Black Hearted - An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Complete)

Black Hearted: Chapter 52

Scorching hot water beat on Jack's shoulders. Yet, the pounding force did nothing to distract him from the memories of the things he and Solana had done in the shower. Running his fingers over her soft skin. The sound of her laughter when he picked her up off her feet. The high of her coming undone around him.

That was it. He couldn't live here anymore. He'd call his assistant and have him find a place to rent immediately. As soon as he got out of the shower. Yes. Sell the penthouse. There were too many memories, too many reminders of her. Shit, he let her into his bedroom. Into his bed.

Into his heart.

He lifted his face to the spray. Water pelted the bruises on his chin and still the pain throbbing under his breastbone demanded precedence. He slammed a hand against the marble wall. The sensation should have faded by now. Two days was enough time to get over his silly sentiments.

As suspected, George's hopeful suggestion that Solana would be waiting at his place after his altercation with Abraham had been wrong. She was gone, out of his life, and that was it. Without a care she'd walked away, finished with him.

Jack convinced himself the queasiness in his stomach was from the hangover. He'd drained every ounce of scotch in his apartment within twenty-four hours. The delivery guy had stared at the hundred-dollar tip Jack handed over when the man had arrived with two bags full of booze to replace the stockpile. Even that minor act of making someone's day had no effect on Jack's mood. Now he was left with a headache to go along with his aching jaw and the constant sense of not being whole.

He had to stop this pining for this woman who didn't care for him. He'd go to the club, find a woman that looked like Solana and screw her until this feeling went away. Forehead pressed against the shower wall, he howled. This was not fair. He shouldn't be...feeling.

His fingers pruned. The water ran. And Jack couldn't move.

***

Jack's phone rattled on the coffee table, the screen coming to life and washing the dark room in blue hues. He ignored it, poured himself another tumbler of scotch and continued staring into the void of his blackened penthouse. Another buzz, another text. Jack counted each one. At eight he sat up, unlocked the phone and read Draven's messages.

Are you coming to the club?

New meat here.

Your type.

Next was an image of a pair of breasts pushed together by thin black lace strings.

Another image, crimson tinged lips slightly parted and forming a small o

Draven: Cock-sized

Jack deleted everything, leaving his friend unanswered.

Sleep eluded him. Unable to face his bed because the memories of what had happened between Solana and him were too visceral to endure. In that bed, he'd opened up to her, bared his soul to her, let her inside. She'd wrapped herself around him and held on like he meant the world to her. Whispered words, private confessions, honest declarations both verbally and physically witnessed there. Thought her affection matched his. The organ responsible for that affection commented on its attempted annihilation by pinching in displeasure at having been awoken.

Where had he gone wrong?

Phone in hand, he flipped to the message chain with Solana, staring at his futile attempts to get her to talk to him. He scrolled up, past the moment everything seemed to change. The flat screen offered flirtatious teases about what she'd wear or not wear in his bed, what Ximena was cooking for dinner, jokes he asked her to pass on to Luc and times arranged to meet up. Her place or his?