The Carrero Effect - Falling for the Boss (Billionaire CEO)

Chapter 65

“To prove a point.” He snarls and turns away coldly.

“What point?” I almost cry at him. I’m so overwrought with emotion. So confused. He scrubs his hands through his ruffled hair and blows out; for a moment I think he’s going to jump out of the car again and walk off, but he just sits and sighs, grasping the wheel, pulling himself to sit properly.

“What does it matter?” his voice is deflated, and he avoids looking at me. His aggression evaporating.

So? What? He’s decided, screw it, we’re not talking anymore? How can he assault me with a kiss then just say forget it? What the hell?

I’m angry, I’m really goddamn, seething, angry.

How dare he!

“Fuck you!” It’s out of my mouth before I even really contemplate screaming at my boss, and I’m out of the car too. I’m raging. My eyes are stinging and blurry. I hate that he makes me fall apart like this. He knows how to rip my head open and I hate him for it, hate the way he strips me of the control I’ve built up over the years. All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

He pulls me into him and spins me around as he’s fast out after me. I try to fight, but he envelopes me and buries his face in my hair, holding me in a vice like grip so that I can’t struggle free. A bear hug to stop me from escaping.

“I’m sorry … Emma, stop … Emma. I’m sorry.” His voice is raw and strained. I’m fighting but losing as he knows how to hold me so that I can’t move, my body wrapped in his, almost suffocating me. He hugs me in tighter and I slump, anger dissipating when pinned to him this way. In so much emotional pain. He’s breathing into my hair, the warmth of it on my scalp; overwhelmed, tears running down my cheek as he slowly breaks me.

“I don’t want to fight with you.” His voice is somber now, close to my ear, his crazy mood taking a new direction again. I relax into his hold, no longer struggling, unable to hate him when he’s this way with me, sounding this sorry and I am this upset.

“I don’t want to fight either.” I swallow a sob. Slumping into him in a bid to let him heal my heart.

“Maybe we should go back to the boat?” he sounds tired. I don’t know how to navigate this version of Jake; more moods than I’m used to. It’s exhausting but I put it down to the scene with Hunter and the aftereffects of too much alcohol, lack of sleep, stress. This isn’t him.

“Maybe,” I whisper; at least there I can go to my room and get some distance, some perspective. Let him alone to get a grip of his roller coaster mood swings.

“No,” he snaps, surprising me again with a U-turn in attitude. The way he says it causes me to bristle and look up. Mood shift suddenly … again?

What the hell is going on with him?

He pulls away and stalks back to the car, stops at the hood, leaning down to tense his arms against it, broody and aggressive in his stance. Unapproachable and I just stare.

“I can’t do this, Emma.” He snaps, his gaze steady on the hood of the low sleek car. For a moment, I think he may even hit it.

“Do what?” I’m beyond confused. I think Jake has been invaded by a body snatcher. He’s all over the place and I just can’t keep up. Wiping my tears and pulling myself together.

“This! … Us!” He waves his hand in an exasperated motion and I’m dumbfounded; I blink at him. I don’t actually know what else to do. There’s no us! He glares at me haughtily, most likely because I’m still silent and frowns.

“You drive me crazy … and not in a good way.” He snorts, facing the car again. His body emanating all kinds of erratic, manic, signals.

“I do?” my voice is tiny and unsure, like I’m walking on eggshells with him right now, yet he’s accusing me of driving him crazy!

Well, it’s goddamn mutual.

He sighs again and his face tenses.

“You frustrate me on so many levels.” He carries on, although he’s lost all conviction in his tone.

Likewise.

“Sorry,” I murmur sarcastically. Rolling my eyes at his back while trying to simmer everything I am feeling.

Yes, Jake, I can do moody and sardonic too.

He throws me an unamused look over his shoulder and I glance down to twiddle my fingers evasively. He’s sighing again, I can hear him kicking the wheel of the car, funneling some of his rage onto the rubber, and it makes me flinch.

“Why do you never talk about your childhood?” his tone changes again; a new tactic or a new mood? My head’s dizzy with this swing door version of him.

“What?” I pale; my face swept with icy cold and my hand’s pause. Nerves fluttering from low down at a topic I do not want to follow through.

“There’s nothing to talk about … You have knowledge of the highlights.” I respond drily, the urge to clamp down and stop this direction of conversation kicks in, there’s a mild warning in the back of my

brain.

“I know bits and pieces, Emma, mostly from getting you drunk.” He glares at me and it’s almost like another accusation.

Jesus!

“Where is this going?” I plead; I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to have this type of psycho babbling conversation with Jake. Especially when he’s being so weird, so pissy.

How did we even get to this? Why is he so obsessed over this? Freaking Jekyll Jake and his neck breaking mood swings.

“It hurt you.” His eyes come to rest on me, his face endearing and open. All anger gone, but it only makes me want to cry, so I look away, crossing my arms around my body protectively. His expression claws at my heart.

“It’s the past and it should stay there.” There’s a strong sting in my eyes but he won’t make me cry again. My heart aching with everything he is trying to pull out of me.

What’s wrong with him? Is this what he’s after? Tears, confessions?

I move away and turn my back on him, it’s better when I can’t see him. Can’t see that look in his eye.

“Your mom? You don’t talk about her much either.” He pushes, his voice gentle. Every part of me screaming, leave me alone, let me be. I hold it all in, closing my eyes. Insides clawing desperately to escape this torment.

Just hold it together, Emma. Take deep calming breaths.

“She’s my mother … What else is there to say?” I say it coldly, hoping he understands that he should back off.

“Tell me about her.” He obviously ignores the silent plea and decides to just go in for the kill.

Thanks, Jake.

I’m wary of his crazy mood swings, I don’t want angry and irrational Jake back. I grit my teeth against the urge to tell him to mind his own business and try to appease his curiosity instead.

“My mother is a sucker for a sob story.” My voice grates every word out painfully, laced with anger and warning. “That’s about all there is to her.”

So back off.

“She has bad taste in men?” his voice is closer, so I walk further off, putting the distance back between us a little. Every part of me on high alert; my anger simmering to something more heart wrenching. I hate these kinds of conversations; someone trying to lay you bare and uncover your pain.

“That’s an understatement,” I snap, shielding my despair with anger.

Control … Emma!

“Her boyfriends hurt you?” his question catches me off guard, his voice nearer yet again, despite my moving away. His fingers move into my hair near my ear. Flexing into my scalp, making me lean into his touch, closing my eyes. I’ve no defenses when he touches me. So much pleasure from such a simple motion, dispersing my rage and hostility. His other hand slides over my shoulder on the other side and down my arm a little. His breath on the back of my neck, between my shoulder blades before his mouth comes to rest on the back of my head and he sighs. It surrenders me to him, body and soul, my anger draining away. Jake knows how to get under my skin with so little effort. Just a touch.

“Some … Some just wanted to …” I can’t say it. I swallow hard. His hand leaves my arm, snakes around my waist, and pulls me into his body smoothly. His mouth moving to my neck gently as he snuggles in and surrounds me. His hair against the side of my face, pulling me snug and close to him.

“She didn’t protect you,” he whispers against my collar bone, the gentle flutter of his mouth on my skin and the heat from his breath sending a thousand electric tingles through my body. I know I should pull away from him, but I’m memorized by the way he’s holding me, the way my body is sagging into him, losing all control. Floating away on a warm breeze without any pain. The memories of last night pulling me back and unable to resist the way he makes me yearn to be connected to him.