Forbidden Fruit (7 page)

The EMTs race in, just as I’m concluding this version of events. Other police officers arrive as well, and they start the inquiry. Jesse tries to shield me from the worst of it, but he can’t keep the rest of the force from trying to figure out what happened. Fortunately, the shop is busted up enough that they can’t be sure what kind of goods were sold. Some of the powders and potions would probably draw strange looks if the officers were reading the labels instead of questioning me.

The ambulance takes the old woman away, and I’m left repeating my story, hoping it doesn’t sound rehearsed. I don’t have to pretend I’m shaken or that I can’t remember much because,
oh my God, it all happened so fast
. I’ve seen enough cop shows to be confident these guys hear that
all
the time from agitated witnesses.

Finally, Jesse says, “I’d like to get the cuts on her hands checked out. I’ll make sure she comes in for a follow-up interview.”

“I think we’re good, actually.” The other cop puts away his notepad. “It was probably a tweaker, looking for some fast cash. Don’t imagine he found any in a place like this. They usually knock over convenience stores.”

“Maybe he was just in the neighborhood,” Jesse says with a straight face.

The uniformed officer laughs. “Crime of opportunity? Maybe. It doesn’t sound like much planning went into this.”

Soon after, Jesse escorts me to his SUV, makes sure I buckle up, and then he drives exactly two blocks. For the first time, I notice how tightly he’s locked himself down, like if he didn’t have his hands balled into fists, he’d be screaming and punching things. Is it odd that I find this self-control insanely hot, even while I’m contemplating all the delicious ways I can make him lose it?

He jams his finger into my seat belt button and drags me up into his arms, across the console and onto his lap. I settle, deciding this isn’t the time to fight him. Jesse runs his hands up and down my back, burying his face in the curve between my neck and shoulder. Tentative, I touch his jaw, bristly with scruff, and then walk my fingers up his cheek to his temple, stroking back toward his hair.

“I’m fine,” I whisper. “I handled it. I just needed an assist with the logistics afterward.”

“I can’t take this, Shan. Do you have
any idea
how much I worry? I think about someone hurting you and I can’t fucking breathe. I want to invent a hundred new kinds of pain and teach it to anyone who looks at you the wrong way.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he snarls.

“That’s a copout. Or a lie.”

“Because you’re in me like a fever. I wake up thinking about you. I go to sleep that way. I find you in my dreams.”

“What’m I doing?”

“Me,” he bites out.

And then he kisses me like he needs me more than air. His mouth is fierce and hot, ravenous as he nuzzles into me, tongue surging in lavish strokes. I can feel his desire, both from the hard length under my ass, and because he’s totally lost the reins on his gift. Powerful empaths don’t just
read
emotions; they can also broadcast, but I’ve never known Jesse to do that. He’s off the chain now, though, wild as a Texas storm and twice as dangerous. He pulls me to him until I’m sure he’s leaving bruises on my hips. His emotions feed mine, which ratchets his need higher in turn, until we’re both damn near mad with lust.

I scramble, not fighting him, but helping, until I’m astride his lap. With a growled curse, he shoves the seat all the way back, making room. He bites down on my neck, hard enough to hurt, not quite enough to bruise, but I wouldn’t mind if he broke the skin. I’d be glad to walk around with Jesse’s teeth marks on my body. In fact the thought of it makes me hotter, and I move on him. He’s ablaze beneath me, panting against my lips.

We’re gonna do it. He can’t stop. I don’t want to.

Then someone taps on the window.
Motherfucking bastard-ass shitballs
—I melt down silently in frustrated rage. The glass is fogged up, so whoever it is can’t see us. My knees are weak when I slide off his lap. Jesse looks like he could happily tear somebody’s heart out with his teeth when he powers down the window.

“What?” he snaps.

