The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 18

I wake early the following day lying on my back, completely entangled in Jake's limbs on my side of the bed. He's wrapped around me possessively, one arm around my waist, pulling me into his abdomen so that his face is in the nape of my neck, the other arm bent behind me, so his fingers are entwined in my hair above. I try to maneuver out of his grasp, but my efforts only cause him to pull me in tighter, making it nearly impossible to get out. His legs looped and twisted through mine, so I'm immobile in every way, and I am stiflingly hot because he's so naturally warm.

Who knew Jake was a cuddler in bed? More like a squeezer; it suffocates all life out of you.

Although part of my brain isn't surprised because he's so hands-on and expressive in every aspect of waking life, I guess being this way in sleep is a given. I lie still, staring at the dark ceiling for a moment, listening to the heaviness of his deep breathing. He seems so peaceful, and being held this way is comforting. I feel cherished and safe. I have never slept with a man, even my ex-boyfriend never spent the night, so this is new and strangely nice. I am at ease.

It dawns on me slowly that my usual night terrors didn't wake me today. Instead, the sound of car alarms outside did. Having Jake sleep with me kept them at bay, despite the events yesterday with Ray Vanquis. A little rush of affection swamps me at the thought that he can keep me safe even from my dreams, and my body heats with awe.

I glimpse at the alarm clock on my mother's side table and see it's only 5.00 am. I don't need to get up anytime soon, but I'm wide awake now. I try to wriggle to my side to get comfier, managing it very slowly before Jake shifts in his sleep, releasing me for a second. I quickly turn before he hauls me back into him in a spoon hold. His body behind me, both arms coming around me snugly, one leg lifting over mine and pulling them against his, so I am pulled in tight once more, and my butt is nestled in his groin.

For the love of God, Jake!

I can barely move again as he's managed to pin my arms against my chest, his nose nuzzled into the back of my neck, so his breath tickles my skin below the collar of my oversized nightshirt. I wonder at this position how I'm completely relaxed, with no warning signals going off in my brain, no fear or awkwardness, no nerves because it's Jake, and with Jake, that all stopped a long time ago. I wonder how many poor teddy bears in his childhood died this way.

"Emma," Jake mutters in his sleep, and I still to listen. I gasp as his hold tightens a bit too firmly. I wonder what he's dreaming about and wonder if it's a dream that has him grasping onto me for dear life. It would explain the death grip.

"I'll kill him!" he growls into my hair and his body tenses; my heart constricts, causing a wave of fear to wash over me. He's dreaming about Vanquis; I know he is. Maybe that's why he has been wrapped around me all night, holding me close, protecting me, and evidently more affected by it than I was.

I wriggle my arms free of his vice-like grip and try to pull them loose so I can breathe; it is like being squeezed by an octopus, its limbs wrapped all around me, trying to expel the air from my body. I pull at his bare forearms, expanding the space around my ribs just enough to take a breath. I tug some more, circling his wrists, releasing myself just enough to sag away from his body a few inches. I glance back at his sleeping face; his T-shirt has ridden up, showing off the sculpted abdomen and the start of the tattoos on his ribs. He is the ultimate specimen of a man in every detail.

I turn to face him, still held firmly in his embrace. I study his face, the shadow of his ever-present stubble, and the chiseled features that grace magazines frequently. He's perfection in every line and curve. Thick eyebrows, and eyelashes so dark they're almost black, urge me to reach up and trace his sleeping features with my fingertips. I'm shocked by its intensity and try to move away to give myself some breathing space.

My movement away from him triggers another sleepy reaction, and he reaches out to me, his eyes still closed, his face still relaxed in slumber. His hand grazes my breast on its way to my throat; he cups my jaw, pulls me forward, so we're nose to nose, and exhales softly. Our mouths are only a hairbreadth apart, his forehead against mine, and we inhale the same air. My body jumps into high alert, my breath held from the moment his fingers grazed the intimate parts of my chest, and I'm tingling with so many sensations that I can't explain what I'm feeling.

The fact that his action was innocent quells any fear; there's no panic in my response, no fluttering stomach. Instead, the intimacy is sending me haywire.

