Society Rules (10 page)

With love and tears, she’d kissed his forehead, and left him at the boarding school. He’d been prepared for this day, and although losing Ms. Rihanna was like losing his mother all over again, he knew that he was a man now, and as such, had to conduct himself with maturity and reason.

Which meant that he went to his room, locked the door and bawled like an infant.

After that one-time shameful indulgence, however, Jackson threw himself into his schooling and physical training with a focus that was frightening in its ferocity. After all, he had no female distractions, and he definitely needed an outlet for all of the frustrations that he didn’t even understand . . . his body demanding a physical release that was never satisfied.

Hitting things for righteous causes helped a lot.

Jackson enjoyed the combat training way more than he thought to be appropriate, but what could he do? After all, he reasoned, a person can’t help how they feel, right? And sometimes, it just felt
so
right to smite the enemy, even if in training it was all play-acting.

The energy release was real enough.

More difficult was the Society training that demanded that he have complete control over his body and his emotions at all times, as it was imperative that all Society Members reflect only positive or neutral energy, in order not to contribute to the negativity that could potentially destroy the world. It had been insanely challenging, but he’d finally mastered it.

For the most part.

And he’d grown into one of the most prolific of his kind, performing his duty with fearless strength. So fearless, that his name had become well known even before accomplishing a feat of bravery, skill and daring that had resulted in a setback of phenomenal proportions for the Common enemy of Society and humankind. He’d accomplished this at age nineteen, and afterwards Jackson was almost legend among the Society, respected and revered. But he also knew the pity they felt for him because he was alone.

Pity didn’t anger him, for it was truly only compassion openly expressed. But it made him uneasy and unhappy, for it was a constant reminder of what was missing in his life.

Not that he could possibly forget.

With a long hard sigh, Jackson stroked the smooth polished surface of the rings with his forefinger, and then pressed his lips to the smaller one, wishing that he were a drinking man. He could use a little chemical restraint right now . . . something to stop him from terrifying Indie with the actions that he knew he would continue tomorrow.

Stalker. There was no other word he could think of that fit the activities on his to do list for the following day. In spite of the fact that it made him feel, well . . .
dirty
and foul, it didn’t matter.

He was going to come after Indie until he put his hands on her, and she was going to let him do it, too.

Of her own free will. It had to be that way, he knew. And he wasn’t going to stop until then, and only if afterwards, she sent him away. If that was her choice, he would honor it . . . at least he was pretty sure he would.

There were other complications related to his joining with her; things that would bring her pain, but he chose to ignore those issues for now. He wanted to focus only on his goals right at this moment. The other stuff . . . well . . . if she wanted nothing to do with him, then it would all be a moot point, wouldn’t it?

Why stress over it now, right?

Frowning now at the rings in his hand, he felt the tug of guilt in the back of his mind. If things went well for him, then other parties would be hurt. Jackson didn’t like this idea, as selfishness was not generally part of his protocol.

I
don’t
care
, he lied fiercely to himself as he covered his eyes with a tensely muscled forearm.
This
is
not
my
fault
 . . .
it’s
just
what
I
have
to
do
!

He brought down the curtain on these thoughts with a mental thud, and with a motion that was smooth and quick as a camera flash, the rings were shoved back into the box, and thrust into the drawer once more.

Using more strength than he’d known he possessed, Jackson got to his feet and slinked into the kitchen, knowing with the instinct of the warrior that he was, that his body had to be nourished, even though his belly was threatening him with violence if he tried to put anything down there.

With a dully hollow joy, he found a can of a high protein energy shake, and popped the top after giving it a viciously satisfying shake to mix it up properly. He swallowed the contents in six deep pulls, and tossed the can into the recycling box.

Sighing with relief that the deed was done, Jackson returned to the bedroom and shed his clothes. As he entered the bathroom to shower, he caught sight of his body in the large mirror above the sink, and stopped short.

Leaning toward the mirror, hands white-knuckling it on the counter,

Jackson took careful inventory of what he saw; a toned, tight body, without an ounce of fat or excess in any form, his muscles very much in evidence under his skin, all coiled and ready to get down to business.

