Bound to the Past (Starville Series Book 1) (29 page)

“Stop it!” Sara clutched his forearm. Her breath sucked in as his gaze moved down and gave her hand a disgusted look. Then he shrugged it off and slowly raised his eyes back to her face.

“I trusted you, Sara.”

Her heart broke. “I know! And you still can, I promise—”

“Are they paying you enough? ʼCause, you know, I can try and get you more money. Or are you already going to get a bonus check since you got me to fuck you?”

She gasped. Enough was enough. Her hand shot up to slap his face―but his fist clenched tightly around her wrist, blocking it in midair. “I wouldnʼt do that. Not if you care about your arm.”

Swallowing hard, she raised her chin defiantly. “You would never hurt me.”

He scoffed a cold laugh. “I wouldnʼt be so sure about that right now,
sweetheart
.”

“Jack, please.” Sara tried to wrench free, but he only tightened his iron grip. “Youʼve got to let me explain.”

“Sure. Letʼs hear it.”

“Not like this!” she huffed.

Jack hesitated a few moments, his piercing eyes fixed on hers as if trying to read through them. Sara drew a shaky breath but somehow managed to hold his unwavering gaze. When he finally pulled back and let her go, she felt so dizzy she almost fell on her knees.

Jack walked to the couch and perched his hips against the back, arms folded over his chest. “Iʼm waiting.”

Sara deliberately ignored his sarcasm and took a couple of steps toward him. “I, um, donʼt know where to start.”

“How ʼbout you tell me why the hell there’s a document on your computer with the last weeks of my life described in all their juicy details?”

“Right.” She swallowed hard. “Iʼm a writer.”

Jack snorted. “I got that much. What newspaper?”

“Iʼm
not
a journalist! I write books.”

“Books?”

“Yes. Novels.”

“Novels?”

Sara huffed in frustration. “Would you stop repeating everything I say?”

“I will, as soon as you start saying something that makes any sense.”

“Fine.” She snorted―but a warm, hopeful feeling started pouring through her as she noticed a hint of a smile twitching a corner of his lips. “I write mystery novels. Happy?”

His eyebrow knitted. “As in…crime stories?”

“Yes. With a touch of romance,” she added, as he looked sincerely surprised. Shocked was more like it.

“Okay,” Jack conceded after a few moments of maddening silence. “But that doesnʼt explain why you have that document on your computer. Are you writing a book about me?”

“Yes. No!” she corrected herself, exasperated.

“Sara, Iʼm not stupid. I saw that document. It might have different names and stuff, but itʼs my story youʼre writing about!”

“I know! But thatʼs just…an experiment.”

“A
what
?”

“An experiment.” She cleared her throat. “You see, Iʼve been suffering from a horrible writerʼs block. My last two books were complete fiascos, and Iʼm having quite a few problems with the new one, too. My agent has managed to buy me some more time with the publisher, but his and their patience is running out. And honestly, I canʼt blame them.”

“That doesnʼt tell me a damn thing, Sara.”

She twisted her hands, trying to muster the courage to continue. “The thing is, Iʼm in trouble. If I don’t deliver a complete, successful novel before Christmas, my contract will be dropped. Add it to the fact that the college I work for has dropped my class, and you can see that I’m in a bad pickle right now. Iʼve already received foreclosing warnings from the bank: I need money to keep paying the mortgage, or I’ll lose my house. No, scratch that―I’ll lose everything I’ve been working so hard for the last five years.”

“Dammit, Sara! Why didnʼt you tell me? I can help you, I have so much mon―”

“I donʼt want your money! Donʼt you understand? I just I want to be able to write again! I want to know I can count on myself―on my talent―to create my own security.” She let out a deep sigh. “But the truth is, I canʼt. Not anymore. Not without you. And heaven knows Iʼve tried.”

His eyes narrowed. “I donʼt get it.”

Sara inhaled sharply. “I need you, Jack. I need your persona. I need your story to serve as the inspiration for my novel. I know it sounds crazy, but itʼs true. Now, Iʼm not saying I want to publish it as is―and never without your consent, of course. All I know is that when I write about you, the words flow out effortlessly, like they havenʼt in a very long time. And I
have
to see if this is going to lead anywhere. As I said, itʼs an experiment. Itʼs my last resort before I admit defeat,” she finished in one breath and looked away, unable to hold his quiet, skeptical gaze. When the silence stretched to intolerable levels, she lifted her head back up to look at him, but his expression was unreadable. “Say something, please.”

