the center console. It was awkward and desperate, limbs tangling, but I didn't care. I scrambled over the gear shift, landing in his lap, straddling his thighs.
His arms wrapped around me instantly, crushing me against his chest.
His mouth found mine.
This wasn't a sweet kiss. This was a claiming. It was hungry and raw. He tasted like red wine and desperation.
I buried my hands in his hair, gripping the silky strands, pulling him closer. I ground my hips down against his, feeling the hard ridge of him through his slacks.
He groaned, a guttural sound that vibrated against my lips.
"Heather," he gasped, breaking the kiss to trail hot, wet lips down my jawline. "You're killing me. You look so beautiful tonight. I spent the entire dinner wanting to rip this dress off you."
"Do it," I dared him, my head falling back, exposing my throat to his mouth. "Rip it."
"Not here," he growled, biting gently at the sensitive spot under my ear. "Not in the car. You deserve a bed. You deserve..."
"I deserve you," I panted. "Just you."
He pulled back to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, his chest heaving.
"You have me," he said roughly. "You have all of me. You know that, right? The contract... it's just paper now."
"I know," I whispered. I traced the line of his jaw with my thumb. "It's just paper."
He kissed me again, deeper this time. His hand slid up my thigh, bunching the silk of my dress until his fingers found bare skin. He gripped my hip, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh.
I felt safe. I felt seen. I felt wanted in a way I had never experienced before.
But then, a flash of headlights swept across the garage. Another car was pulling in.
We froze.
Jerry cursed softly against my mouth. He pulled my dress down, shielding me, tucking my head into his shoulder.
"Neighbors," he muttered.
The other car parked a few spots away. We waited in the dark, breathing each other's air, until the footsteps faded toward the elevator.
Jerry rested his forehead against mine. His breathing was ragged.
"We should go up," he said. "Before I get arrested for public indecency in my own building."
I laughed breathlessly. "Yeah. Probably."
I climbed back into the passenger seat, missing his warmth immediately.
We walked to the elevator hand in hand. The ride up was excruciating. The air between us was so thick you could carve it. Every time the elevator chimed, our eyes met, promising things we hadn't said out loud yet.
When the doors opened to the penthouse, the lights were dim. The city sprawled out beyond the glass, a million watching eyes.
Jerry didn't let go of my hand. He pulled me into the foyer.
He stopped. He turned to me.
"Heather," he said. His voice was serious. Sober.
"Yeah?"
"I have an away game next weekend," he said. "Three days in Boston."
My stomach dropped. Three days without him. Three days without the bubble.
"Okay," I said.
"I want you to come," he said.
"To Boston? But... the budget? The team rules?"
"I'll pay," he dismissed. "And I don't care about the rules. I play better when you're there. I sleep better when you're there."
He stepped closer, cupping my face in his hands.
"Come with me," he pleaded softly. "Be my peace."
I looked at him. At the man who had terrified me a week ago. The man who was now asking me, not ordering me, to be by his side.
I was falling. I was falling so fast and hard there was no parachute in the world that could save me.
"Yes," I whispered. "I'll come."
He smiled. A real, brilliant smile that reached his eyes.
"Good," he said. He kissed my forehead. "Go to bed, Heather. Before I forget that I'm trying to be a gentleman."
"Who said I wanted a gentleman?" I teased, backing toward my room.
"Goodnight, Brat," he called after me.
"Goodnight, Judge," I replied.
I closed my bedroom door and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. I pressed my fingers to my lips, which were still throbbing from his kiss.
The bubble was perfect.
But bubbles pop.
And I had a terrifying feeling that when this one did, it was going to destroy me. Because this wasn't fake anymore.
I was in love with Jerry Vane.
And that was the most dangerous thing I could possibly be.