Physical business of the ass kicking variety, or maybe some other kind of purpose where his stamina and control would come in handy.

Jackson considered this for a moment. Could he bring pleasure to a woman? He hadn’t the slightest idea what exactly it involved, but he knew there would be kissing . . . touching and other things, aside from what he knew to be nothing more than the invasive penetration of the female.

It had to be more than simply that.

As he pictured Indie and her face . . . her body, he watched in amazement as his own body reacted to the memory. He was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he was getting the idea, as his mind wandered to things that he knew instinctively that he would enjoy doing to do to her, at any rate.

Maybe she would like those same things too.

As he brought down his hand to feel the part of him that was now throbbing with unaccustomed sensations, Jackson’s body did a jackknife backwards, hitting the wall behind him with violent force. The shiver of pleasure he felt at the touch shocked him. Oh, what would it be like if it were her hands on him?

Her body pressed to his?

He spun around abruptly and moved into the shower. He had no business thinking of her in those intimate ways; not now. Not yet.

It was much too early in the game for that, for it was her heart he was after first, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t
it
?

As he roughly yanked the lever, the tap exploded into his belly, all cold water and stinging pressure. Yes, he’d pegged it right before.
Dirty
.

His thoughts for Indie weren’t all pure, he knew. But then, wasn’t that part of love? Was he not constructed to respond to the one with whom he belonged in the physical sense? He’d never had these carnal knifings through his belly at the thought or sight of any other female, had he?

No, it was all for her.

As he mechanically lathered his body, Jackson closed his eyes, carefully avoiding the now swollen and sensitive area between his legs. Yes. It was
all
for her, and he would give her
his
all, if she would allow it. He rinsed quickly and found himself rebounding with a surge of energy that was begging to be released.

Shutting off the stream of Arctic water and reaching for a towel simultaneously, he headed out of the bathroom at a near sprint, snatching up a pair of drawstring workout pants as he jogged through the room.

Pausing only to throw on the pants, Jackson kept moving until he found himself in the fully equipped gym at the far end of the house, and flipped on his CD player. It was already loaded with Muse.

Jackson looked around for another CD. Given his current emotional climate, he was feeling more inclined to get “Down With the Sickness,” but it was nowhere around.

Jackson didn’t use music to soothe. He thrived on it as an outlet to vent. It allowed him to feel and enjoy his power, while he maintained his outward show of passive calm, and he needed it like food or air.

Moving around the pile of available music on the table did not reveal the CD he was looking for.

Fine.

He listened as the intro to “Assassin” rolled into his airspace and began to pump him up. Actually, this was the perfect complement to the muscle shredding workout he was about to brutally put his body through.

Just to warm up, he dropped and knocked out a quick set of fifty push-ups, and then sprang to his feet and snatched up two heavily weighted mini barbells. Curling the hand weights of around one hundred and twenty five pounds each, Jackson suddenly found that he couldn’t wait for the sun to rise. His thoughts pounded in rhythm to both the music and the pull of the weights that were popping his biceps like they were inflatable.

No. He could . . . Not . . . Wait.

Chapter 7

The Irresistible Stalker

Indie somehow made it through the night, resolutely keeping her eyes clamped firmly shut. Will came to bed at some point . . . she never opened her eyes to look at the clock. She listened to him fumbling around the room, getting ready for bed. For some reason, Will never seemed to feel any particular need to try to be quiet as he went through his bedtime rituals.

Maybe
he’s
on
to
me
, Indie thought absently.
Maybe
he
knows
I
am
never
sleeping
anyway
. He never tried to talk to her, though. She felt his weight as he sat down on the bed, trying to sort out the covers.

A sharp pang of guilt wound its self tightly around her throat as she remembered the thoughts that had played out in her mind.

Inappropriate thoughts for a married woman. As Will began snoring almost immediately, the pangs grew sharper. He was just so oblivious.
Oblivious
to
my
moods,
my
needs,
my
struggles
 . . .
just
plain
oblivious
to
me
, Indie thought with a stab of pain.

Usually, she pretended that this fact was just fine by her. It meant her charade was working. However, a deeper part of her felt constantly hurt by the idea that the only way her husband actually saw her was if she spoke first . . . or when she approached him.

