Fearless Read online

  Sitting down, I once again tried waving my hand to see if I could see an outline. Nothing. They really weren't kidding about the pitch black part. I'd somehow thought that I might be able to at least see where Jax was, but only the sound of his breath reassured me that he was there.

  "I wonder how the waiters get around," Jax said. "Are they wearing night-vision goggles or something?"

  I reached out on the table, searching for his hands. "They're actually blind," I said, sliding my fingers around his. "I looked this up the other day. The restaurant found out that sighted waiters kept spilling, making mistakes—they couldn't get used to it no matter how long they tried. People who were blind from birth did just fine."

  "Huh," said Jax, sounding thoughtful. "Makes sense, in a way. For people who can see, there's a loss of control from darkness. But blind people have learned how to control the darkness—how to harness it so it's not a disability."

  "When I was a kid, this would have been my nightmare," I said ruefully. "I was terrified of the dark."

  "It's pretty weird how kids are afraid of the dark, isn't it?"

  "Weird?" I said, confused. "I don't know. I've always figured it was just one of those primal fear things. You know, like, caveman stuff. Fire good, dark bad."

  "But we all start in the dark," Jax said, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "We start where it's dark and warm and protected. When we see the light for the first time, we're so scared we cry."

  I blinked in the darkness. Was Jax talking about babies? A mental image flashed in front of me: Jax holding a newborn, his scarred brow raised to make a googly face. My heart started beating just a little faster, and I wished I could see the expression on Jax's face. Without it, I had no idea what he was feeling—I felt in the dark, in more ways than one. Was he thinking about the future, or just making conversation?

  "So why do you think a newborn is scared of the light, but a three year old is scared of the dark?" I asked, curious about his answer. It seemed like the darkness had loosened his tongue, and after the last few days I was glad to hear him get lost in thought.

  "I think it starts when—"

  The waiter's voice interrupted us. "I've brought your first course of the evening. Your place settings are in their normal places in front of you, forks on the left, spoons on the right. No knives—liability reasons."

  Jax and I laughed nervously, but he continued: "Many people find that eating with utensils is difficult in the dark. All our dishes may also be eaten as finger food if you wish. Keep in mind that no one will be able to see you eating with your fingers—it can be your secret."

  I could hear dishware and glasses clinking onto the table, and feel the cool breezes as servers set our dishes down, but without any visual aids, it was impossible to tell what had been put on the table in front of us. "This is kind of exciting," I whispered to Jax.

  "Bon apetit," the waiter said, and his footsteps moved quickly away.

  I felt around the table for my fork, found the handle, and then extended my fingers until they were touching my plate. Probing gently with a finger to find where the food was, I suddenly found my fingertip sticking to what felt like a spider's web.

  "I think I found it," I said, picking up the spider's web with my fork. It was heavy, I could tell, with something inside it that was soft and yielding. My fingers were still sticky from the web.

  From across the table, I heard Jax's fork clink against the plate. "What the hell is that?" he muttered.

  "Your guess is as good as mine," I said, holding the fork out with trepidation. I'd never eaten a spider's web before, and not knowing what was inside it made me feel almost queasy.

  "Okay," he says, "We'll be brave together. On three, got it?"

  "Got it."

  "One . . . two . . ."

  "Three!" I said, and tried to take a bite—only to have the fork sideswipe my cheek.

  Jax laughed. "Wait," I said, confused. "How did you see that?"

  "See what? I just missed my mouth with the fork and started laughing at myself."

  I smiled ruefully. "I can see what the waiter meant about using our hands. But whatever it is, I'm not sure I want to touch it." Thinking for a moment, I had another idea: "Maybe if we're really careful, and feel out where the other person's mouth is, first, we can feed each other."

  Jax sounded dubious. "I'm not sure that'll work, but we can give it a try. Just watch out for the eyes, okay?"

  I laughed and felt across the table until I found Jax's face. I knew every contour of it, every detail, and as soon as I touched him it was almost like I could see him again. Lingering for a moment with my hand on his cheek, I brought up the bite of spider web, swiping it against his lip, and felt his mouth close around the fork.