It’s one of the uniformed officers from the scene, looking curious, terrified, and intrigued, all at the same time. “I saw your vehicle and I wondered if you’d broken down. You said you were taking her to the doctor…” His voice trails off, then he changes his mind. “I can see things are fine. Sorry to bother you.”

Once he walks away, I check my reflection in the mirror attached to the visor. My hair is a mess, my lips are swollen, and I’m covered in glass fragments and speckles of blood. It’s obvious to me—and probably the other cop—that we were making out.

Jesse slams a hand into the dashboard, and my heart sinks. I guess he’s ashamed that we got caught, and the hurt swells up until I think I might be sick. His look softens at once, and he covers my hand with his.

“Hey, no. It’s not that, Shan.”

“What is it then?”

“I’m pissed we had to stop.”

I don’t suggest that we pick up where we left off. This isn’t the time or place. We both got carried away, but damn, was that amazing. “Oh.”

He smiles, his dark eyes warm as melted chocolate. “Now I have to be responsible and make sure you don’t need stitches. Then you’re coming home with me.
No
arguments, or I’ll remember that I’m furious. You don’t wanna find out how that story ends, sugar.”

I smirk. Actually, I kinda do.

Eight

Jesse takes me to a twenty-four-hour clinic, where the doctor cleans and wraps my injuries, apart from a deep cut between my middle fingers. It gapes open when I flex my knuckles; that gets two stitches, but since they’ll dissolve on their own, I don’t have to come back in. The doc looks tired, and he doesn’t ask any questions. I’m sure Jesse was prepared to answer them, but I guess the doc sees much worse on a daily basis.

This time, when we get in the SUV, Jesse doesn’t take me to my place. He’s gotten savvy; he figures I might change my mind if he gives me the chance, so we end up at his apartment, even though I don’t have any clothes. Like me, he doesn’t live in a complex. Rather, this is a three-story brick building. From the size, I estimate there are six apartments total, two on each floor.

Jesse leads the way up two flights, then unlocks the door. Inside, it’s tidy, but I glimpse the ravages of an old scuffle; there are lighter spots on the walls, as if small holes have been patched, and the furniture is so crisp and new that I figure something must’ve happened to his old, comfy stuff. This doesn’t look like I imagined, however. It’s warmer and less modern, possibly because of the combination of textiles and colors. I would never have pegged Jesse as favoring red and yellow. Against the white walls, it works, though.

“You’ll sleep on the couch,” he says.

I’m not surprised. The heat of the moment overwhelmed him in the car, but now that logic’s driving the bus again, he doesn’t feel right about asking me to get naked and hop in his bed. Though that would totally be all right with me.

“I hope you have a spare toothbrush.”

“In the medicine cabinet.”

When he comes back with it, I ask, “Are you worried about your coworker telling everyone…?”

He shakes his head. “They’ll probably give me shit for steaming up the windows with a girl in a Pretzel Pirate uniform, but I can take it.”

Oh, shit.
I realize I am, in fact, still wearing my work clothes. “Do you have a washer? I have to go in tomorrow. I promised Tim I’d cover his shift if he took over for me today.”

“So you could go poking around a store that came to you in a vision.”

“Hey, it was almost a memory.”

“I can’t believe you just went off on your own. Were you thinking at
all
? You know somebody’s stalking you, Shan.”

“Since when is shopping hazardous to your health?” I bristle.

Jesse sighs. “Yes, I have a washer. This way.”

His apartment is definitely nicer than mine. His bathroom has a small space set back in the wall, which holds a stacked washer and dryer. I’d love if I didn’t have to drag my clothes downstairs to the communal laundry room. Because I’m made of evil with whipped cream frosting, I start stripping right there.

“What’re you
doing
?” he demands, whirling away.

“Washing my things. Do you have anything you want me to add? It seems like a waste to run the machine for four items.”

“I’ll get my laundry basket.” He sounds strangled. “And I’ll bring you something to put on.”

“Appreciate it,” I say cheerfully.