She thought that she had become used to this pattern over the years, but she found that it still stung.

Does
he
just
not
care?
She wondered, wounded.
If
he
really
loved
me,
he
would
have
noticed
that
I
was
not
okay.
He
would
be
in
tune
to
my
needs,
right?
We’d
be
each
other’s
yin
and
yang,
each
knowing
instinctively
what
the
other
needed.

Indie crinkled her nose, suddenly impatient with herself. She wasn’t being fair. In her heart, she knew that he cared—that he loved her. He just was not . . . demonstrative. He never had been, really, and now she had the nerve to feel hurt? And she had married him for an escape, she knew, as a pathway to a normal life.

Though Indie did
love
him, it wasn’t as if she was ever truly carrying a flaming passion torch for him either, she supposed, although God knows she’d tried to work it up for him.

Why she couldn’t was a real mystery to her.

He was certainly handsome enough, with his sandy blond hair, cut just shy of military style, and his body was one that could make any man years his junior, suffer serious insecurity issues.

Will was rock solid and in peak form, yet moved with the smooth and cautious stalk of a man used to walking in dangerous places.

Indie had no problem appreciating the masculine appeal that radiated from the man, especially when he came home after work and shed his suit jacket, his shoulder holster strapped across his crisp, white button-down shirt. It gave her a little jolt to realize that he could be very dangerous in the right circumstances, yet he gave Indie not even the slightest feeling of fear toward him.

She knew from the depths of her gut that Will could never harm her.

His sienna brown eyes were warm and lit up when he smiled, allowing the crinkles around them to show, and his teeth were perfect . . . straight and white; the result of six months of his mother’s salary back when Will was a teenager, and worth every penny.

She rarely saw the investment anymore, though. He was serious minded and dedicated to his work, and the brief flashes Will gave her now were usually tight-lipped and offered in what seemed an obligatory fashion.

He had seemed a decent man when they met and had acted as though he had loved her at one point, once he took notice of her. Hitting someone with a car will force a person to take notice, Indie supposed.

Ten and a half years ago, Will had backed directly into her while she was running, knocking her flat.

Luckily, she wasn’t hurt, but when Will jumped out of his car, horrified and all apologies, it was as if he was seeing her for the first time, although he and Indie had traveled in the same circles. Indie had known who
he
was, at any rate.

Will was attending training at Ft. Benning, and Indie worked as a civilian at the on-base clinic part time. She had noticed him, because all the girls did. Indie listened to the other females in the clinic going all a-twitter whenever he made an appearance, swooning and fanning themselves and finally, she decided to see for herself what all the fuss was about.

Indie got her chance when Will came in for a follow up on a minor injury he had sustained during a combatives course he was taking. She learned from him that the combatives level four class was, as he put it, “a real ass-kicker”, and then enjoyed his blushing apology for the self-proclaimed crude comment made in her presence.

Indie knew from eavesdropping that Will was quite gifted in the use of creative and colorful language, and Indie found it . . .
sweet
that he censured himself around her.

Actually, around women in general. Most men these days were not worried about such details.

As Will had stripped to the waist and Indie took his vitals, she could see with one hundred percent clarity what got the office nurses in a lather. He seemed to appreciate Indie as well, although he remained appropriate and polite, calling her ma’am, much to her dismay.

Then he was gone. She had halfway expected him to seek her out, as she remembered his endearingly shy looks at her when he thought she wasn’t aware, but he never came around again.

He apparently never gave her another thought until he nearly killed her, and incredibly, showed no signs of recognition. However, he seemed determined to “win her forgiveness” afterward, though Indie had assured him that it was all very unnecessary.

Will had persisted, taking her out nearly every night and proposing to her after only a few short months, when a transfer out of state was imminent.

His being a handsome and decent man seemed a good enough reason to marry him at the time. And, after all, Indie had been nearly thirty years old. People were supposed to be married by then, and on their way to family life, and she was all but obsessed with doing the “right” thing . . . the “normal” thing. And so in the span of only a few months, Indie found herself with a husband.

Will’s mother had been horrified . . . trying right up until the organ music began to signal Indie’s cue to start walking, to convince Will not to “rush into marriage to a total stranger”.

