Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

But he pulled away. She could barely stir as she watched him pad across the room to search for and retrieve a towel from a cabinet. He returned, and sat beside her as he gently, thoroughly, cleaned her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “for having sense to…” She glanced down at her stomach meaningfully.

A corner of his mouth turned up. “Only sensible thing I’ve done, when it has to do with you.”

When he’d cleaned her, he put the towel aside and gathered her up in his arms. The bed was too small for him, but he managed to twist and turn himself so that they lay cradled together, his front to her back. His lips ran back and forth over her neck, his hand curved at her waist. After the heated activity only minutes earlier, they were quiet now, listening to the predawn birds stirring in the trees outside.

She wondered if, when the sun came up, her landlady would ask her to leave. No mistaking what she and Jack had been doing. Well, she could find someplace else to live. A small price to pay for what had been the most extraordinary experience of her life.

And Nemesis? Would they ask her to leave, too? That would be a bitter cost. Nemesis meant everything to her. She couldn’t leave them. She had to continue with their work.

Yet she couldn’t regret what she’d done, what she and Jack had done together. She didn’t know what it meant, or what the future might bring, but for now, she could allow herself this moment of repletion. She had unleashed her true self, without fear. It had been … remarkable. Jack was remarkable.

Yet the mission was ongoing. She had no idea if it would succeed or not. And if, by luck and determination, they were successful in their plans, then Nemesis would have no further use for Jack, and he would have to go. It would be far too dangerous for him to remain in England. And she’d never leave.

“Wish I could stay,” he said drowsily.

“I wish you could, too.” But it was impossible. Everything about the two of them together was impossible.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tired, sated, his brain fogged with weariness and thoughts of Eva, Jack climbed in the window to his room. Dawn was minutes away, and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

He tensed the minute he got inside his room.

Simon leaned against the wall, watching the window, arms folded over his chest.

“Whatever you got to say,” Jack muttered, peeling off his coat, “say it quick. I ain’t in the mood for lectures.” He threw his coat and waistcoat onto a chair and did the same with his shirt. He had a mad impulse to press his shirt to his face. It might carry Eva’s scent, and he wanted to pull it deep into his lungs.

Instead, he made himself move to his washstand and pour water into a basin, which he splashed on his face.

“No lecture.” The toff’s voice was dangerously quiet. In the mirror, Jack saw Simon’s gaze roam over his back as if looking for the best place to stick a knife. “A warning.”

Turning around, Jack dried his face on a cloth. “Threatening me ain’t very smart, gov.”

“I don’t make threats,” Simon answered, still in that deadly soft voice. “When I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it. So mark me, Dalton,” he continued, pushing away from the wall, “if you hurt Eva in any way, I will kill you.”

Though the nob didn’t have Jack’s size, it was clear Simon knew how to scrap. Only a real fighter stood the way Simon did now, body and hands loose but ready. His sharp blue eyes revealed a fighter’s confidence. Jack could beat Simon, but the toff would give him a hell of a brawl.

Fury boiled through him at the idea that he might hurt Eva. “Think she can’t take care of herself?”

“I know she can. I’ve known her far longer than you have, and I’ll still know her after you’ve gone.”

Jack didn’t want to think about that, about when the work against Rockley was over and what it meant for him. He could only live in each moment as it happened.

“That’s your plan, then,” he sneered. “Move in after I leave and help nurse her broken heart. Offer a shoulder to cry on, then offer her a lot more.” The thought of Eva with Simon—or her with anyone else—made Jack want to break every piece of furniture within ten miles, then smash down the walls of every building.

To the toff’s credit, he looked appalled. “Christ, no. Eva’s my friend. I’m not looking for a way to get under her skirts.”

“You did.”

“Years ago. I don’t think of her in that way any longer.”

The cage of anger loosened slightly around Jack’s chest. He sat on the edge of his bed and tugged off his boots, letting them fall heavily to the floor. “Then tell me what the hell this is about.”

Simon pointed at him. “This is about you not hurting Eva. Not making her promises you can’t keep.”

Jack knocked Simon’s hand aside. “No one’s promised anyone anything.” How could he? He’d nothing to offer, nothing to vow. All he had was vengeance, and when that was fulfilled— if it was fulfilled—he’d have nil. Not even his name, since he was believed to be dead. Of course he’d leave when the mission was over. He had to. He couldn’t expect anything else.

But Simon, goddamn Simon, had planted seeds in his head. About things that could never happen.

Eva—his. And him being hers. Not just for a few weeks of pleasure, though God knew how incredible that pleasure was. But for months, years. Maybe longer.

His heart beat heavy beneath his ribs, thinking of this. But when the mission was done, and if he still lived, he’d have to move on. Staying would be too dangerous, even if the coppers thought he was dead. There was always a chance someone might recognize him, and he’d be on the run again.

“She understands what’s what,” he said, more for his own benefit than Simon’s. “It’s all temporary.”

Simon exhaled. “As long as that’s recognized by both of you. Once the mission is over, you’re not useful to Nemesis anymore. You leave, and she can move on without regret. Without you.”

“Believe me, gov,” Jack said, “no one knows that more than me.”

* * *

In Bethnal Green, happiness wasn’t handed out like pints of ale. You had to find it—or make it—for yourself. It was either that, or live in a constant state of rage and misery.

When Jack awoke, he let himself lie in bed for a few moments, his gaze roaming around this cramped little room that had become, for a short while, his home. Simon’s warnings still rang in his ears, and their reminder that he could only have Eva for a short while longer. The thought sent a sharp pain through his chest. He rubbed the heel of his hand between his ribs, but the pain wouldn’t recede.

He made himself focus on what good he did have, same as he’d done back on the streets of Bethnal Green.

Last night … His body stirred and his pulse hitched just thinking about it, about Eva, and how she’d finally let free her wildness, her heat. With him. That had been best of all, knowing that she’d shared that secret part of herself only with him. They might not have as long together as he would’ve wanted, but he’d take everything he could get and be glad of it.

And they finally had the evidence against Rockley they needed. Revenge was like vinegar on his tongue. Close. So damn close. He’d been waiting five years. Within a handful of days, he’d see Rockley topple. What would happen afterward, he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t think about it now. Now was for savoring the anticipation of that bastard’s ruin. It might not be as satisfying as killing him, but maybe Nemesis was right and having Rockley live in shame and disgrace could be better. He could sit and stew and let regret tear the flesh from his bones, the way Jack had done in prison.