Conquer Your Love

“No one’s perfect,” I whispered, even though I knew Jett was very close to it, which was probably the result of him despising his father’s ways.



“If those are the club members’ names, what are the numbers on the back?” I held out the open book and pointed at the long strings of digits covering several pages.



“Could be anything. I’ll try to find out tomorrow.” He walked past me into the bedroom. I followed behind.



“How do you think you’ll find out?”



“I have a friend who knows his way around computers.”



“Do you think whoever chased us knew this book existed and they were afraid we’d make it public?” I asked. I was drawing at straws but I couldn’t help myself. “If we hand it to them, then maybe we won’t have to worry about our safety and we can keep the estate.” I regarded Jett intently, waiting for him to admit I had just discovered the solution to our problems.



Sort of.



“Baby, you think too much. There’s no point in stipulating possible theories with absolutely nothing to back them off.” His voice didn’t leave much room for discussion. “I don’t think your way is the way they’re working. They’re not as—” he smiled, struggling to find the right word “—peaceful.”



That made sense. He used to be in a gang, so he might know a thing or two about how things worked. I figured gangs weren’t really that different from elite clubs and sects. They’re all made of a closed circle. No one’s let in easily, and definitely not out with a mere handshake.



As if sensing my thoughts, Jett shot me an amused look. “Let’s have dinner. I don’t want you to lose an inch from those stunning hips.”



Chapter 21



Following Jett into the kitchen, I felt a hint of disappointment that he was bottling up again. I wanted to talk about our findings and possible theories, but he was more than eager to make us dinner. I leaned against the kitchen counter and watched him unpack the contents of his box, looking as hot as ever—clad in nothing but his jeans. His feet were bare and the muscles of his back seemed to flex with every move. I ignored my brain’s silent invitation to run my fingertips down his spine and watch him shiver with pleasure, his beautiful tan skin turning into goose bumps under my touch.



“Wanna help me?” Jett asked. I realized the amused glint had not disappeared from his eyes.



Me and cooking?



I laughed. “Yeah, if you don’t mind going to bed hungry. You know I can’t cook.”



“That’s why we’re doing it together.” He retrieved a chopping board and placed it in front of him. “We’ll start off with something quick and easy. I thought we could make Spaghetti Bolognese.”



Given that we were in Italy, how fitting.



I wanted to point out that no Italian recipe was ‘quick and easy’ to me unless it came out of the microwave oven, and judging from all the things he brought, he had every intention to start from scratch. At least he wasn’t expecting we make our own pasta. I grabbed the unopened pack of spaghetti noodles and turned it around to read the instructions.



“You watch the beef while I cut the onions. Deal?” Jett offered. He grabbed a knife from the knife rack and began to peel off an onion.



“Deal.”



I had always been rather slow at chopping anything and I’d rather not have my eyes watering and my mascara running, so I placed the minced beef into a frying pan, added a few drops of oil and turned on the heat—the way I had seen it on TV. It was my first attempt at cooking something as complicated as meat. I had watched my fair share of cooking shows. They always made cooking look easy and I blamed them for my fear. But, really, how hard could it be?



Half a minute later, the minced beef began to sizzle unnaturally loud and the first trickles of sweat rolled down my spine, which I could attribute to anything from my fear of cooking, the heat of the stove, or Jett’s presence. From the corner of my eyes, I admired his abs, so strong and well defined, and the tattoo covering his arm. I knew I had to stop staring before he noticed, but I couldn’t help myself. He looked so sexy, peeling the tomatoes and grating carrots and chopping up herbs, my mind kept conjuring naughty ideas of me stripping him off his jeans and having sex while our dinner boiled to perfection.



Jett shot me an amused look, sending a wave of heat through my cheeks and lower abdomen. “Something smells burned.”



I blinked my brain back into action.



Oh, crap!



I forgot about the meat.



“Sorry.” My skin prickled from the way his eyes seemed to caress me from a distance. I flipped the meat over and breathed out relieved. It had turned a dark brown color but it was definitely not burned.



Jett moved behind me, his hands brushing mine as he helped me stir, then added the onions. His hot breath tickled my back, making me all too aware just how close he stood.



“Want me to remove the pan from the stove?” I asked, unable to control the hoarse undertone of my voice.



“No, the beef’s not done for another few minutes.”



It looked pretty done to me.



“You never told me where you learned to cook,” I said.



I felt him stiffen behind me, hesitating. “After my father kicked me out and he cut off my allowance, I took a job in a restaurant kitchen. I was either that or get involved in the drugs crap everyone seemed to fall into.”



“You worked in a kitchen at sixteen? Is that even allowed?”



“I looked older and lied about my age. I needed the money.” He spun me around until his eyes met mine. “My family was rich, Brooke, but everything I own I earned myself through hard work and loving what I do.”



