Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (64 page)

Jack could only nod, still taking the powerful visual in. “She still is,” he murmured when he trusted himself to speak.

“The first time I saw Sammy, she walked right in front of my camera. I took her picture without really even realizing it, and then I obsessed over it until I saw her again.” Wes took a sip of his drink, his smile just this side of rueful. “Had it not been for that photo, I thought I might have dreamed her up,” he admitted.

Begrudgingly, Jack had to acknowledge the man was insanely talented. Wes had to have taken these photographs when he was just a college kid, back when he and Sam were together, but even then, his style with the lens and his understanding of lighting, dimension, and form was clear. Jack could also see how Wes must have felt about Samantha, to look at her like this, and how she must have felt about him, to pose so openly, the vulnerable curvature of her neckline in one shot, the soft line of her smooth belly in another. Each piece was like the stanza of a love poem, the white space lending significance to the structure, the line breaks purposeful, so that each angle revealed different things. But altogether, this was adoration through Wes’s eyes. This was how he’d felt when Samantha had been his.

“You loved her,” Jack acknowledged, tearing his eyes away from the images of Samantha to look at Wes. Though he had no right to it, it hurt him to look at the pieces, to get a voyeur’s fleeting glimpse at what they’d shared.

“I still do, Jack,” Wes replied, meeting his eyes, the challenge there in his direct gaze.

“No, I mean—it shows,” Jack clarified, tamping down on the ugly jealousy, that dark self-doubt that lay coiled inside him, looking for something to bite into. Jack reminded himself that Wes was her past, just as these were pictures of her past self.

I have her now,
he wanted to tell Wes like some belligerent caveman, though he bit his tongue.

“Are you seriously complimenting me on nudes of your ex-girlfriend?” Wes joked, smirking.

“If you mean artwork of my future wife, then yes, I’m complimenting you,” Jack answered, noticing the barb about the wife bit hit its mark as Wes shot him a dark look.

“Then I suppose I should thank you for the compliment.” Wes smirked a little. “Though I still hate you and we’re still enemies, asshole.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual, I assure you,” Jack replied as they both turned back toward the photos. “Why are you letting them go?” he asked curiously, surprised that Wes was willing to part with the pieces. If he’d been in the same position, he’d have jealously guarded anything that had to do with her. Period.

“Don’t need them anymore,” Wes responded. “Used to pull each of these out to torture myself back when I thought I’d never see her again. No sense in holding onto the memories when I have the chance to make new ones with her now.” His unusual golden eyes tracked Samantha across the gallery.

The callous, Neanderthal brute in Jack thought about clubbing Wes in the head with the unadorned truth. It would feel distractingly good to crush Wes with the truth that Samantha had chosen
him
—that it had been
his arms
she’d writhed in last night, but he didn’t… but only by a narrow margin. First, because he’d never been the type to kiss and tell, and second, because he knew Samantha wouldn’t want him to do it. Her history with Wes was her own, and she’d never want her private life and personal feelings discussed and argued over cocktails at a social function. Hell, Anand would have to protect him from a fate worse than Lightner if it came to that.

“So you’re her date tonight,” Wes remarked.

“I am.” Jack turned to meet his eye.

“Then what are you doing standing here talking to me, when she’s over there, talking to
him
?”

Jack followed the direction of Wes’s pointed look, seeing Samantha smiling at a good-looking guy standing far too close for his liking.

“Who is that guy?”

Wes knocked back the rest of his whisky. “Another asshole. Not too different from you actually. He’s been after Sammy since we were together at A&M.”

Jack watched with narrowed eyes as the man leaned too close, whispering something in her ear, his hand at her elbow. Alejo stood to the right and behind her, his gaze sweeping the perimeter. Whatever the guy said, he made her laugh—the first genuine look of pleasure she’d had on her face all evening, and Jack felt a bolt of possessive envy rear its ugly head.

Jack glanced at Anand. “Who’s talking to Samantha?”

Anand touched his earpiece, asking the question in low tones. Jack watched across the gallery as Alejandro touched his earpiece, answering.

“Travis Brandt,” Anand told him. “Non-threat.”

Jack scowled. “We’ll see about that.”

Wes glanced from Jack to Anand to Travis, then back again, amused. “That’s a nice trick. Why do you have a bodyguard?”

A part of him was surprised Wes didn’t know what was going on here tonight, but then, why would he? Samantha hadn’t exactly broadcasted that she was hoping to draw out a known terrorist with access to a nuclear warhead.

“Standard operating procedure,” he replied nonchalantly instead. “Samantha thought I might need some protection from unwanted attention from the more aggressive divorcees at the party tonight.”

Wes smiled at that, though it was obvious he wasn’t buying it. “Well, if anyone needs protection—it’s her from him,” he said, glancing back at Travis. “That sonofabitch is slick.”

That’s just what Jack needed. More goddamn competition. “I haven’t even met him yet, and I already can’t stand him,” he muttered.

“Get in line,” Wes drawled, placing his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “Travis was her rebound guy.”

Jack stepped forward, glad for the distraction of protecting his turf. “Not anymore he’s not,” he said, getting back in the game.

