Steel My Heart Page 9

  "What do you mean?" I couldn't look up at him but I felt his eyes blazing into the back of my head as I studied the ground.

  He slipped his hand from mine and snaked it around to the small of my back. "You got this idea in your head." His lips brushed my earlobe and I felt his warm breath against my neck. "You think you're not worth nothin'. I don't know who told you that Emmy, but it's total bullshit, you hear me? You're fuckin' gorgeous, you need to know that."

  I lifted my face to protest. But before I could open my mouth, his lips were on mine. The world slid sideways as he folded me into his arms and pressed me backward. His lips were soft, but his kiss was not. The hard, insistent pressure overwhelmed my hesitation and I yielded to him with a sigh. Holding my hair in his fist, he walked us backward until my back was pressed against the sun-warmed brick wall that ran along the steps. Sandwiched between the brick and the hard granite of his chest, I had nowhere to go.

  A small sound escaped my throat and J. seized the opportunity to part my lips with a rough stab of his tongue. My mouth was suddenly filled with the taste of him. He swirled his tongue around mine, tasting me deeply, exploring every inch of my mouth. My stomach dropped and the slow fire for him that had been burning since I first lay eyes on him roared to brilliant life. I pressed closer, snaking my hands down to his waist and pulling him into me. I felt the hardness of his desire press into my stomach, telling me more about how beautiful he thought I was than his words ever could.

  A pack of teenagers hooted and catcalled as they ran past us up the steps. Reluctantly, I pulled back, pressing my hands against his chest. My engagement ring sparkled in the summer sun, chastising me.

  He pulled back, his breath ragged. "There are people," I whispered.

  The emerald shards in his eyes blazed fiercely. "I don't actually give a fuck," he growled. But he stepped back and gave me a hand, pulling me away from the wall. He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. His grip on my hand was suddenly painfully tight. I squeaked in fear and tried to pull away.

  Then the moment past. He chuckled softly. "Sorry. That wasn't very friendly of me. You don't need that."

  Yes! Yes I do need that! I've never needed anything more! My heart screamed at me to correct him, but when he continued talking it sank slowly.

  "I don't need it either." He looked at me quickly and explained. "Complications, that is. I'm trying to get on my feet here."

  I nodded slowly. "Right. Your graduation."

  I saw him startle then recover himself quickly. "Right. Gotta get on with life and all that."

  I chuckled lightly, willing my heart rate to slow down. "First maybe we should get on with climbing these stairs."

  He laughed, but there was no mirth. He was still holding my hand, but limply, as if he wanted to let me go but couldn't. We trudged up the steps to the plaza in front of the Museum. All around us tourists jumped up and down in imitation of the famous movie scene, but there was no joy for me in reaching the top. I wanted to be back down at the bottom, pressed between the wall and his body.

  Chapter 16

  J.

  He had no idea why he was here.

  The peace of this morning's ride had been shattered by the knowledge of where it would end up. He was nearly jumping out of his skin the whole time the doctor asked him questions about the custom chopper. The longer he spent in front of Emmy's building, the greater the risk he would stay until he saw her.

  And he didn't have to wait long. She had surprised him on the sidewalk, all smiles and sun-kissed hair. The anger that had driven him home in a rage last night dissipated the moment she greeted him. He hadn't noticed how bright her eyes were until that moment.

  As hard as he tried to keep the wall up around his heart, she kept doing little things to knock it back down. Her vulnerability, her hesitation, the way she flicked her eyes across his face as if he were a book she wanted to understand. It beguiled him. So much so that he found himself agreeing to being her friend, agreeing to spending the day with her, agreeing to set foot inside a cage when there was no snow on the ground, and agreeing to look at art of all things. Her nearness confused him and inflamed him to distraction.

  J. trudged up the steps to the Art Museum Plaza and turned back to look down the Parkway to Center City. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists. So long as she stayed out of reach, he could control his desire and ignore the feeling of her soft body pressed up against his. So long as he didn't catch a whiff of her scent on the breeze, he could forget the taste of her tongue.

