Page 238 of The Tempted

“You sure about that?” he asked, his eyes darkening as they looked at me.

I pulled the straw from my lips and placed the plastic cup back on the table and leaned forward, meeting his wary eyes.

“I’m sure as the day is long that you’ve been arrested more than once, and with that being said odds are you’ve been to jail,” I remarked.

“How perceptive of you,” he grunted.

“And you’ve got a band of brothers, albeit some of them are quite despicable, that Wolf guy? I’m not a fan,” I said, curling my lip.

Jack’s features relaxed and he leaned forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as his gaze softened.

“Am I right?”

“Tell me yours first,” he insisted, reaching down taking my fork and popping a mouthful of French fries into his mouth.

“Fine, I’m afraid of the dark,” I paused when he smirked. “What?”

“You’re not afraid of the dark,” he stated, while stabbing more French fries with my fork and trying to suppress his laughter.

“And how would you know?”

He lifted his eyes to mine.

“You’re eating cheese fries with the king of fucking darkness,” he said, with a shake of his head before giving into the laugh he was trying to hold back.

“You don’t seem so dark right now,” I pointed out.

He shrugged his shoulders, reached out and trailed his fingertip along the bridge of my nose.

“Wonder why that is,” he said softly, then dropped his hand and picked up his drink. “So, you lost,” he said, as he sipped his drink.

“What? How? I didn’t even give you the two truths,” I said, quickly realizing what he had just done. Feeling stupid I slapped the palm of my hand to my forehead. “Shit!”

He laughed, distracting me from my anger. His laughter touching something deep inside of me causing goosebumps to spread over my arms. He looked so handsome when he laughed, less tortured, even younger. I wanted to make him laugh more.

His laughter died slowly as he started to clean the table, throwing out the leftovers. After emptying our tray at the trash can he walked back toward the table and held his hand out to me.

“C’mon, time to go,” he announced, pulling me to my feet.

“Where are we going now?”

“You’re coming home with me and I’m going to give you what you earned and hope like hell that maybe I earned another one of your scars,” he said, roughly against my ear as he splayed his palm against my lower back and ushered me out of the restaurant.

We stepped outside of Roll N’ Roaster, Jack holding the door for me, and I reached down for his hand, lacing my fingers with his.

He squeezed my hand.

He might as well have squeezed my heart.

I stopped walking, and he turned around to see why.

“They’re ugly,” I whispered. “My scars. They’re ugly.”

He tugged my hand and my body collided against his. He tipped my chin up with his index finger, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“They a part of you?” he questioned, not waiting for the answer. “Then they’re not ugly. Let me show you how beautiful they can be,” he said softly, as his finger trailed my lip. “Give me your scars, baby,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine. “Let me be the one who sets you free from them.”

Yes.

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