  I slid the fork away, and he chewed in the darkness. "I . . . huh," he said, after a long pause. "This can't be what I think it is."

  "What do you think it is?"

  "Try it." All at once, I felt Jax's hand on my face, then the spider web brushing against it, smelling faintly of flowers. There was no time to be squeamish—I bit down on the web.

  Instantly, my lips were coated in a sweet, citrusy flavor, followed by a distinct creamy meatiness melting against my tongue. "Oh my god," I said, taking a second bite from the fork in front of me. "What is that?"

  The waiter's voice was suddenly nearby. "That is a foie gras medallion enclosed in Earl Grey cotton candy," he said smoothly.

  "Almost like a dessert," I whispered. The unexpectedness of the combination was perfect.

  "Let me feed the rest of it to you," Jax's voice purred softly, and my lips parted to let the morsel in. Melting, sensuous, the foie gras started to make me feel urges to do things in the dark that we'd gone without for far too long.

  The waiter cleared his throat, and I suddenly felt myself blushing. Did the blind waiters' heightened perception apply to my imagination, too? "We have here your entrées," he said. "Be careful, you may wish to eat this with your hands, rather than utensils."

  I reached out toward my place setting, and felt dried petals, a whole dried flower, then another and another. Roses? When I moved my fingers further, they brushed more petals—these ones wet and smooth. Jax let out a short laugh of appreciation. "Maybe that's why it happens," he said, sounding bemused.

  "Why what happens?"

  "Why the dark scares us once we're older. We learn to fear the unknown, to think that it's out to get us somehow." His voice was intense, lost in thought. "It's been a long time since I've had to think of food as an unknown. I think I like this place."

  "How do you know so much about food, anyway?"I asked. "I'm assuming it's because rock stars get the royal treatment more often than accountants."

  "You want the truth?" He chewed for a moment, then swallowed. "I worked in kitchens when I ran away from home. They were the only place I could get work as a scrawny kid with no ID. I tried to learn everything I could. Especially from this one guy, my friend, who kind of took me under his wing. If he'd had his way, I'd be a chef right now."

  His answer wasn't at all what I'd expected—and more than that, I was surprised to hear him talking so freely about his childhood. Was it the darkness that was making him more open? "Why didn't you?"

  "Sky, mostly," he admitted quietly. "After we started playing music, she wanted to start a band, and that kind of became my life. I still worked enough at the restaurant to make the money I needed, and I kept learning, but I just couldn't put in the hours to learn what I should to run my own kitchen."

  I was glad it was dark so Jax couldn't see how shocked his openness was leaving me. We'd come so far together, but there was still so much I didn't know about him. Maybe this was a sign of his growing trust? My heart warmed at the thought.

  I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten a bite of my entrée. Picking up one of the dry roses, I popped it into my mouth, where it dissolved into a crunchy, tangy bitterness. It was fantastic. "Whoa, what are these dry flowers?"

  "Pretty sure they're bru
ssels sprouts," Jax said nonchalantly. "Arranged like roses—which is pretty clever. They are flowers, after all."

  "Nuh uh," I said, shaking my head even though I knew he couldn't see it. "No way is that a brussels sprout. I've hated brussels sprouts since I was three years old."

  "Waiter?" Jax said into the blackness. "What's the flower on our plates?"

  "The dry flowers are brussels sprouts, roasted with lemon zest and a jasmine-infused sherry vinegar glaze," he said. "The wet flowers are bison tataki, seared with sesame paste."

  "Holy shit," I breathed. "You were right. I liked brussels sprouts and didn't even know it."

  "That's the nice thing about the dark," Jax said as I chewed a piece of the bison tataki, savoring the wild flavor. "Sometimes the unknown can surprise you—in a good way."

  "Like you," I said, thinking aloud, then quickly put my hand up to my mouth.

  "Me?"

