Page 28 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
I wait for what feels like an eon, just...resting against him. Existing with him. I wonder if he ever allows himself this much with anyone else. Judging by his description of his love life, I’d wager not.
Jack’s gloved hand twitches at his side. When he reaches out, I expect him to push me away, but he doesn’t.
His fingers take hold of mine.
I startle. Then stare at the stark contrast—black leather against pale skin. It’s just his hand, and yet this marks the first time since I’ve come here that he’s yielded to me. The first time he’s softened.
He opens his eyes. Goddess, I wish he’d lean forward. Let the firelight catch them so I could find out what color they are.
“You shouldn’t have to live like that,” I murmur. “Like what you just described.”
“I should, though.” He sounds exhausted, suddenly. Defeated. “Fortuna wouldn’t have Marked me unless she had a reason.”
The statement nearly stops my pulse. Does he really believe that? “What? No. That’s not true. At all.” I know because of Weston. Because he did nothing to warrant Fortuna’s disapproval.
“It is,” Jack says.
“It’s not.” My voice rises. “You don’t deserve your triquetra any more than I do mine. You can’t honestly tell me you think I’ve done something to earn this thing.”
“Of course I can.”
I frown.
“All I have to do,” he says, “is look at you to know you’re special. That the goddess chose you for a reason. And if that’s true for you...it must be true for me, too.”
The sentiment settles in my chest like a stone. It’s an enormous thing to say. Especially to a near-stranger. “Jack, that’s...”
But I trail off, because he finally shifts. The firelight touches his eyes, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at me. A wall has come down, and behind it, I glimpse a sprawl of pain and resignation and longing.
One that’s wholly familiar. Because I’ve looked into eyes like this before, peered through onto this very same tangle of repressed feeling. I’ve caught this exact shade of light brown studying me from across a room.
Suspicion feathers along the back of my mind. Which makes no sense, because IsawJack’s face, on the road that day. And yet...
I need to see it again. I need to understand who I’m talking to, how he can draw me into his gravity like this. Because only one other person has ever been able to do that.
I draw a steadying breath, disentangle our hands, and reach for him.
His spine goes rigid. “Don’t.”
It’s a warning, but I don’t relent, and he doesn’t actually do anything to stop me. My fingers graze his mask, the fabric a whisper against my skin.
His lips part on a sharp inhale. I lean in and slide a finger beneath the cloth, tugging it away from his face. But I make sure not to touch him directly. I don’t need to, for this.
“Bria, no.” He sounds broken and terrified.
“Shh,” I say. “It’s okay.”
“It’s—”
A shout echoes outside.
I freeze. Jack’s eyes pop wide. My heart lodges in my throat.
For long moments, we just stare at one another.
Then, after the most fraught silence of my life, he says, “Shit. The duke.”
Chapter Eleven
