Jack didn’t answer.
His hands left her face and his arms closed around her so tight she lost her breath.
“Does that,” she wheezed over his shoulder, “mean you’re not angry?”
His mouth at her ear, he replied, “Yes, it f**king well does.”
Her body relaxed into his and her arms slid around his waist.
“You seemed pretty angry when you were in the study,” she reminded him.
His nose nudged her ear before he whispered, “You’ll have to forgive me, poppet, I just found out the woman I love had been married before not to mention beaten viciously by her first husband. I was a little out of sorts.”
Belle’s tears stopped as did her breathing.
Jack said, “The woman I love”.
The woman he loved.
She was the woman he loved.
“You love me?” she breathed.
His head came up and his beautiful green eyes captured hers.
And he didn’t have to answer.
Because she saw it, stark, right there in his beautiful green eyes.
For a second.
Then he pulled away from the wall, grabbed her hand and started stalking down the hall, dragging her behind him.
He looked over his shoulder and ordered, “Call Dirk. Tell him Belle isn’t coming in today.” Belle looked over her shoulder too as she ran to keep up with his ground eating strides and she saw her mother, Olive, Joy, Rachel and Cassandra all gazing after them. Joy and Rachel were crying. Olive and Cassandra were smiling.
Jack continued, “Olive, you’re on your own for the next few hours.”
Then they were at the stairs, climbing up and before Belle could wrap her mind around what was happening, he had her in their room.
“Jack –” she started but he stalked to the bed, turned, sat, pulled her right along with him and laid back.
She fell on top of him, he rolled, pinning to her to the bed.
She blinked up at him.
“All right, Belle, starting with your first living memory, I want it,” Jack demanded.
Belle blinked again then asked tentatively, “Want what?”
“All of it.”
She blinked yet again and then asked incredulously, “Are you… um, are you talking about my life’s history?”
“Every minute you can remember.”
Belle put her hand to his neck in an effort to check his temperature and not appear like she was checking his temperature (just in case he was, say, delirious) and breathed, “Seriously?”
“Every minute.”
“That’s going to take a while,” she whispered. “I have a pretty good memory.”
“We’ll call up for lunch.”
“But –”
“And dinner.”
“Jack –”
His hand came to her face and his thumb slid across her cheekbone.
“Belle, talk.”
“Most of it’s boring,” she warned him.
“Belle –” Jack warned back.
She snapped her mouth shut.
Then she said, “Okay.”
Then she told her life story to criminally handsome James Bennett.
The man she loved.
The man who loved her back.
* * * * *
Jack
Jack stood in the bay window of his study, Baron and Gretl lying at his feet, his eyes trained to the view.
It was night, late, the sky midnight blue with fluffy dark grey clouds breaking the ink, the sky seamless with the dark of the sea, the muted white caps of intermittent waves fracturing the pervasive shadowy hue.
It was extraordinary, calming, beautiful in its vast simplicity and, until just over five months ago, Jack had never really noticed it in his life.
He allowed it to move through him, lightening the tightness in his chest, the heavy feeling in his gut.
But it didn’t halt the thoughts assailing his brain.
Joshua Bennett, James Bennett.
Brenna Addison, Belle Abbot.
Caleb Caldwell and Calvin f**king Cole.
Belle had been married. Married to a man that hurt her.
Again and again.
Just like Brenna.
He already understood the coincidences that bound him to Joshua and Brenna to Belle were more than coincidental. He’d heard Lewis’s disembodied voice. He understood the impossible was happening.
Now he knew it deep in his soul.
And this meant Belle was not safe.
Brenna had been tossed over a cliff.
This was not going to happen to his Belle.
I love you, Jack Bennett.
The words Belle whispered to him twenty minutes ago after he’d made love to her, while he still held her in his arms, she held him back and just before she’d drifted off to sleep sifted through his head.
And as they did, they settled into his heart.
No, Jack thought, his jaw tightening, not one thing was going to happen to his Belle.
He heard the door open behind him but he didn’t turn.
He still didn’t turn when he heard Olive’s voice.
“You called?”
The view stopped working, his chest got tight and that heavy weight settled in his gut.
“I want you to find someone to find Calvin Cole,” Jack told the window. “And when he’s found, I want him dealt with.”
“Are you going to be specific about how you want him dealt with?” Olive asked.
Yes, he most certainly was.
“When it’s done, he’ll have absolutely no desire whatsoever to see Belle again.”
“And do you have a limit as to how much you’re willing to invest in this project?”
Jack’s torso twisted so his eyes could fall on the shadow of Olive standing several feet in from the open door. As he did this, he heard dog tags jangling as Baron and Gretl’s heads came up but they otherwise didn’t move.
“As pertains to who you hire, your budget is unrestricted. But Calvin Cole will be convinced he has no desire, ever again, to see Belle and he’ll be convinced of this without money changing hands.”
There was a hesitation before, with a smile in her voice, Olive murmured, “I’ll see to it.”
She began to move to exit the room when Jack called, “I’m not done,” and she stopped.
Jack took in a breath.
Then he ordered, “I want Mickey Dempsey brought to me.”
There was another hesitation before, with uncertainty in her voice, Olive asked, “Jack, are you certain that’s wise? He’s a member of the media. You’re used to it but Belle’s plagued by it. She doesn’t need any more attention. And if you anger this man, he might see she gets it.”
“He had an agenda with that article and it wasn’t to harm Belle. It was to expose Cole.”