Jake Me Read online

  Jake Me

  (Jaked, Book 2)

  NOTE:

  This is the second book in a two-part series. Jaked should be read first.

  Jaked (Jaked, Book 1)

  Jake Me (Jaked, Book 2)

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  Copyright © 2015 by Sabrina Stark

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  What was it with me and lamps? As the miniature table-lamp whizzed by my head, I whirled toward the crazed brunette who'd just hurled it.

  Ignoring the hammering of my heart, I gave her my snottiest smile. "Missed me."

  Inside Jake's penthouse, Bianca was still glaring at me. "You are so immature. You do realize that, don't you?"

  "Me?" I said, glancing toward the destruction. I spotted bits of glass, a crumpled lamp-shade, and chunks of a blue ceramic vase that had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire. "You've got to be joking."

  I had known this morning would be bad. But just how bad, well, that was definitely a surprise.

  Near the penthouse double-doors, my suitcases were old, half-crushed, and mostly empty. But on the bright side, I'd had waffles for breakfast, so things couldn't be all bad.

  Right?

  Who was I kidding?

  It wasn't even noon, and already this day was scoring double-digits on the suck-o-meter, and not only because of flying housewares.

  I sucked in a deep breath and faced the lamp-thrower head on. Bianca was gorgeous in that classic sort of way, with long brunette hair and even longer legs. This morning, she was decked out in a form-fitting mint-green dress with matching heels. Her hair was sleek, and her makeup was perfect. If someone told me she pooped diamonds and rubies, I wouldn't have been surprised.

  As for me, I was wearing black yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt that I'd yanked out of my largest suitcase. My hair was in a loose ponytail, and I'd skipped the makeup in hopes of saving time – time that Bianca was costing me with this impromptu tantrum.

  All things considered, shouldn't I be throwing lamps at her?

  I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice level. "Why are you here, anyway?"

  "As I've already told you," she said, "I'm here to pick up my things."

  "Yes. And as I've already told you, you'll have to wait until Jake's here."

  It was his penthouse, after all. At the thought of Jake, my stomach clenched. By the time he returned, I was planning to be long gone. But the clock was ticking. I needed to leave now – for his sake as well as mine.

  It wasn't a goodbye, not really, but I hated the thought of it just the same.

  Across the room, Bianca's eyes narrowed to slits. "We've already had this conversation," she said.

  "Yeah, and a lot of good that did."

  Her eyebrows lifted. "Excuse me?"

  "Look," I told her, trying to sound reasonable, "you can't just come in here and start loading up on stuff. I don't even know what's yours."

  "But I know," she said, "and that's all that matters."

  I couldn’t believe I had to spell things out. Again. Just a couple nights earlier, she had tried a similar stunt. If it didn't work on Saturday night, why would she try it a second time? And more to the point, why hadn't she grabbed her stuff on Sunday, when Jake had actually been home?

  Again, I wondered what kind of stuff she was talking about. Bianca was Jake's former event-planner, not his ex-girlfriend, not technically anyway. Was she here to pick up paperwork? Or panties?

  "You need to leave," I told her.

  She crossed her arms. "I'm not leaving without my things."

  I wasn't stupid. I knew that Bianca's timing was no accident. There was probably a darn good reason she kept showing up when Jake was gone. Either she was trying to drive me nuts, or she took me for an easy sell.

  Whatever the reason, I didn't have time for this. My gaze shifted to the door. Tick Tock.

  "And besides," Bianca reminded me, "you're the one who let me in."

  "No," I said. "You're the one who barged in when I opened the door to head out." I glanced at the suitcases. They contained only the clothes I'd brought with me, and none of the beautiful things that I'd received from Jake. I don't know why, but it seemed important to leave mostly the way I'd come.

  Following my gaze, Bianca stopped short, as if noticing my suitcases for the first time. She froze, staring at them with more than casual interest. After a long moment, her lips formed the barest hint of a smirk.

  Oh crap.

  Slowly, she turned toward me. "Going someplace?" she asked.

  It was a big question, filled with all kinds of implications that were mostly true. Yes, I was leaving. Yes, things had gone off the deep end. And yes, I was on my way out with no guarantee that Jake would ever welcome me back.

  But none of that was any of her business.

  If I had my way, I wouldn’t be the only person going someplace. I pointed to the door. "I don't know about me, but you are."

  She cocked her head to the side and studied my face for an uncomfortably long time. As the silence stretched out, my cheeks grew warm, and my spine turned twitchy. If she didn't leave soon, my plan was toast.

  It was Bianca who broke the silence. "On second thought," she said, "I think I will come back later." She smiled, more to herself than to me, and I could practically see the wheels in her head turning. If she showed up tonight buck-naked, I wouldn't be surprised.

  Of course, I wouldn’t be here to find out. Would I? Something in my heart twisted. If Bianca did show up tonight, would Jake let her in? Would they take up wherever they had left off? Would she be handling more than his public relations?

  Looking for something – anything – to wipe that smile off her face, I pointed to the broken lamp. "You're gonna have to replace that," I told her.

  "Why?" she said. "That wasn't my fault."

