Page 25 of The Good Girl Effect
Sometime in the middle of the night, I’m awoken by the sound of a floorboard creaking. By the sound of it, someone is walking just outside my bedroom.
I stiffen as I wait for another creak.
My bedroom door is open, just a crack, so I can hear Bea if she wakes up. And maybe that’s who’s in the hallway now.
The room is dark, moonlight shining through the window as I stare at the opening, trying to make out if anyone is standing there watching me.
When another floorboard creaks, I sit up. My heartbeat is thrumming quickly in my veins. I have a feeling I know exactly who is standing on the other side of my door.
The only thing I don’t understand iswhy.
Sure, there is something ominous and mysterious about Jack St. Claire, but nothing dangerous. I don’t get the feeling that he would hurt me. I’m not scared of him.
When I stand up from the bed and place my feet on the floor, I do so with the intention of proving myself wrong. I want to quiet the doubts in my head. There’s nobody standing in myhallway. He’s not waiting for me on the other side of that door. It’s all just the creaks of an old apartment.
I tiptoe slowly across my dark room. Pulling the door open, I let out a quiet gasp as I make out the tall, dark figure hovering in the middle of the hallway. My breathing quickens, and I search his face for a sign. When our eyes meet, it’s like an electric current.
“What is it?” I whisper, but he doesn’t respond.
In what appears to be today’s clothes—a tight black T-shirt and a pair of dark slacks—he looks so sad, so lost. There are heavy circles under his eyes and a sheen of moisture on his cheeks.
The only sound between us is our breathing, and the only scent is his delicate cologne. I fight the urge to pull him into my arms like I held Bea earlier. His pain radiates off him like a blazing fire, and I wish I could make it go away.
As I wait for him to make a move, it’s as if I’m standing at the edge of a cliff. One small quake or gust of air would be enough to push me over the edge. All the anger I felt toward him earlier has dissolved and morphed into pity.
When Jack takes a step toward me, I suck in a gasp, and when he crowds me against the doorframe, I let him.
His eyes have not released their hold on me since the moment I walked out of my room. It’s almost impossible to stare at someone so intensely, but Jack’s gaze has a strange sort of comfort to it. It’s odd, the way we can stare at each other as if we’re staring into each other’s souls. I could never do this with anyone else. It would grow too uncomfortable, too awkward, but with him, it makes me feel at ease, seen, like I’m not so alone.
His hand lifts, and I hold my breath as he strokes his thumb softly over the side of my face. The touch alone is enough to send sparks down my spine. A heat burns in my belly, arousal blooming between my legs.
His eyes, his touch, his presence speak a language I don’t comprehend. What is he trying to say? Is he sorry for the way he yelled? Does he want me in some forbidden way?
I have no idea what’s going on or why I’m reacting this way. It’s his nearness, the intimacy of being able to look into his eyes for so long. The gentle silence between us when nothing needs to be said but everything needs to be felt.
He touches my cheek delicately as if unsure what to do. It gives me the courage to lift my own hands, resting them softly on his chest. His heart beats steadily against my fingers.
And I keep waiting to see if he’ll kiss me or if he’ll touch me more.
Or if he’ll drag me into my bedroom and let his lips say what his mouth can’t.
Would I even want that? It’s like he’s suddenly making me forget that he’s rude, grumpy, and miserable.
Because right now, what I see standing before me is just a man—a man in pain.
“I never should have hired you,” he whispers, jolting me from my fixation.
His words are stabbing and painful. My brows furrow, and my hands fist his shirt in anger. “What did I do?” I reply, but he moves his hand over my mouth to keep me from speaking.
Eventually, he releases his fingers from my face and turns his gaze away from mine. It feels like being doused in ice-cold water. He steps away, and I find myself reaching for him.
“Wait,” I whisper. “Don’t go.”
I have no good reason for wanting Jack to stay. With the way he’s treated me, it’s the last thing I should want, but I can’t bear the thought of him going back to the torment of his loneliness.
Ignoring my request, he walks quietly down the hallway back to the stairs.
Just like that, he’s gone, and I’m left reeling from the most bizarre yet intense sensual encounter of my life. As I slip back into bed, pulling my covers tightly over my body, I’m left wondering if maybe my obsession with Jack St. Claire isn’t so one-sided after all.