So I’m literally standing naked in Jesse’s bathroom when his arm reaches around the corner. He’s holding a white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of boxers. I scramble into them, then I step out, so he can add his clothes to the washer. This outfit’s not exactly modest. You can see the points of my nipples and the fly gaps when I walk.

“I should get you a robe.
Dammit
. I don’t own one. I’ll go to the store.”

I laugh. “Now you’re being silly. I’ll wrap up in a blanket in the living room. It’ll be fine.”

“No, it won’t,” he mutters. “You’re wearing my clothes.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. You don’t need any hints on how to drive me crazy.”

Ignoring my offer of help, he aims me at the couch and whips up a quick meal. The chicken and rice is fancier than I’d have made, though it’s not haute cuisine. It’s also really good. He turns on the news as we eat, and I have the thought that I’d be
so
happy if this was my real life. I mean, not necessarily wearing his underwear every night, but curling up with Jesse, eating dinner?

God, yes. Please.

After dinner, he dumps the plates in the sink and joins me on the couch. It’s just past nine by now, not early enough for bed, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. With a sigh, Jesse wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“Don’t be nervous, Shan. I won’t do anything. I was an asshole to treat you like I did in the car.”

I laugh. “Seriously? You think
that’s
why I’m uptight?”

“No?”

“In my mind, that’s the best move you’ve made where I’m concerned, and certainly the most honest. And now you’re back to being the good guy, the one with perfect manners. I’m afraid you’ll raise up the walls between us and I’ll have to start all over again.” I pause, wondering if I should say this. “I don’t know if I have the energy. I mean, I want you. I’ve made no secret of it. But I won’t chase you forever.”

“Is that an ultimatum?” He sounds coldly furious.

I’m a little proud of myself. I didn’t know it was possible to make Jesse angry so fast. “Just a fact. In time, I’ll move on, find someone who wants me more.”

Rage bludgeons me. For the second time tonight, he loses control and his emotions hit me like a hammer. It’s a mad wash of fury, jealousy, frustration, and a hint of possession that thrills me to my core. He might be struggling, but he doesn’t take me lightly.

“That would be impossible,” he growls.

I never imagined he’d be so intense; he projects such casual charm. Most likely, other women couldn’t handle it, so he hides. He pretends to be gentle and tender, no darker feelings, no obsessive tendencies. He’s been playing that violin so long, it’s become the only tune he knows. But I don’t just want his sweetness.

I want everything.

“Tell me about her,” I say then.

“Who?” I’ve surprised him.

“The girl who made you like this. Before, you said you haven’t felt this way since high school. I’m guessing it didn’t end well.”

“It never does.”

I stare at him until he shifts uneasily. Then he pushes out a sigh of mingled annoyance and capitulation. “You want to know how it goes, sugar? I’m a black hole. I want and need and I devour their feelings, until they’re empty, too.
Nobody
can satisfy me. And I drive everyone away in the end.”

“I’m still here.”

“That’s because you’re not actually
with
me. If you were, you’d come to hate yourself…and me. Because you’d see me reacting to other women, just like they did. Do you have any idea how hard it is not to reciprocate when somebody wants you and you can feel their desire coursing through you, sweet and hot? It’s like a drug.”

Suddenly, I understand—and the barrier isn’t what I thought. He’s not thinking about how wrong I am for him, or that I’m too young anymore. It’s not being with me that he fears; it’s
losing
me. And I fall in love so hard that I see stars.

“Well, here’s my opinion: I don’t care
where
you start the fire, as long as you bring it home to me.”

Desperation wars with hope in his dark eyes. “You say that now. But it wears away at you. I’ve heard it so many times,
why aren’t I enough for you
? Why—?”

“Don’t compare me to other women, Jesse. That’s not fair, and…I’m not doing it to you.”

“Stop,” he begs, pained. “You’re so fucking lovely that there must’ve been guys, but when I think about it, I could kill somebody.”