Without thought, I lean up gently and kiss his mouth lightly, slightly touching lips, almost chaste. I don't know what makes me do it. I've no reasoning or thought in my head, only this need to feel his mouth on mine. His soft, warm, full lips enticed me for just a moment to see how it felt again, pushed on by the proximity and gentle warmth of his breath against my own. My body reacts low down inside, spreading heat through my pelvis and shivers down my legs.

I'm playing with danger, and trepidation is beginning to rise within me, fear at my reaction to him. He smells familiar, his mouth too alluring. I peck him on the lips again, only slightly firmer this time, urged on by something inside me. But this time, he responds, his mouth parting slightly, and he kisses me back, pushing his mouth to mine.

I freeze. My heart rate escalates into a frenzy, and I hold still, very, very still. He doesn't open his eyes or move. He inhales heavily, indicating he's still asleep.

Crap. What the hell am I doing?

I try to move away, no longer able to trust myself, but his hand on my jaw tenses and pulls my face forward as he sinks his lips to mine. It's tender at first, my heart pounding, my head spinning, and every part of my body responds with a vengeance. I open my mouth to his advance as his hand slides down to my breast once more, lying over it and cupping it while my body sizzles under his palm. His lips move against mine seductively, kissing me, no tongues, but it feels like the most erotic thing in the world.

Jake kisses precisely as I expected him to. Mind-blowing and experienced. His mouth matches mine in soft, grazing movements making me lightheaded, and my breathing turns shallow. I allow my hands to wander up to his face and trace his square jawline softly, bringing us closer together. He feels so good! His face is firm, and I want this more than I should. I let myself move into the touch and let it continue, lost in how he feels and tastes.

His hand moves down boldly, curling behind my butt, and pulls me into his groin, making it clear he's aroused, his hard body pressing into my pelvis. I groan involuntarily, closing my eyes tighter, letting him take control, ignoring the little voices in my head trying to pull me away. His lips part further, pressing into mine, and his tongue slides into my mouth, setting me alight with passion and deepening it. It's erotic and intense; the sensation causes my stomach to flutter and flip. His tongue feels divine, and I respond with a longing I never knew I was capable of as his arms come around me suggestively, breath hitching between us. He tastes like heaven, and I'm lost in what we are doing for minutes, all reason floating away.

One hand releases me to latch onto my thigh, pulling me further up the bed, putting it around his waist, grinding our pelvises together. He maneuvers over me, his body weight pressing down, and our groins ram snugly against one another. I can feel everything, my body sizzling with the sensations and shallow and fast breathing. The passion ignited fully; his hands and arms cage my head, and my fingers cup his jaw, pulling him closer, mouths thoroughly intertwined, his stubble grazing my soft face.

Hell!

I know where this will head, escalating the way it is in the darkness, our bodies moving against each other in the first throes of foreplay. I know I won't have the strength to say no or stop it. His kiss is too addictive to want to stop. He is causing cravings I have never experienced, a low, deep, throbbing heat, and the desire to have him satisfy my hunger. I instinctively know these urges are a longing to have sex, something I've never felt before, something new and overpowering. The apex of my thighs hard against him is almost on fire, and waves of desire pulse up to my stomach.

He rubs against me, breathing heavily, his kiss becoming urgent, shifting the gear from erotic passion into burning lust. Our tongues are caressing one another in an intense motion; he knows how to seduce my mouth in ways that have me gasping for more, his exquisite taste. It's like we instinctively know how to come together and kiss each other. A perfect fit. He's the first man I have ever wanted to do this to me, and he lets me lose myself in him. My first French kiss ever; it's beyond heavenly. I moan out softly, lost in this. My hands are in his hair and nails raking down the back of his neck and over his shoulders, feeling him out.

Every alarm bell in my brain starts going crazy, deafening me as the realization dawns on me, and the lust-fueled haze subsides a little. I'm on the verge of complete surrender or complete panic, my body ready to self-combust, starting to come to terms with what I am doing when he just stops. With an instant halt to all of it, he pulls away.