  "You threw it across the room." My voice rose. "At me."

  "Oh, get real," she said. "If I really wanted to hit you, I'd have gone for the vase." Bianca gave an elegant little shrug. "And besides, you provoked me. If it's anyone's fault, it's yours."

  Okay, so I might have provoked her the teeniest bit, but she totally had it coming. I had known Bianca for just a few days. In that short timeframe, she'd tricked me into wearing the ugliest dress of the century, convinced me that Jake paid for sexual favors, and had done everything in her power to make me feel like I didn't belong here.

  I swallowed. Did I belong here? I had to face facts. No. I didn't. At least not under the current arrangement. And that – not anything to do with Bianca – was the reason I had to leave.

  But not before she did.

  "Forget it," I muttered. "Just go."

  "Hey," she said, tossing back her hair, "you don't have to ask me twice."

  Liar. I'd asked her a dozen times, maybe more. But I didn't have time to nitpick. I marched to the door and wrenched it open. I turned toward Bianca and waited, not bothering to hide my impatience.

  Taking her sweet time, Bianca picked her way through the rubble and finally strolled past me into the lobby beyond.

  I stood, watching from the penthouse doorway, until the elevator came and went, taking Bianca out of my sight, but not out of my thoughts. She'd be back. I just knew it.

  As I
shut the penthouse door, my gaze drifted to my suitcases. And what about me? After I left, would I be back?

  I straightened my spine. Yes. I'd be back. Or at least, that was the idea.

  I looked around, taking in the expensive furniture, the stylish décor, and the Detroit riverfront view, visible through Jake's floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows.

  Three days. Was that really how long I'd been here?

  The place was a palace. Jake had come a long way from the dump he'd grown up in. But that wasn't why I’d fallen for him. And it certainly wasn't why I was determined to make my way back here someday, hopefully someday soon.

  Fearful of losing my nerve, I left my suitcases by the front door to make one final sweep of the place. Looking for anything I might have forgotten, I found my toothbrush in the master bathroom and a black lacy bra – mine, thank God – under his bed.

  I dashed back to my suitcases. I opened the largest one and tossed the forgotten things inside. I grabbed the handles of both suitcases, and then hesitated.

  What about the mess? I turned around to eye the destruction. I winced. It looked like the remnants of a robbery gone bad. Damn it. I couldn't leave it like this.

  Cursing, I dashed to the kitchen in search of a broom and dustpan. Stupid Bianca. Aside from the time she'd already wasted, I was now cleaning up her messes too.

  My mental clock was ticking like a time-bomb. Somewhere on the street below, my brothers were waiting. And worse, Jake would be back within the hour.

  I had ten minutes, fifteen tops.

  I had just ducked into his kitchen pantry when I heard a telltale click – the sound of a key card in the front entryway.

  Oh crap. Make that zero minutes.

  Jake. It had to be. And unless I was mistaken, things were about to go boom.

  Chapter 2

  Standing in the pantry, I froze, dreading the scene I'd been hoping to avoid. I heard the penthouse door open, followed by a pause and then hard footsteps.

  I closed my eyes, trying to decide how to play this. Should I simply announce that I was leaving? Or play it cool and duck out tomorrow, when Jake wasn't around to say I couldn’t go?

  I was still thinking when those footsteps grew closer. I opened my eyes, and there he was, Jake, standing in the doorway a few feet away.

  He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a body to die for. He wore jeans and a thin, white T-shirt, giving me the barest glimpse of that muscular chest, his washboard abs, and those all-too familiar tattoos. Last night, I'd traced the patterns of those tattoos, first with my fingers and then with my lips.

  But that was then. This was now. His face was ashen as he stared into the quiet space. His gaze slid from my head to my toes and back up again. "You're okay?"

  I tried to smile. "Of course I'm okay." Physically, anyway.

  In front of me, his shoulders eased, and he blew out a long, unsteady breath.

  I shook my head. "What's wrong?"

  He glanced toward the living area.

  "Oh." I winced. "Yeah. The lamp."

  "Screw the lamp." He strode forward to gather me in his arms. "When I saw that...I just." He squeezed me tighter. "Never mind. Sure you're alright?"

  I forced out a weak laugh. "Yeah, but don't you want to know what happened?"

  He pulled back to study my face. "You wanna tell me?"

  "Not particularly."

  Caressing my waist, he flashed me that grin of his, the one that made my heart melt and knees go wobbly. "Wild party, huh?"

  "Oh please," I said. "You were gone like forty minutes." I tried to say it like it was a good thing. Of all the times for him to be early, why now?

  Plus, looking at him, having him near me, and seeing that smile of his – it made everything that much harder. I didn't want to leave. But for his sake as much as mine, I had to. It was the only way.

  If I didn't leave now, I sure as hell wouldn't have the willpower tomorrow.

  "Jake?" I said.

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm leaving."

  On my waist, his hands froze in mid-motion. His smile disappeared, but he didn't let go.

  "Aren't you going to say something?" I asked.

  After a long moment, he dropped his hands. "Alright." He took a step backward. "No."

  I stared up at him. "No?"

