Enter The Black Oak: A Dark Billionaire Romantic Suspense

WE STEP OUT ONTO THE SIDEWALK to find that the sun has set and the night is a smoky mix of crimson and gray, with revelers milling merrily and a balmy early-summer breeze in the air. We walk giddily under the haunting light of imposing streetlamps for a few blocks, past bars, cafés and old terraced houses with black railings out front until we reach the steps that lead to Sean’s slender early twentieth-century townhouse.

“Here we are.”

As he opens the front door to his place, a panting dog missing a front leg appears out of nowhere, jumping up and down as he greets Sean and then me with infectious curiosity. I can’t help squealing with delight as I bend down to pet the gorgeous black and tan terrier mix.

“Aww, he’s adorable,” I exclaim, stroking his wiry fur.

“He likes you,” says Sean. “He doesn’t do that for just anyone you know.”

“Oh, sure.”

Sean hangs my jacket up next to the door and his dog and I follow him into the living room to the right. The room is old-school Brooklyn punctuated by modern touches, all giving off a distinctly unstudied vibe. A russet brick wall stands out against another wall to the right painted a pristine white. An old wooden bookshelf full of tatty books and chipped mugs overlooks a glass coffee table bearing some newspapers and a couple of cans of beer. Three guitars and some guitar picks are strewn around the place and a tiny kitchen stands to our left in front of a back garden visible through a window in the back door.

“This is such a bachelor pad,” I tease.

“I know. My aunt keeps wanting to come in and do something about the place, but I actually prefer to feel like a man when I get home. I’m not into smelling potpourri or seeing photos of kittens on the wall.”

“Potpourri and kittens? You must have dated some very strange women.”

“You’re right there,” he smiles. “Would madam like any water? Though it’ll be coming out of a tap.”

“I’d love some.”

As he hands me the glass of water, a shard of pain stabs my ankle. I wait for him to walk back to the kitchen and once his back is turned, bend down and lift my right jean leg up a tad to look at my scar.

“Jeez,” Sean exclaims, suddenly back and standing right next to me. “That looks nasty.” He leans down to inspect my leg. “You didn’t tell me I was inviting the bride of Frankenstein round.”

“Oh, don’t make me feel any more self-conscious,” I plead as I pull the hem down past the thick maroon line running down the side of my lower leg. “I already feel like a science experiment.”

“I’m just kidding. Scars are hot.”

“Stop it,” I laugh.

“I’m serious. In fact, I’ve never dated a woman that didn’t have a scar. It’s a prerequisite, actually. First question I ask—do you have an interesting scar? No? Sorry, I can’t date you.”

I laugh again and he grins in response. “How about if I show you the garden?” he asks.

“Sure!”

“Drink your water,” he orders.

I finish the glass of water while Sean carries the dog into a little room next to the kitchen and shuts the door.

“Wow!” I exclaim as I follow him through the kitchen and outside into a stunning natural oasis in the urban Brooklyn jungle.

The slim yard is lit up with glistening solar-powered lights illuminating neatly dug beds filled with what look like carrots, beets and kale. On the right is a wall of lush tomato plants, tied up with string stopping the bright orange tomatoes from weighing down the branches. There’s a compost bin in the corner with moths flying about, lit up like fairies by the solar lamps dotted around. A creeping emerald wall of green beans adorned with dainty white flowers climbs up the wall to the left.

“Sean, this garden is gorgeous. Did you do all this yourself?”

He nods, taking a cigarette from his packet and offering me one which I accept while kicking myself for doing so. He lights my cigarette, cupping his hands around mine as he shields the flame from the cool wind—the second man to do so in less than a week. A strand of his hair touches my hand and he catches my eyes as he stands back up. As he backs away, his left hand accidentally brushes against mine and a jolt rushes through my body again.

“Is that milk thistle?” I ask to diffuse the heat, gesturing towards a beautiful green thistle with bold white zigzags darting across the leaves, and bright purple flowers poking through the prickly foliage.

“You may be the first person I’ve ever met who knows what that is.”

“I grow some on our balcony, and juice it. What do you do with it?”

“My drunkard uncle has a bad liver so I throw it in the blender when he comes round and make him drink it.”

“My parents used to grow it when we were little. They’re big into sustainable community gardening.”

“Do they live in the city?” he asks.

“They used to. They had an apartment in the East Village till recently, but they sold it. They live in Connecticut now.”

“Did you grow up in New York?”

“Mostly.” I bring the cigarette to my lips and inhale. “We traveled a lot for my dad’s job. He’s an expert in renewable energy. I spent lots of summers in the south of England with my mom’s family. We lived in France for six months and spent another year in San Francisco. But mostly it was Manhattan.”

“What about your mom?”

“She was a professor at NYU. English Lit. She still teaches on and off.”

“Well, you should get out of Manhattan more. It doesn’t suit you as much as you think it does,” he says, taking a drag on his cigarette while keeping his confident gaze tracking mine.