He moves back off me, rolling to his side, resting his face against me, his body relaxing. He mumbles something incoherent and returns to deep heavy breathing while I pause and wait, scared to move or breathe, and realize he has been asleep this whole time. I'm lying here panting and heaving, and he's, well, he's sleeping! I gawp and stare at his profile in disbelief.

It wasn't real!

He's dreaming and acting out in his slumber, sleepwalking somehow. I'm confused and disappointed but also relieved and yet conflicted. He'll never know what we did; he'll have no memory of it. I'm not sure if I want this or not. I have no clue what I'm doing or even thinking.

I think about kissing him again, trying to rouse him properly, don't. Instead, I slide free and get out of bed, aware of how close I was to screwing everything up with him. Despite being utterly captive to how kissing him felt, it's as though I've broken some line of trust, that I've abused him in his sleep, and it makes me feel disgusting, no better than my mother's perverted lovers and what they did to me. I climb out of bed and get up quickly in a rush to put distance between us and cool my overheated senses.

I wander into the living room, shaking and unsure of what to feel. I'm angry and so confused.

Why would I kiss him like that? It's Jake! I have no excuse. I wasn't drunk; I wasn't half asleep. Maybe it was the shock? But that kiss … Oh, my god … that kiss!

It must be the shock of everything from yesterday: the episode with my mother, then with Vanquis, and now here is Jake, my savior, my protector, the hunk of the Carrero empire. He is gorgeous in every way, and, despite my issues with my past, I am still capable of being turned on. By him, anyway. I am a woman, after all! I can see why my body would respond to him that way. And that kiss is something no woman could deny.

I shouldn't have touched him that way. I crossed the line, and I'm glad he never woke up to realize what we were doing.

I could forget it ever happened if my brain would stop turning it repeatedly in my mind. I can still feel his mouth on mine, his taste, and how his tongue slid against mine, urging my body to tingle and sizzle. I can't shake it.

The feel of his muscular body caging me in, pressing down on me …

Stop it!

My skin is still tingling from head to toe. I shiver and reach for the throw on the couch, wrapping myself in it; I stand by the window, looking out over dark Chicago, trying to distract myself. The rough, downtrodden area looks worse by moonlight, and I'm counting the hours until I get out of here. It's a distraction anyway, something I need right now instead of obsessing over the highly erotic episode a few minutes ago.

"Hey," Jake's husky voice startles me, and I turn quickly, my face flushing with heat and shame. Embarrassment oozing from every pore, I wonder if there's a possibility he did know what we were doing, after all, since he's awake so soon. "I woke up in a bed alone. Thought you'd run off," he says, smiling lazily, still looking sleepy with messed-up hair and in his T-shirt and jeans. He's the poster boy for ultimate sexiness, and I swallow the urge to groan with horniness.

Crap. Don't go there.

"Hey," I respond quickly, looking back to the window, unable to make eye contact with him while the memory of his mouth is still on mine, my body going insane with a thousand confusing sensations and on high alert at his nearness.

"I'll call the airfield in a bit. You want to go see your mom before we leave?" He yawns, and I catch him from the corner of my eye stretching out, elongating his body, and showing off his naked midriff with the motion. I inwardly tense. Sculpted abdominal muscles, memories of his body pressed on top of mine, the way I reacted to him, the heat in my body refuses to simmer down with so much of him on show right now, and I curse my weakness.

"No, I don't need to see her. She's fine; her injuries are minor," I retort quickly, flippantly, the tension in my voice giving away my emotion, but he doesn't pick up on it, or if he does, he ignores it. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders while casually resting his chin on my head like he has no clue. He's acting like nothing has happened, and I tense up even more. I shrug out of his arms, unable to control the longings I'm feeling. Letting the throw slide off onto the floor at his feet, I duck toward the kitchen and catch sight of him frowning at me.

"Something wrong?" he asks while studying my face. I put my head down and move into the kitchen, switching on the kettle, avoiding him. Knowing I'm probably blushing like mad, I will my burning face to calm down.

"No," I answer, overly bright, and focus on getting the mugs ready.

