Jo Robertson - The Avenger

Jack turned around and took in the whole of her – bare legs beneath skimpy panties under the open sweater, the curve of one breast barely visible from the deep green lapel that nearly matched her eyes, the creamy skin of the flesh on her belly.

"I'm sorry you waited," he said at last.

The flash of knowledge in her eyes showed she knew what he was talking about. Graduation night, years ago. He remembered looking down at her from the stage where he'd sat in his graduation cap and gown. Her arms and legs were tan and smooth from the summer sun. The white dress she wore had reminded him that he was the one who'd taken her virginity – like a horny youth with no consideration for his partner.

After the graduation ceremony ended, she would have waited for him at the agreed-on place. He thought of her sitting in the dugout, still warm from the day's heat, perching on the dusty bench in the pretty dress. He imagined her looking around the baseball field one last time, hopeful, patient, until the sun began its steady rise in the eastern sky. Even when she finally left, she would've been certain that he had a good reason for disappointing her.

Beyond that he didn't want to imagine. Had she gone to his foster parents' house? Had they told her he had packed his things and gone? Had she searched in his upstairs bedroom? Found the empty dresser drawers and closet? Looked again at the bed on which she'd given herself to him? Cried over his desertion?

He wanted to tell her the whole story, explain why he hadn't kept his promise, why he hadn't shown up at the dugout on graduation night. Tell her what'd happened to Roger, the wicked stepfather in their grim fairy tale. He shoved the what-ifs out of his mind. Irrational meandering was pointless and completely out of character for the hard, calculating Invictus soldier he was now. And if he ever came clean with her, she might hate him even more.

Olivia eyed him cautiously over the rim of her cup. "If you're truly sorry, you'll explain what happened."

He raked his fingers through his hair, still damp from the light drizzle outside. "You don't understand," he muttered. "There's so much I can't tell you."

Her lovely lips thinned. "Is the case an excuse, Jack?" she accused. "Did you really come here to disrupt my life again?"

"No, Livvie, God, no." The old name slipped inadvertently from his lips. "I swear I had no idea the Olivia Gant I was supposed to recruit was… was the Olivia I once knew."

"But you never really knew me, did you?" Her voice vibrated with censure. "If you had, you wouldn't have gone off and left me at Roger's mercy. You couldn't have known he would disappear the day you left."

"Something happened that I had no control over. I had to leave."

She swatted his explanation away with a wave of her hand. "Without a word? Without a note or phone call?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

"And you never explained."

"I'll tell you why as soon as I can."

"No," she said through clenched teeth. "Never mind. It was too many years ago, a lifetime ago." She shook her head, reached for his cup, and placed their dishes in the sink. "It doesn't really matter now, does it? We're no longer the same people."

Even as she spoke the words aloud, Jack was struck by how true they were. Everything was different between them now. He understood perfectly. He still loved her. She probably cared for him. But loving each other wasn't enough to break down the barriers between them. Jack had changed in ways she couldn't begin to fathom.

"I want to tell you anyway. Some day."

Olivia watched the guarded look enter Jack's strangely dilated eyes, the dark irises melding with pupils in a black maelstrom. She suspected that whatever he told her would be half-veiled truths and artfully constructed lies. Instinct told her that since Jack left all those years ago, he'd traveled murky paths she couldn't begin to understand.

She turned her back to him, rinsing out the cups at the sink and feeling his eyes on her, but his touch still came as a shock. Don't touch me, she begged silently. Don't tear down the last defense I have against you. Don't break my heart again.

His fingers running down the sleeves of her sweater were light as feathers, gentle as a summer breeze. His breath at her neck was warm and scented with mint. Her heart galloped in her chest like runaway horses. Surely he could hear the thump-thump of it knocking against her ribs. "Don't," she whispered, but whether she meant don't start or don't stop she didn't know.

The lean length of him pressed against her back. He'd grown so much broader, so muscled and scarred since she'd known him as a boy. Part of it thrilled her, but some terrified her. A barely contained fierceness lurked beneath those muscles, ready to be unleashed at the slightest provocation, arousing and frightening at the same time.

As he nuzzled her neck, his mouth was as soft and sweet as she remembered. She felt her bones melt and gripped the sink edge to steady herself. "Don't," she moaned again.

"You don't mean that." He lifted the heavy hair from her nape and breathed in deeply.

Her eyes fluttered as she quavered beneath the touch of his hands and lips on her body. His arms slid under the sweater and around her, his fingers spreading over the quivering mass of her stomach. His hands moved up to her breasts to cup them through the filmy material of her tank top, his thumbs gently circling the nipples until they hardened against her clothing. Carefully, as if she'd break like a delicate piece of Dresden china, he turned her around.

Cupping her face between his large hands, he rubbed his lips softly against hers. "God, I've missed you."

He breathed the words into her mouth and she pressed back, eager for more, desire outweighing fear. His groan smothered her as his kiss grew more insistent. He parted her lips and bit the lower one in a tender nip that had her pulse racing. His tongue dipped into her mouth, exploring the soft flesh.

As her tongue met his, the sensation plunged straight to her lower stomach. She heard his ragged breathing, and her arousal dampened her panties. "Jack," she cried, clutching his back. She couldn't get enough of him. She wanted to crawl inside him, be such an intimate part of him that he'd never leave again. He was so beautiful, so strong and beloved. The hard jut of his erection thrust against her belly, sending shivers through her. Unable to stop herself, she reached for his hard length.

Suddenly he froze, buried his face in her hair, and groaned like a man in pain. His arms tightened around her in a fierce hold for several long moments. Carefully he stepped back, removed her hand, and held her at arm's length. Dazed and frustrated, she stared up at him. His eyes darkened with a predatory gleam. Her lips parted and she ran her tongue over them.

He took another faltering step back, looking rattled, not at all the cool, distant agent who'd stood in her office doorway a few days ago. "I should go now," he muttered. "I have to leave."

She slumped against the counter. "I don't understand. Wh – why? What's wrong?"

"Goddammit, Olivia, I'm sorry." The words were contrite, but the tone was angry, the growl of lust, not the whisper of regret.

Moments later she stood alone by the kitchen island as the harsh slamming of the front door sounded from the foyer. An ache deep and low in her belly made her want to weep.

He had no choice, Jack told himself as he opened the car door.

If he stayed with Olivia, he didn't know what might happen. He felt as if his entire world was ripped inside out. His powers and temperament unpredictable, his emotions upheaved in a way they hadn't been since he was a teenager. No, he amended. It wasn't quite true that he didn't know what would happen. He had a fair idea of the chaos this uncontrolled energy could cause. The beast in him would unleash like an electric maelstrom in front of Olivia.