French Quarter by Lacey Alexander (small books to read .TXT) 📕

He smiled lightly to himself. “Oh, I don’t know—looked to me like you did a pretty good job of takin’ care of him all by yourself.”

“Wh-what are you even doing here?” She looked up into his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so, and I was so sure I was alone and on my own with him.”

He shrugged, still holding her. “I just had a feelin’ maybe I should come early.” Part wanting to see her so bad it hurt, but also part P.I.’s instinct—like before, something had indeed nagged at him, urging him to check on her and make sure she was okay. He said a silent prayer of thanks to have been blessed with such gut feelings.

Gazing down at her, he lifted one hand to push the hair from her face. “It’s time you move in with me, chere. I can’t stand knowin’ this guy is right next door to you.”

He thought she looked tempted, almost heard the “yes” leaving her lips, but instead she gently pulled free of his embrace and walked into the living room to sit down on the couch, her back to him. “We’ll see, Jack. We’ll see.”

He sighed, glad she couldn’t take in his face at the moment. He could read the writing on the wall clearly enough—she still had no interest in turning this into a serious relationship. Which he’d known already, but somehow, in these last few minutes, he’d hoped against hope that maybe things would have changed.

Whenever she left him, it was going to wound him in a way he might never really recover from. It wasn’t a choice, or a circumstance that might change—he knew as surely as he knew alligators lived in the bayou that it’s just how things were.

“How about I order that pizza?” he said, now just wanting to comfort her in whatever little ways he might be capable of. He walked around the couch to face her. Her expression looked a little more peaceful than a moment ago, which made the fist squeezing his heart loosen a little.

“That would be nice.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “Phone book’s in the drawer by the fridge. Anything but anchovies and onions.” She got to her feet. “I’m going to go get dressed now. I just…kind of want to have clothes on right now—you know?”

He nodded, and for the first time, he thought he understood how close she’d come to being raped by her ex-fiancé. The knowledge sent a cold chill slithering down his spine. “Sure, darlin’, I understand. Go get dressed.”

As Jack thumbed through the phone book looking for a pizza place, he made a decision. Just threatening Todd wasn’t good enough. As he’d contemplated a few days back, he was going to have to do something about the jerk, take some measures to keep Liz safe—without her knowledge, of course.

What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

* * * * *

The world seemed almost normal and sane as they lounged on the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table, an old movie on the TV. Liz nibbled at the crust of the slice she’d just eaten, feeling full. She wore the tee and shorts she’d intended; Jack, too, was casual in blue jeans and a t-shirt.

Seeing she was done, Jack took the plate from her hand and lowered it to the table, then gently pulled her into his arms. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just held her, and it felt so good, perfect, like nothing could ever hurt her as long as she was with him.

“You doin’ okay? You’ve been quiet since…”

Yes, she had been quiet for awhile. For so many reasons. Certainly the scene with Todd had been terrifying, but there was something else on her mind, too—her love for Jack. It was tearing her apart, yet she’d still kept herself from agreeing to move in with him. She couldn’t accept that much kindness from a man who’d unwittingly been drawn deeper into her problems than she’d ever intended—nor could she let herself risk falling any harder for him than she already had. The pain when it was over would be excruciating, already, but to live with him would be to love him even more, and it wasn’t something she was willing to put herself through. Being with Jack had made her realize she’d never known real love before, and now that she did—damn it, it was scary.

“I was…really frightened earlier,” she admitted softly.

“You wouldn’t have to be afraid if you just came to stay with me.”

So sweet, this man, so protective. In the beginning, she’d thought him gruff and unemotional—now she knew better, knew his emotions came through in actions or touches more than mere words, and she knew he was too good of a man to let a woman live in danger if he could help it. She didn’t reply.

“Either way, here or there, I won’t let him bother you again, chere.” He pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

Hours later, they awoke in each other’s arms on the couch. The TV was still on, the clock on the mantel said it was close to midnight.

“Guess Lynda isn’t home yet,” she thought aloud.

“I’m stayin’ the night,” he told her.

“You don’t have to do that, Jack. I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”

“I don’t care. I’m not lettin’ you out of my sight tonight. It’s non-negotiable.”

* * * * *

She dreamed of Jack that night, slightly non-sensical but pleasant dreams of making love to him on the lawn of a castle, of dancing with him in a large, ornate ballroom, of sweet kisses beneath a maple tree turned October gold. Echoes of old, romantic fantasies from her girlhood made new. So apparently that part of her still existed, too.

Waking up in his arms the next morning was like leaving a good dream for an even better one. She’d awakened with him on several successive mornings, of course, but somehow having him in her bed was different, even