  "Well, yeah." I bit my lip, still feeling embarrassed by how wrong I'd been about our first impression. "When I was walking to your tour bus, you were an unknown. I figured I'd end up having a sleepless, thankless couple of weeks with an irresponsible, entitled rock star."

  "But once you found out we'd already met?"

  "To tell you the truth, I thought the same thing."

  "And how about now?" Jax's voice was warm, and he stroked soft fingers against my wrist, sending shivers of arousal through my body.

  "Now. . ." I thought about what we'd gone through together—the hotel suite in Vegas, the hospital room in California. I took a deep breath to try and steady myself. "Now I can't imagine letting you go."

  Jax's hand clasped around mine tightly. "Who said anything about letting go?"

  I held his hand quietly for a moment. "I . . . I know it's not going to be the same in a few days, when the tour's over," I said, trying to keep my voice level and calm. "I'm going back to New York, you're staying here to record your next album. It's just. . ."

  "What?" Jax asked, his voice calm and assured. "You know I'll come back to New York, right? I do live there."

  "Yeah. I know," I said, struggling for the right words. "It's just—I don't know what's going to happen when I leave."

  In the darkness, something brushed against my cheek, and I flinched before realizing it was Jax's hand, caressing my cheek. "You're overthinking it." His voice was warm and relaxed. "It's going to be a few weeks in Los Angeles, and I'll be laying down tracks with the band the whole time. Then I'm going to come back to New York. While I'm gone, we'll talk on the phone and it will be fine."

  My heart beat faster. We'd been avoiding talking about our relationship for so long, and I had been so careful about getting my hopes up. "So you're telling me that once you're back, we'll . . ."

  " . . . Pick things up where we left off? That's what I'm expecting. Unless you'd be too embarrassed to tell your New York friends that you're slumming it with a guy in a band."

  I laughed, relief coursing through my body. "Slumming it? Are you kidding? I'll be telling everyone!" Fumbling for my purse next to the chair, I searched with my fingers for the envelope I'd placed inside just before we'd left the bus.

  "Here," I said, placing the square envelope in his hand. "I want you to have this."

  "What is it?"

  "Just . . . something I've been working on for the last few days. A present."

  "It's not going to do me much good to open it in the dark," he said, sounding confused.

  "It's not for you to open here," I said quickly. "It's for after the tour. When we're apart."

  The envelope rustled and I felt Jax's hand close around mine again. "Thank you, Riley. I'll treasure it—whatever it is."

  We shared a silence together as I reveled in the removal of a huge weight I hadn't even realized I had been carrying. I was so glad to be done with our conversation about what would happen between us after the tour. And that Jax sounded so sure about it.

  Drunk with warm feelings, I felt a torrent of words escaping from my lips before I could stop them. "I'll miss you so much, Jax. I . . . I love you."

  My heart thumped so loudly it almost hurt. A small noise came from Jax's throat. After a long silence, he found my shoulder with his arm and gave it a soft squeeze.

  "I think you're incredible," he said softly, caressing my arm. "And now I wonder where our dessert is."

  I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My cheeks got hot with embarrassment. The darkness had made me feel like Jax was ready to open up, but it was clear there were still locked doors in his heart I couldn't reach.

  I pressed my lips together together as we shared an awkward silence. Thankfully, the waiter did come with the dessert quickly, giving me time to think as we ate.

  I hadn't meant to do it, but I'd finally told Jax how I felt. If those words were hard for me to say, then I knew how much harder it would be for him. Maybe I had been too fast to say it. I probably had.

  But it was done, and even if Jax wouldn't tell me he loved me, he had already given me enough for the night. I knew he wanted to be with me, and if we continued to grow together eventually he would say those words.

  Chapter Twelve

  DOUBTS

  The next day, I sat alone on the bus. A tapping noise filled the room.

  My fingers flew over the keys of my laptop as I pounded out a status report to Palmer. Other than the sound of my typing, an eerie quiet blanketed the bus. I missed the usual noise of the band, but they were downtown doing a meet and greet with a possible producer for their next album.