"You're acting weird, shorty. What gives?" He's frowning. Noticing it from the corner of my eye, I carry on with what I'm doing; the blood has rushed to my face even more now, and I am mildly freaking out.

"I'm just making coffee," I say with a shrug, trying to appear normal.

Jesus, Jake, leave me be. Stay back.

"Look at me then," he commands. I tense and glance up while pasting a fake smile on my lips. Raising my eyebrows before returning to what I'm doing, I feel the heat radiating all over me and quickly look at anything but him, but that is so hard to do in a space this small.

"Okay, what did I do?" He crosses his arms menacingly, his biceps bulging, the stubborn Carrero look plastered all over him. I think I may faint.

"Nothing," I laugh nervously, then drop the spoon and spill coffee granules everywhere with fumbling hands.

Shit.

"Spill, Anderson. I'll torture it out of you; you know I will." He walks toward me with a look that means business, and I cave weakly. If I let him get too close, I may self-combust. I may pass out right in front of him.

I need to calm my hormones down.

"We kissed," I squeak as he gets dangerously close to touching me. Then I hide behind my loose hair as shame envelopes me tenfold. I can't tell him that I practically molested him in his sleep, that we were dry humping, and I know what he feels like turned on and pushed up against me.

"I've been known to do more than kiss in my sleep," he laughs, with no hint of shock. "They call it 'sexsomnia.' It happens very rarely. It's like a form of sleepwalking." He shrugs it off, obviously in acceptance of this quirk of his.

Only Jake would have a manly sex-related sleeping disorder.

Well, that explains a lot!

He comes to stand beside me, and I try not to shrink.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks, his breath warming my neck, indicating his closeness. He has no idea that internally my body is acting like a pubescent teen after her first sexual experience. I tense and move away to get more coffee from the cupboard, glad of the reason to move away.

"No. It was …you were asleep." I have no idea what to say.

Do I admit that I was the one who started it? That I liked it.

My heart is pounding through my chest, his proximity making breathing difficult suddenly, in a way I've never reacted to him before.

"Well, that's not fair; you get to have a memory, but I have none. I demand a re-enactment," he quips. There is humor in his voice as his hand catches my shirt from behind, pulling me back against him softly, his mouth by my ear. "How about a replay, Anderson? Literally, make my dreams come true."

I swat him away and pull myself free, my skin burning and shame swamping me. I should have known he would react this way. Casanova Carrero! He makes a joke about everything, so why not this?

I can't help myself. I giggle at his playfulness, relieving some of the tension, the usual flirty Jake, and I try to twist free from his body which I'm a little too sensitive to.

"Go away," I scold lightly as he tries to capture me again, holding my wrists in front of me so I can't get away from him. My body held taught, his mouth by my ear, and he has my back pressed to his abdomen.

God!

"I want a second take, so I can say I remember that time I made out with you in my sleep." His husky voice sends tremors through my stomach. I wriggle free, and he lets me go, grinning wildly. He tilts his head boyishly. "At least this time, you're smiling about it, Bella."

I turn to look at him, knowing my face is probably puce from top to bottom, and meet with the relaxed, effortless look on his face. I shake my head and tilt it to the side to match his. His mention of the earlier kitchen kiss in such a blasé way makes me feel calmer. I wish I had his ability to brush things like this off so easily, to make them all out to be nothing except forgettable misdemeanors. I guess when you've had more bedroom romps than hot meals, it's easy. This is nothing to him at all.

"I can't be mad about things you do while unconscious," I lie, fully mindful that this was all on me, a secret I'll never tell him. He stops for a moment taking in my face, his smile slipping as something registers in his mind, and my insides somersault.

"Wait, you said we kissed? Not that I kissed you. So, you kissed me back?" He moves forward, closing the gap between us, his face now serious; all humor is gone. I gulp and hesitate, unsure how to answer.

Crap. Fuck. Shit.

Inhaling sharply, I look down at what I'm doing, my thoughts scrambling in panic at how to answer him now. My mouth dries up.

Please don't, Jake! Don't go there.

