Page 24 of Wrapped Up

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I turn, searching his face for any sign of deceit, but all I see is honesty and raw anguish. “It's unforgivable,” he continues, his voice hardening. “If you're unhappy in a relationship, have the decency to end it. Cheating… it's a cowardly way out.”

The conviction in his voice leaves me stunned. It's like looking into a mirror, seeing my own hurt and anger reflected back at me. For the first time since that night at the club, I feel a spark of something dangerous. Hope.

I take in his features, the moonlight casting shadows over his face, emphasizing the tension in his jaw and the slight furrow between his brows. In that moment, I see beyond his charming façade and catch a glimpse of a man who might understand the scars I carry better than I'd like to admit.

Meeting Jack's intense gaze, filled with raw emotion, makes me swallow hard. It would be so easy to give in, to let myself fall. But the memory of Felix's betrayal rises up like acid in my throat, a painful reminder of why I've kept my defenses up for so long.

“I don't know what to believe anymore,” I confess, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

Jack steps closer, his warmth enveloping me. “Then don't believe,” he murmurs, his breath teasing my skin. “Just feel.”

His words are tempting, but my mind is still torn between doubt and desire.

“How can I trust my feelings when they've led me astray before?” I ask.

Jack's jaw clenches, but then his expression softens. He reaches out, fingers ghosting along my cheek. “It was not a move, Jennifer. What happened between us that night… I've never experienced anything like it.”

The intensity in his eyes, the slight tremor in his touch… it feels real. Dangerously, intoxicatingly real.

“I want to believe you,” I whisper, surprised by my own honesty. “But I've been burned before. Badly.”

Jack nods, understanding in his eyes. “I'm scared too,” he confesses. “Scared that I'll mess this up, that I'll lose you before I even have a chance to get to know you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and possibility. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to trust him, to let down my walls.

“I can't promise I won't make mistakes,” Jack continues. “But I can promise that I'll always be honest with you. That I'll never intentionally hurt you. And that I'll do everything in my power to prove that your trust in me isn't misplaced.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. “I want to believe that,” I whisper. “I want to trust you.”

His fingers brush my cheek again, and I lean into his touch, the warmth of his skin both thrilling and terrifying. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to give in, to trust him, to feel…

Then reality crashes back. I jerk away, heart pounding. “I'm sorry,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself. “I can't… I just can't.”

I brace myself for anger or frustration, but Jack's voice is soft, almost tender. “Okay. Then I'll wait.”

My head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “You heard me, Princess. I'll wait until you're ready.”

Before I can process this, he gestures towards the house. “We should probably head back inside. Don't want to worry our hosts.”

I nod, my mind whirling with confusion and surprise. My feet move mechanically as we make our way back to the house, my thoughts still caught up in his unexpected response.

As we step through the doorway, Anna rushes towards me, her face a picture of concern. “Jenn, I'm so sorry. I was just-”

I raise my hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. A small, reassuring smile tugs at my lips. “It’s okay. I know you meant well.”

Eager to change the subject, I ask, “So what's for dessert?”

Anna's eyes light up, and her lips curl into a proud grin. “My famous cheesecake.”

“Oh I can't wait to taste that,” Jack chimes in, brushing past us on his way to the dining room.

We gather around the table, forks poised over slices of Anna's renowned cheesecake. Jack takes a bite and his eyes widen in delight. He swallows and launches into a story about a disastrous baking attempt that has us all in stitches. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, and I find myself drawn in by his animated gestures and playful tone.

“Oh, come on,” I argue, surprising myself with how easily I fall into the banter. “You can't possibly think cheesecake beats a good old-fashioned chocolate cake.”

Jack gasps in mock horror. “Blasphemy! Cheesecake is clearly superior in every way.”

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