  The glass towers reflected the sky and gleamed in the summer sun. Atop the Art Museum hill there was a slight breeze that blew the sweat from his brow. He counted backwards from ten. It was becoming a habit.

  "What do you see?" Emmy was at his elbow, enjoying the view, undoing all his efforts to calm himself. Her hair whipped about her face and she tucked it behind her ear, exposing her throat. J. had to look away hurriedly.

  "Buildings." He hadn't meant to mock her, but her nearness made it difficult to speak.

  She laughed as if he had made a wonderful joke, completely missing the sarcasm in his answer. "Not too long ago, there weren't any skyscrapers in Philly."

  J. nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Teach told me that. Nothin' could be taller than City Hall or something?"

  "Yeah, we learned about it in Intro to Architecture."

  J. was surprised. "You're an architect?"

  All the color drained from her face. "I'm not really anything anymore." She looked down at her feet and J. ran his words back in his head, wondering where he had hurt her.

  But before he could pinpoint the moment, she turned her back on the city. "Let's go in. My treat, right?"

  "Okay, I guess."

  "I'm dragging you to the Art Museum to keep me company. I can pay."

  "Can I ask you something though?" J. bit his tongue as the traitorous words spilled out. He didn't want to press her. He didn't want to get involved. She was going to marry some rich asshole and live in a penthouse that cost more money than he'd see in his lifetime. He didn't even know what he was doing here. "Why'd you say you weren't anything?"

  She opened her mouth wide in astonishment, then closed it with a pop. "Sorry, I was just being dramatic."

  "Bullshit."

  She pressed her lips in a tight line as the wind whipped across the plaza. "You know what I liked about you?"

  "Liked?" The past tense stung.

  "Yeah, liked. You just let me be. You didn't ask me question after question to confuse me." There was more rage in her voice than J. could understand. He felt his heart rate rise. His body was ready to fight even as his mind scrambled to keep cool.

  "I’m not tryin' to confuse you, Princess," he spat. "You asked me to be your friend. Well friends got each other’s back. And it seems to me like you got a problem that you need back-up on."

  Her mouth fell open again. Without a word, she spun on her heel and made to run back down the stairs. Everything in him told him to let her go, but his arms wanted her back inside them. In two long steps he had covered the distance between them and clutched her close. Her face was wet with tears and she was shaking hard. J. waited, smoothing her hair back from her face so that it didn’t stick to her tears.

  She opened and closed her mouth several times before she found the words. "I don't like saying things. Saying things makes them true."

  "Say what's gotta be said," J. replied, then ducked his head in embarrassment at hearing Teach's words coming out of his mouth. He was asking Emmy to do what he couldn't do.

  "I don't think you could understand what it's like." She pressed closer to him as she said this, shivering in spite of the heat radiating up off of the stone plaza.

  "I may surprise you."

  "I doubt you could." She pulled back and gazed out over the Parkway, a million miles away. "Things just...happen to me. As if I'm a reflection in a mirror instead of a real person. And what's worse than that is that I'm okay with this. I don't want to make
waves. I don't ever want to fight." She shuddered. "I tell myself it's better to make other people happy, even if it means I'm not.” She barked out a wild laugh as her tone rose up higher, verging on hysterical. "And what's even worse than that? Is I don't even know how to be happy anymore. It's scary to be happy because it forces me to realize I'm usually sad. So I just feel nothing."

  "I don't think you're feeling nothing. Sure doesn't sound like nothing to me." J. said carefully.

  She laughed again, manic. "No you're right, I feel awful. I feel angry, and hurt, and so fucking ashamed of what I've let myself become. But what can I do?"

  "Decide what you want to do."

  She looked at him, tears streaming down her face. "He scares me. I'm so fucking scared, J."

  Red rage flared brightly in J.'s skull. "Then you get out. Right now."