Jack rubbed a hand over his face. “What do you want me to say, Sara? Thatʼs the most ridiculous thing Iʼve ever heard.”

“But itʼs the truth! Wait, I can prove it to you,” she said suddenly, snatching his hand and dragging him to the den before he could protest. After scanning the books on the top shelf of her bookcase, she grabbed one and pushed it into his hand. “Here.”

Jack lowered his eyes to the book, recognizing the cover right away. It was the same one heʼd picked up the day he’d been bored. The same one heʼd started to read before getting ridiculously turned on.

“Itʼs one of my books,” Sara offered.

He slanted her a
duh
look. “So?”

“No, I mean, itʼs
mine
.” She tried to gulp the huge lump in her throat but failed miserably. “I wrote it.” There. Sheʼd said it. So why was he still not saying a word?

Jack tore his gaze from the book in his hand to look at her, a dazed expression on his face. “Youʼre Michelle Storme?”

“Yes.” She nodded with an uncertain smile.

“I…started reading this book one day when you were at the library and I was bored.”

Saraʼs mouth fell open and she stared at him, dumbfounded.
Ohmygosh!
The mere thought of Jack picking up and reading one of her books made her want to crawl under a rock.

Jackʼs expression softened. “Youʼre blushing,” he said teasingly. His grin widened as his words only seemed to make her cheeks even redder.

“Yeah, well, this is why I donʼt like telling anyone about my real job. I donʼt like it when people I know read my books.”
Especially you!
she screamed to herself.

He handed the book back to her. “If itʼs any consolation, I didnʼt read much of it.”

“So do you believe me?”

“Believe what? That youʼre a multi-awarded writer who pretends to be a small-town teacher…”

“Hey, I really
am
a teacher!”

“…whoʼs writing a novel inspired by my story in the hopes to overcome her writer’s block?”

Wow
. She might be the writer, but he sure recapped the situation much better than she had. And it sounded even more devious coming from him. “Jack―”

He raised a hand to stop her. “Yes, Sara. Call me crazy, but I do believe you.”

Relief poured through her like a warm, exquisite balm. She closed her eyes and dropped heavily onto her chair. “Thank you.”

Jack studied her quietly for a few moments, then leaned his back against the side of the desk. “So
that
is why I am here. Because you need my story for your book.”

Saraʼs eyes snapped back open at his dry tone. “No! Well, yes, it was because of that…originally. But as I went through page after page, I started realizing that it wasnʼt your story I was writing―it was
ours
.”

He gave her another long, unreadable look. “And how does this book of yours end?”

“I have no idea…but I was hoping you might stick around so that we can find out. I meant what I said before, Jack. Youʼre here because I believe in your innocence and want to help you prove it. Because I care about you. And because I feel a connection between us. I’ve felt it since the very first time we met.” She held her breath, waiting for his response. Hoping he would tell her that he, too, felt the same bond. Her hope quickly turned to disappointment when he shook his head.

“Why didnʼt you tell me the truth?”

She blew out the breath. “I never tell anyone about my books. Only my best friends know.”

“Let me get this straight. You trusted me enough to let me stay at your house despite my past but not enough to tell me that youʼre a novelist?”

Sara shrugged, rising again at the mirth in his tone. “I guess Iʼm weird about my job, huh?”

“Sweetheart, your weirdness goes way beyond your job.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Why didnʼt you tell me later on, though? After I moved in and we became…closer?”

Sara shrugged. “I didnʼt know how. I mean, I couldnʼt just blurt it out of nowhere when Iʼd been hiding it for so long, and the more time went by, the harder it became,” she admitted contritely. “Iʼm sorry. And I promise I wonʼt publish a word of what I wrote if you donʼt want me to.”

Jack scanned her face intently. “Have you lied to me about anything else?”

“No!”

“If you have, this is your chance to tell me.”