“I can’t get over the fact that your father threw you out. If you hadn’t been the strong person you are, staying off drugs, we might not be having this conversation. How could you forgive him and help him after all he’s done to you?”



“I’d be lying if I told you I’ve forgiven him.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. But it did. I could see it in the hurt glint in his eyes and the hard lines around his mouth. “I hated him for a long time, but he’s still my father, Brooke. If it wasn’t for the shitty stuff he did to me, I wouldn’t be who I am now. The trials of our lives make us strong, determined to succeed, to be different, both in body and spirit.”



He took the spoon from my hand and stirred one more time, then added the peeled tomatoes, chopped carrots, and grated cheese to the mix.



The air was charged with tension. I could feel his struggle to remain calm in the midst of the hurricane raging inside him, and I asked myself how much stronger that hurricane must have been when he was younger. A part of me wondered how many people knew the story of his life and upbringing—his true side, not the one he showed to his prospective business partners and the journalists writing about him in their stories.



He was beginning to trust me. Another first. Another step that proved to me he was serious about us. Affection’s easy to gain, but trust is hard to get and yet so easy to crush and lose.



Jett took a deep breath, his eyes turning cold again. “You can forget what people said and did, but you never forget how they made you feel. You can forgive the people who hurt you, but you will remember what they taught you.” His gaze searched mine, waiting for warmth and understanding, which I was more than eager to give him.



“He’s not a bad man, Brooke. He was a strict father, and he threw me out because he believed in discipline, whereas my mother—she only thought of herself when she left us. She didn’t stay in contact. She loved her drugs more than us, which was so much worse than anything my father ever did. At least he cared enough to stay. He helped me out of the hole I buried for myself. I can forgive him, because he did what he had to do but I’ll never forget how he made me feel.”



His eyes glazed over, his mind recalling memories I couldn’t reach. I brushed his back gently and his attention returned to me. “Can I forgive my father for seeking the perversions of whatever Alessandro’s club occasioned? Possibly. Will I forget the kind of man Robert is? Probably not.”



He added the pasta to the boiling water, avoiding my gaze but I caught the glint of anger shimmering in his eyes nonetheless. It wasn’t aimed at me; it was at his family—the people who should’ve loved him unconditionally, yet betrayed him when he needed them the most. In that instant I understood why he thought his father deserved a chance. Robert had been there for him once, or at least more than Jett’s mother, so Jett felt a sense of obligation toward the old man.



I imagined myself having Robert Mayfield as my father. Stern, hard, unrelenting, maybe even merciless. Having someone like him in my family, having to accept him just because he was my father, the only parent I had after the other one left. It wasn’t a beautiful picture.



As if sensing the dark direction of my thoughts, Jett smiled at me weakly and the warmth in his eyes returned, enveloping me like a safe bubble.



“I’d do anything to avoid being like them,” he said softly.



I kissed the palm of his hand, wishing I could make him forget or at least ease the burden of his memories weighing down his soul. Returning his smile, I let my fingers glide up and down his sculpted arms. I wanted to help him forget, if only for a few minutes, and the only way I knew how to do that was to give him my passion. Gazing up at him, I trailed my hand from his nipple to his abdomen. The top button of his jeans was undone and I could make out the happy trail of dark hair that always enticed me.



“Are you horny?” His piercing eyes turned a darker shade of green. I could see his instant desire in the way his jeans tightened around his groin and the way he watched me.



“A bit.” I bit my lip. “And you?



“I’m always horny when you’re around.” He laughed, his voice hoarse and erotic, filled with a silent invitation. “You’re sexy. You set everything on fire, and you know I can’t keep my hands off you when you’re looking at me like this.”



He tugged at the belt of my bathrobe, opening it slowly. My blood rushed harder and my breath came faster. Towering over me, he looked at me with his sexy bedroom eyes, the kind of eyes that said everything along the lines: I want you. I need you. And if you don’t give me what I crave, I’ll take it. And you’ll like it. You’ll love it. You’ll want more.



And I did. I wanted him. I wanted him so bad that I buried my hands in his hair, and I pressed my body against him, my desire burning through me like hot lava, burning my mind, burning through every barrier that held me back. His fingers caught hold of my hips, pulling me against him, and his mouth descended upon mine so hard, heat pooled between my legs.



“I fucking want you. I want you so hard.” His fingers trailed down my thighs and then up again, his scorching touch sending my pulse into a frenzy. “I want you so much, I don’t want you to be with anyone but me.”



His hot lips moved to the corner of my mouth while his thumb stroked my cheek, the other hand caressing the sensitive spot between my legs. A soft moan escaped my mouth as he started to kiss my shoulders. His teeth grazed my skin. I imagined them on my nipples and on the inside of my thighs.