"Morning." Sophie's tired voice comes out from behind Jake's all-consuming stance, and she wanders into view dressed in a fluffy onesie with rabbit ears on the hood. Her presence makes me sag with relief. I have never been so happy to have a third person show up and save me from Jake's burning gaze.

"What time is it?" she yawns loudly, and I grab the opportunity to dive away from Jake toward the toaster as his attention is diverted.

"Just after six," Jake answers, turning toward her. I catch his as he turns back, and a moment passes between us. I know that look; it's his 'we'll come back to this' look. He turns his full attention to Sophie. "Why you up this early?" he goes on. I exhale as a knot of apprehension rises, knowing I haven't dodged the bullet fully.

"Nightmares," she says softly, and we connect visually, kindred in many ways. I throw her an understanding smile, and she gives one back in acknowledgment. Jake notices the look but says nothing, just a hint of narrowed eyes and a thoughtful chew on his lip before it disappears. His sharp, keen focus never misses a beat.

"So, we're all up at the crack of dawn, it seems," I inject, overly bright. I finish making three mugs of coffee and slide two across the counter toward them.

"Looks that way," Sophie sighs as they lift their mugs. "Are you going to see your mom today before you go?" she asks innocently, but I throw her a warning look that equates to, "Not in front of Jake."

"No, Sophie. I said everything I had to say to her yesterday. I wish you would reconsider coming with me today," I plead. I don't like the thought of leaving her here alone at such a young age.

"Your mom will be discharged in a day or two, Emma; I'll be okay." She looks determined. Jake looks at me, then her, confusion on his face. I hadn't yet told him of Sophie's plan to stay here another week.

"She's following us in seven days," I point out to him and briefly see the twitch in the corner of his eye; he doesn't like this idea but knows it's not his place to say anything. His jaw tensing, he gets up and leaves the room. I know him too well; he's walking off, so he doesn't say precisely what he's thinking.

"Sophie, yesterday a man called Ray Vanquis came here. I know he's the one who did this. He was very aggressive; he may come back," I tell her, scared to divulge the full story in case it makes her afraid. Maybe I should so that she'll come with us today after all. She swallows hard, her eyes shifting to the window; she looks nervous.

"Your mom told me not to tell you it was him," she replies softly, and I nod, indicating I already guessed that.

"He won't come here until she gets out," she adds hastily. I want to point out that he already did, but her expression hushes me. For a moment, she looks so young and uncertain that my throat catches with emotion. I can't leave her here alone. The thought of him returning when she's here alone makes me tense up. I hadn't thought about this fact. I realize she's staring at me, and I assume my expression is betraying me.

"I don't want to go until you come too, Sophie," I say, sounding uptight, suddenly unsure about what to do, my insides tied up in knots.

"I know, Emma, but I can't leave her helpless and injured." She tries for a smile, but I stare at her impassively.

"Is that the issue?" Jake's voice breaks in. He's at the door with his cell in his hand as though he's just used it, walking back in at the opportune time.

"She has no one else," Sophie answers him, glancing at me warily. I experience a pang of guilt but push it down. She has no clue how complicated my relationship is with my mother. I watch as Jake frowns, his eyes losing focus for a second as he thinks something through. Even standing like that, the heat of attraction surges through me still, and I push it away.

"If I arrange for someone to care for her until she's well, Sophie, will you come with us? Today?" He's in negotiation mode, Mr. Business, and watching him lifts my heart. From the second he met Sophie, I knew he had taken an instant like to her; I knew he would help her. Jake is that kind of person.

"Maybe," she says quietly, mulling it over in her mind. "If I can go see her and tell her myself," she adds softly. My heart lifts, hopeful, satisfied that he just gave me an answer to this problem. The sooner I detach this girl from this situation, the better. I could kiss him right now; he is just beyond amazing sometimes.

"It's a deal then, Sophs," he beams at her, dazzling and charming. "I'll call an agency this morning and hire a live-in nurse until she's fully recovered. On me." His eyes flick to me, asking for my permission, but I shrug, a smile creeping over my face. At this moment, I could not love him more than I do right now. He is just everything to me.