“This is it. I promise.” Well, there was the little bit about her pathetic feelings for him, but she really didnʼt think itʼd be wise telling him about that at the moment. A woman had the right to keep some dignity, after all. And speaking of dignity…

Sara stood and took a step toward him. “I hated tonight, Jack,” she said in a murmur. “I hated not knowing where you were or what was going through your mind. I hated fearing youʼd never come back.”

“I thought about it,” he admitted, slipping a hand up to tug at a strand of her hair. “When I left this house, my only objective was to get the hell away from you and this whole damn town as fast as I could.”

“But you didnʼt.”

“I couldnʼt. Not without talking to you first. I needed to hear the truth, and I needed to hear it from you—dumb fuck that I am.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You know, you really do have a potty mouth when youʼre mad.” He had the good grace to look embarrassed. “My nana would tell you to wash it with soap.”

He shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I believe there are better things to do with my mouth.” In a flash, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, so fast that she practically fell against his chest.

Sara didnʼt even try to protest. The whole world disappeared the instant he bent his head and seized her lips, his tongue sliding boldly into her mouth.

Without breaking the kiss, he slid both hands under her butt and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him as he sat her on the edge of the desk and wedged his body between her legs. Her breath hitched as he moved one hand under her T-shirt, over her breast, cupping it in his palm and running his thumb over the nipple. Her belly twisted. She pushed into his touch. Her hand automatically reached down and cupped him through his jeans. With a groan, he gripped her hips and pulled her closer to him. His mouth skimmed down her pulsing throat―that little soft spot that always drove her wild.

“Jack, wait,” Sara said breathlessly. “I have to know… Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”

“Ah, not yet. But you’re getting there.”

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eye. “I want to get there, Jack. I want to get there really bad.”

He leaned his forehead against her. “Sweetheart, keep doing what you’re doing”—his heated gaze flicked to her hand, still wrapped around him—“and I’ll forget what we’re even talking about.”

“You mean…this?” Feigning surprise, Sara gave him a squeeze. He drew a ragged breath. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“Hmm.” She nibbled his neck, her hand sliding slowly up his length. “How about now? Am I forgiven yet?”

Jack caught her chin, held her face, and lowered his head, his breath hot against her mouth. “Forgiven for what?”

Chapter 22

As Brentʼs thirty-second birthday rolled around, Jack, Sara, and Nicky were invited for a barbeque at Richard and Martha Haydenʼs ranch. Under normal circumstances, he would have celebrated his special day with a big party, but this year the atmosphere in Starville was so grim that nobody really felt in much of a party mood, so he decided to keep it simple.

At first, Jack had been a little surprised about that unexpected invitation and had considered not going. Although a few weeks had passed since the night of the Fourth of July Fair, he was still uneasy going out in public―the memory of the disastrous event still too fresh in his mind. However, Brent had insisted so much that heʼd given in, carried away by his enthusiasm. As well as Saraʼs, of course. Sheʼd talked about the Haydens’ spectacular ranch for days, leaving him no choice but to swallow his doubts and accept their invitation. Which is why he was sitting in the living room now, waiting for her to finish getting ready.

Up in the bedroom, Sara gave yet another look at her reflection in the mirror, carefully studying the jean shorts and pink shirt she had picked for the party. A smile tugged at her lips as she picked up her brush and noticed Jackʼs cologne. How she loved having their stuff intimately mixed together like that. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

The two of them had settled into a surprisingly comfortable routine, with her spending most of the day working on her book while he researched and investigated his past, although still in vain. Nights were still her favorite time, though. Whether they made love for hours or just held each other all night long, going to bed with Jack and waking up in his arms in the morning was a dream come true.

Yet things were far from perfect.

For one, there had been no breakthrough in the investigations into Charleneʼs murder, and the atmosphere in Starville was getting tenser by the day. Then there was the fact that she and Jack had been living together for all that time now, yet she still had no clue as to how he felt toward her. He never mentioned a possible future together or showed any sign of wanting any commitment at all. Heck, Sara was just about ready to say
I do
, and ninety-nine percent of the time she had no idea what went through the manʼs mind. Despite her efforts to hide it, the uncertainty of it all was becoming unbearable. Jackʼs casual, go-with-the-flow attitude was killing her.