Conquer Your Love (14 page)

“Did you confront your father about his lie?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know enough, okay?” Jett said. “I need to know what I’m
dealing with.
Who those people are.
What the club’s
all about.”

Like me, he didn’t trust anyone. I bit my lip as I regarded Jett from
the corner of my eye. The strong muscles of his arms were clearly displayed
beneath his shirt. One hand held the steering wheel, the other rested against
the window. He must’ve felt my gaze on him, because his attention snapped in my
direction and he frowned.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” He turned back to the road, but
his expression didn’t soften. “Damn, Brooke. I told you I’m not the bad guy.”

I chose not to answer his question because he was right. Ever since I
found out he had been keeping things from me, I had a hard time trusting him.
Seeing him as the bad guy was the main excuse I used to get over him. It helped
me to keep my distance. Without that excuse, my brain couldn’t keep my foolish
heart under control.

“What do you think is going on?” I asked.

“I honestly don’t know.” He hesitated briefly. “My father doesn’t talk. Fact
is, he and
Lucazzone
have known each other for a long
time, but he won’t acknowledge it. I got him to talk about the club once, but
apparently that happened a few years ago and he’s out now.”

“Maybe they’re all hiding something,” I said, matter-of-factly.

Jett nodded grimly. “That’s my best bet, too. I just don’t want this
shit to affect you in any way.”

“Yeah, see that’s something I wanted to talk about.” I tapped my fingers
on my thigh, considering my words as my heartbeat sped up at the countless thoughts
running through my mind. “You keep saying I’m in danger. But you don’t have any
proof.”

“I do, Brooke.”

Silence. I waited for him to continue. He didn’t.

“What proof?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to scare you.”

Oh, come on!

“Are you kidding me?” I snorted. “You do realize your whole ‘I’m here to
protect you’ crap
is
scary, right?
It’s like warning me there’s something or someone inside my house, but you’re
not telling me what it is and my imagination’s left roaming free in horror
movie territory.”

“Okay. You know I told you about the murder victim found on the
Lucazzone
estate years ago?”

I nodded, thinking back to the horrendous
story taking
place decades ago. The victim was Alessandro’s lover—or at least that’s
what Maria’s diary supposedly said. The crime was never investigated and
consequently Alessandro never prosecuted.

“Yeah, that wasn’t the only weird thing happening,” Jett said, “My
brother and I used to watch the house when we were kids.” I nodded because I
remembered him telling me the story. He continued. “At times we’d see the old
man leaving the house. We also noticed policemen regularly visiting the place.
Laughing. Shaking hands. I have good reason to believe they were involved.”

I didn’t like this information. I figured in case of an emergency, I
might just end up asking the wrong people for help.

I wet my dry lips and repeated the obvious because his words kept
echoing inside my brain, and I needed to hear them out loud. “You think the
police were involved—in the club.”

“No.” Jett shook his head slowly, his gaze darkening. “Thinking back,
I’m pretty sure of it, considering that the murder on the estate was never
investigated. With the right people covering for you, it’d be easy to kill
someone and shrug it off as an accident. I think that’s what really happened.”

“Obviously, a man with an open throat and torso didn’t kill himself.”

“Exactly,” Jett muttered.

As the Lamborghini sped out of the city and up the narrow country road,
I realized I still had no idea where we were heading.

“Where are we going?”

His mood lightened at my sudden change in topic. “Since I’m the one
taking you out on a date, I have a right to keep the destination secret until
we’re there.”

“I don’t really like surprises.”

“I know, baby, but believe me this one will blow your mind.”

My skin began to tingle from the sexual undertone in his voice. The
temperature in the car rose a few degrees.
Maybe because the
early afternoon sun was shining with relentless heat.
Or maybe because
his right arm was so close to mine, I could almost feel his touch. Either way,
I didn’t like the jolts of anticipation traveling through my abdomen and
gathering between my legs.

Eventually the forest cleared. From our heightened road I could see lots
of sparkling water and a shore. I straightened in my seat and craned my neck to
get a better glimpse. In the distance the first rows of roofs began to emerge,
gathering into a messy knot of narrow properties and winding streets running
between them.

“Is that the
Ligurian
Sea?” My brain fought to
recall the tiny bits of Italian geography I had picked up on my first trip to
Italy.

“No, it’s still Lake Como. The sea is a two and half hour drive from
here,” Jett said. “It’s quite nice. I’ll take us some day.”

Us.

My heart skipped a beat. He was making future plans—and they
involved me.

He took a left turn and we came to a stop near a small port.

“Can you swim?” Jett asked as he helped me out his car and locked it
behind us.

I looked up into his stunning green eyes. His impossibly long lashes
shielded them from the bright light, making them appear a few shades darker
than usual.

Mysterious. Dangerously hot.

“Yes. Why?” I asked, warily.

“Because we’re going on a boat.”

A boat was
actually an understatement.
What Jett called a boat looked more like a seventy-foot yacht with four luxury
cabins consisting of an en-suite forward VIP cabin, a twin bunk cabin to port,
a twin bunk cabin to starboard, and a full mid-ship master cabin with yet
another bathroom—or so Jett explained. Not that I understood half the
things he said, but I tried my best to keep up with his excited chatter as I
let him show me around.

Upon entering the living room, the part boaters called a saloon, we
walked through a spacious starboard side galley with ample space to relax, a
polished mahogany dining table, and a kitchen almost twice the size of my
kitchen back in New York. It had a granite countertop, fitted dishwasher,
ceramic hob, refrigerator, microwave, and oven—like you’d ever need that
on a boat.

