The Best Man's Baby(51)

Jake looked at her and everything he ever was flashed in his eyes, and he didn’t hide the emotion in them, he didn’t hide the wetness making his eyes glitter brightly.

“And your father knelt down and put his arms around me and showed me compassion for the first time in my life. We sat in the middle of the church and he held me like a father would hold a son. And I felt love for the first time. I would not be standing here today if it weren’t for him,” he said, staring at her, his eyes holding her perfectly still.

“I started going to see your dad almost every day. We started walking at night. He saved me. He saved me from my own hell, from wrecking my life. When my parents died, I took off. I couldn’t grieve with Quinn and Evan. They were sad these wonderful people were gone and I couldn’t share their grief. I remember standing at the cemetery, watching Quinn and Evan, feeling like a hypocrite. All I felt was relief they were gone. My secret had been buried with them. No one would ever know. I couldn’t stay with my brothers and not tell them what really happened.” He took a deep breath, shifting from one foot to the other.

“So, I left Quinn to deal with everything and I just ran. I rode around the country, taking odd jobs, living in different towns and cities. I had already promised my father I wouldn’t ever claim part of the business, so I didn’t think there was any point in me hanging around. But I had no idea that when I left, the company was next to bankruptcy and Quinn was left to deal with it on his own. That’s my biggest regret, bailing on him when he needed me. They see me as the screwup, the perpetual troublemaker. A part of me would rather that because if they knew…” He clenched his fists tightly and took a deep breath. “If they knew what had happened to my mother and that I was…” He stopped speaking, as though he couldn’t go on.

Claire walked across the empty room, her shoes echoing on the hardwood floor until she was an inch from him. For a second she didn’t know what to do, and then she just did what felt right—she slipped her arms around him, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. She felt him stiffen at her touch and she wondered if he was going to pull away. But then the man she once thought was so tough, and so solitary, so invincible, wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her hair. She felt his plea, his need for comfort. And she gave him everything she had. She wished every ounce of love she had for him could seep through her and into him, and heal the little boy who grew up knowing he was conceived from an act of brutal violence. She felt his hands run through her hair, gently grasping a bunch of strands in his fist, holding her head to him. She listened to the rapid beating of his heart, hammering against his strong chest. She wanted to say so many things, to ask so many questions, but she was scared he would shut down.

“Jake,” she whispered, against his neck, kissing his hot skin, wishing she could erase the anguish. So much made sense to her now. He was nothing like the man she thought he was. He was much, much more. She stared into the blue eyes that normally sparkled with playfulness or desire, and wished that was what she was seeing right now, but the pain in them was raw and real. Claire didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what he needed to hear.

She felt as though the Jake she thought she knew, the Jake he presented to the world, crumbled piece by piece to reveal the man he was inside. And then she knew. She knew what he needed to hear, what she needed to admit aloud.

Her hands climbed the strong planes of his chest, her eyes holding his captive.

“I love you,” she whispered, feeling his hard muscles tense beneath her hands. She placed her mouth on the hot skin at the base of his neck. “I love you,” she repeated as her tongue followed her lips. She heard his groan. His hands clasped the back of her head. Thunder crashed somewhere in the distance and darkness enveloped them.

“Claire,” he rasped as his lips poured kisses over her face, her collarbone. She felt the tears he shed. She felt them on her face, felt them in her heart.

His hands moved over her feverishly and he kissed her with a hunger and urgency she’d never felt before. She pulled off his sweater, running her fingers down his body, over his shoulders, his arms. The dense muscles in his powerful arms and chest made her ache with an insatiable need as her hands worked their way down to the heat of him, hard and filling her hands.

“Claire,” he said, her name sounding like a tortured plea, as he braced her against the wall, pulling off her clothes with a frenzied gentleness. He made a feast of flesh, her breasts, his breath hot against her skin.