  She nodded for a moment, then shook her head. "You can't understand. Look at you. Big tough biker. Nothing scares you."

  J. laughed grimly. "That's not true at all. But you can't let them see your fear. You have to stand up for yourself, Emmy."

  "How do I do that?" Her voice was broken and ragged. She looked at J. as if begging him to give her the answer. He wished he had learned all of those sayings that Teach was always spouting, the calm philosophies that boiled life down to its essence. But all he could remember was what being behind bars had taught him.

  "You fight back."

  She shuddered at the word. "I hate fighting."

  "I can teach you."

  She looked at him in such utter surprise that he laughed out loud. "You said it yourself. I'm a big tough biker. You think I haven't taken my lumps? I've given more."

  "You mean, like, actually fight?"

  "Not fight, if that scares you. But defend yourself."

  J. watched her, fascinated, as a million little expressions played across her tear-stained face. She smiled shyly at first, biting her lip nervously. Then she pursed them in thought. They were the color of ripe raspberries and J. wanted to kiss them again. He wanted to kiss her and tell her that her fight was his now. He would be in her corner and if she asked him to, he would grab the man who was hurting her by the throat and show him the meaning of pain. He wanted to tell her that her worries were over, that she was safe with him. He wanted to say a million things to make her smile and to wipe those worry lines from her forehead.

  "Here, c'mere. Let's go down to the grass." He grabbed her hand.

  "I thought we were going into the museum?" she protested weakly.

  "This is way more important. And besides," J. flashed his dimples at her, hoping to dispel some of her anxiety, "I'm better at fighting than art."

  She clasped his hand. "I'll have to teach you," she relented. "About art."

  "You know about it?"

  "I was an art student. Up until six months ago."

  "Why'd you stop?"

  Her brow furrowed again and he raised his hand in understanding. "Okay, got it.

  "I wanted to make something that would change the world. Make some beauty out of all the ugliness." Her voice was soft and wistful, barely carrying over the breeze. "But I just gave it up."

  "Start over then. Right now. Remember the toast you made last night?"

  She looked up at him, eyes wide. "You remember?"

  "New beginnings."

  "You do remember." And in two steps she was in his arms, those raspberry colored lips on his once more.

  Chapter 17

  Emmy

  "First you gotta plant your feet. Like this, see?"

  I spread my feet in the soft grass, trying to imitate J.'s pose, feeling ridiculous while doing so.

  "No, not all rocked to the side like that, see?" He nudged me on the shoulder and I lost my balance, stepping heavily to one side. "See that? I barely touched you and you went down."

  "I didn't go down," I pouted. "I just stumbled."

  J. looked at me, face suddenly serious. "And you stumble in a fight, you're a goner."

  I pressed my lips together to hold back the sarcastic remarks. When was I ever going to be in a fight? I'm not a fighter. This was a waste of what little time we had together. The energy that had propelled me out of the house this morning was starting to ebb. I wanted to lie down and look at the clouds, with my head on J.'s shoulder. I wanted him to kiss me again and again and listen while I talked about happy, funny things. Things that ignored the darkness inside of me. I wanted him to go back to leaving me be. I didn't want him to care so much.

  "You payin' attention?" The note of annoyance in his voice snapped me back to reality. We were on the grassy lawn in front of the Art Museum. Children splashed in the fountain, screeching loudly. It did nothing for my composure.

  "Yeah I am," I grumbled. "Plant my feet. How's this?"

  He looked at me appraisingly. "Slide them out further. About this far apart." He slid his hands down to rest on my hips. My breath caught as he gently squeezed, cupping the ample flesh down there.

  I blushed. "Stop it."

  "Why?" He slid his hands up to the small of my back. A jolt of pure electricity shot up my spine at his touch.

  "There are people," I protested. Someone would know me. Robert had a million friends in this city.

  "Fuck 'em," he rasped, and his lips were on mine once again. He pulled me close to him, pressing himself into my stomach. "You know what you do to me?" he groaned into my mouth. "You feel that?"