It was my first time on this kind of ‘boat’ and walking through each of
the cabins, I had a hard time not to gawk at the expensive furniture and
overindulgent design focusing on shades of cream and brown. Eventually we
stopped in the saloon and Jett invited me to sit down on the creamy luxury
couch. Set up on the opposite wall was a huge plasma TV set and a stereo system
right out of a catalog. I tried hard not to look too impressed. Truth was,
Jett’s boat had everything anyone could ever wish for: lots of space, privacy,
and more things than the apartment I shared with Sylvie back in Brooklyn.

“Wow. You could actually live here,” I said, running my fingertips over
the smooth mahogany surface of a side table.

“I did about four years ago.”

I felt his hand on my neck and then he pulled my hair back and his hot
lips were on my skin. His butterfly kisses sent delicious jolts through me,
making me shiver with both pleasure and a hint of pain that traveled somewhere
south.

“I wanted to be alone with my thoughts,” Jett whispered. “This was the
perfect place for it. Once you’re out here, far away from the oppressing
boundaries of life and work, you can almost smell the freedom in the air. It’s
like a completely different world.”

I blinked back my surprise. “The boat’s yours?” I don’t know why I was
so
surprised,
when he had enough money to buy anything
he wanted.

“Yeah, I bought it after finalizing my first big work project. It was
much better than living in a house with my brother and father.” He turned me
toward him. His expression showed the same enthusiasm as before, but a shadow
had descended over his mood, which made me conclude living with his family
hadn’t been a piece of cake.

“Why a boat?” I found myself asking, compelled by this man and the
prospect of him finally opening up to me.

Jett shrugged. “Why not a boat? You wake up with the sun on your face,
the air smelling of water and salt, and the wind blowing through your hair.
There’s no door. No bell to ring. You can just pack your bags and leave, and no
one knows where you are.”

He wanted to run. Like I had run many years ago.
From
my past.
From the pain that wouldn’t stop haunting me every second of
the day. I wanted to ask what he was running from. Yet I didn’t because I
wanted him to open up to me out of need rather than obligation.

I looked up and found Jett still watching me, scrutinizing me, his dark
eyes more clouded than before. He was so careful not to disclose anything about
his past that he ended up showing everything in his expression. Usually, he was
inscrutable. For a moment I could see he wasn’t as closed a book as he always
pretended to be, which was good because it showed me his arrogant and perfect
façade was nothing but a disguise to protect what lay buried within his soul.

I moistened my lips and walked to the painting hanging on the wall
behind him. It was just a picture of his boat with large capital letters
spelling THE ROCK beneath it.

“The Rock?” I read, grimacing. “Is that your boat’s name? I hope I’m not
supposed to take it literally.”

He laughed, gorgeous dimples forming in his cheeks. “Yeah. But don’t
worry. It’d take a lot to sink it. It’s as solid as a rock, which is why it got
its name.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Aren’t ships usually named after former
conquests?”

“You’re right.” He paused and nodded, faking deep thought. “What if I
told you there were no former conquests? No one who ever mattered?”

My heart slammed against the confined space of my ribcage.

Hard to believe.

And yet something in the way he regarded me—calm and
serious—made me want to believe every single word.

“I might actually rename her,” Jett continued. “I was thinking ‘Brooke.’
It has a much nicer ring to it than ‘The Rock.”

“Seriously?” I laughed nervously as I watched him move closer, stopping
just a few inches away from me.

“Why would I joke about it?”

He was damn serious. I could tell from the way he stared me down with a
determined glint in his eyes. My breath caught in my throat. Not because of the
way he looked at me—with an intense magnetism that made me want to give
him everything I had—nor because he was considering renaming his boat
after me. I could barely breathe because I realized nothing had changed. He
behaved as if we were still together, as if we never broke up.

As if he meant the last words he’d spoken to me the last time I saw him
in New York:
I care for you enough to let
you go.

Technically, he
did
let me go
—then followed me. So did he care for me? And if he did, was it a good
thing? Should I welcome it, let my own feelings develop and see where that
might take me?

“It might be a bit too early for renaming a boat after me,” I said
slowly.

He turned away, hiding his expression. For a moment, I regretted my
words—until I realized I was doing the right thing. Keeping each other at
arm’s length. Not too involved.

“What happens when you’re not here? Who takes care of ‘The Rock’?”
Acutely aware of the sudden tension emanating from him, I tried to steer the
focus away from me.

Jett pointed at the door, ignoring my question and previous statement.
“Look, can you wait here while I remove the anchor? I’ll be back in a minute.”

He was going to remove the anchor? Like in, sail away with me onboard?

Holy dang!

I was in big trouble.

Being alone with him on a luxury boat surrounded by sparkling blue water
and no living soul in sight was the last thing I wanted, and yet I found myself
smiling and saying, “Sure. Take your time.”

What the heck, Stewart?

“Great,” Jett said, his eyes betraying his amusement. “I’ll grab us a
drink on the way back.”

He made it all sound so nonchalant, like he was going to get us coffee
from the corner café. I knew that blasé tone of his and what it usually
preceded. Don’t ever trust a guy with a Southern accent, a lazy smile, and a
casual stance, because he’s about to sneak his way into your panties without even
trying.

Pissed with myself that I didn’t even think about protesting, I began to
look around as I waited for him. The doors were open, and from my seat on the
sofa I could peer right into the master cabin. The first thing I noticed was
the king-sized bed and the small round rug on the polished oak floor. The
sheets were the color of creamy chocolate, smooth and shiny like silk. The
picture of me sitting down on the soft bed entered my head. I could see myself
surrounded by all those pillows and imagined Jett’s rough hands on my skin, his
possessive tongue inside my mouth as we kissed and made love on the silk
sheets, my hands tugging at his hair as he moved inside me. My stomach knotted
deliciously as a pang of heat shot through me and gathered between my legs.
Good thing I shaved my legs and put on my nicest lingerie.