I prickle at his words, incensed at his dig at my beloved Manhattan, the city of my youth, the city that runs through my veins, the city that houses so many important things to me—my friends, my work, my memories… Jack. I’m trying to forget that some part of me now feels like a stranger there, as though I’ve traveled through the looking glass and now inhabit a shadowy new world that had been there the whole time, lurking beyond sight and sound.

“I’d heard people from Brooklyn had a lot of opinions,” I respond, my breathing quickening as I hold his determined gaze.

“Really?” His gleaming eyes narrow deliciously as if challenging me to say more.

I put out the barely touched cigarette and he follows suit. He takes a confident step towards me as a tingle of electricity vibrates through my body, leaving the hairs standing up on my neck and my mouth watering.

“Apparently,” I reply, emboldened by the alcohol I’ve consumed and my heedless, imprudent anger.

His striking face glows in the pale moonlight and his eyes, lit up by the ethereal lamps all around us, look a brilliant shade of leafy green. The man is adorable—there’s no doubt about it. He’s gorgeous and charming and funny and sweet, rough-around-the-edges sexy—the list goes on—but I can’t shake the feeling that something is… wrong. I feel like I can smell Jack’s scent in the air, feel his fingers on my body and see him when I close my eyes. I can tell by the way Sean is looking at me that he wants to kiss me but is holding himself back. I want to kiss him too. At least, the drunk, reckless part of me does. The only question is whether I can violate my marriage like that, even if the man I love has done so countless times. I know that if I kiss Sean, the awful, twisting pain rooted in the pit of my belly will dissipate for a while and allow me to get past some of the hurt I feel and actually give my marriage a chance of surviving—at least that’s what I hope.

“Jess, do you want to go?” asks Sean, clearly sensing my torn mood.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. Things between my husband and I… I found out some things recently about him that are… Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“He must be insane.” Sean’s voice is low and angry.

I scan his face and believe that this wise, street-smart man instinctively knows that Jack must have cheated on me.

“Listen, I honestly don’t mind if you want to use my body to get back at him,” he teases with an almost imperceptible wink. “But I like you, Jess. A lot. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.” My heart stalls as we stand opposite each other in electric silence, his eyes drinking me in, wandering over my face studiously. “What do you want to do?”

I know what he’s asking. He wants to know if I want him.

I do.

And I don’t.

Or at least I never would normally. I would never, ever have found myself in such an ambiguous situation under normal circumstances. The problem is that right now my every move is fueled by the all-consuming fear I have of having to face Jack’s affair with Alex; fueled by my need to exorcise the outrage coursing through my veins; fueled by the knowledge that I can’t live with what Jack has done, and because I can’t bring myself to do what I should and leave him, the only way I can stay with him is if I do to him a little of what he did to me.

“I want you to kiss me,” I whisper.

His eyes narrow and his lips curve gorgeously. He takes another step towards me, moves a long strand of hair out of my face and runs his thumb over my lip, opening my mouth. My heart thumps in my chest as his warm breath caresses me while I lose myself in his vibrant eyes. A heartbeat later, he glides his hand up my neck into my soft hair and seals his mouth over mine, our lips colliding in a fumbling, heady, wet kiss. His eager tongue pushes against mine fervently as he slides one hand behind the small of my back, pulling me closer to him in a gesture that has my knees turning to jelly. His groan invades me as I run my hands up his tattooed arms and a small gasp escapes me as his kisses deepen. The sweet, intoxicating aroma of his cold breath enters me, leaving me tingling all over. He smells of beer and cigarettes and car grease, and it’s suddenly the most delicious smell imaginable, upping the wanton danger of kissing this delectable man.

As drunken pleasure curses into my body, it hits me that I’m kissing another man for the first time in over three years. I have never, not one single time, kissed anyone other than Jack since the day I started dating him and as Sean devours my mouth with his, I know that I’m doing something there is no going back from. I open my eyes and glance at his handsome, lustful face. The man is sensational.

And so why do I feel Jack’s presence all around me? Why can I smell Jack’s scent and feel his hands exploring my body?

As if sensing my torn mood, Sean releases his lips from mine and looks straight at me, breathless, lips pink and swollen. “Do you want to stop?” he asks as he takes his fingers out of my hair.

This is my chance. My chance to stop. My chance to not cross a line that cannot be redrawn.

I don’t know what to do.

I’m afraid of going on, but I’m more afraid of the rage threatening to push me to the brink of madness once again.

Stella’s words sound in my head as clearly as if she were right next to me:

You will never be able to get over this until you do the same thing to him.

My resolve suddenly strengthens. “No. Don’t stop. Don’t ask me again.”

The hunger in his eyes stuns me and without a moment’s hesitation, he grabs my neck and pulls me towards him roughly and we kiss again more fervently than before, our tongues dancing against each other in an erotic, wet, alcohol-fueled tango. He slips his arms behind my back, pulling me towards him before sliding his hands over my butt which he squeezes firmly. His left hand moves around my waist and under my T-shirt as the touch of his strong fingers against the bare skin of my back sets my body alight with tingling anticipation.