  "No," he repeated, crossing his arms. "You can't leave." He leaned sideways against the door frame and gave me a long, penetrating look. "Not yet."

  I felt my temper rise. "That's what you think."

  "Wrong," he said. "That's what I know."

  I knew something too. I was getting pretty darn tired of being bossed around, even if it was supposedly for my own safety.

  "Tell me something," I said. "Who am I to you?"

  "You know who you are."

  The girl he loved? That's what he told me last night, among other things – things that weren't quite so pretty.

  "I mean," I said, "am I your prisoner?"

  His body stiffened. His voice, normally so strong, was very soft in the quiet space. "Is that what you think?"

  Was it? Honestly, I didn't know. Just a few days earlier, he'd barged into my dump of an apartment and practically dragged me out of there. He'd hauled me across town and settled me into his penthouse, supposedly for just a week or two. He'd quit both of my jobs and burned a lot of my bridges.

  Was it to seal off my escape routes?

  Other than vague warnings of unseen danger, it occurred to me that his explanations on that front had been pretty skimpy, all things considered. "I don't know what to think," I admitted. "And you wanna know why?"

  His voice was a monotone. "Why?"

  "Because you haven't told me squat."

  His gaze bored into mine. He said nothing.

  "So," I said, pressing the issue, "why, exactly, can't I leave?" It was ironic, really. Just last night, he'd made it perfectly clear that I couldn't stay forever. Once the danger had passed, he said, I needed to go – for my sake, not his. His words from the previous night came flooding back to me.

  I hope to God that you never love me back.

  I ruin everything I touch. And I don't wanna ruin you.

  Jake pushed away from the door frame and moved toward me.

  I held up a hand, stopping him just beyond arm's reach. "Unless you're planning give me a good explanation, just stay where you are, alright?"

  It wasn't that I didn't want him near me. Foolish or not, I trusted him. And I wanted him. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and never let go. But I'd spent too long working up the willpower to do this, and I couldn't have my shaky resolve shattered by the temptation of pretending that everything was okay.

  It wasn't okay. There were too many things I didn't know. But one way or another, I was determined to find out. "So, answer the question," I said.

  He stared at me without expression. "What question?"

  Steeling myself, I gave him a hard look. "For starters, am I your prisoner?"

  "No. You're my guest."

  "Is that so?" I glanced toward the main living area. "So if I want to walk out your door, you're not gonna stop me?"

  Jake said nothing.

  "Well?" I said.

  Our conversation – if you could call it that – was interrupted by the sound of a loud knock, coming from the main penthouse door. Jake turned his head toward the sound. "You expecting someone?"

  "Me?" I said. "It's your place." I tried to laugh. "It's probably Bianca again."

  "She was here?" he said. "What happened?"

  "Well, I didn't throw a lamp at her, if that's what you're asking."

  "She was throwing stuff at you?" His jaw tightened. "You serious?"

  Again, there was a knock at the door, louder this time. Soon, I heard a familiar male voice call out, "Hey! What the hell? Open up!"

  I stifled a groan. Well, at least it wasn't Bianca. But in that moment, I almost wished it were.

  Chapter 3

  Standing just inside the penthouse entranc
e, I gave my brothers an exasperated look. "You were supposed to wait outside," I told them.

  "Yeah," Steve said. "And you were supposed to be down there already. We've been circling the block for like an hour."

  My gaze shifted to Jake, who stood just a few feet away, watching us in stone-cold silence.

  I returned my attention to Steve. "It hasn't been that long," I said.

  Anthony spoke up. "It hasn't been that short neither."

  At twenty-one and nineteen, my brothers were younger than I was, but not much. Both were tall and lean, but that's where the similarities ended. Steve, the older of the two, resembled our mom, a blue-eyed blonde, while Anthony had my dad's olive-skin, dark hair, and dark eyes.

  At the moment, I didn't give a flying flip how old they were or what they looked like. They were supposed to be part of the solution. Instead, they were just adding to my problems.

  Anthony glanced at the suitcases. "Those yours?" he asked. "Want me to grab 'em?"

  I glanced at Jake. He was eying the suitcases like he wanted to crush them with a bulldozer and mangle the scraps with his bare hands.

  Suddenly, it felt like things were moving way too fast. I edged toward my brothers to ask, "Can you give us a minute?"

  Steve gave a noncommittal shrug.

  I waited.

  Neither of my brothers moved.

  I gave them a what-the-hell look. "Maybe you guys can wait in the hall?"

  "No way," Steve said, glancing over at Jake. "He looks pissed off."

  Reluctantly, I turned to see for myself. Jake stood utterly still, eyeing my brothers with an expression that should've scared the crap out of them. The phrase "pissed off" just might be an understatement.

  So much for a drama-free departure.

  I turned back to Steve. "It's fine," I said. "Just go outside. I'll be out in a minute, alright?"

  Steve and Anthony shared a look. They still didn't move.

  With a sound of frustration, I leaned toward Jake and asked, "Can we talk in your bedroom a minute?"

  After a long, unsettling look at my brothers, Jake turned away to stalk toward the back of the penthouse. Following after him, I called to my brothers over my shoulder, "Wait by the door. I'll be right back."