April—Evening

Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas

S A M A N T H A

S
he watched out
of the corner of her eye as Jack sauntered toward her with the swagger of a gunslinger from a John Wayne western. Gone was the urbane, distant man who’d been standing beside her most of the evening. Heedless of her conversation with Travis Brandt, Jack slid an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side before dropping a hot, open kiss on her neck. The gesture was so daringly possessive and sexy, she’d felt a blush rise to her cheeks as Travis watched with a sort of bemused expression.

Though Jack was perfectly affable when she’d introduced them, she watched him take one look at Travis and turn glacial. Sensing the barely concealed hostility, Travis excused himself from the conversation, promising to call her soon to catch up.

“If that man calls you, I’ll break his hands,” Jack said as he watched Travis mingle into the crowd.

“He’s an old friend.”

“
Tesoro
, I think I should warn you I’m going to automatically dislike anyone you’ve been in a relationship with—no matter how brief.”

She studied him a moment, looking at him closely for the first time since they’d arrived. “You were wound tighter than a bow before Travis came to talk to me. Are you okay?”

“I’m at an event with two of your exes—both of whom are still in love with you, by the way,” Jack pointed out gruffly. “We’re trapped in a building surrounded by tactical teams carrying enough artillery to make the Alamo look like a Sunday school lesson, and we’re waiting for a madman who may or may not try to assassinate us by detonating a nuclear warhead. I could really use something to take the fucking edge off,
tesoro
. Stressed out doesn’t begin to cover it,” he admitted in low tones.

Of course. She hadn’t been thinking about how this whole thing must be impacting him and his recovery. Sam slid her fingers up his arm, wishing she could assuage him somehow. But Jack had signed up for this, and she knew from experience there was precious little she could say to make this situation any easier.

“Can you handle this, Jack? Being with me means you’d have to get used to aspects of what I do, and I know this would be hard for anyone to take—” she took a breath. “Jack, if you want to leave—”

“I’m not leaving you, Samantha,” Jack cut her off sharply. “I just don’t like this. I’ve done a hundred events like these over the years, and not once have I ever worried that someone might put a bullet through my head. And if something happened to you—
Cristo
, I can’t even think about that,
tesoro
. How do military families handle this?” he asked, squeezing her hand. “The constant worry? The constant stress of knowing their spouse might never come home?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to know how,” she admitted honestly.

“Just bear with me while I figure this out,” Jack murmured. “I just know I want to be with you. The rest of it—I—I just need a beat.”

That was fair. She didn’t know how this relationship would work either. She wasn’t entirely sure she trusted that it would, but Sam knew if she wanted it to work with anyone—it was with Jack. She wanted him enough to cast aside her doubts and skepticism, and that was a huge step for a woman whose career revolved around defending against people’s darker natures.

“Do you want to figure it out together?” she asked tentatively, squeezing his fingers.

Jack leaned over her, kissing her so hard, she opened her mouth in shocked surprise. It was a punishing kiss, rooted in anger and hot frustration, but it morphed into something else entirely a few seconds into it. An ache bloomed, cambering low as Jack’s kiss turned fervent. She became momentarily heedless of the fact that they were at a gala surrounded by people who were likely staring. As if reading her mind, Jack turned his body without breaking the kiss, shielding her from prying eyes as he moved her backward into an alcove like a slow dance. His mouth dragged down her neck as he held her in place with his broad hands on her hips.

“Did you mean it?” he whispered, his breath soft and searing in her ear.

“Mean what?” she asked, dazed.

“What you said last night. Are you in this?” Jack pressed. “Do you want to be with me,
tesoro
?”

“I do.” She nodded. “But I’m not sure how it works either. I just know we have to trust each other.”

His head lifted. “I trust you.”

“Then what the hell was all that about my exes?” she asked, browing furrowing.

“I don’t like it when men want what’s mine,” Jack replied gruffly. “You dance with the one that brought you,
tesoro,
but if Wes or Travis come near you again, I swear to God, I will find a way to drop them.”

She laughed softly at the irony. “Jack, how many women have you banged in Chicago? If I got this worked up every time we run into a woman you’d slept with, I’d never leave the house.”

Jack tilted her chin up, kissing her again. “I didn’t say it wasn’t a double standard,
tesoro
. I’m just telling you how I feel.”

“Would it make you feel just a tiny bit better if I reminded you I’m not in love with either of them?” she offered.

“Who are you in love with?” Jack replied, leaning in.

She smirked at him. “Avi Oded is pretty damn hot.”

Jack nipped her ear in punishment.

“You, Jack. It’s been you since we met.” She felt the shape of his smile against her neck, the breadth of his shoulders relaxing for the first time this evening under her hands. “Feel better?”

“Infinitely,” Jack replied readily.

“Then fine,” she said, pulling back enough to look at him. “Now can you trust me to take care of you?”

“Do you trust me to take care of
you
?” he countered, holding her eyes.

Sam stood on her tip-toes to kiss him. “There’s only one way to find out.”

*

April—Evening

Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas

W E S L E Y

“Hot damn, that’s
some kiss,” the older man across from him whistled, looking amused. Wes turned to follow the man’s line of sight, curious. He’d been chatting briefly with the couple about the night’s auction when the guy had become briefly distracted by something behind him. The moment Wes’s eyes landed on Jack and Sam across the expanse, he regretted looking.