“Jess,” he gasps as his lips find my neck where he kisses and licks the soft flesh until I tilt my head back, letting out a moan. “I want you so badly. I’ve thought of nothing else since the first minute I met you,” he whispers as he finds my eyes again.

I run my hands up his arms, exploring the bumps of the tattoo scars on his heavily inked skin. After the experience of kissing a man as aggressively dominant as Jack, I feel relieved to find Sean softer and less assertive, tender almost. I feel his hands explore the bare skin of my back before gliding up my slim waist as his chest presses against my breasts. As our tongues fumble again in exhilarating drunken kisses, he presses his hips against mine and I let out a breathy gasp as I feel his hard erection prod my body under his torn jeans. He dips his tongue into and out of my mouth as we taste each other, licking and sucking and nipping, losing ourselves in kisses that are hauling me out of the purgatory I’ve been languishing in. Our bodies bump against each other, teasing, making promises to each other as we kiss softly, slowly, tenderly, deeply. Pulling out of my mouth, Sean runs his tongue up the silky skin of my jawline as his hands roam up from my waist, stopping just below my breasts.

As he kisses my neck again, I lean my head back and let out a whimper of pleasure only to notice after a few moments that he’s stopped moving. I open my eyes and see his head cocked towards the still-open back door of the house. He is silent, a picture of concentration.

There it is—an almost imperceptible bell sound.

Sean turns to look at me, a hint of irritation on his face. “Someone’s at the door,” he whispers, his lips an inch from mine. “Stay here. I’ll get rid of them.”

He runs back through the kitchen, through the living room and out of sight as I take a moment to catch my breath. Half a minute or so goes by and I instinctively take a few steps toward the house as an unexpected ripple of anxiety rolls through me. As I approach the back door slowly, I hear voices—raised voices. I can’t make out the words and take a couple of reticent steps through the kitchen towards the living room to get a little closer.

The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

I know that voice.

With my heart now racing, I walk towards the sound and push open the door to the front entranceway against my will.

Oh my God.

Jack.

He’s standing just inside the house, his face wild with rage as he squares up to Sean.

“What are you doing here?!” I exclaim, barely able to believe my eyes, wondering if my drunken mind is playing tricks on me.

He glares at me, his breathing heavy, and takes a couple of steps towards me.

Sean grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him towards the front door. “Get the fuck out of my house, asshole!”

Jack turns and slams Sean against the hallway wall, hard. They scuffle, but Jack’s superior height and strength, not to mention years of martial arts experience, make it an impossible match for Sean to win. And Jack knows it.

“Don’t fuck with me, plumber,” he growls menacingly as he propels his enraged face closer to Sean’s, pinning him mercilessly against the wall.

“Jack, let go of him!” I shout. “Nothing happened! He’s a friend.” I put my hand on Jack’s shoulder and gently try to ease him off. “Let’s go!” I plead. Grabbing my purse from the side table and my jacket from the hook on the wall, I wrap a hand around Jack’s thick bicep and pull. “Let’s go! Please! Jack!”

“You don’t have to go with him, Jess,” Sean shouts, still pinned against the wall. “You don’t have to take his shit anymore.”

“What the fuck did you say to my wife?” Jack snarls, his irate face so close to Sean’s that he could sink his teeth into his neck.

I’ve never seen Jack act like this before in my life. He is the strongest, most masculine man I’ve ever known, yet the most disciplined when it comes to controlling his physical power. I have no idea who the hell this dangerous animal in front of me is. The idea of leaving with him terrifies me, but I need to get Jack away from Sean at all costs.

“Jack, let’s go! Please!”

He glowers at Sean, his face a storm of dark, threatening fury, before turning around, grabbing my arm and leading me down the front steps onto the sidewalk. I glance behind me and see Sean standing at the door, his gaze following us in frustration. I mouth I’m sorry to him, hoping he will make it out.

“Jess, I can call the police,” he yells.

Jack suddenly spins round as if to rush back up the stairs and I grab his arm and pull on it.

“Stop!” I shout. “That’s enough! Take me home! Please!”

Jack glares down at me before taking hold of my arm again and marching me to the car. As I reach the passenger door, I notice a figure standing on the opposite side of the street, watching the scene from the shadows. Middle-aged with grey hair mottled with black, his face seems vaguely familiar and I try to make it out in the darkness. As I squint in an attempt to see his eyes, he looks down, gets into a black SUV in front of him and speeds off down the street.

Jack ushers me into his car which is parked a couple of houses down and slams the door behind me before marching furiously to the driver’s side and getting in. I turn around and see Sean’s bereft face in the doorway and I mouth I’m sorry once again. God, I’m mortified.

As I put my seatbelt on, Jack starts the engine and I watch Sean disappear out of sight as we speed away into dark and dangerous uncertainty.