Marie Taylor was outwardly friendly toward Indie, but she could feel the woman’s slight resentment of her clearly. Will had been adamant, and told his mother that Indie was “the one”, and the wedding had gone off without a hitch.

Once they were married, however, it seemed that Will lost focus again. After the honeymoon, he seemed only vaguely aware of her presence . . . as if, whenever she spoke, it startled him . . . reminded him that she was still there. This hurt Indie terribly, even though she was used to it from others.

She thought Will would see her differently than did the rest of the world. This was not the case, however. Her presence was no more appreciated or noticed by him than it was by others. As far as Indie could tell, Will thought that the clean underwear fairy kept his drawers stocked, and kitchen elves did the cooking and cleaning.

Indie rolled over, burrowing deep into the comforter, careful to keep her eyes closed. She counted the minutes ticking by, listened to the sound of Will’s snoring and wondered what was in store for tomorrow.

Somehow, she was positive that things were going to escalate, and come to some sort of explosive conclusion. And there seemed to be no way to head this off.

Did she even really want to, was the real question that had Indie tossing and twisting the sheets around her body as if in combat with an anaconda, or some other long and tangle-y creature. She absolutely refused to cave to the pleading of her brain for more visuals of this man, Jackson.

Nope
, she told her inner self,
we
will
not
be
going
there
again!
Scrunching her eyes shut in an unnatural clench, Indie forced herself to lie motionless and rigid, making it through the rest of the night in painful silence.

When morning arrived, Indie bounded out of bed as soon as Will left. She called out of work, which was a first, but she strongly felt that she needed a mental health day, and felt that it was quite honestly the truth when she told them that she didn’t feel well. She thought that they would be shocked, but the disembodied voice of the unit secretary was distinctly bored, as she wished Indie to “feel better soon.”

“Oh God, yes . . . I hope so too,” she breathed into the phone after the other person had dropped the phone back into its cradle. She sent the kids off to school on the bus today.

Cassidy looked at her mother questioningly, but said nothing.

“I love you Mama,” Jake sang out, as he crossed the yard. So it was “mama” today, huh? Indie wondered idly if it meant anything. After the bus collected the twins, she walked around the house, aimlessly picking up clutter and washing some larger dishes. She looked down at Max, and he sneezed expectantly.

“I guess you want food?” He answered with a short, sharp bark. She filled his bowl, and stroked his soft black and white fur, combing out several clumps of the stuff with her fingers, and then stood looking out the window until the mail truck startled her out of her torpor.

“That’s crazy,” she mused. She had been standing, frozen in place for quite a long time, gripping the clouds of dog hair in her palm.

Ugh. Max’s phenomenal shedding skills always caused Indie to stay tight with the lint roller. She tossed the fur, and scrubbed her hands clean.

Indie threw on some jeans and Will’s Red Sox sweatshirt, and dashed out to the mailbox. She retrieved the mail, and sifted through the advertisements and required daily quota of junk as she walked slowly back toward the house. She stopped dead in her tracks as if blocked by a wall.

Indie felt the now familiar warmth spread across the small of her back. Swinging herself around, she saw him, leaning casually against her car, arms folded across his broad, muscular chest. Today, he was dressed in jeans, a dark blue button-down, though fully unbuttoned, with a white tee shirt underneath. Over this, he wore the same dark brown leather jacket, in spite of the heat.

The sunlight caught in his unruly hair, exposing the promised hints of red throughout the deep brown color. He had on a pair of ray-bans as well, which was a shame, Indie caught herself accidentally thinking. Those eyes of his should never be covered. The picture he presented was . . . arresting.

Gah!
No!
He
is
NOT
getting
to
me
just
because
he
is
pretty!
Indie spoke sharply to her brain, which was busy clapping its little hands and squealing with happiness at the sight of him.

“What are you doing
here
?” Indie hissed, looking around desperately. “And why are you so persistent?” What would the neighbors think?

“What can I say? I’m a go-getter!” He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, and his blue eyes stunned her, but only for a second. “Yeah, you know, I sense that!” Indie parried back. “What do you want?”