The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(29)
Author: J.C. Reed

I had blamed him. Fully, without a single doubt.

“Just saying.” He cocked his eyebrow, and then he moved past me, calling over his shoulder, “You’ll find him downstairs. If you can get him to stop his madness that he calls training, so that I can finally get a couple hours of sleep, tell him that’d be grand.”

I frowned, wondering what he meant by that, but didn’t care to ask.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Brian continued. “We have plenty of rooms available in building five.”

I snorted. “You mean, if things don’t work out with Jett.”

He chuckled. “It was only a suggestion. Doesn’t mean Jett will let you stay in any of them”

“You mean here with him?”

Brian shook his head slowly, an amused glint playing in his eyes. “No, over there. In building five.”

I stared at him. Building five, or more precisely warehouse five, housed five others. All of them male. All of them single. I slowly got his drift.

“There’s no need for that,” I said.

“Good.” He was gone before I could utter another word, leaving me in the darkness of the hall.

All my life I had watched people fall in love. The thing was, I had never expected to fall so hard myself—that plunging into complete darkness, with nothing but a trusting heart that meant I had to stop breathing to allow for someone’s breath to become mine. Ever since Jett’s lips had touched mine, I felt as though I was branded. I felt like a part of me had died, rising from the ashes, only to become a part of him. Maybe love was a pink witch, on the outside a pretty face bewitching us, blinding us, and on the inside—behind its mask—rearing its ugly head, trapping us with its charming spell, forcing us into a state of obsession and lust-fueled madness where obsession became my reality.

As I stepped down the stairs and opened the last door to the large training halls, a large subterranean maze complete with a boxing ring and training equipment, my eyes fell on the lonely figure, and my heart died and cheered at the same time. That instant, all the questions I had wanted to ask vanished.

This was real.

This was really happening.

Seeing Jett after all the drama and confusing dream felt surreal. Like losing a favorite possession and being reunited with it years later, then having to gawk at it from afar, unable to grasp it in your hands.

Except Jett wasn’t standing that far away.

He was close—too close, like the sky touching the clouds, the sound of him punching the bag the only noise echoing through the hall. It was strange how one minute you thought everything mattered, and then with one single glance, everything became nothing, except for that one guy, who could make you fall in love with him over and over again, day after day, in just a heartbeat.

An unwanted smile spread across my lips.

Despite everything—the drama, the secrets, the danger, and most of all the possibility he might be a killer—his perfect body still excited me. Too bad his character wasn’t perfect, and I was a romantic with a weak spot for tattooed Southern guys. Jett looked angry, but more so he looked so damn sexy, I couldn’t help but run the tip of my tongue over my lips. If it weren’t for our much-needed conversation, I would have chosen to stand there the entire day, watching him and daydream about all the naughty things I’d do with him.

Get a grip! He’s a bad boy.

A bad boy with a talent for creating pleasure.

It was hard to resist a bad boy who might be good for my body but not for my heart.

In the darkness of the room, I stood and watched his lean, half-naked body, each muscle straining as he hit the huge black punching bag hard, over and over again. A layer of sweat covered his back and forehead. His bulging biceps strained as he punched the bag, his muscles flexing beneath the tan skin. I was about to admire his strong thighs when I noticed his shins were all blue and bruised. I wondered how long he had been training. All morning? All night? No wonder Brian asked me to stop “his madness.”

“Jett?” I said quietly, stopping at a safe distance. His face a mask of concentration and focus, he looked so engrossed in what he was doing I doubted he had heard me. The way he kept slamming his hurt leg into the punching bag faster and harder I was sure that either one—leg or the bag—would break soon.

“Jett!” I shouted to get his attention.

He stopped and whirled around. Confusion crossed his face, and then the swinging bag hit him and he stumbled backward, but only so slightly.

“Brooke?” he asked, his hands stopping the bag from swinging again, his eyes never leaving mine. The surprise was written on his face as his gaze scanned over me as if he could not believe it was me standing in front of him.

“What are you doing?” I asked shocked, glancing at the blue specks covering his leg and the blood-soaked bandages that covered his knuckles. “You’re completely bruised and bleeding.”

My stomach fluttered as I watched him come closer. He was so tall. So strong. His face both beautiful and haunting, with glinting green eyes, and hair so dark, he would be my downfall. Blood had begun to seep through the bandages covering his knuckles, and his shins shimmered bluish beneath his skin.

He caught my glance on his hand.

“It’s supposed to look this way,” he replied to my unspoken question.

“Not like this.”

He shook his head grimly. “That’s nothing. I’m used to worse.”

Silence ensued. I knew I had to talk, fill the void of communication, but suddenly my prepared speech was gone.

It had been so much easier in my imagination, in my dreams, in my plans. I would have asked him questions, he would give me answers, and then I would move on. Or not, but it was as simple as that.

However, standing in front of him, with him watching me, I grew nervous. I didn’t know where to start, what to do or say. He wasn’t supposed to look mortally wounded. He wasn’t supposed to look so sexy and delicious half-naked, making me forget all the things I needed to get off my chest. Fuck, he wasn’t allowed to be so sinfully irresistible, making my body want to touch him when I should be mad at him.

Before I could stop myself, my fingers stroked over his bruised knuckles, and a soft shiver ran through me. “We need to get it looked at before it gets infected, you know?” I murmured, avoiding his eyes. “If you tell me where the first aid kit is, I’ll get this disinfected in no time.”

“Why are you here, Brooke?” His voice was low and flat but carried an unmistakable hint of anger.