  I moaned as his tongue parted my lips. Resisting him took too much effort in the face of the onslaught of his desire. My body went limp in response even as my mind still screamed out warnings of being discovered. Kissing J. made me feel like I was ethereal, like something shimmering and intangible.

  I felt like a million little minnows were swimming through my veins, little streaks of flashing silver. My pulse started to race and a low, throbbing note began to sound deep within me. With a wordless cry, I flung my arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to me, pulling him closer, inviting him to touch me everywhere he could, right here on the lawn.

  He suddenly pulled away with a hoarse moan and walked several paces away from me. I stood there frozen as he threaded his fingers together and planted them on top of his head. He was breathing hard, his broad shoulder rose and fell, spreading the patch on his vest wide across his well-muscled back. It felt like an hour passed by before he finally turned back to me.

  "Thought you just needed a friend," he laughed grimly.

  For once in my life, I spoke the first words that came to my head. I didn't calculate. I didn't weigh their consequences. I just said what I felt. "I think I just need you."

  His face broke open into a wide, beaming smile, so beautiful it made me laugh to see it. My heart pounded in reaction to my boldness.

  "Okay, girl, now pay attention," he barked, and widened his legs into fighting stance.

  My head reeled. A minute ago he was kissing me as if his life depended on it. Now we were practicing again? My newfound boldness prodded me to speak up. "I don't want to fight. I want you to kiss me again."

  "And I want you to look that fiancé of yours in the eye and tell him it's over." The emerald shards in his eyes blazed in fury that I knew wasn't directed at me.

  I understood in an instant. He was frightened for me too. He wanted to do something to help. This is what he could do.

  "Okay, hip-width apart, got it," I nodded.

  He smiled at me. "Now, don't do anything with your hands yet. Put them on your hips."

  I did as he asked. "I look like my mother," I remarked, catching a glimpse of my shadow.

  "She yell a lot?"

  "Not as much as my dad."

  "Hmm," J looked like he wanted to ask more, but thought better of it. I was grateful. How many tragic stories could I burden him with in one day? "So now you can feel your hips. I want you to rock them back and forth."

  "Like this?"

  He laughed. "No, not like you're shaking your ass." He flashed a dimple. "Though, thank you for that."
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  "Shut up."

  "No like this. Twist them." He twisted his hips back and forth, thrusting one forward, and then the next. The effect was hypnotic.

  "Thanks for that," I echoed, my gaze falling to his crotch as he thrust.

  He raised an eyebrow. "Damn, you're a little nasty, aren't you?"

  "I'm not exactly sure," I confessed, twisting my hips like he was. Though I had to admit, moving that way in front of him did feel strangely electric.

  "Okay!" He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Stop before you kill me. I'm only human." I immediately blushed and looked down, my heart nearly hammering out of my throat. "Emmy, stop that, you're gorgeous, own it." He was looking at me impatiently. I nodded my thanks, too flustered to speak.

  "Now then, you got your feet planted, you got your hips loose. Now what I want you to do is hit me."

  "What?" I threw up my hands in alarm. "I'm not going to do that!"

  "I can take it, believe me," he prodded. "What you're going to do is make a fist, like this," he held up a huge hand and balled it up. "See how all my knuckles are at the same level? You don't want one sticking up above all the other ones." He formed my fist into an imitation of his. "Tuck your thumb down, you're gonna break it. Okay now." He stood back and turned to the side. I want you to punch me in the arm. When you throw the punch, twist your hips like we just practiced."

  "Wait, I'm confused."

  He turned back immediately and held up his fists. "Pull back on a twist, throw the punch on a twist. Back and forth." He demonstrated slowly, twisting his body in a fluid motion. It almost looked like dancing.

  "Okay, I think I got it."

  "Okay," he turned. "I'll count to three. On three, you hit me right here," he tapped his muscular bicep right where it was encased in his tight black t-shirt. "Aim carefully, please," he grimaced. "One, two...."