  I bit my lip and tried to concentrate, but my mind kept slipping back to Jax. Last night, I finally found the courage to talk to him about our future past the tour. Knowing that he wanted to be with me once we were back in New York filled me with a happiness that I hadn't known was possible, even if he hadn't been ready to say he loved me yet. We now had a future—and in time, maybe I would be able to unlock all the secrets of Jax's scarred heart.

  I shook my head and hunched over the keyboard, willing away my distracting thoughts so I could hurry and finish my report. Crunching numbers was just one thing I had to do today, and the least important to me.

  This morning, Jax had invited me to go along with him to his promo at five o'clock. He had seemed eager to hang out with me, even though he warned me that I might not have that much fun at this promo, which he called "lame."

  Waves magazine planned to do a spread on up-and-coming leaders of hot bands for next month's issue, and they'd invited Jax to participate. But alone, without the rest of the band. No one liked the idea, but Reed had managed to convince everyone that this kind of free exposure couldn't be passed up. So reluctantly, Jax had agreed to do it.

  I glanced at my watch. Shit.

  It said 4:00. If Jax didn't hurry back soon, we'd be late. Not like that didn't happen all the time in the music business, but apparently this world famous photographer hated tardiness with a passion that bordered on the insane. If we were late, Reed informed us, this guy would cancel the whole gig, and then there would be hell to pay not only from him, but also from the rest of the bands involved.

  A loud rumble came from outside, and I snapped my head up to listen. Next I heard a jarring screech. What the hell?

  I ran to the window and peeked out into Reed's driveway.

  To my surprise, Jax sat outside on a growling red motorcycle. He wore sunglasses, and held his phone in his hand, typing into it.

  I stared at the beautiful bike. It looked smaller and more streamlined than his black Vincent Shadow. More feminine. Why would he be driving something like that?

  My phone chimed. Smiling, I picked it up and read the message from Jax: Hey baby, check this out.

  I hurried outside to meet him, and he revved the engine proudly as I approached. A loud roar filled my ears and I cupped my hands over them for protection. He smiled and switched it off.

  "So what'd you do, trade your bike in for this?" I grinned at him. "It looks kind of girly for you."

&nbs
p; Jax laughed, his eyes flashing. "That's good. This one's for you."

  My eyes widened. This is too much, Jax. "Are you serious?"

  "Just for today, that is," he said, swinging his leg over the seat and standing up. "It's a rental."

  I exhaled, secretly relieved that he hadn't spent a fortune on me. Expensive presents were the last thing I wanted at a time when our relationship seemed more complicated than ever.

  "So you left with the band and returned with a bike?" I asked, grinning.

  Jax shrugged. "They all wanted to stay downtown. And then I had the idea to get this." He drew his brows together and frowned. "I thought that since I had to do this stupid photo shoot, we might as well have fun getting there."

  My stomach twisted with excitement and a little anxiety as it dawned on me that Jax wanted me to ride this bike today.

  As in, right now.

  "You think I'm ready to drive alone?" I asked.

  "Sure," Jax said, his voice steady. "Everyone starts somewhere."

  I slowly ran my fingers down one chrome handlebar, the thought of riding again making me a little nervous. I didn't have much experience other than that one insane night.

  Darrel. Ugh.

  Concentrating on the bike, I shook off the pang of anxiety that always came up when I thought about Jax's dad. This bike looked like it would be fun to drive, and Jax seemed confident that I could. I did have the fundamentals down, at least.

  When I looked back at Jax, I noticed his furrowed brow had been joined by a new tenseness in his jaw.

  I pressed my lips together as I took in his strained expression. Was he stressed out about the promo, or was it something else?

  "Hey, what's up?" I asked, my voice tinged with concern.

  Jax looked up at me swiftly, and his face darkened for a brief second. Then, in a flash, the gloom was replaced by a smile that seemed less than genuine. "Nothing. But if we don't get a move on, we'll be late."

  I peered into his face, but I couldn't figure out what was behind those deep, dark eyes. No matter what, though, he had a good point. Every minute we spent standing around, the probability of making it to the shoot in time dwindled.